By:Dominic La-Viola
Olive Nwosu makes their directorial debut with Lady, a film that dives into friendship, self-discovery, and the long shadow of trauma.
Alongside directing, Nwosu also pens the script, capturing the essence of survival and what it means to belong. The film’s decision to open with our protagonist as a teenager — offering a brief glimpse of formative trauma before moving into the present — is a structural gamble that ultimately works. It allows us to meet Lady as she has become, rather than retrofitting psychological backstory midway through the narrative. The result is a character already shaped by experience: always hustling, always moving, staying in her lane — not trying to change the world, only to survive it.
The script unfolds as a character-driven exploration of self-preservation and the effort to carve out identity without being defined by the past. While this thematic core often resonates, the writing introduces tensions it never fully resolves. Lady herself is framed as morally consistent, yet her actions occasionally contradict the logic the film assigns her, leaving ambiguity that feels less intentional than underdeveloped.
This becomes most apparent in the first-act reintroduction of Pinky, a childhood friend who disappeared five years earlier. Pinky’s abandonment — not only of Lady but of the neighbor who effectively raised them — is presented as a defining emotional wound. The film treats this rupture as central to Lady’s psyche, yet after its initial articulation, the thread largely recedes. A relationship positioned as foundational ends up dramatically underexplored, creating a sense of narrative imbalance.
Nwosu’s direction, however, maintains steady pacing. Scenes rarely overstay their welcome, and the film moves with a natural, unforced rhythm. The larger issue lies in tonal modulation. Moments that should register as emotionally distinct often carry the same muted register as transitional material, flattening the dramatic contour. Crucial beats pass with the same understated weight as everyday exchanges, leaving the film feeling tonally even when it should crest.
Alana Mejía González’s cinematography contributes to this restraint. The visual language favors observational naturalism, and while certain compositions are quietly striking, the camera seldom asserts a shaping presence. The imagery captures environment effectively but less often sculpts mood, raising the question of whether the limitation stems from conceptual choice or execution.
The editing, by contrast, shows flashes of expressive confidence. A transition from the club interior to night streets after Lady begins driving the women stands out — a fluid blend of spaces that momentarily expands the film’s sensory palette.
As with Nwosu, this is also a breakout for its central performers. Jessica Gabriel Ujah fully inhabits Lady, grounding the film with an internalized, lived-in presence. Alongside her, Amanda Oruh and Tinuade Jemiseye — also making their screen debuts — bring an unpolished authenticity that anchors the ensemble dynamic.
In the end, Lady reveals both promise and unevenness. Structural threads loosen where they should tighten, and the tonal field often remains level where variation is needed. Yet the performances carry emotional truth, and the film’s thematic bones suggest a director with a clear, emerging voice.