Photo of Lanre’ Obisesan. Photo by Lanre’ Obisesan. Used with permission.
From dispensing medicine to crafting compelling stories on screen, Lanre’ Obisesan's journey from pharmacist to filmmaker is as powerful as the stories he now tells as a Nigerian-American writer, producer, and filmmaker. Lanre’ uses cinema as a tool not just for entertainment, but for deeper reflection, emotional healing, and affirming shared humanity.
In this interview with Global Voices, Lanre’ shares insights into his creative process, the themes that inspire him, and how his dual cultural identity shapes his storytelling. He sheds light on the transformative power of film to open dialogue, challenge narratives, connect people across borders, and offer audiences a mirror that helps them see themselves and others more clearly.
Zita Zage (ZZ): Can you tell us about yourself?
Lanre’ Obisesan (LO): I am a Nigerian-American filmmaker, writer, and producer whose work explores identity, resilience, and the emotional intersections between cultures. I originally trained and worked in healthcare, earning a doctorate in pharmacy, but over time, I felt an unshakable pull toward storytelling. My filmmaking is rooted in a belief that cinema can reflect, heal, and humanize. I create quiet but emotionally potent films that spotlight individuals navigating social and psychological complexity. “Dokita Musa” is my debut feature, and it represents a turning point in my creative life. An intimate portrait of home, longing, and survival.
ZZ: How did you learn to tell stories? Where does your skill come from? Where did you learn from?
LO: Storytelling came to me long before pharmacy ever did. I grew up surrounded by griots, my uncles, neighbors — people who knew how to turn life into rhythm and memory. I think it also comes from my natural curiosity and my father, who, even though he never pursued storytelling himself, carried that instinct within him. I grew up around a Super 8mm projector, watching Alfred Hitchcock’s “Psycho,” “Abbott and Costello,” and “Jesus Christ Superstar.”
Even as a child, I was writing nursery rhymes and performing songs. I eventually became a musician in Nigeria and mentored some of the country’s biggest musical talents before deciding not to fully pursue that path. But the storytelling instinct never left.
Even during my years as a healthcare professional, I found myself listening deeply to patients, watching body language, and interpreting silence. Those were stories, too. Eventually, I realized I had my own narratives I needed to tell — visually, emotionally, cinematically.
I taught myself the fundamentals by watching cinema obsessively, films by Djibril Diop Mambety, Tunde Kelani, Ousmane Sembène, Andrea Arnold, Ryan Coogler, and Abbas Kiarostami shaped me. Later, I pursued formal training to refine my craft. But at its core, my storytelling comes from observation, memory, music, and a lifelong hunger to connect the invisible threads between people and places.
ZZ: Why did you move from healthcare into producing movies?
LO: Because healing comes in many forms. For years, I helped people physically as a pharmacist. But what truly ails us, especially in underserved communities, isn’t just medical. It’s emotional, psychological, and spiritual. I saw so much unspoken pain in the lives around me — in both Nigeria and the United States — and I needed a way to process it.
Film became that way. Producing came naturally because I’ve always been an organizer and a builder, someone who sees potential and helps bring it into the world. Transitioning to film wasn’t easy. It was scary. But I was dying inside, trying to fit into a life that didn’t align with my spirit. I had to pivot toward storytelling, not just to express myself, but to live truthfully and offer something back to the world.
ZZ: Can you tell us more about your debut feature film, “Dokita Musa”? Why did you need to tell this story?
LO: “Dokita Musa” is a coming-of-age drama centered on an 11-year-old boy in a rural Yoruba village who stammers but dreams of becoming a cardiologist. On the surface, it’s his story, but it’s also about the people around him: a struggling father, a grieving mother, a disillusioned professor, and a farming family weighed down by economic hardship. These are the layered lives that form the soul of the film. More than anything, “Dokita Musa” is my love letter to Nigeria; an honest one. It doesn’t shy away from pain or poverty, but it holds space for beauty, humanity, and the quiet power of dreaming. I wanted to tell a story about resilience in the face of quiet hopelessness — not through news headlines or oversimplified narratives, but through the textures of everyday life. Inspired by my own experiences growing up, the film explores the silences between people, the rhythms of ordinary moments, and the fragile hope that still manages to exist in difficult places. It’s not a critique, but an honest reflection, one that seeks to illuminate, not condemn.
ZZ: Why did you choose to center your story around a boy with a speech disorder?
LO: I’ve always been drawn to the quiet brilliance of children who are often overlooked; those whose talents and intelligence aren’t immediately visible because of circumstance, poverty, or something as simple as how they communicate. In constructing this story, I found myself thinking about the children I’ve known; some with remarkable gifts, but no resources or support to nurture them. They weren’t lacking potential; they were simply born in the wrong place at the wrong time.
I also know a parent of a child with palilalia and mild autism, and I’ve witnessed firsthand the challenges, frustrations, and extraordinary resilience that come with that experience. That deeply informed the emotional foundation of this character, even if it wasn’t something I consciously set out to write at first.
Centering a child with a speech disorder wasn’t just about representation; it was about honoring a kind of quiet strength and pushing past the surface to show what it means to be brilliant but unheard. His voice may echo or repeat, but what he’s trying to say is no less urgent. In a broader sense, it reflects the experience of many communities: full of life and promise, yet often spoken over or misunderstood.
ZZ: What were some of the challenges you faced in producing this film?
LO: “Dokita Musa” was made with deep love but very limited resources. One of the biggest challenges was raising funds and pulling together a crew in a remote Nigerian village with no major infrastructure. Earning trust from the local community was critical. It wasn’t a big-budget production, but I was telling their story. So I spent time building relationships; listening more than I spoke, showing respect, and being fully present.
Another challenge was the emotional weight of the film. I was dealing with grief, poverty, and crushed dreams, realities that many have lived. Directing non-actors, many of whom were sharing emotional truths they deeply understood, required care and sensitivity.
Post-production and festival submissions were also uphill battles. I didn’t have institutional support or big-name backing. But I had conviction. I had a community. And I had the truth. That’s what carried the film across the finish line.
ZZ: What is the impact you seek to create with this film?
LO: I hope “Dokita Musa” invites audiences into a world that feels unfamiliar but deeply human. For international viewers, I want it to challenge assumptions about African life and expand emotional understanding. For Nigerian and African audiences, I hope it feels like recognition — a mirror held with care and clarity. The film doesn’t offer easy resolutions, but it affirms the dignity of its characters and the significance of their struggles. It recently had its world premiere at Dances With Films in Hollywood, and I was struck by how audiences connected with its stillness and emotional honesty. That’s what I aim for: stories that don’t just entertain, but leave something behind. Questions, empathy, and a conversation worth continuing.
