AV Club: ‘Fatal Seduction’, ‘Wura’ & what series remakes say about streamers in Africa
As with all on-screen art, it has to start with a great story.
Last Friday, Netflix released the second batch of episodes for the first season of ‘Fatal Seduction’, the South African TV series that premiered earlier this year with seven episodes. The streaming platform gained popularity for delivering an entire season of shows for viewers to watch on-demand, either bingeing them or taking their time—the discretion depends on who’s watching. The strategy of breaking up a season by dropping episodes in batches isn’t new but it’s been used sparingly, mainly reserved for blockbuster shows like ‘You’ and ‘Stranger Things’.
‘Fatal Seduction’ isn’t a blockbuster—at least, not in the timeline-consuming, conversation-driving manner—which makes the two-volume release of its first season surprising. The strategy is even more puzzling when you consider that the show isn’t exactly an original series. It follows Nandi (Kgomotso Christoper), a university professor who gets into an extramarital affair with Jacob (Prince Grootboom), as she can’t keep a lid on her desires when the pair have a one-night stand after meeting at a short beach getaway. As the story unfolds, it turns out that their meeting wasn’t so serendipitous; there’s a death in the first episode, it turns out Jacob is taking the professor’s class, Nandi’s daughter falls for a catfish, and more stuff happens, leading to a cliff-hanger in the seventh episode, which is where the first volume ended back in June.
Depending on who you ask, the end of that seventh episode might not be much of a cliff-hanger, since the show is based on another Netflix original series, ‘Dark Desire’. While ‘Fatal Seduction’ is not an entirely Xeroxed show, the similarities are overwhelming enough to describe it as a remake. The premise is the same, the liberal show of libidinous sex scenes cuts across both shows, the pacing for ‘Fatal Seduction’ is slightly faster but the events unfold in the exact manner as its predecessor, which means there will be no surprises in the second volume if you’re already hip to ‘Dark Desire’.
On its own, ‘Fatal Seduction’ is an enjoyable watch, even though it’s some ways off gripping. The plot might be predictable but the show is aware enough to ensure the story feels worthwhile, leaning into the sleaze and steaminess of its sexually-charged moments for pure entertainment purpose. (Full disclosure: I watched ‘Desire’ after seeing the seventh episode ‘Seduction’, before its latest batch episodes.) Asides maybe Nandi, none of the characters standout to be liked or deeply disliked; for now, they’re just moving pieces in service of the story, and it also plays into how simply serviceable the overall acting is on the show.
A Mexican original, ‘Dark Desire’ was a big hit for Netflix in Mexico and across Latin America when it debuted in 2020. A lot of that attention no doubt came from its smutty content. At eighteen episodes in its first season, though, the show was a serious drag. ‘Fatal Seduction’ will not get that many episodes, which is a positive, but being based on a commercial hit is a telling sign of Netflix’s ambition to replicate the success of another show basically lifted from halfway across the world.
The critical reception to ‘Dark Desire’ was lukewarm when it premiered, and I doubt ‘Fatal Seduction’ will be highly acclaimed when its first season is completed—in fact, early conversations have centred the similarities with its forebear. As any construction engineer will tell you, it’s impossible to erect an edifice when the architectural plans the building will be based on is mediocre. That’s pretty much the case with ‘Fatal Seduction’. The new batch of episodes might end up vindicating Netflix’s gamble, but what are the ramifications if the show becomes a hit—or it doesn’t.
Since entering the African film market, Netflix has repeatedly stated its commitment to telling African stories while centring excellence. The streamer has mostly done that with a growing catalogue of commissioned, original films and TV shows, with South African originals comprising a significant portion of those releases. It’s apt, since SA has the best structured film industry on this side of the world. The variety has also been remarkable, from family dramas and folky sci-fi to mini-comedy series and spy thrillers, and much more. ‘Fatal Seduction’, a romantic and erotic thriller, expands the scope but it’s undercut by being a remake of a not-so-great show.
Imitation might be regarded as the best form of flattery, but a lack of inventiveness in art can be a net negative. That’s why, in music, artists add their own spin when they cover already released songs. While there are shows like ‘The Office’ and ‘Jane the Virgin’ that hit high critical marks and are based on pre-existing TV series, most remakes are stuck with the limitations of their forebears. To eclipse those issues, following the blueprint step-by-step isn’t an option.
Earlier in the year, Netflix released ‘Unseen’, another SA TV series based on ‘Fatma’, the Turkish original. In ‘Unseen’, Zenzi Mwale (Gail Mabalanle) desperately searches for her husband Max (Vuyo Dabula), after he goes missing on the day of his release from a long prison stint. While Max was locked up, their son was killed, and the anticipation of reuniting with her husband was the only thing that really kept Zenzi going. The main characters and central conflict in both shows are the same: Zenzi and the titular Fatma are both cleaning ladies on the same quest, reaching murderous extremes for answers if need be.
