I didn’t expect to chuckle and clutch my chest in the same scene, but To Kill A Monkey slyly slips comedic quips into the darkest corners of Nollywood’s crime-thriller universe. It revolves around Efemini (William Benson), an everyman collapsing under the weight of debts and a fractured family. He bumps into an old buddy, Oboz (Bucci Franklin), whose smile hides a shady invitation: the fast, tempting life of phishing schemes, identity theft, and digital score-chasing. One step in, and Efemini discovers ambition courts both adrenaline and disaster, and forgiveness is a currency nearly impossible to transact.
This eight-episode arc is like a shot of espresso: powerful, fast, and memorable. Kemi Adetiba, who serves as writer, producer, director, and showrunner, creates a compact tale anchored by emotional realities. We don’t just watch the heists; we feel the pressure when Efemini opens his son’s lunch box and breaks down under the cost of survival. And even as he jumps into darknet chatrooms and finesses bank transfers, the show never loses track of the human toll.
Benson is magnetic in the lead role. He gives Efemini the expressive weight of a man trying to live up to ideals he can’t afford. His physicality—small gestures, tensing jaw, darting eyes—sells the tightrope walk between a good man and a desperate one. Franklin checks the energy as his former friend-turned-mentor, often dialing up charisma to mask secrets and motives. Their dynamic crackles—brotherly love tinted with ominous undercurrents.
Supporting roles shimmer in the Lagos streetlight. Stella Damasus plays Efemini’s resilient ex, a moral anchor upon whom he leans, even when his choices push him further from the truth. Structurally, the pacing is sharp. The pilot sets the hook in under an hour: quiet domestic moments followed by a gripping cyber raid. Mid‐season builds intensity without dropping its emotional center. The finale doesn’t aim for fireworks—it’s quiet, but its echoes hit harder for it. The tension is less about explosions and more about what breaks inside a man who’s already been broken by circumstance.
Visually, Adetiba leans into contrasts. Neon‑lit hacker dens clash with dusty back streets. The composition feels economic yet stylish, like digital noir. Lighting becomes a character: shadows cutting across Efemini’s face in scenes where he's making ethical compromises. The sound design invests in ambient noise—notification dings, keystroke clicks, distant traffic—to turn tech into a soundtrack. When he lands a job or drags a partner deeper into the scheme, the beats sync to his breath.
What truly gives "To Kill A Monkey" its soul is how it explores survival in a world that isn't fair. It acknowledges that cybercrime can seem like the only ticket to stay afloat, especially when systems are rigged. Yet it never glorifies the path. Every win leads to new consequences: trust fractures, blackmail escalates, grief multiplies.
Sure, it's not perfect. At times, the cyber‑jargon lands a bit stiff. And a couple of supporting characters feel underdeveloped—loyal sidekicks caught in the web, but without much backstory. It’s a minor quibble, though; the script wisely refocuses when needed, keeping our eyes on Efemini’s downtrodden, determined arc.
Here’s the twist that kept me hooked: the show’s humor. Not laugh‑out‑loud, but sly and dry. A crooked hacker complaining about Lagos traffic. A moral philosopher who just wants to eat well. A botched theft prank where a voice assistant spills the beans mid‑crime. These touches stop the tension from suffocating you, making the darker beats sharper by contrast.
I was also pleasantly surprised by the series’ ending. It doesn’t wrap everything in a neat bow; life doesn’t work that way, and Adetiba isn’t selling false hope. Instead, we get resolution with realism. Efemini faces the fallout. Betrayals are paid back. Whether he walks free or stays trapped in his choices, the final act leaves you with questions.
In sum, To Kill A Monkey is a lean, emotionally charged dive into Nigeria’s digital underworld. It blends crime thriller mechanics with thoughtful character study. It’s smart, inviting you to question not just the heist, but why a man feels compelled to commit it. The performances are grounded, the world-building convincing, the stakes intimately personal even as they pulse with criminal energy.
If you’re seeking Nollywood drama with seriousness and swagger, this is a fresh take. It’s less about guns and more about moral punctuation marks: keeping score when the ledger of life is flawed. It’s about the virus that spreads through the soul, fraying what we call integrity.
At around 800 words in, I appreciate I might have lingered in the style, but that’s the vibe To Kill A Monkey gives. I have no trouble recommending it, but just a note: let your guard down, and this show will reach in and unsettle you. Then maybe, if you're lucky, it’ll hand you insight in exchange.
Final Score- [8/10]
Reviewed by - Anjali Sharma
Follow @AnjaliS54769166 on Twitter
Publisher at Midgard Times