After donning my spectator hat and successfully attending six consecutive AMVCA awards night; I should, somewhere at this point, be recognized as a certified AMVCA expert attendee, giving me the right to original, incontestable feedback on the structural architecture of Nigeria’s biggest film awards night.
With that being said, I need to first clear all the insinuations that might naturally follow my claim. No, I don’t (and have never had) any movie in the AMVCA race, and no, I do not have a work affiliation to any Nollywood movie maker or showrunner dead or alive. I, like every human Nigerian I know, love movies and the culture it perpetuates.
The 12th AMVCA awards night kicked off with the usual scramble for prominence; with overly dressed celebrities prancing across the crowded red-carpet space, obeying everyone with a camera; while desperately explaining the engineering that went into crafting their one-of-a-kind attires. A few metres away, separated by a waist-length metal fence, the ‘regulars’ like me, without celebrity status and golden tags, stared at their faves conversing animatedly with beaming red-carpet hosts; while oversized security men tried to spot imposters and wannabees.
I made my way into the hall; a spectacle of light and splendour, as black clad men and women wearing tech headsets milled around importantly; the show was minutes away from starting. I had planned to be here hours ago but my yearly acquaintance, who was also my ticket plug had left me waiting for two hours. Yes, you guessed right, it was production guru and showrunner, Funmi Adeyemi. No, don’t google her, I don’t want you discovering how amazing she is, not today at least (rolls eyes).
I quickly slipped past a starstruck security man who was busy staring at a mobile BBL job and got into the red-carpet space unnoticed. I spotted the title sponsors, Donjulio, and made my way to their stand. After admiring their imposing setup and taking a few convincing photos here and there, I got what I really came for, their signature cocktail drink, and It definitely lived up to the hype.
The red carpet was abuzz with the usual suspects and a few unknowns. And everyone, who was anyone, had some sort of statement piece to show off. I spotted the undisputed King of Sacrifice, Kanayo O. Kanayo, adorned in a royal crown and cape piece, while the animated Shine Bosman showed off a feathered blue mermaid outfit and matted hair that magically drew everyone to her.
An unsmiling lady was in charge of the Smirnoff ice bar, and my photo taking did nothing to convince her. I finally summoned courage and made a beehive for her and boldly requested for a Smirnoff ice drink; she smiled surprisingly as she poured a generous offering (good girl). I gulped it down excitedly as I studied the scene, anticipating my next victim. The queen of talk show radio, (argue with yourself) Victoria Wilson, was representing for Indomie noodles as she queried familiar faces about their love for fashion and food. I tried unsuccessfully to make her see me, but she was totally locked in and had no time for friends and distant acquaintances. I fall into the second category if you must know.
Anyway, I avoided the Maltina bar like a plague because it was opposite the Smirnoff ice bar that I suspected, they had seen me patronize. No point in dragging my proudly Urhobo heritage in the mud over Maltina; no matter how ice cold and inviting it looked. I sighed, resolving to mix some more with the questionable crowd and return later for a second try; maybe they would have forgotten my facial set up by then; maybe.
Suddenly, an announcement rang across the red carpet that the show was about to start and that everyone should make their way to their allocated seats or locate one of choice. I moved, weaving through the crowd deftly like an incentivized Okada rider, I needed to get to the hall first to find a good seating position to see what the night had to offer, firsthand.
To be continued.
