The Masked King wants to portray a push and pull between traditions and societal change, but it flattens the picture to one of good and bad, with no attempts at an interrogation of the customs being queried or an exploration of the characters’ motivations.
By Vivian Nneka Nwajiaku
As early as primary school, Nigerians are taught the interesting piece of history that a Scottish woman named Mary Slessor stopped the killing of twins in Calabar. We now know that those words are not entirely true, but it did trigger a curiosity in many people, the kind that makes a film like The Masked King (2025), a historical drama centred around the killing of twins in Efik custom, sound promising.
Directed by Uduak-Obong Patrick, The Masked King fictionalises the story of colonial-era Creek Town, ruled by the young King Ansa (Daniel Etim Effiong) who is so unwilling to embrace change that he turns into a tyrant, a mad king. Not too far away, in the village called Okoyong, Mary Slessor has supposedly put an end to the killing of twins. But in King Ansa’s kingdom, twins are still a taboo, considered nonhuman and a bad omen.
It does not matter that King Ansa’s dear mother (Shaffy Bello), with secrets of her own, considers it to be unfair and archaic or that his beloved sister (Uche Montana) may be pregnant with twins. King Ansa will not be moved, regardless of the cost.
But it’s not just family pressure that he has to fight. The colonial emissary (Bernard Raubenheimer) and the Christian missionary (Jenny Stead) working in the area are not fans of the King’s ideals and leadership style, seeing as he completely rejects their religion and even persecutes their converts.
Plus, there is a group of militants, called the Nka Iyip (named after a real political pressure group existing at the time), led by a perpetually masked man with a hidden history and a loyal deputy (played by Gideon Okeke).
Resolute to the point of sacrifice, their fight for change, especially with respect to the slave trade, extends beyond attacking powerful people to killing innocents, at least, according to the king’s men and the white people, even though the film never does show them attack any innocent civilians.
The king believes that they are sponsored by a neighbouring kingdom, so he enlists his military, led by a conscientious guard (Uzor Arukwe), to rid the kingdom of the militants. But the colonial emissary views the Nka Iyip as a useful tool in bringing an end to barbaric practices of the indigenous people, and the King’s opposition would not mind their help in deposing the strongman on the throne.
With all the factions surrounding him and his extreme and unyielding approach to culture, King Ansa finds himself battling external threats against his throne, but also conspiracies from within, fuelled by his reliance on a suspicious adviser with a hidden agenda (Jude Chukwuka) and his staunch refusal to listen to opposing voices, from his mother to his liberal war chief (Segun Arinze).
The result is an engaging political tussle, with plenty of scheming, long-held secrets, heavy betrayals, efficient sword fights, a surprisingly decent big reveal (from which the film derives its title), and a final showdown.
The drama is undercooked, the dialogue is repetitive, agendas are hinted at but not revealed, subplots are eagerly abandoned, there is a lot of telling as opposed to showing (especially in the depiction of familial and political relationships), and there is too much happening that does not come together until the third act, but The Masked King has enough action to demand attention, and it does hold that attention for most of its nearly two hour runtime.
More importantly, The Masked King is inescapably a social issues drama intent on making a political statement. But what is that statement? It does not seem to be clear on that.
A generous interpretation would be to consider it a wobbly take on balancing tradition with the need for societal progress. A stricter one, which I would lean towards if I didn’t care for giving films the benefit of doubt, would view The Masked King as an irony, an indigenous epic with a Western bias.
The Masked King wants to portray a push and pull between traditions and societal change, but it flattens the picture to one of good and bad, with no attempts at an interrogation of the customs being queried or an exploration of the characters’ motivations.
The most significant is that of King Ansa, who is intended to be symbolic. His motivation is idealistic, informed by a desperation for cultural survival in a time when Western ideals have started to displace cultural identity. The script gives him buzzwords like “the foreigner’s religion” and “the invaders who call us heathens”, and he performs speeches about the preservation of cultural identity.
But the film ends up treating him merely as an archetype of the old guard, without bothering to explore the philosophy of his ideals. In a film like this—and in this age of political consciousness when there is a growing movement to reclaim cultural heritage and identity, which is a major factor in the rise of indigenous epics even in Nigeria—that philosophy is important.
Of course, there are certain customs which must be left in the past, but the film is eagerly charitable towards western characters and ideals while making sweeping negative generalisations, perhaps unwittingly, about indigenous culture and traditional religion, without presenting a balance.
Indeed, it is very telling that the singular character who genuinely seeks to hold on to the local culture and traditional religion is made into a tyrant, while the ones who adopt Western ideals and religion are ultimately made into saviours.
It’s not extreme to say that the extent of cultural pride that The Masked King portrays is in its occasional use of the Efik language—although English is the predominant language—and in the influence of Efik cultural style in the costuming. The costume design may not be very time-conscious, but I don’t begrudge the film its creative liberties in its wardrobe.
Political messaging and writing weaknesses aside, The Masked King does have its virtues. For one, it is a historical drama about a cultural minority group and set in the South-South of Nigeria, a rarity that is worth supporting.
And with expectedly capable cinematography from Jonathan Kovel (Citation (2020); A Naija Christmas (2021)), effective music composition by Michael “Truth” Ogunlade (The Milkmaid (2020); The Legend of the Vagabond Queen of Lagos (2024)), adequate editing most of the time, and at least decent performances (although Etim Effiong makes a worrying choice when he adopts a Hollywood African accent at a point in the film), The Masked King is a likable watch.
Rating: 2.8/5
(The Masked King is showing in Nigerian cinemas.)
Vivian Nneka Nwajiaku is a writer, film critic, TV lover, and occasional storyteller writing from Lagos. She has a master’s degree in law but spends most of her time reading about and discussing films and TV shows. She’s particularly concerned about what art has to say about society’s relationship with women. Connect with her on Twitter @Nneka_Viv