But the gateway has cracked. And crawling out of it is (played with delicious menace by Femi Adebayo ), a demonic warlord who commands, you guessed it, 1,000 demons.

For Nigerian audiences tired of seeing their mythology relegated to the "village section" of the story, this film offers empowerment. It asks a radical question: What if the next Avengers-level threat came through Lagos, and the hero didn't call Captain America, but called his grandfather's spirit instead?

By [Author Name]

For decades, Nollywood has mastered the art of the mundane. We have seen the wealthy husband’s betrayal, the village witch’s curse, and the pastor’s deliverance. But rarely—very rarely—does Nigerian cinema look up . Rarely does it attempt to stare into the abyss of high fantasy, let alone throw a punch at it.

"A messy, glorious, ambitious swing for the fences. Nollywood fantasy has finally drawn blood."

The film uses practical masks rooted in Yoruba and Igbo masquerade traditions to ground the "demons" in cultural reality. Instead of generic Hollywood ghouls, the demons of this film are Ekwensu and Eshu -adjacent entities—twisted, horned, and draped in black raffia. When 100 demons flood the screen in a battle sequence shot in a quarry near Abeokuta, the effect is chaotic but effective.

Enter (2023), a film that feels less like a traditional Nigerian movie and more like a fever dream written by a comic book fan who grew up listening to Kongi’s harvest tales.