By Abdulaziz Ismail
By the time I finished watching HAULA, I understood why so many people had asked me to review it.
It wasn’t just another Kannywood romance. It was one of those films that leaves you thinking—not only about the characters but also about the choices they made and the questions the story deliberately, or perhaps unintentionally, left unanswered.
The first thing that stood out was the production quality. The filmmakers successfully created the luxurious world they wanted the audience to experience.
From the elegant homes and expensive cars to the fashion and lifestyle, HAULA delivered an atmosphere of wealth and sophistication.
For viewers who enjoy films with a soft-life aesthetic, the movie certainly did not disappoint.
One actress, however, surprised me the most. I noticed some people criticizing the actress who played Manisha (or Banisha—I honestly don’t know which is correct, so feel free to correct me).
Ironically, she became one of the main reasons I remained glued to the screen from beginning to end.
For someone relatively new, she understood the assignment. Manisha was introduced as a young woman from a wealthy family—soft-spoken, graceful, confident, and well brought up.
The actress reflected those qualities naturally. Her appearance, fashion, facial expressions, and body language all blended perfectly with the character.
She didn’t just act the role; she looked like someone who genuinely belonged in that world.
That reminded me of one of the most important aspects of acting: the connection between an actor and the character.
Sometimes films tell us someone studied abroad or comes from an elite background, yet the performance never convinces us.
We can clearly see the gap between the actor and the role. With Manisha, I hardly felt that gap. The character felt believable.
Shatu Kwankwaso also delivered a commendable performance. She portrayed her role convincingly, although I found myself wishing for a stronger emotional connection between her character and her mother.
Their scenes worked from an acting perspective, but emotionally, the mother-and-daughter relationship didn’t resonate as deeply as it could have.
Beyond the performances, HAULA quietly teaches valuable lessons about relationships.
It reminds us that attitudes can slowly destroy something precious, that love cannot be forced, and that rejection is not a measure of a person’s worth.
Sometimes two people simply are not meant for each other, and accepting that truth is healthier than forcing what was never destined to be.
Shatu’s character illustrated another interesting reality. She behaved as though Khalifa meant very little to her, but once the possibility of losing him became real, her emotions changed. It reflects a common human tendency—we often fail to appreciate what we have until we begin to lose it.
Still, the film left me with several unanswered questions.
What really happened to Manisha’s mother? She appeared briefly before disappearing from the story entirely.
What became of her marriage? What happened between her and Manisha’s father?
Those questions deserved answers.
Ammar’s storyline also felt unfinished. A character so determined to force himself into someone’s life shouldn’t simply vanish without closure.
Has he truly moved on, or is his story still waiting to continue? Moments like these make me wonder whether the filmmakers intentionally left room for a third installment.
Then came the ending—the part that left me with the most mixed emotions.
Khalifa clearly had genuine feelings for both women. Watching Manisha completely sacrifice her relationship made me question whether there could have been another path.
If everyone involved genuinely accepted the idea of sharing a husband, perhaps the story could have explored that possibility instead of leaving one person with nothing.
What made that decision even more difficult to accept was the fact that Khalifa and Shatu’s relationship already appeared fragile.
They seemed less like two people growing together and more like two people struggling to preserve something that was gradually falling apart.
Perhaps the filmmakers wanted to communicate that true love sometimes requires sacrifice. Perhaps they wanted to show that not every love story ends the way we hope.
Either way, the ending invites different interpretations, and that, in itself, is one of the film’s strengths.
If I had one technical criticism, it would be the sound design. There were scenes where conversations appeared important, yet portions of the dialogue were difficult to hear or completely missing.
For a film that relies heavily on emotional conversations, clearer audio would have made the experience even better.
Overall, HAULA is an enjoyable film. It combines beautiful visuals with solid performances and offers meaningful reflections on love, rejection, sacrifice, and the consequences of our choices.
Like every good story, it doesn’t answer every question. Instead, it leaves viewers debating what happened—and what perhaps should have happened.
And before I end, I still have one question.
Does anyone actually know the meaning of the title HAULA? I’m genuinely curious.
Abdulaziz Ismail writes from Kano