GOLD DIGGIN’: A REVIEW, OR RUKKY SANDA MUST BE STOPPED

by thepingofpong

'Rukky's Gold-Diggin

Question: How does Rukky Sanda get financing for her movies?

The actress, fresh from the barely watchable “Keeping My Man,” has helmed Gold Diggin’, a mess of scenes roughly stapled together with awful dialogue and woeful acting.

It is the story of Annabel (Rukky Sanda,) a not-so-young returnee with one ambition: she wants to date/shag/marry/snare a celebrity. Her friend Zara (an inactive Yvonne Nelson) is the voice of clichéd sanity and Chris (Alex Ekubo) is a normal guy— that is, not a celebrity— who keeps, surprise!, running into her as she takes on the Lagos.

Essentially a badly edited reality television episode, Gold Diggin’ is E! with the production values of public school’s play. And public schools should be angry to be so compared. Scenes crash into garish scenes; cinematography, when noticeable, is worse than video coverage of a village wake; music plays over dialogue often; and Ms Sanda colour blocks.

Indulging her most narcissistic impulses, Ms Sanda, who also wrote and produced, films her Annabel as a stunner, but the audience merely watches an overly made-up near-overweight woman flirting with Dammy Krane, Denrele Edun and Sexy Steel. It is an ensemble cast of the worst kind and together the trio should make the industry standard of tragic cameos. But Mr Steel would not be outdone: his (lack of) acting ability manages to one-up his catastrophic colleagues and upstage his own ridiculous name to clinch the medallion for mediocrity.

But what does it matter anyway? All three were cast for their decidedly D-rate wattage. But shouldn’t adults learn to say no? These vaguely known stars carry thin extensions of their insubstantial music video personalities unto the screen, plunging an abysmal film deeper into the void. It is a misstep like the entire film because while a few may listen to their music, does anyone really want to pay to see a film featuring Dammy Krane, or Sexy Steel?

As the film dwindles mercifully to a halt, the viewer hopes, in the signature manner of Nollywood, some message, needless and meaningless as it would be,  may show up to morally inflate Gold Diggin”s paltry, seedy plot. But that never happens. There is no moral lesson, no karmic denouement, no greatly needed deliverance sessions for the incredibly silly Annabel.

What Rukky—sorry, Annabel—wants, Annabel gets. And Gold Diggin’ closes without sense or instruction.

“You have to take my bullshit every time,” Annabel drawls at some point. With ludicrous film after wretched film, this is possibly filmmaker Rukky Sanda’s statement to viewers. She probably believes it too.

If her financiers nod in agreement and sign cheques for her every time, it won’t be long till audiences get a chance to prove her wrong. One can only hope that day comes quickly.

 

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