‘Unseen’ unfolds in the same manner as its forebear, but it takes a few liberties that helps its identity as a South African show. The scenes don’t fundamentally differ—in fact, you can hear dialogue being reprised from ‘Fatma’, as well as the same character matrix. The setting does aid some of the storytelling, especially the police procedural parts that ‘Fatma’ couldn’t get away with, since police investigation procedure is expected to be better in Turkey than it is in SA. The show uses societal factors like that to help Zenzi manoeuvre a bit better but it still wobbles in character depth and as it reaches its resolution.
As much as Mabalanle puts in an awe-inspiring shift, there’s some deficit in what we know about Zenzi—viewers will connect more to her struggles than the character’s person. In trying to be a little more inventive about the remake, there’s a priority in adjusting the nuances of the story and it affects fleshing out the characters. Even the penultimate to ending phase is as puzzling as it is affecting, still inheriting issues from the show it’s based on.
So far, Netflix has invested in two remakes for the African market, one more worthwhile than the other, and neither has really reached cultural ubiquity. Even looking outward, there’s no proof of concept—the streamer’s South Korean remake of its Spanish smash hit series, ‘Money Heist’, wasn’t greeted with the same fervour. Currently, film is partly dominated by remakes and reboots, but it’s yet to widely translate to TV shows. Originality is a factor, but so is execution; reprising an entire show is a difficult ambition to pull off.
As far as remakes in African TV, it doesn’t get more ambitious than the Showmax telenovela ‘Wura’, based on the long-running South African series ‘The River’—which has also been adapted in Kenya (as ‘Kina’) and Portugal. Starring Scarlet Gomez as the titular character, ‘Wura’ portrays the difficulty in balancing being a cold-blooded businesswoman, great wife and loving mother—at least that’s what I gleaned from watching seventeen episodes.
‘Wura’ is at 100 episodes now; ‘The River’ has six seasons so far, all at 120 episodes. According to reports and parts of my Twitter timeline, ‘Wura’ hasn’t deferred that much from ‘The River’. I can’t say if it’s a good or a bad thing, the same way I can neither confirm nor deny the many tweets and group chat texts I’ve seen about bad acting on the show. It would be a hell of a task to watch 720 episodes of the older show and cycle through another 100 (well, 73 for me) to figure out if ‘Wura’ nailed its impression, eclipsed its forebear, or is shackled to any critical issues. The goal is clearly to localise the story for a previously oblivious audience.
In adhering so closely to the source of its inspiration, there might already be a positive. Showrunner Roger Ofime recently discussed the show’s portrayal of a queer love story, a taboo topic in a deeply conservative Nigerian story that squeezes queer people beyond the margins. “We don’t face challenges telling stories of a boy and girl in love, so why now?” he answered when asked if there were any challenges with that part of the show. “We had two queer characters in The River and got to see more. So, expect the same.”
The common thread between ‘Fatal Seduction’, ‘Unseen’, and ‘Wura’ is that their level of excellence is mainly tethered to the excellence of what came before it. That would mean that the adaptation of a critical hit would turn out an acclaimed show. It’s not an entirely linear correlation but, in the African film mainstream where story construction is something of a general Achilles heel, there’s some merit to that line of thought. It’s uncertain which other remakes we’ll be seeing but, as with all on-screen art, it has to start with a great story.
ICYMI: HOW ‘CRIME & JUSTICE LAGOS’ BRILLIANTLY ADAPTS AN ESTABLISHED BLUEPRINT
NATIVE PREMIERE: Rigo Kamp Runs Ahead Of The Pack With The Visuals For “Marathon”
Rigo Kamp’s Marathon video is an intimate Afro-juju revival that pays homage to Sir Shina Peters and stamps...
Last Friday, Rigo Kamp, a NATIVE uNder alum and one of the architects of an equal parts nostalgic and refreshing sound released his self-titled debut EP, delivering a propulsive fusion of Alte, R&B, Funk, and Soul-infused rhythms.
Featuring previously released singles “Morning Sun” and “Summer”, the six-track eponymous EP executively produced by Odunsi The Engine sees Rigo lean heavily into his element as a sonic alchemist, jumping from silky falsettos to gritty grooves without losing an ounce of cohesion, and ultimately stamping the Abuja-born, Lagos-based singer-songwriter as a mad scientist of sound.
