#NollywoodReviews #IyaIroMovie #YorubaCinema2026
Overall Rating: ....................... (3/5 Stars)
Nollywood, particularly the Yoruba sector, has long been obsessed with the concept of the "Matriarch." From the iron-fisted mothers-in-law to the prayer warriors, the Nigerian mother is a cinematic staple. However, in the recently released "Iya Iro" (Mother of Lies), director and star Mide Martins attempts to flip the script, exploring the toxicity that can fester behind a facade of maternal perfection.
As a veteran of this industry, I’ve seen the "glamour" era of Yoruba cinema evolve. We are moving away from the grainy, poorly lit living rooms of the early 2000s into a sleek, high-definition space. Iya Iro sits comfortably in this new era—it looks expensive, it sounds crisp, but does the story carry the weight that its lead actors promise? Let’s dive deep.
Visuals and Aesthetic: A Step Toward the Premium Tier
From the opening shots, it’s clear that the cinematography in Iya Iro aims for a "Big Screen" feel. The camera quality is sharp, utilizing a color palette that favors warm, saturated tones—typical of the modern Lagos "luxury" aesthetic.
Framing and Shot Variety
The director makes excellent use of close-ups during the high-tension dialogues between Mide Martins and her on-screen daughters, played by Seliat Adebowale and Jumoke Odetola. These tight shots capture the micro-expressions of guilt and entitlement that drive the plot. However, the film occasionally falls into the "talking heads" trap—scenes where two characters sit on a lavish sofa for ten minutes, alternating between static medium shots. While the set design is beautiful, more dynamic camera movement could have injected energy into these dialogue-heavy segments.
Lighting and Mood
One of the most common gripes with Nollywood productions is lighting consistency, especially when transitioning between interior "mansion" scenes and exterior street shots. Iya Iro mostly avoids this. The interior lighting is soft and intentional, avoiding the harsh "white-light" glare of lower-budget productions. The night scenes are particularly well-handled, maintaining enough shadow to feel realistic without losing the actors’ features.
The Sound of Lagos: Audibility and Atmosphere
If there is one area where this film truly stands out, it is the Sound Design. In many Yoruba films, you can hear the hum of a generator or the echo of a cavernous living room. Here, the dialogue is remarkably clean.
The score is quintessential Nollywood—melodic, slightly over-the-top, and used to signal exactly how the audience should feel. When the "lies" begin to unravel, the music shifts into a tense, rhythmic percussion that mirrors the heartbeat of a cornered person. While some might find the musical cues a bit "on the nose," they fit the cultural context of Yoruba storytelling, where the music acts as a secondary narrator.
Costume and Production Design: Wealth as a Character
In Iya Iro, clothes do more than cover bodies; they communicate status. The Costume Design is a masterclass in "Nouveau Riche" Nigerian fashion. Mide Martins is draped in expensive lace and statement jewelry that screams "Authority."
The contrast between her wardrobe and the "struggling" characters she interacts with creates a visual hierarchy. The production design—using high-end Lagos apartments and shiny SUVs—serves the theme of the "Big Lie." The environment is so perfect that you immediately start looking for the cracks in the wall.
Narrative Structure: The Hook and the Drag
The film opens with a strong hook: a family unit that seems too perfect to be true. We see a mother who is worshipped by her children, but the seeds of financial manipulation are planted early.
The Pacing Problem
Like many 2026 Nollywood releases, Iya Iro suffers from "middle-act bloat." There are subplots involving business deals and car requests that circle the drain for a bit too long. We spend a significant amount of time watching the daughters ask for 10 million Naira and new cars, which, while realistic in the context of "entitled Nigerian children," slows the momentum toward the final revelation.
The Spiritual and the Social
The film avoids the "Juju" trope, which is a refreshing change. Instead, it leans into Social Commentary. It examines the pressure Nigerian parents face to provide for adult children who refuse to grow up, and the lengths some parents go to—including deception—to maintain that provider status.
Performance Analysis: The Power Trio
Mide Martins as the Matriarch
Mide Martins delivers a performance that is both fragile and fierce. She has mastered the "Nollywood Cry"—that specific, soul-shattering weep that resonates with local audiences. Her ability to switch from a doting mother to a woman terrified of her own secrets is what keeps the film grounded.
Seliat Adebowale and Jumoke Odetola
The chemistry between the sisters is palpable. They represent the "Gen Z/Millennial" struggle in Nigeria—caught between a genuine love for their mother and an insatiable desire for the "soft life." Their language delivery, a seamless blend of sophisticated English and emotive Yoruba, feels authentic to the modern Ibadan/Lagos upper-middle class.
The Core Theme: The Burden of the 'Good Mother'
At its heart, Iya Iro is an autopsy of the Nigerian family structure. It asks a difficult question: Is a mother still "good" if she builds her children's lives on a foundation of falsehoods?
The film reflects a very real Nigerian reality—the "Fake it 'til you make it" culture. In a society where appearance is everything, the mother feels she must provide 10 million Naira business grants and new cars every six months just to keep the family’s head above water socially.
The climax, where the "jail of secrets" is finally opened, is an emotional payoff that feels earned. The disappointment expressed by the children in the final moments isn't just about the money; it's about the erosion of trust.
The Verdict: Plot Holes and Parting Thoughts
While the film is technically sound, there are a few plot logic gaps. Some of the financial transactions happen with a speed that defies Nigerian banking realities, and certain supporting characters seem to vanish once their purpose in a scene is served.
However, these are minor gripes in an otherwise solid production. Iya Iro is a mirror held up to our society. It challenges us to look at our parents not as superheroes, but as flawed humans who sometimes lie out of love—or out of a desperate need for relevance.
Who Should Watch This?
Fans of High-Stakes Family Drama: If you loved King of Boys but want something more domestic and grounded.
The Diaspora Audience: You will recognize the "Send money home" and "Big Man" dynamics immediately.
Aspiring Nollywood Filmmakers: Watch it for the lighting and sound quality—this is the baseline for 2026.
Iya Iro is a visually stunning, emotionally taxing journey through the heart of a Nigerian home. It’s a testament to how far Yoruba cinema has come in terms of production value. While it drags in the middle, the powerhouse performances by Mide Martins and her supporting cast make it a must-watch for anyone who enjoys a good "cry-session" followed by a deep conversation about family values.
Are you ready to see the truth behind the lace? Go watch Iya Iro on Yoruba Cinema Plus now.
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