For talented actor, Kalu Ikeagwu, the message and value of the script are more important than the budget of the film. A complete actor with so many titles to his name, Ikeagwu opens up about his journey in the Nollywood industry, sharing the challenges, lessons, and experiences that have shaped his career. He highlights how a constructive upbringing has shaped his way of life. In this interview with Entertainment Editor GBENGA BADA, he also speaks about his most challenging role so far.

I’m sure you get a lot of scripts and offers. How do you decide which of them to take?

Before anything else, I read the script. From what I learned in school, whatever movie you do is supposed to inform, educate, and entertain at the same time. I didn’t really take it that seriously until one day, I think, when my mom came to visit me. When I was seeing her off at the airport, she saw some people who were like, “Ah, can I take a picture? Can I sign an autograph?” I never really told them what I was doing. So she was like, “Ah, this acting you went to do, it’s as if something is coming out of it. When next you’re coming to visit, bring one of your movies so we can watch.”

When I went to visit next, my brothers were there and everything. During the movie, it got to a point where I had a scene with Ini Edo, and we had to kiss. I completely forgot that scene was there because I had looked for the safest movie I could find. As the scene was about to start, I was like, “Oh, this scene is coming! Sweat was running down from my armpits, and I just started retreating. My brothers already knew what was coming, so they said, “Ah, Mommy, where is this your son going? What is he doing?” I disappeared from that place, and I looked at myself and thought, “I’m not a small boy anymore; why am I so nervous around my mom?”

It dawned on me that the training your parents give you never leaves you. Though it wasn’t a bad movie, it just made me realize I would never take part in a film my mother can’t watch. My dad is late, so that one is different. I think that’s the main thing that really inspires me to make sure I read the scripts of movies I appear in. I don’t care how much you’re paying me or how big the budget is; the message is always the most important.

Are you ever going to step out of your calm persona of doing family-friendly films, perhaps an action role or a character very different from the calm persona we often see on screen?

I had a shot at that in Cheta’M. In it, people hated my gut. It was an English/Igbo series. I played three different characters all in the same body, so my body was inhabited by different spirits and stuff like that, and one was really evil. I enjoyed that one because it was outside my scope, and in fact, I had to learn a different dialect of Igbo. I think that was the most challenging role I’ve ever had, and I like playing bad guys; it’s really good fun. Something outside you and I had to be very energetic outside my normal, calm self and stuff, so it was fun.

You schooled in England and Zambia, and then you also graduated from the University of Nigeria, where you studied English Literature. Did living in England and Zambia affect the man you have become today as an actor?

Immensely, because sometimes I feel like when someone says he is the son of a soldier or a policeman, I understand what they mean. You get posted everywhere, as a soldier or policeman. The children never really gather moss wherever they are; they’re always in different places. I think that’s how I feel sometimes. But kudos to my dad, he made sure that by age four, I could read and write Igbo. My dad banned English from the house; you go outside and speak English. He made sure Igbo was spoken in the house, where I learned everything I knew about my culture. So, I’m kind of a split personality. I’m a very down-to-earth village man, and at the same time, I have everything mixed in me so I can play or do anything that comes to mind because my dad made sure I was rooted, all of us were rooted in our culture right from birth.

Teaching, definitely, or I’d have been a writer. I do a bit of storytelling too. But it would have been teaching. My dad was a teacher, and he rose through the ranks. He was a primary school teacher, then went into teacher training school, then went into secondary school teaching, before he was sent on scholarship to go overseas to study, and then came back and became a lecturer. So I went through the whole gamut; I had to learn how to read and write Igbo. Originally, I was supposed to be a doctor, read medicine, but because my father made sure I read a lot of literature, I fell in love with storytelling, and that’s why I insisted I was going to read English literature in the university.

Nollywood has become such an enigma that a lot of people are watching, and we are now getting the attention of the world. What do you think informed us that made us that way? What do you think helped the industry grow into that, and where do you think is the next step for the industry in terms of growth?

It’s simple: self-confidence. My best movies are from 2000 and earlier, dating back to the early ’90s, because they told stories about us, by us, for us. These films were so original and heartfelt, which is what attracted the whole world, even if they didn’t understand our culture. It was so impactful that, whenever I travel to the US, I meet people like Jamaicans giving their children Nigerian names. Everyone knows what Omugwo is, and it really helped us because, surprisingly, abroad, they actually think we swing from trees like monkeys. Imagine their shock when they see beautiful houses and people with a rich culture. Especially with Nigeria, Africa as a whole, or even the black diaspora—when you see a parent disciplining a child in a movie, everyone understands what it means: that broom or slipper will follow you and hit you right on the butt. Black people understand that, and it really resonates because many times they feel alienated, like strangers. But when they see models like Nigeria—so confident—they immediately feel they haven’t lost their culture. They feel connected, and that really endeared them to us. We went through that phase with great storytelling, but lacked proper equipment; it wasn’t very strong. Most was analogue, and as more sophisticated equipment came in, it became about picture quality and what you could produce. The storytelling scene was somewhat pushed aside, and often stories from Bollywood or Western tales were adapted into ours, which alienated viewers—they couldn’t connect. I believe there’s a resurgence of African stories, helped by music. Our music, unapologetically Nigerian, has gained global popularity. I think the film industry has also contributed, like the one I did with Tosin Igho, Uzor Arukwe, and others, which was an amazing story. It was a detective story, but using African methods to find the culprit, with jazz and local traditions. Omowunmi Dada and RMD starred in it. That really resonated with us, sparking a renewal of stories by Africans, for ourselves, and exporting them to the world.

There’s a new trend now that, as a producer, after you’ve done your work, you have to go the extra mile again and make sure to market it. And one of the ways to market it in Nigeria successfully is to dance. You have this sort of sage aura around you; will you dance to promote a film?

Yes, I’ve danced to promote. See, dancing is not something I like to mention because I’m still very angry with Mary Lazarus. I had to dance, and I’m a terrible dancer. I hate dancing because I cannot dance to save my life. The only worse dancer than me is my younger brother. So please, don’t ask me to dance unless you pay me good, I have to rehearse very well beforehand.

I’ll dance. Have you seen white people dance? That’s how I dance, but a white person, when they’re dancing, they dance so terribly, but they believe so much in themselves that they actually enjoy what they’re doing, making fools of themselves. That is how I’ll dance to promote my film.

Do you think it creates a dangerous trend in the industry?

You see, one thing you have to understand is why Nigerians are respected all over the world. They’re like the Agama lizard. If no one praises them, they’ll praise themselves, and that is why what we are known for is anything that works. That is why this country has not crumbled with all the stress it’s going through; they must find something to laugh at or smile, so if it’s dancing that will do the job, so be it. (The Nation)