A LIONESS IN CHAINS: THE COMPROMISED FEMINISM OF GENEVIEVE NNAJI'S LIONHEART

A LIONESS IN CHAINS: THE COMPROMISED FEMINISM OF GENEVIEVE NNAJI'S LIONHEART

Introduction

 

When I watched Lionheart, I saw Adaeze Obiagu; "king’s daughter with a lion’s heart"—battle stereotypes and corruption to save her father’s company. But what struck me most was how the film exposes Nigeria’s painful contradiction: celebrating tradition while resisting real change for women. Ada proves herself a fierce leader, diffusing violence and outsmarting rivals, yet her hard-won victory feels hollow. Why? Because her rise to leadership depends on a merger engineered by her uncle. To me, this screamed a brutal truth: a brilliant woman still needs a man’s help to succeed here.

This review dissects Lionheart through four critical frameworks: Formal Media Analysis, Oppositional Gaze, Marxist Critique, and Male Gaze. Together, they reveal how Nnaji's film masterfully diagnoses patriarchal oppression while ultimately replicating its structures.

 

Together, they show how the film diagnoses patriarchy while surrendering to it. That moment when Ada realizes "I’m doing all the work, but they’ll never see me as the boss"? I felt that. Let’s explore why its ending fails her.

 

SECTION A: FORMAL MEDIA ANALYSIS

Cinematography

I’ll never forget the bedroom scene (8:21). Ernest lies across the bed, owning the space while watching TV. Abigail perches on the edge, turned toward him but ignored. This blocking screamed power: he decides; she accommodates. When Abigail later warns Ada, "Don’t ever come between two brothers" (20:04), I saw how this hierarchy poisons generations. The camera showed me everything without words: men own the center; women live on the margins.

 

MISE-EN-SCÈNE

Walking into Arinze’s mansion (45:50), I felt immediate dread. Women in revealing dresses lounged by the pool like sexualized props. A man’s leering stare (45:51) confirmed they were decorations. Ada’s clothing properly clashed with this predatory world, marking her as prey. In Arinze’s study (47:04), warm yelowish lighting felt like a romantic trap masking his intent to lend her money in exchange for her body. Every detail screamed: this is a lion’s den.

 

 

SOUND DESIGN

When Ada and her mother connected emotionally (18:46), the score swelled with their pain about her being denied MD. Then immediately her uncle entered, and the music flipped to comedy. Their vulnerability became a joke. I felt furious: men’s interruptions weren’t just plot points; the soundtrack itself silenced women.

 

EDITING

The depot chaos (1:17-1:25) used fast cuts between thugs and Ada’s face. I felt her panic: "How do I fix this?" But every time she tried to speak, the camera jerked away. To me, this proved your point: even with authority, men disrupt her. The editing made her struggle visceral.

 

PERFORMANCE

Nkem Owoh’s Godswill moved me deeply. When he shielded Ada from a leering banker with a newspaper and wit, I saw fierce protection. Later (35:12), his punch wasn’t violence—it was integrity. He showed me what "not all men are the same" truly means.

 

NARRATIVE STRUCTURE

The linear flow felt like watching a river carve stone. Ada’s battle against debt forced her to trust her uncle. But when their merger succeeded, I groaned: his idea, her labor. Her triumph needed male endorsement.

 

SECTION B: MARXIST CRITIQUE

The opening scene (1:17) hit me like class warfare: hoodlums vs. Ada’s wealth. But when auditors exposed the Obiagus’ debt, I gasped. Ada became trapped in capitalism’s cruel cycle: begging loans to pay loans. Igwe Pascal embodied exploitation, and the merger just reshuffled elite power. Workers? Forgotten. The film showed me how capitalism ensnares everyone; even the privileged.

 

 

SECTION C:

OPPOSITIONAL GAZE

Through bell hooks’ lens, I saw Black women reduced to tropes: Abigail the submissive wife, pool women as props, and Ada who is a "strong" woman leaning on male scaffolding. Her uncle shielded her, the bankers rejected her, Arinze tried to "save" her. Worst of all? Her victory carried her uncle’s name. Each achievement needed male validation. This wasn’t empowerment, it was respectability politics in heels.

 

SECTION D: MALE GAZE

Laura Mulvey’s theory felt painfully real. Bank managers staring at Ada’s cleavage made my skin crawl. When one demanded sex for a loan (35:12), the camera lingered just enough to show her discomfort but never condemned the men. The film profited from sexualizing her while pretending to critique it. Ada’s sharp clothing? Ironic tools of objectification.

 

CONCLUSION

Lionheart left me conflicted. Its formal genius with blocking, editing, sound diagnoses patriarchy brilliantly. But like Ada, the film can’t escape its chains. The oppositional gaze showed me Black women’s labor erased without male approval. The Marxist lens exposed capitalism’s rigged game. The male gaze scenes commodified Ada’s body. In the end, Nnaji mirrors Ada’s truth: you can fight like a lioness, but the throne comes with invisible chains. The tragedy? The film sees this cage... and locks it from within.