Modern relationships often present a distorted and emotionally volatile landscape. What passes for connection is frequently marked by toxicity, manipulation, and gaslighting, invariably leading to the emotional dismantling of the less guarded partner. The contemporary reluctance towards genuine commitment means many people would rather navigate the complexities of a fleeting entanglement than establish a stable, long-term partnership.
It is precisely this pervasive atmosphere that makes Susan Pwajok’s recently released short film, ‘Laraba and Balarabe,’ such an immediate and potent emotional trigger. The film is a chillingly accurate reflection of the current reality within the modern dating sphere. Written by Fatima Binta Gimsay, the production, barely forty minutes in length, masterfully and succinctly depicts the insidious nature of gaslighting and emotional manipulation.
Laraba, played compellingly by Susan Pwajok, and Balarabe, portrayed by Mallum Arik, are the central figures. Balarabe is established as the emotional manipulator who brazenly waltzes back into Laraba’s life, despite being the one who initiated their breakup. His stated reason for ending the relationship was claiming to be ‘unhappy’—a fragile, yet frequently weaponized, term that manipulators often employ to sidestep accountability. While genuine individuals certainly experience unhappiness, this specific phrase has been co-opted by those seeking to avoid the demands of a serious relationship, throwing it out as a self-serving act of ‘self-care’ packaged as a decisive breakup.
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‘Laraba and Balarabe’ swiftly peels back the layers of emotional dysfunction in these modern relationships. It powerfully validates the instinctive doubts felt by the more invested person and demonstrates the profound, devastating consequences of becoming entangled with a narcissist.
The narrative revolves around Laraba’s desperate need for truth. Did Balarabe truly leave because he was genuinely unhappy, or was another woman already in the picture? A series of flashbacks illustrates their past, depicting Balarabe as an utter emotional aggressor who intentionally generates anxiety and distress in Laraba—a pattern she pointedly recognizes as his habit. When she confronts him with tangible evidence of his deceit, he blankly refutes it, ultimately terminating the relationship under the pretense of his emotional dissatisfaction.
Given his unannounced reappearance in the present, a calculated maneuver where he claims to be stranded and coincidentally finds himself at his ex-partner’s home, one would expect Balarabe to offer some semblance of honesty or closure regarding the relationship’s demise.
The pivotal scene where Laraba presses him for the truth about a potential third party perfectly captures the devastating reality of emotionally compromised relationships. Narcissists, like Balarabe, are quick to exploit the emotional vulnerability of those who genuinely love them. He returns to Laraba not out of friendship or remorse, but because he correctly presumes her enduring emotional fragility will guarantee him a welcome. Indeed, she accommodates him, even preparing his requested ‘spicy noodles.’ Laraba’s action, though rooted in her own vulnerability, also positions her as a representative of those who love deeply and are quick to forgive—precisely the emotional terrain upon which narcissists thrive.
Despite enjoying her hospitality, Balarabe stubbornly refuses to articulate the genuine reasons for the breakdown of their relationship. He flares up, vehemently denying the existence of another woman, choosing instead to gaslight the confrontation as an “unfair question.”
The fundamental tactic of the narcissist is to make you relentlessly second-guess your own instincts and doubts. They would rather manipulate you into believing you are overly demanding or ‘pressuring’ them than accept responsibility for their actions. To be in a relationship with such an individual is, as the short film demonstrates, to be shattered into a thousand emotional pieces.
Following several intense confrontations and Balarabe’s masterful evasions, Laraba inevitably lowers her emotional guard, caving into his presence. It becomes clear, and the film expertly conveys, that Balarabe exploits this opening only because of a temporary spat with his new partner. As soon as his immediate needs are met and his primary relationship is presumably stabilized, he departs from Laraba, duplicating his initial, cold-hearted abandonment.
This film will resonate deeply, triggering the most intense emotions in those who have stood in Laraba’s shoes. The anguish stems from the realization that an ex’s return is not a sign of them recognizing their folly, but rather an affirmation of your emotional accessibility. They come back because they know, with absolute certainty, that with you, there will always be a space reserved for their convenience.
Although a concise short film, the writer effectively captures the searing feeling of emotional manipulation from Laraba’s vantage point. It skillfully uncovers the raw, natural human response to an abruptly terminated relationship: the consuming need to seek answers that retrospectively validate the doubts that were instinctively felt all along.
‘Laraba and Balarabe’ is a remarkable and timely cinematic piece that focuses a sharp lens on the emotional turbulence endemic to modern relationships: the perpetual conflict between narcissists and their victims, and the painful cycle of arrested healing that resets to stage one every time the perpetrator walks back through the door.
Rating: 7.5/10.
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