Shout-Out to the Interwebs: Looking for Article by C.P. Orie (2008)




Shout-out to the Interwebs: I am very much looking for the following article:

C.P. Orie (2008): 'James Hadley Chase in the Nigerian Thriller Film: An Adaptation of Want to Stay Alive? Into Django.' In: Film Nigeria: An International Journal of Nigerian Film. Vol. 1. No. 1. Aba: Leadership and Literacy Achievers Series, Abia Polytechnic, Aba, 2008. 37-41.

Does anybody have a copy of the article that they could kindly share with me?

So, dear reader, I'd be very grateful if you shared that request with your friends and maybe eventually it will reach somebody who does have a copy of the article, a camera or scanner to digitise it and an email account to send it to my address (bajamushiya @ gmail [dot] com). You'd have my gratitude.

Why, am I looking for this article, you ask? Well. 

Yesterday, sat in the library over a draft, I found myself recalling Lancelot Oduwa Imaseun's two-parter Django (2005) [links to Part 1 on Youtube] and one of its theme songs kept running through my head.

Django is meaner than mean,
harder than hard.
(Choir) harder than hard,
I said meaner than mean,
harder than hard, 
(Choir) harder than hard.

My curiosity about the film had been initially raised by its (surprise, surprise, I know) title that seemed to promise a Nigerian take on cowboy films. Obviously, Imaseun's Django is nothing of that kind. Instead, it is based on James Hadley Chase's (1971) novel Want to Stay Alive?

Chase's books books appear to have been rather popular among certain Nigerian readers – Graham Furniss (1996: 54-55), for example, quoted them as an important influence on Hausa soyayya literature (alongside Mills and Boons). [1]

But, Chase wrote gangster than cowboy fiction and so I quickly lost interest again.

Now, however, one of the film's theme songs is back on my mind. It’s the song that is first played about 34 minutes into the film and then while the credits run. I think it goes something like this.*
Django is meaner than mean,
harder than hard.
(Choir) harder than hard,
I said meaner than mean,
harder than hard, 
(Choir) harder than hard.
Police are everywhere,
Looking for man they don't know,
Everybody lives in fear, 
And is afraid of Django,
He walks around with a gun,
The bullets on his chest,
He is a very dangerous killer, 
That the police cannot arrest.
Django is meaner than mean,
harder than hard.
(Choir) harder than hard,
I said meaner than mean,
harder than hard,
(Choir) harder than hard.
If you play games with,
You are living dangerously,
If you don't pay the money, 
He will kill you, you see [?],
If you look at his face, 
Don't look above his shirt [?],
If you play games with him, 
You make a dangerous mistake.
Django is meaner than mean,
harder than hard
(Choir) harder than hard,
I said meaner than mean,
harder than hard,
(Choir) harder than hard.

(*my transcript, question marks - obviously - indicate where I'm not quite sure I heard that right, corrections welcome) 

I cannot quite put my finger on the reason why the film and in particular the song have come to my mind yesterday. But, the more I think about it the more I wonder whether the film and the song are the logical conclusion of developments that displaced 'the cowboy' in the imagination of youth in Nigeria and elsewhere with 'the gangster.' Here, all that remains of 'the cowboy,' of the hero of Sergio Leone's eponymous Italo-Westerns (and numerous unlicensed sequels) is his name, Django. In fact, the film's (anti-) hero does not even introduce himself as Django but as Diggers (which is also the name under which the cast roll lists him) and is better known as The Executioner.

So, here I am interested again. And, it seems I am not alone in that. C.P. Orie (2008) seems to have written an article on the relationship between James Hadley Chase's novel and Lancelot Oduwa Imaseun's films. I am intrigued but I can't seem to find it. Therefore my shout-out to folks on the net hoping that they can help to get my hands on a copy of the article. 



Edit, 20 February 2017

(1) So, some German … well, what we call Denglish crept into my transcription of the lyrics above. Chor is German for choir. So, unthinkingly I put Chorus where is should have read choir. Sorry oh. Anyway, that's now corrected. 

(2) Inserted a footnote and a link to an article on reading (or rather not reading) James Hadley Chase in Nigeria by Okey Ndibe. I should possibly add that I don't quite share Ndibe's disdain for Chase and his novels. I think one can perfectly well read and enjoy (imported) pulp fiction AND Chinua Achebe's writing. That said, I do understand perfectly well that Ndibe writes with regard to a context in which Chase's novels came as part of a broader package of 'cultural imperialism,' to steal Edward Said's term. Still, im my reading his commentary also reflects a certain kind of cultural snobbery, what Saheed Aderinto has termed 'selective modernism,' the notion that colonial and post-colonial Nigerian elites should act as gate keepers deciding which aspects of colonial and later other foreign cultural imports were worth adapting and which should be rejected. But, that's by the by here, let it not distract us from the important  point (for my own context here) that he made about the popularity of Chase's fiction in Nigeria. Also, note there's a whole thread on Nairaland dedicated to Chase's novels.



[1] By the way (too lazy for another edit) regarding the influence of James Hadley Chase in Nigeria: There's an article on Sahara Reporters dating from 2014 on that. Its entitled ' How Achebe Saved Me FromJames Hadley Chase' by Okay Ndibe

'In my secondary school days, I told the audience, many of my schoolmates took to reading books by James Hadley Chase and Barbara Cartland. Chase’s books, I recall, carried such titillating titles as Do Me A Favor: Drop Dead and The Way The Cookie Crumbles. I remember a particular classmate, a fanatical aficionado, who had “consumed” more than 50 titles by Chase. One day, he asked me why I was content to read “bush” novels, a reference to the fact that some of the fiction I relished reading were set, in part at least, in Africa’s pre-colonial rural communities. He fancied himself a scion of Enlightenment, engaged not with machetes but guns, not with elders with their proverb-rich speech but with jacket wearing, gun-wielding mobsters dripping with “gonna” and “wanna”.

I never read even a single book by Chase. The reason: I was fortunate to read Achebe’s Things Fall Apart quite early. The book left me entranced, seduced me, filled me with an insatiable appetite for other writers who articulated the African experience. Once Achebe had set the hunger, I went searching for other African writers.'

(my emphasis)


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