Majiye Uchibeke: Art, Industry, and the Work of Becoming (Part One)

Part One in a Three Part Series

Every so often, an artist emerges who doesn’t just reflect the world but refracts it, reshaping the lens through which we view issues long normalized or ignored. Majiye Uchibeke is one of those artists. A filmmaker, strategist, and social entrepreneur, Uchibeke is a rare hybrid of creative and systems thinker, someone just as fluent in the language of cinematic poetry as he is in the architecture of streaming algorithms and global fashion supply chains. In this three-part conversation, we explore the many currents running through his work: activism, adaptability, character, commerce, and what it means to tell the truth when the truth is uncomfortable.

In this first installment, we meet Uchibeke at the source of his creative drive. He doesn’t traffic in abstraction. When he says a film starts with anger or frustration, he means it quite literally: a question that won’t let him sleep, an injustice that demands a response. His recent documentary I Am More Dangerous Dead, which confronts Shell’s devastating legacy in the Niger Delta, was born not of intellectual curiosity but of rage. Rage turned into form. “How can I use film to expose this history?” he asks. And yet, even in confronting grief or corporate violence, there is always a search for human scale, a desire to connect viewers not just to facts but to people.

Uchibeke’s clarity about storytelling, as something that must live at the intersection of intuition and industry, is perhaps what allows him to move seamlessly between platforms like Netflix, Pluto TV, and grassroots campaigns. It’s a delicate dance: commercial visibility without compromising moral or creative intent. When pushed, he says he will always side with the intuitive. “That’s where the soul of the work lives.” But he also acknowledges that platforms are evolving, hungrier than ever for something that feels real.

The conversation also touches on proximity, both literal and emotional, as a cornerstone of documentary filmmaking. When you’re filming a shepherd in Ethiopia or a displaced activist in Nigeria, it matters whether you're there. And if you can’t be there, how do you ethically simulate presence, without losing authenticity? His answers reflect a deep reckoning with craft and conscience.

Equally compelling is how Uchibeke connects disparate genres, from the stylized empathy of The Dog Makeover Show to the haunting realism of Shepherd’s Calling. Across these formats, character is his compass. Whether it’s a rescued dog or a displaced child, it’s the emotional truth of that character that carries the story forward. It’s also what allows his films to feel deeply rooted and, paradoxically, borderless.

This first part of our conversation ends with a reflection on growth. Where once spectacle drove him; camera cranes, high-stakes aesthetics, he now searches for something quieter and more enduring: meaning. “What stays with people isn’t just what they see, but what they feel,” he says. That feels like a mantra, not just for his films, but for the life he’s building across mediums.

In Part Two, we go deeper into his hybrid career, how founding a fashion-tech startup felt as urgent as directing a film, and why creative risk, even when questioned, is often the surest path to change.

LIAM:

Your films often traverse continents, cultures, and causes. What’s usually the first spark—an image, a question, a memory—that sets a project in motion for you?

MAJIYE:

For me, art isn’t just about entertainment. It’s about using the tools I have to say something, to create awareness, and to make tangible difference, even if it’s one viewer, one action, one shift in perspective at a time.

Lately, the spark for my work has come from a place of urgency, asking myself how I can use film and art to speak out against something I believe is wrong in society, or to push for something I believe should change. It often starts with a question rooted in anger or frustration, usually about injustice, questions that keep me up at night. That’s when I know I need to turn that feeling into something creative, something that can move others too.

With The Dog Makeover Show, for example, the question was simple but heavy: Why are some dogs so lucky, living their best lives with families, while others are homeless, locked in shelters, or never get a second chance? I asked myself how I could use film to tell their stories in a way that brings joy, compassion, and ultimately, action that improves their chances of being adopted.

With I Am More Dangerous Dead, the spark came from rage and disbelief. Shell, a multinational corporation, devastated the Niger Delta, polluting water, air, and destroying entire ecosystems in pursuit of oil, and was complicit in the murder of nine activists, including Ken Saro-Wiwa. And yet today, they’re still one of the world’s most recognizable and profitable brands. That injustice haunted me. I asked myself, How can I use film to expose this history, to make people remember, and maybe even take action?

