Lights, camera, profit: Why Africa must turn film into big business

I’m obsessed with the business of film. Not just the art or the storytelling, but the machinery behind it: the economics, the structures, and the systems that separate a film that earns applause from one that builds an industry.

 Right now, whether people want to admit it or not, the traditional European and American film models are in crisis. Not because they lack talent, there is plenty of it, but because the systems that once protected and monetized that talent are breaking down. Cinemas are unstable, streaming platforms are cutting budgets, commissioning is shrinking, public funding is tightening, and audiences are fragmented and distracted. The old assumptions no longer hold.

 This is not the end of film. It is the end of the illusion that film can survive without a viable business model.

 That reality presents Africa with a rare opportunity. While the West is trying to repair cracks in an old house, Africa can design something new: a smarter, more future-proof film economy that does not depend on broken formulas. But that opportunity will be wasted if we continue to think like creatives first and industrial builders second.

 That statement is not a dismissal of African creativity. On the contrary, Africa’s imagination is world-class. Our stories travel. Our talent is undeniable. The problem is not creativity; it is the persistent failure to convert creativity into sustainable economic systems. Talent alone does not equal an industry.

 A deeper challenge is cultural. Too often the creative sector resists entrepreneurship and accountability, treating business thinking as a compromise rather than the mechanism that allows creativity to survive. Work is produced without confronting the most basic question of sustainability: who pays for this, and how do we ensure they keep paying for it again and again?

 The West built powerful film industries, and yes, Africa must understand how those systems were constructed. Europe treated film as culture first and economy second, a model that works only when governments consistently subsidise culture and broadcasters commission at scale. The moment public money tightens, the system falters. America, by contrast, built an entertainment-first model that is unforgiving but effective. It is driven by markets, audiences, and revenue. Ego does not survive at the box office.

 Both models are now under strain, but Africa must not mistake that collapse for permission to be economically naïve. The task ahead is clear: Africa must treat film as an industry while designing a model suited to its own markets. That means building distribution, developing consumer markets, monetizing intellectual property, and creating systems that protect talent while making creativity commercially viable.

 The uncomfortable truth is this: film is a product. Television is a product. Content is a product. The moment we accept that, everything changes. We stop romanticizing struggle and glorifying scarcity. We abandon the dangerous idea that poverty equals purity. In its place, we begin building an ecosystem where artists are paid, protected, and scalable, not just praised.

 To get there, Africa needs two kinds of leadership. It needs protectors: people who understand the art deeply and build standards, training, and safeguards that prevent exploitation. But it also needs moguls. Producers and entrepreneurs who understand that audience attention is currency, distribution is power, data is leverage, marketing is essential, and return on investment is not a dirty word. A producer is not a grant-writer or a perpetual fundraiser. If this industry is to mature, a producer must think like an industrialist.

 Africa does not have an audience problem; it has a consumer problem. Audiences watch, share, debate, and applaud, but applause does not sustain an industry. Consumers buy tickets, pay subscriptions, return consistently, and generate predictable revenue. Africans already pay for football, concerts, nightlife, betting, church events, and data bundles. The issue is not willingness to pay. The issue is the absence of systems that make paying normal: distribution pathways, accessible platforms, consistent marketing, and trusted payment habits. Without those systems, consumption remains occasional instead of reliable and industries cannot grow on applause alone.

 Film cannot be created in a vacuum. Demand must come first. Before a script is written, creators should understand who the film is for, why they will watch it, how they will access it, what they will pay, and what will make them return. This does not kill creativity; it liberates it. Art thrives best when it sits on top of a functioning economy, not when it tries to replace one.

 Another hard truth must be confronted: Africa is not one market. Kenya is not Nigeria. Nigeria is not South Africa. Consumption habits, humor, languages, pricing sensitivities, and cultural dynamics differ widely. Serious industry building starts locally, not rhetorically. Strong national markets come first, followed by regional blocs with aligned distribution, marketing, payment systems, and co-production frameworks. Only then does a unified continental market become real.

 This moment demands African-led industry building. A creative economy without entrepreneurship is fragile, dependent, and easily exploited. Africa does not need more talent; it needs infrastructure, capital, policy, distribution, marketing, standards, and companies willing to embrace money as a tool of sustainability rather than a moral compromise.

 Money is not corruption. Money is not betrayal. Money is power, freedom, and longevity. And the moment Africa builds film as an industry rather than a charity, it will stop asking for permission to exist, and start exporting power instead.

 The writer is co-founder Symphony Innovations