Farmer’s Bride Fools the Viewer by Saving Its True Nature for the Final Scene

This film explores the boundaries of love, choice, and cultural expectations, leaving viewers with lingering questions about freedom and fate.

What would I do if I were forced to marry a man old enough to be my grandfather? This question burns in my mind when I think about Funmi’s choices and motivation in Adebayo Tijani and Jack’enneth Opukeme’s feature film Farmer’s Bride.

First, the title is a facade that may symbolize the nature of the story itself. Farmer’s Bride initially gives the viewer an impression of joy, love, and happiness. After all, a bride is imagined as a woman who must have found love and is going to live with the husband of her youth. When you think of a bride, you hardly imagine a young girl with a man close to the end of his life. That wasn’t the case with this bride.

Farmer’s Bride tells the story of Funmi (Gbugbemi Ejeye), who is married off to an old wealthy farmer, Odun (Femi Branch), without having any say in it. Odun, having lost his first wife, decides to find a young girl from his neighboring village as his new wife. His plan is to have a companion to spend his aging years with. However, his plans go awry as events unfold contrary to what he intended.

The story world is colorful: Funmi is dressed up and takes center stage as you would expect of a new bride, with her high-caste attire and flamboyant hairstyle. The society in which the story is set is agrarian, and Odun’s livelihood reflects that of a wealthy and successful farmer.

He is also a theatrical fellow, frequently hosting guests for random parties where he entertains them with singing, dancing, and drumming. Unfortunately, none of this affects Funmi, who continues to feel cheated, unlucky, resentful, and miserable.

I imagine I would feel the same if I were forced into a marriage without my consent. This arc resonated deeply when I realized that many women in the past were married off in this manner, and some still are. The “lucky” ones got wealthy and loving partners like Odun, who vehemently says, “God forbid,” when Funmi suggests she expects her husband to beat her if she disagrees with him.

Others were not as fortunate and became second or third wives or ended up with men who were financially incapable of supporting them, though that didn’t stop these men from acquiring more wives. A related thread in the theme of an older man seeking a younger woman to spice up his later years can be found in Wole Soyinka’s The Lion and the Jewel.

Baroka, the “lion,” is in his 60s but still chases after Sidi, the young “jewel” of Ilujinle. Here, however, the similarities end. While Odun has no children, Baroka has 63. Sidi had the chance to choose between two men and selected Baroka over Lakunle, the young modern teacher. Funmi, on the other hand, had no choice and didn’t want Odun.

Funmi is an interestingly contradictory character, with her outward appearance contrasting her inner state. Outwardly, she seems privileged as the wife of a rich, good man—a successful farmer in an agrarian society who commands employees and loves the arts.

However, this was not a privilege for Funmi; she desired a different kind of privilege. She wanted agency, the ability to choose, and that mattered more than anything. The story becomes more intriguing when she grabs at the first opportunity to make her own choice. When presented with the option of being with Femi, Odun’s nephew (Tobi Bakare), while still married to Odun, morality is not her concern. Her choice may initially appear harmless, pleasurable, and somewhat fair. Even when she does the unthinkable, it’s more about choosing than moral judgment.

Farmer’s Bride is philosophical and psychological on several fronts, exploring human nature but not from a moralistic viewpoint. Although aspects of Yoruba spirituality are also explored through Morenike (Mercy Aigbe), who serves as the village’s spiritual custodian, a recurring theme is the sequence of events that allude to reincarnation—a parallel of life, death, and birth.

Central to Yoruba cosmology is this attempt to understand consciousness and the realms of living, birth, and ancestry, which are viewed as transitions. This belief can be seen as a coping mechanism in dealing with loss and the pain of tragedy. This theme is skillfully portrayed through Morenike, who invokes Odun’s spirit, instructing him to avenge his death. We also see this mechanism in action when she attributes Odun’s identity to Funmi’s second pregnancy. It would have been fascinating to see Morenike face a dilemma after discovering the truth about Funmi’s first pregnancy. An inner conflict within her, as the spiritual custodian who enforces judgment on illegitimate children, would have been compelling, especially considering that this child is her own grandchild.

The ending, however, was unexpected. Farmer’s Bride is a romance, yet it is also a tragedy reminiscent of Romeo and Juliet. The viewer may initially see the story as a sweet romance with just the right amount of humor, particularly given the colorful depiction of the world and characters.

However, just when we’ve had enough sweetness, the main characters' world collapses. While Farmer’s Bride may be a romantic tragicomedy, Funmi and Femi are certainly no Romeo and Juliet.