SummaryOn an empty road in the middle of the night, Shula stumbles across the body of her uncle. As funeral proceedings begin around them, she and her cousins bring to light the buried secrets of their middle-class Zambian family.
SummaryOn an empty road in the middle of the night, Shula stumbles across the body of her uncle. As funeral proceedings begin around them, she and her cousins bring to light the buried secrets of their middle-class Zambian family.
The writer-director never rushes this story, but still wastes no time in the film––each scene contains weight and value. Each moment builds on the memories of Shula and of the women in this family, fractured together, constantly reminded of monstrosities, somehow still taking steps forward.
Watching On Becoming a Guinea Fowl was like being invited into a crescendoing howl—a piercing yet exquisite cry against silence. This African masterpiece isn't just cinema; it's visceral poetry, a simple yet devastating revelation of cultural truth woven masterfully through layers of absurdity, humor, and raw vulnerability. What makes this film an astonishing experience isn't merely its narrative prowess, but its masterful handling of perspective. Through multiple viewpoints, the movie gradually funnels you toward a singular, unavoidable truth—one that resonates with startling logic and profound empathy. Each frame pulses with authenticity, pulling us into a world where women grapple against the suffocating grip of a male-dominated society. The brilliance lies in its restraint: every moment you anticipate relief or resolution, the film gently yet ruthlessly reminds you of the relentless logic imposed by tradition, one that's skewed, oppressive, and heartbreakingly entrenched. It underscores the tragedy of generational silence, where women's voices are systematically muted by the old guard's relentless grip on power. Yet, amid its profound critique, the film manages to dance gracefully between laughter, reflection, and tears—achieving that rare trifecta that elevates storytelling to something transcendent. The humor isn't trivial but essential, illuminating absurdities that sharpen the film’s incisive social commentary. Ultimately, On Becoming a Guinea Fowl is more than a film; it is a scream—loud, unapologetic, necessary. It captures the raw, primal feeling of powerlessness transformed into a battle cry, a declaration that sometimes, shouting into the void is the sharpest blade one possesses. A stunning, emotional journey that's as enlightening as it is entertaining, this film is nothing short of a revelation.
Ingenious cinematography and an intriguingly ambiguous flow of time work make this dark venture back to the village so much more than simple indictment of tribal coercion.
It's anchored by a wonderful central performance from Susan Chardy, who finds layers of nuance in Shula as her anger over the situation bubbles to the surface. It's an excellent film, and a strong display of talent across the board.
From the moment Shula first appears in On Becoming a Guinea Fowl, director Rungano Nyoni lets the quiet charisma of actress Susan Chardy subtly dominate the screen.
While it’s such an intriguing idea, an almost absurdist scrutiny of what avoidance looks like and how families choreograph their collective denial, there is something a little bit contrived in it and, though always engaged, I found myself longing for some outright passion or rage or confrontation.
"On Becoming a Guinea Fowl" is a gripping surrealist drama about the secrets families keep. Here lies Shula’s uncle Fred — dead in the middle of an empty road. It’s late, but Shula knows her family will expect her to wait with his body, no matter how much she might resent it. Bemba funerals are for the living, and the family will have questions. With the days-long ceremony beginning immediately, the blithe and unperturbed Shula — played by Susan Chardy in her debut film role — attempts to opt out of the haunted proceedings. But in this household, mourning is not optional. Tradition dictates that visitors will soon gather while relatives fill the family home with wails of grief. And what will they say about the dry-eyed and resolutely emotionless Shula? Surely the dead can’t take all their secrets to the grave, and Fred, in particular, had many. Attempting to escape the inquisition of her heartbroken aunts, Shula is drawn to her cousins. Layered somewhere within the flurry of caring for each other, the whispered memories of this middle-class Zambian family will find a new frequency. In misery’s company, Shula will find a new voice. Visionary director Zambian Welsh auteur Rungano Nyoni returns to the Festival with a fearless parable about the toll family secrets take on their keepers and the complicated costs of speaking up. Moulding her darkly comedic surrealist signature through the reverent cinematography of David Gallego (Embrace of the Serpent, I Am Not a Witch), Nyoni’s hypnotically fresh perspective will leave audiences unsure whether to laugh, shout, or cry.
A pertinent fact about the little-known African bird known as the guinea fowl is that they have a unique, loud call that can be heard at quite a range, not only amongst their own kind, but also among all of the other animals within earshot. That can prove quite valuable both for the members of their own flock and for all other nearby vulnerable creatures when predators approach. While that may sound like useless trivia to some, it’s a highly relevant metaphorical observation about the underlying narrative in this third feature effort from Zambian writer-director Rungano Nyoni. While driving home from a dinner party late at night on a remote rural highway, Shula (Susan Chardy) comes upon the dead body of her Uncle Fred (Roy Chisha) splayed out on the road. Somewhat surprisingly, she seems largely unaffected by what most would see as a shocking discovery. She calmly reports the incident to authorities and returns home, where she finds her relatives have begun preparing the residence for a traditional funeral gathering. Shula remains remarkably composed through all this, too, despite the many disruptions going on around her, especially incessant overblown outpourings of grief. Her relatives are somewhat offended by Shula’s nonchalant behavior, upset that she doesn’t show more remorse about her uncle’s demise and isn’t particularly respectful of their arguably overwrought mourning rituals. But, as a modern professional woman, Shula is not one to readily give in to these outdated conventions and exaggerated displays of hysteria, regardless of how time-honored and widely accepted they might be. What’s more, as the story plays out, the reasoning behind Shula’s cool demeanor becomes even more apparent: She hadn’t spoken to Fred in years and wasn’t on good terms with him – and for good reason. And, as she soon comes to discover through revealing conversations with relatives like her cousins Nsansa (Elizabeth Chisela) and Bupe (Esther Singini), those reasons become even clearer, making it apparent that Fred was arguably someone unworthy of the outpouring of angst directed his way. To make matters worse, Shula also sees that her family is just as culpable for the shamefulness behind the concealment of the many dirty little (and not so little) secrets that surface, terrible truths that have been long buried under successive layers of denial and shifted blame. Indeed, if family is supposedly everything, these are relatives with whom I’d rather have no contact. As a consequence, this is the kind of film that could easily prompt viewers to become justifiably outraged while watching it, both for the damning revelations that emerge, as well as its disturbingly frank portrayal of the deplorable treatment women are sadly accorded in this culture. Interestingly enough, however, the film manages to present this unsettling story with a deft fusion of drama and dark comedy (which may not seem quite so funny when all is said and done), coupled with tinges of surrealism (some of which work, some of which don’t). Its greatest strength, though, lies in its message about the need for more of us to behave like the guinea fowl when circumstances warrant. To be sure, predators come in all forms, some of whom walk on four legs and others of whom only need two.