Executive produced by Richard Mofe–Damijo (RMD) and directed by Isioma Osaje, Radio Voice is a modest but impactful film that addresses social issues through relatable human experiences. It’s a story about survival, identity, and the possibility of redemption, especially for women trying to rebuild their lives in a society eager to define them by their pasts.
The story follows Uche (Nancy Isime), a struggling single mother working as a sex worker to provide for her daughter. A chance encounter with Karo (RMD), the CEO of a failing radio station, Power FM, offers her a lifeline. Uche reinvents herself as a radio host, gradually finding purpose and healing through the microphone. Her raw honesty and emotional intelligence begin to resonate with listeners, even as her past refuses to stay buried.
Nancy Isime brings a quiet intensity to Uche’s character. She doesn’t beg for sympathy but earns it through layered emotion, balancing strength, vulnerability, and restraint. Her journey at Power FM reflects the broader battle many women face in gaining visibility and respect in male-dominated spaces. Through her voice, both literally and metaphorically, she challenges the norms that previously silenced her.
At the heart of the station’s internal power struggle is Andy Da (Deyemi Okanlawon), who once co-hosted the morning show with Karo’s late wife, Mayowa (Nse Ikpe-Etim). Andy believes he is entitled to be the station’s Director of Programs, and he’s ready to push anyone out of the way, especially Uche, to reclaim that power. Deyemi plays Andy with barely disguised aggression and entitlement, creating a character who represents institutional gatekeeping and patriarchal manipulation.
Andy’s desperation leads him to team up with Hakeem (Timini Egbuson), Uche’s irresponsible baby daddy. Together, they weaponize her past against her using revenge porn, a tactic that painfully mirrors real-world gendered violence. Both men embody toxic masculinity, leveraging shame to silence a woman determined to move forward.
What sets Radio Voice apart from many Nollywood films is its compassionate portrayal of sex workers. Uche is not fetishized or slut-shamed; she’s presented as a woman battling life challenges and aspiring for a brighter future for her daughter. The screenplay by Ufuoma Metitiri and Isioma Osaje invitesus to empathize and reflect with the protagonist and her brilliant daughter, Precious (Jasmine Olarotimi)
Osaje’s direction keeps things grounded and emotionally impactful. She opts for a minimalistic approach, letting the actors’ performances, sparse dialogue, and subtle cinematography tell the story. The film’s colour palette leans into warm tones and intimate framing, giving us a close view of Uche’s internal world without feeling invasive.
Despite its many strengths, the film runs into structural issues in the final act. It becomes overtly political, spelling out themes it had already communicated effectively through subtext. The film’s message, social inequalities, patriarchy, and redemption remain powerful and emotionally impact when it’s tangentially delivered. The subtlety that made the first two-thirds of the film so compelling gives way to a slightly didactic tone.
The pacing also falters near the end. Some scenes feel rushed in an attempt to tie every thread neatly. In contrast, the film’s earlier moments are given space to breathe, allowing emotions and conflicts to unfold naturally.
Technically, the film excels in its simplicity. The sound design is clean and immersive, especially during radio scenes, which are used effectively to externalize Uche’s inner thoughts. The editing is tight, avoiding unnecessary melodrama while still preserving dramatic tension. The film’s score is understated but emotional, punctuating key scenes without overpowering them.
The characters keep to the movie’s underlying tones of subtility and never overplay or underplay their roles. RMD brings gravitas and warmth to Karo, a man caught between grief, duty, and hope. Nse Ikpe-Etim appears briefly but memorably as Mayowa in flashbacks, her presence lingering over the station and the story like a ghost of idealism. Timini Egbuson, playing his typical spoiled rich kid, portrays Hakeem with just the right mix of ego, entitlement and menace.
In an industry often dominated by flashy productions and melodramatic films, Radio Voice stands out for its quiet strength. Its minimalistic storytelling encourages empathy by giving a voice to the undeserving in society. This sparks reflection, and inspires action, proving that heartfelt messages can deeply connect without elaborate production.
***Michael Kolawole is a screenwriter, playwright, poet, and cultural journalist/critic. Catch him on X @mkflow
