You’re scrolling Netflix, expecting the familiar pulse of crime drama then To Kill a Monkey closes in on you like a whisper turning into a scream. Suddenly, what you imagined about Nigerian thrillers feels incomplete.
A Stranger’s World: Tension from the First Frame
The series doesn’t ease you in. From the first moments, ritualistic imagery and pounding soundscapes trap you in a world of decay and desperation. Lagos isn’t just a setting, it’s a living, trembling entity that channels every fractured ambition, every moral waver.
Efe vs. The System: When Survival Demands a Price
Efe (Efemini Edewor) is brilliant but broke. A tech grad with promise, he’s reduced to being the punchline at his job. When his old school friend Oboz reappears with swagger, wealth, and cybercrime on call, Efe steps over lines he once drew firmly.
And then enters Teacher, a cold, ruthless fixer who levies tax on crimes themselves; a chilling reminder that in this world, even criminals must answer to someone.
The tension isn’t about right or wrong. It’s about whether a man with principles can survive when the world demands he compromise them or collapse in the attempt.
Performances That Hold You Under
William Benson’s portrayal of Efe is heartbreaking: a man unraveling, choices tightening like a noose. Bucci Franklin’s Oboz is equally magnetic, half-charm, half-threat.
Bimbo Akintola as Inspector Mo brings a different kind of tension, one rooted in grief, determination, and a fractured search for justice. Her personal pain is the engine of her pursuit.
Morality Is Broken, But It’s Still Unsettling
This isn’t crime for entertainment’s sake. To Kill a Monkey is a moral mirror. It reflects what survival looks like when the system fails you, when integrity costs more than you can afford. Betrayal is everywhere: within marriage, friendship, and even the uniforms meant to protect.
Is It Flawless? Hardly. And That’s the Point.
Critics cite pacing issues and plot heaviness, the occult subplots, too many betrayals, some characters underdeveloped.
But this messiness isn’t careless. It’s purposeful. Life doesn’t offer neat endings. Lagos doesn’t slow down for emotional arcs. Some characters feel abrupt. Some violence feels sudden. That’s life. That’s To Kill a Monkey.
You Don’t Just Watch, You Watch Uneasy
At episodes’ end, you’re not just asking, “How did that happen?” You ask, “Would I do the same?” It’s uncomfortable. Brutal. Yet entirely unforgettable.
Should You Hit Play?
Only if you’re ready to be unsettled. If you prefer comfort, skip this. But if you’re the kind of person who wants more than Netflix filler, if you want friction, mirrors, razor-sharp reflections—then yes.
To Kill a Monkey doesn’t offer easy answers. It offers urgent questions.
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