LIAM:

How do you navigate the tension between intuitive storytelling and the strategic demands of commercial platforms like Netflix or Pluto TV?

MAJIYE:

It’s definitely a tough balance to strike. Commercial platforms come with real demands, analytics, audience targets, content trends, and as a creator, you have to be aware of that landscape. But at the same time, I believe deeply in intuitive storytelling. The stories that come from your gut, from a place of truth, urgency, and lived experience, those are the ones that resonate the most, even across cultures and markets.

My goal is always to find that sweet spot: stories that are emotionally intuitive and commercially viable. I believe those stories exist, and when you hit that intersection, the impact can be massive. But if I ever have to choose between the two, I’ll always choose the intuitive path. Because at the end of the day, that’s where the soul of the work lives. That’s what lasts. I’ve found that even platforms like Netflix and Pluto TV are hungry for stories that feel authentic and fresh, because audiences are too. So the key is staying true to your voice while also understanding how to shape the delivery for broader platforms without compromising your vision.

LIAM:

In making documentaries like I Am More Dangerous Dead and Shepherd’s Calling, how did proximity to the real stories alter your original vision?

MAJIYE:

Proximity, both physical and emotional, has a huge impact on how a story is told and received. Being close to a story, especially as someone who is part of or deeply connected to the community being portrayed, allows you to approach it with greater empathy, nuance, and responsibility. It helps you ask better questions, build trust, and capture the layers that someone outside that world might miss. For me, that proximity isn’t just a creative advantage, it’s an ethical responsibility.

Whenever possible, I believe it’s best to be physically present in the location where the story takes place. That’s what we were able to do for both I Am More Dangerous Dead and Shepherd’s Calling. Being there on the ground allowed us to see things differently, feel the environment, and respond to what was unfolding in real time. That kind of immersion can’t be fully replicated from a distance.

That said, with the rise of virtual production tools, we’ve also learned how to bridge that gap when needed. For I Am More Dangerous Dead, we conducted some of our interviews remotely with a second crew on the ground, using the same camera and sound specs to ensure visual and tonal consistency. It allowed us to stay connected to the location, even when we couldn’t be there physically because of budget restriction. Ultimately, proximity shapes your vision by making it more honest and grounds the story in lived experience instead of assumptions, whether we’re there in person or connecting virtually.

LIAM:

You blend genres and formats—from narrative cinema to lifestyle TV. What throughline connects it all creatively for you?

MAJIYE:

The throughline is always character-centric storytelling. No matter the genre or format, whether it’s a narrative film, a documentary, or even a lifestyle series like The Dog Makeover Show, what engages me, and what I believe engages the audience, is the character at the center of it all. Who they are, what they want, the choices they make, and how they respond to the world around them, that's what gives a story its emotional weight and momentum, especially when we weigh the character’s decision against ours and it is relatable.

Even when the subject isn’t human, character still leads. In The Dog Makeover Show, for example, each dog has a distinct personality. Some are anxious, some are playful, some are shy or dramatic. Their reactions to grooming, to being cared for, to being seen, all of that reveals their character. And it’s those small, real moments that make viewers connect, laugh, or even tear up. The more honestly we lean into character, the more universal the story becomes.

Character is the heartbeat of every project I work on. It’s what allows me to move fluidly across genres and formats while still telling stories that feel grounded and true. Whether it’s a global issue or a quiet personal journey, I’m always looking for the emotional core, and that almost always lives in the people (or animals) at the center of the frame.

LIAM:

What’s something that deeply inspired your early work—but no longer fuels you in the same way?

