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This is why the Kannywood conversation is timely. With NITDA announcing a partnership with the Future Map Foundation to establish a world-class film studio in Kano to support the industry’s digital growth, the focus must go beyond infrastructure. Capacity-building programmes are equally essential to equip filmmakers, writers, editors, and creatives with the skills to navigate this new AI-driven storytelling era.
I’ve been hyper-fixated on something lately, and it has quietly taken over my attention.
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Just before the First Kannywood Roundtable on Reputation Management and Digital Advancement in Kano — hosted by Image Merchants Promotion Limited (IMPR), publishers of PRNigeria, in collaboration with the National Information Technology Development Agency (NITDA) — I found myself thinking about a critical step in bridging the gap between traditional storytelling and modern digital technology.
So I wasn’t surprised when key industry stakeholders — directors, producers, and writers — gathered to discuss digital transformation, technology integration, and the structural challenges within the Northern Nigerian film industry. Conversations around AI-driven translation, subtitling, and advanced post-production tools focused on making Kannywood globally competitive.
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But there’s another reality we must confront: it is now possible to produce a movie — more accurately, a story told through moving images — using artificial intelligence, right from the comfort of one’s bedroom.
That’s what has been holding my attention.
AI-generated films — stories stitched together by algorithms rather than actors on physical sets — have become the first thing I check when I pick up my phone. I refresh pages, scroll through short clips on Instagram, tell myself “just one more,” and somehow end up emotionally invested in characters that don’t exist, played by actors who were never human to begin with.
This fixation surprises me, mostly because I’ve never been a “movie person.”
I am unapologetically a book person. I can sit with a novel for days or weeks. Books let me move at my own pace. Movies, by contrast, have always required effort — the pacing, the commitment, the idea of sitting still for two uninterrupted hours rarely held my attention.
And yet, here I am — hooked.
These AI-generated stories do something different. They meet me exactly where my attention already lives: fragmented, scrolling, impatient. They don’t demand stillness. They slip into the in-between moments — while waiting, resting, or absent-mindedly scrolling.
Most of them come in short clips — two, three, five minutes at a time. They feel less like traditional films and more like episodes in an endless digital series. Just when the tension peaks, the clip ends. Because it’s short, I don’t leave. I wait. I want more.
That’s how they got me.
Once I realised I was hooked, I started thinking beyond my habits. For years, conversations about AI focused on jobs — who will be replaced, which industries are at risk. We debated automation in offices and factories. But few of us paused to consider how quickly storytelling itself — cinema, acting, performance — could shift.
I’m not saying AI will replace actors. Human presence, lived experience, and emotional nuance still matter deeply. There is something irreplaceable about watching a human being inhabit a role shaped by history, body, and vulnerability.
But AI-generated films introduce something we cannot ignore: speed.
Traditional filmmaking is slow by necessity — scripts, rehearsals, shoots, edits, budgets. It can take months or years for a story to reach audiences. AI stories don’t wait. They don’t need sets, schedules, or logistics. They don’t get tired. New episodes appear almost instantly.
In a digital culture that rewards immediacy, that matters.
These stories are built — intentionally or not — for modern attention spans. They are brief, dramatic, emotionally charged, and endlessly renewable. You don’t have to plan to watch them. You just have to scroll.
The storytelling isn’t always perfect. Sometimes the dialogue feels stiff. Sometimes visuals fall into that uncanny space — almost human, but not quite. And yet, the pull is undeniable. The format works. The accessibility works.
Which raises a difficult question:
If AI can already hold our attention this well — this early — what happens when it gets better?
Cinema has always evolved with technology. Silent films gave way to sound, black and white to colour, practical effects to CGI. Each shift brought fear and resistance before acceptance. AI feels like the next evolution — but different.
This isn’t just about better tools. It’s about production without pause.
Stories no longer wait for us. They update constantly, competing for attention. There is no distance between releases. No silence.
As someone who loves slow, intentional books, this doesn’t make me defensive. It makes me curious — and a little uneasy. If AI films can pull in people like me, something fundamental is shifting.
Not the death of art.
Not the erasure of human creativity.
But a reshaping of how stories reach us, how often they appear, and how tightly they hold our attention.
Maybe the real question isn’t whether AI will replace actors.
Maybe it’s whether our appetite for speed and constant updates will quietly change what we value in storytelling — patience, depth, imperfection, and pause.
Because once stories no longer ask us to wait, we may forget why waiting ever mattered.
This is why the Kannywood conversation is timely. With NITDA announcing a partnership with the Future Map Foundation to establish a world-class film studio in Kano to support the industry’s digital growth, the focus must go beyond infrastructure. Capacity-building programmes are equally essential to equip filmmakers, writers, editors, and creatives with the skills to navigate this new AI-driven storytelling era.
The future of film is not coming. It is already scrolling on our screens.
Fatimah Yusuf Usman is a tech journalist and writes from Abuja.
