Nigeria’s film industry is a paradox in motion. Nollywood is simultaneously a cultural colossus and a financial lightweight. It produces thousands of films a year, captivates audiences across Africa and the diaspora, and shapes how the world imagines Nigeria. Yet behind the glamour, many filmmakers are trapped in a grind of underfunding, rushed production and limited distribution. The result is an industry rich in talent but poor in capital, despite a growing list of billionaire and billion-dollar funding announcements by banks and development finance institutions.
On paper, the money looks transformative. Afreximbank says it has committed hundreds of millions of dollars to Nigeria’s creative economy and expanded its Creative Africa Nexus (CANEX) programme to a multi-billion-dollar continental platform. Local banks have followed with dedicated creative funds. Venture capital firms have launched film vehicles. The headlines are impressive. The lived reality, as filmmakers openly complained at the Africa International Film Festival (AFRIFF) this year, is far less so. For many independent creators, the funding exists more in press releases than in production budgets.
“Also, Nigeria needs specialised creative finance institutions or desks staffed by professionals who understand film economics. Evaluating a movie is not the same as evaluating a rice mill. Banks that venture into creative funding must build expertise, not just portfolios.”
This disconnect between promise and practice should worry more than just filmmakers. Nollywood is not a hobby sector; it is an economic engine. The industry is one of Nigeria’s largest employers of youth after agriculture and a major exporter of soft power. Every year, Nigerian films are streamed in homes from Nairobi to New York, projecting influence that oil and minerals cannot buy. But influence alone does not pay for training, equipment, world-class post-production or global marketing. Without capital, Nollywood risks remaining prolific but provincial – busy, visible and underpowered on the world stage.
What makes the situation particularly troubling is not the absence of money but the failure of access. At AFRIFF, well-known names lamented how conversations with banks and development lenders often collapse once real terms are discussed. The complaint is simple: “We hear about the funds, but we can’t reach them.” This is a devastating indictment of a system that is supposed to empower the very people it was designed to support.
Banks, however, have their own defence. They insist they are commercial institutions, not charities. Film projects must be structured, budgets must be realistic, and revenue streams must be credible. They argue that many creatives approach financing like patrons, not partners, without audited accounts, legal structures or distribution strategies. In this sense, the problem is not merely stingy banks, but also weak business capacity in large parts of the creative community.
Read also: Nollywood stakeholders push for quality, audience literacy, digital protection
But the truth, as usual, lies somewhere in between. Yes, many creatives need better financial literacy and stronger corporate structures. But financiers also need deeper industry understanding. Creative work does not always look like a factory or a trading company. Intellectual property, brand equity and audience loyalty are legitimate assets, even if they do not fit neatly into traditional banking templates. When banks insist on collateral models suited for real estate or manufacturing, they effectively shut out the majority of filmmakers whose wealth is in stories and copyrights, not buildings.
The implication of this stalemate is severe. Underfunded productions struggle to meet global technical standards, making international distribution harder. Poor returns then validate banks’ fear that film is risky, creating a vicious cycle. Meanwhile, foreign platforms and investors step in, acquiring Nigerian content at bargain prices and capturing value that should remain in the local ecosystem. Nigeria exports stories, but imports the profits.
There is also a reputational cost when institutions announce large funds and the industry cannot trace beneficiaries, trust erodes. Investors become suspicious of creative financing claims. Filmmakers grow cynical, as the market becomes noisy with promises and quiet with results. Over time, this credibility gap can choke investment more effectively than any economic downturn.
An ideal situation may look like this. Most importantly, transparency must be non-negotiable, as every announced fund should have a public dashboard showing applications received, approvals granted, amounts disbursed and sectors supported. This is not just about accountability but about restoring confidence. If money is moving, it should be visible.
Also, Nigeria needs specialised creative finance institutions or desks staffed by professionals who understand film economics. Evaluating a movie is not the same as evaluating a rice mill. Banks that venture into creative funding must build expertise, not just portfolios.
Similarly, filmmakers must professionalise. Production houses should operate with the discipline of startups, clear governance, audited accounts, intellectual property management and marketing strategies. Banks will not lend to chaos, no matter how talented.
Equally, the government should act as an enabler, not merely a promoter. Beyond signing deals and announcing figures, it should provide credit guarantees, tax incentives and insurance schemes that reduce risk for lenders. A shared-risk model would unlock capital far more effectively than press conferences.
Finally, industry associations must take responsibility. Nollywood’s leaders should negotiate collectively, set standards and build trust between artists and financiers. No individual filmmaker, however famous, can fix a broken system alone.
Nigeria does not lack creativity; it lacks coordination. Until money on paper becomes money on set, Nollywood will continue to punch below its weight. And a country that underfunds its stories eventually loses control of its narrative.
