When the award-winning Afrofusion artist Gaise Baba released No Turning Back, Nigerians went agog on social media debating what is permitted or worldly in the world of Christianity. Before him, several singers like Gil Joe had already experimented with blending Afrobeats and Christian music, making Gil Joe a pioneer of the AfroGospel movement. In Praise This, Sam (Chloe Bailey), does not originally set out to turn worldly songs into Christian songs. Hers is not a deliberate AfroGospel experiment but rather a reluctant journey into faith, belonging, and performance, wrapped in the glitter of a Netflix musical.
After her mother’s death and following a misdemeanour in L.A., Sam is taken away to Atlanta to live with her uncle Larry, (Kendrick Cross), and aunt Liz (Janora McDuffie). The move is her father’s attempt to protect her, though Sam reads it as punishment. She sulks, sneers at church invitations, and clings to her dream of singing pop music. It is Jess (Angelika Washington), her bubbly cousin, who finally drags her to Oil Factory, a scrappy church housed in what looks like an abandoned warehouse. When Sam insists that God has ignored her since her mother died, Jess answers sharply that God is not Santa Claus. It is a line that pierces Sam’s bitterness and quietly softens the audience toward her grief.
Oil Factory is nothing like the traditional church Sam resists. It has graffiti walls, mismatched chairs, and a raw energy that contrasts with the rival Champion Life megachurch, whose members arrive at competitions in silk purple robes and precision choreography. Champion Life is polished spectacle, but Oil Factory is messy, alive, and inclusive. At one early rehearsal, the Oil Factory Praise Team is stiff, uninspired, and heckled off the stage. Even Big Love (Druski), the church rapper, gets booed when his verse flops. The moment is both comic and telling. Sam sits quietly, her expression making clear that she sees their need for fresh direction. PG, the young pastor played by Tristan Mack Wilds, then steps in, reminding the group that the church does not live by polished rules. That encouragement, however brief, is enough to foreshadow the transformation to come.
The film’s most intriguing scenes are the ones that show faith appearing in unexpected places. At a bowling alley run by the pastor’s wife, Sam is dared to remix a secular song into a gospel version. She hesitates at first, her voice trembling with grief and reluctance, but soon she soars into a soulful reworking of lyrics about God’s presence in her life. The scene is striking because the First Lady does not preach to her afterward or quote scripture. She simply invites Sam to see faith differently. In that moment, Praise This finds its most subtle insight: that God often finds us in art, not just at the altar.
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There is also the encounter at Ty Way’s house, played by Quavo. Jess and Sam sneak into his party, full of flashing lights, pounding bass, and swagger. Sam takes the mic, singing a remixed version of his song that silences the room. The cops break in before the moment can settle, but it shows Sam’s two worlds colliding: the glitz of celebrity and the grounding pull of faith. Later, Ty initially dismisses her but then admits there is something different about her voice. They end up creating a track together that blends praise and hip hop. It is not framed as a conversion, but the suggestion is clear: grace can leak into even the most unexpected spaces.
One of the more poignant exchanges comes when Bishop Headley of Champion Church, played by Michael Anthony, judges PG for his tattoos and casual style. PG simply replies that God’s grace has covered some of his chapters. His wife Natalie, played by Crystal Hayslett, adds that mistakes are what groom people. It is a fleeting moment, but one of the most profound in the film. Oil Factory’s ethos is not in its sermons but in its inclusivity. The congregation is full of misfits: a teen mom, an ex-OnlyFans girl, a pyromaniac rapper. Their belonging is the message.
The emotional core of the story is not in the competitions but in Sam’s private reckoning. At the midpoint of the film, she and Jess fight, with Sam cruelly saying Jess is not her sister. She storms off, and in the quiet of the church lounge, she finally cracks. She admits her mistrust, her grief, and her fear of being a fraud singing about God. No sermon interrupts her tears, no crowd cheers her breakdown. It is the film’s most honest moment, one that lingers more than the larger performances.
Of course, the competition scenes dominate the film. Oil Factory struggles through regionals, and when Melissa (Birgundi Baker) abandons the group they are forced to improvise, with Jess on drums, dancers freestyling, and Sam reimagining gospel with ‘worldly’ flair; their raw performance lands in the judges’ top three. Later, their shot at nationals only comes when another choir, Kelly’s team – the all-women rivals sometimes described as the Promise Ringtones, is forced to withdraw after a scandal. Kelly herself is disallowed to lead the team by her church after a leaked sex tape, and her absence leaves a vacancy that pushes Oil Factory forward. At nationals, Sam does something unexpected, something both risky and redemptive. Instead of grabbing the spotlight for herself, she gives the disgraced rival leader Kelly a voice, inviting her and members from other teams up onstage, turning what should have been a showdown into a shared act of praise. Predictable in outline, maybe, but the sincerity of Sam’s growth makes the moment work, transforming competition into community.
At the center of all this is Chloe Bailey. Every time she sings, she elevates the material. Her voice is electric, her stage presence magnetic. She carries the film through its clichés, bringing enough charisma to make Sam’s transformation believable even when the script fails to. Angelika Washington’s Jess provides warmth and comic timing, while Wilds’ PG is quietly steady. Quavo’s presence is more ornamental than essential, but his scenes with Bailey add texture.
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The weaknesses of Praise This are familiar ones. The plot is predictable, borrowing heavily from Sister Act and Bring It On. The subplots are introduced but rarely explored, like the OnlyFans girl, the weed dealer, the pyromaniac rapper appear more as symbols of “the messy world” than as developed characters. Conflict is often softened too quickly. Sam’s reconciliation with her father, for instance, is handled in a few rushed exchanges that grant closure without the mess grief usually demands. The rivalry between Champion Life and Oil Factory is painted in simplistic colours, the former representing hollow polish and the latter authentic heart.
Even the cultural tension at the core of the story – the question of what makes music worldly or holy – is treated lightly. AfroGospel artists like Gaise Baba or Gil Joe confront this tension with deliberate intention, but in Praise This it is more accidental than interrogated. Sam’s remixes are presented as novel and inspiring, but the film does not linger on what that blending really means for faith communities.
Still, for all its flaws, there is something lively about Praise This. Oil Factory feels chaotic but welcoming. The karaoke challenge at the bowling alley, the laughter during rehearsals, and Jess’s persistent optimism give the film a communal warmth. The music is vibrant, even if the story behind it is shallow.
In the end, Praise This is a film that entertains but does not provoke. It gestures at the complexity of grief, ambition, and faith but pulls back before diving too deep. It gives Chloe Bailey a platform to shine and offers viewers a joyful soundtrack, but it leaves the tougher questions untouched. Like a sermon that begins with fire but ends with routine announcements, it starts with promise and closes in familiarity.
The film sparkles when Chloe sings, when Jess insists on belonging, and when PG reminds us that grace covers the chapters we would rather hide. But as a whole, it is more glitter than depth. Netflix sells it as a lighthearted musical, and in that it succeeds. But for those expecting a daring exploration of faith and culture, it leaves too much unsaid.