MAJIYE:

When I first started out, I was drawn to the spectacle, the big visuals, the high stakes, the cinematic grandeur. I wanted to make those kinds of movies that dazzled on screen, but over time, that motivation shifted. Now, I’m far more interested in the meaning behind the work. I’ve realized that what stays with people isn’t just what they see, but what they feel. I’ve become more focused on stories with emotional depth and purpose, projects that ask hard questions, explore real lives and create space for reflection and empathy. I still love strong visuals and cinematic craft, but they have to serve something deeper and more meaningful. A film like Life of Pi captures that balance beautifully. It’s visually stunning, filled with surreal, almost painterly imagery that captures the vastness and unpredictability of nature. But those visuals aren’t just there for spectacle. They’re in service of a deeper meditation on faith, survival, truth, and the power of storytelling itself. Every frame is rich with symbolism. The ocean isn’t just water, it’s mystery, danger, transformation. The tiger isn’t just an animal, it’s fear, willpower, and the duality within us. That kind of visual storytelling stays with you long after the credits roll and that’s the kind of work I strive to make now, where form and substance aren’t in conflict but in harmony. Where the beauty of the image holds emotional weight, and where style never outshines the soul of the story.

LIAM:

What’s the boldest creative decision you’ve made—something others might have questioned but you knew you had to pursue?

MAJIYE:

The boldest creative decision I’ve made was starting TAILORED (TLRD - www.tlrdofficial.com), a custom fashion brand that connects people to tailors and designers. It was a huge leap because it’s completely different from my background in film. I’ve spent years building a reputation as a filmmaker, and suddenly I was stepping into the fashion and tech world, where I had no formal training or network. A lot of people around me questioned it: Why pivot? Why now? Why not just focus on what’s already working? Someone I really respect, said “Greatness cannot be achieved with divided attention” but I knew I had to pursue it. TAILORED was born out of a deep personal connection, my mother was a tailor, and I saw a gap in the market that I couldn’t ignore. I believed that fashion, like film, is a form of storytelling and identity. And I wanted to build a platform that gave more people access to that, especially people like me who grew up in communities where custom fashion was the norm, not the luxury.

It was scary to build something outside of the industry I knew, but I trust the vision. I knew that just because something is unconventional doesn’t mean it’s wrong. In fact, that’s often where the most transformative ideas begin.

LIAM:

You’ve worked across countries and platforms—what’s a moment where something didn’t go as planned, and how did that change your approach?

MAJIYE:

During the shoot of Shepherd’s Calling, a documentary that explores the lives, traditions, and challenges of shepherd communities living in the remote Simien Mountains of northern Ethiopia and how a shepherd boy found his way to hollywood, we encountered an unexpected and serious challenge. A civil unrest broke out in the region, making it impossible for us to access the mountains and film with some of the key subjects we had planned to follow.

This disruption forced us to quickly reassess our approach. We had to decide whether to include the conflict in the film or stay true to our original narrative, which focuses on the resilience, culture, and everyday lives of the shepherds. After careful consideration, we chose not to incorporate the unrest. Including it would have dramatically shifted the film’s direction and tone, potentially overshadowing the personal stories and deeper themes we wanted to highlight.

This experience profoundly changed my approach to filmmaking. It taught me the importance of adaptability, not just in logistics but in storytelling. Real-world events can force you to reshape your narrative, and you must be willing to make difficult decisions about what best serves the story. Since then, I’ve emphasized contingency planning and staying flexible while keeping the core message clear.

Shepherd’s Calling reinforced for me that filmmaking is as much about navigating unpredictability as it is about capturing planned moments, and that sometimes, resilience behind the camera is just as important as the resilience in front of it.

LIAM:

You’ve won major awards early in your career. Has that changed how you define success—or what you chase now?

MAJIYE:

Winning major awards early in my career was validating, but it didn’t change my definition of success, it sharpened it. I used to think success was just getting your work seen or recognized. Now I understand it’s about longevity, impact, and building something bigger than yourself. The awards are milestones, not endpoints. What I chase now is creating work that holds up over time, films, platforms, and systems that empower others and move culture forward. I want to tell stories that not only resonate in the moment but that someone ten to fifty years from now can watch and still feel seen, challenged, or inspired. Success, to me, is also about access, creating opportunities for others like me to thrive. The real win is when my success opens the door for someone else’s.

Part Two coming soon…