No, it is the conduct of its protagonist.
But the point of this skilfully relayed, typically Boyega-ish story is not really its dramatic resolution. Of course, it did not come to a physical confrontation and two watery graves in the Atlantic (after 15 minutes or so of noisy back-and-forth, Boyega heard the approaching growl of a police boat, manned by AK-47-toting officers sent by the film’s production staff to look for him history sadly does not record just how quickly the boat’s would-be hostage taker soiled his pants). This content can also be viewed on the site it originates from. Here, miles away from a camera or craft services table, the actor found himself involved in the sort of damp-browed, character-defining standoff that is the hallmark of any great thriller.
So he laid it out simply: if Boyega wanted him to start the engine again, then he needed to hand over some more money. Whether it was something in Boyega’s demeanour or his Western dress, this enterprising captain, in a country where a degree of cheerful extortion is generally a daily fact of life, scented an opportunity to make some cash. But then, suddenly, out on the water, the boatman cut the engine and turned his attention to Boyega. It was only meant to be a 45-minute journey, scudding slowly out from the port city of Calabar to the production hub in a nearby riverside outpost called Creek Town. Coat by Coach x Jean Michel Basquiat, £1,700.
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