Just last November, Apple Music named Rigo Kamp as its Up Next artist, an acknowledgment that underscored his potential and confirmed what the tastemakers and underground scene already knew. Weeks later, he delivered an exhilarating live set for Spotify Fresh Finds in Lagos, proving he’s just as compelling live as he is in the studio.
On “Marathon”, the refreshing opener to the Rigo Kamp EP, Rigo borrows the bounce and swagger of Afro-Juju legend, Sir Shina Peters’ golden-era, fusing nostalgia with re-imagination to birth a vintage performance that feels like a private party for two, where it’s just Rigo, and you.
Get an exclusive first look at the video for Marathon here:
Listen to the Rigo Kamp EP:
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Togo YEYE & VLISCO’s new collaboration is a celebration of Lomé’s thriving creative scene
Togo YEYE is a community we are building for us by
Togo YEYE, a creative duo formed by Lomé-based creative director Malaika Nabillatou and London-based photographer Delali Ayivi, is a conceptual publication that was created to empower and champion Togo’s young fashion creatives. Since its inception in 2021, Togo YEYE has released several personal projects and has also partnered with a number of brands to further its hugely imaginative aesthetic mandate. For their latest collaboration, Togo YEYE teamed up with textile printing company VLISCO to present Blossoming Beauty. Tagged as a love letter to Togo’s creative community, the campaign captures Lomé’s scenic beauty alongside VLISCO’s vibrant prints with the aim of connecting the feminine grace of nature with identity and artistry.
What does Togo YEYE mean?
Malaika Nabilatou: My name is Malaika Nabilatou, I’m the creative director of Togo YEYE. I’m Togolese and I was born and grew up in Lomé. I see myself as a West African creative director and I’m working to be the best in a few years. Togo YEYE means new Togo in Ewe, one of the most popular languages spoken in the South of Togo.
What inspired you to create Togo YEYE?
Malaika Nabilatou: We started this project, my friend Delali and I, 5 years ago. We just wanted to show that Togolese youth are also creative. Togo YEYE is a community we are building for us by us. It wasn’t just a project for Delali and I. It’s become something for the creative scene of Lomé. Lomé is like our studio.
What role does Togolese culture play in your creative process?
Maryline Bolognima: For me, Togolese culture comes first. For example, in the South, there are the people of Anero. If you come, you can go to Anero. In the North, there are the Evals, so if you come to Togo, you’ll learn a lot.
What’s the most exciting part of working as a team on projects like this?
Malaika Nabilatou: I need to tell the truth, we dreamt about this campaign before [it happened]. When VLISCO contacted us, we were like wow. I can’t really explain how thankful we are to VLISCO for trusting us. Because it’s a risk that they took by trusting us, making that campaign here with our team and honestly we are going to keep it in our hearts for the rest of our lives.
Claudia Sodogbe: For me, it is the first big contract of my life that I had with Togo YEYE. I still remember, on the last day of the shoot, I was feeling nostalgic about separating from the teams and the others. It went well in any case, and I’m very grateful to have been on this project.
What has been your proudest moment as part of Togo YEYE?
Malaika Nabilatou: I think the proudest moment I had with this campaign was when I saw the result first on the website. When I saw the story, I was like “wow, we finally made it.”
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Inside The Parties Breathing New Life Into Lagos’ Nightlife Scene
No matter who you, these parties provide a safe space to let loose without fear of objectification or...
The crowd marches along on the dancefloor, vibrating to a pulse that is both familiar and electrifying. It takes a second to identify Grammy nominee, Rema’s “Ozeba,” pouring out of the speakers and whipping the crowd into a frenzy as it takes on new life as a turbulent EDM track. The crowd growls and screams in approval of the DJ’s remix, yet another banger in a night filled with back-to-back hits. Hands in the air, sweat dripping from glistening bodies, smoke floating around the dancefloor and young people gyrating with reckless abandon, Element House provides the people with the release they deserve and they reward it with an undying loyalty to its rhythm and raves as they keep coming back.
Party culture has taken on new dimensions in Nigeria over the last two decades as a reaction to economic, social and cultural progressions. This evolution of the way we party is significant considering that Nigeria is a society that lays heavy emphasis on certain accepted standards of moral behavior, rooted in culture and tradition. But that has never once stopped a good time from happening. Millennials and older gen-z will remember the street parties and carnivals of old, usually held at the end of summer holidays or in December, where music by TuFace, Mo’Hits, Akon, Shakira, Lady Gaga and 50 Cent were the staple, among others. There were certain songs automatically expected from any DJ worth his salt otherwise it was not too far-fetched to see a DJ, with his equipment on his head, fleeing for his safety while being chased by an irate mob of partygoers.
The more things change, the more they stay the same. These carnivals and street parties might have been phased out but the idea remains the same while the power and influence of communities powering party culture in Lagos and Nigeria at large has only gotten stronger, especially with the advent of social media. The Block Party series–started in Lagos, Nigeria as the Mainland Block Party–has become the go-to event to celebrate youth culture and foster connections that cut across multiple African cities and walks of life. Today, with curated events in Ibadan, Abuja, Lagos, Accra and others, a community of partygoers is assured maximum enjoyment whenever the Block Party organisers announce an event in their city of the month. The people will always return to where their tastes are catered to, bringing along friends, family and newbies eager to bask in the atmosphere of loud music and togetherness.
In 2012, Warner Bros. Pictures released Project X–a film that follows three friends and high-school students who attempt to gain popularity by throwing a party which ends up escalating out of their control and reaching epic proportions. This idea propagated by Hollywood would go on to influence several house parties thrown in Lagos during the mid to late 2010s. The idea that with the right DJ/music playing at the right venue and with just the right crowd, then immortality was possible–a party so grand that it would be spoken about in glowing terms for years to come until it became lore. Today, house parties are more intimate and controlled, the degrees of separation between attendees reduced by a mutual friend or WhatsApp group they all have in common. From game nights to karaoke sessions to kinky sex parties, whether it’s at Balloons & Cups, a Vogue Boys pool party, or a get-together by the ‘Lagos on a Budget’ IG Community, the role house parties play in the ever evolving party culture is not insignificant, creating a pipeline that feeds into the much larger raves which weekends in Lagos are becoming synonymous with.
Whether it’s Element House today, Mainland House tomorrow, Group Therapy next weekend, WIRED or a host of other house and EDM inspired movements, partygoers are spoiled for choice when it comes to where to indulge their fundamental music tastes in a secure and controlled environment. Nothing is off the menu and a good time is the only badge of honor worth collecting. The increasing popularity of the rave movement in recent years is testament to the fact that it works for both organizers and attendees. The Covid-19 lockdowns changed the way Nigerians party; after months of being isolated from their communities and having to socialize in more intimate and private spaces, it’s no surprise that raves, with their underground nature, became the outlet of choice for several young people as soon as the world opened back up. According to Tonia, a medical doctor and frequent raver living in Lagos, her first few times at parties following the end of the lockdowns were not fun. “I was partying with caution, wearing face masks constantly and carrying hand sanitizer around. It became a much better experience subsequently when everything relaxed and soon enough, I was back enjoying the time of my life at Lagos parties.”
Unburdened from the heavy spending, bottle-popping culture that characterizes Lagos nightlife and cloaked in the embrace of judgment-free anonymity and numbers, raves have become a safe haven for a community of partygoers determined to turn up in the midst of the sheer craziness of living in this day and age. For Michael-Peace, a brand & creative assistant and frequent raver, the appeal goes beyond a need to unwind and the feelings of peace he experiences at raves. “Whether I’m listening to the DJ or just watching the crowd move to the music, it’s a very mindful experience for me,” he says.“I’m grateful to just be there and appreciative of how we can all be one community or family for that period of time.”
The appeal of the rave scene is its inclusivity and it’s a common theme for the new wave of parties exploding in Lagos and environs. No matter who you are or what you stand for, these parties provide a safe space to let loose without fear of objectification or discrimination resulting from socio-economic and political differences, misogyny and other less elegant occurrences which are part of mainstream Nigerian nightlife. This is important to Tonia who, on multiple occasions, has been prevented by bouncers from entering clubs without a male companion. “I’ll always prefer raves, they are much freer and nobody is performing here. There’s no need to show off the number of bottles you bought like there is in a club. Everyone just wants to turn the fuck up and have the time of their lives.”
For five or six hours, the disco lights, turbulent music and fellow ravers provide solace from the outside world. “Dancing the night away” is not merely a suggestion but a divine mandate from the gods of the rave. It is almost impossible to emerge after such an experience and not want to do it again. The music beckons all and sundry to come out, purge yourself of all inhibitions on the dancefloor, then return home and spread the gospel of the electronic music scene to all who might listen. In Michael-Peace’s own words: “There are people I’ve put onto raves and who loved the experience and constantly thank me for introducing them to it. Once you get hooked on it, you’ll never want to let go.”
Party culture in Nigeria continues to evolve as the new wave of parties mark their time and place in history. But the street parties and carnivals of yesteryears are not to be forgotten. The power of community continues to connect the old wave with the new wave, ensuring that actual people remain the focal point of these events, and party goers can enjoy nightlife experiences uniquely tailored to their ever changing wants and needs.
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