A guinea fowl’s cry serves as nature’s warning of an imminent predatory threat — but what happens when that blaring alarm is ignored? What if it is ignored for the sake of the very tradition that enables this predation?
Rungano Nyoni’s Bemba-language “On Becoming a Guinea Fowl” is a moving and heartbreaking tapestry of the complexities of the female experience in a family poisoned by strict patriarchal values. The film examines the suffocating weight of traditional gender roles as Shula (Susan Chardy) and her female relatives bear the brunt of her uncle’s funeral responsibilities. As Uncle Fred’s (Roy Chisha) sins come to light, Shula must grapple with the familial duties expected of her by the societal structure that enabled his cycle of abuse and the perpetual silencing of his victims.
The film excels in its multifaceted representation of Zambian Bemba customs. On one hand, it shows a family’s commitment to maintaining community through tradition in a way that does not overexplain or staunchly criticize their beliefs. Rather, it lays out the culture’s numerous funeral rites factually. It is only through Shula’s complex emotional reactions that the film examines the customs’ deeply-woven misogyny, which ultimately fractures the family.
As the interspersed flashbacks and television program montages develop the titular metaphor, “On Becoming a Guinea Fowl” establishes its bold and shameless feminism. While the editing feels somewhat disjointed at first, as initial flashbacks to Shula’s childhood come almost out of nowhere, the gradual reveal of the film’s central metaphor and the links between the film’s end and beginning are truly moving. The final scene, in which the brutal misogyny of reality clashes with the climactic surrealism of the central metaphor, will certainly leave you deeply moved.
Alongside the slow-burn reveal of the metaphor, the complexities of the plot unravel with a distinct intentionality. Nyoni’s direction makes the film perfectly strange, from the first uncomfortably comedic scene in which Shula inexplicably dons a Missy Elliott costume to the moving final scene imbued with just enough surrealism to hammer in the film’s message. The images introduced without context are given meaning after the fact, demanding multiple rewatches to truly grasp the film’s genius.
This staying power is made equally evident through David Gallego’s cinematography. The imagery of particular shots is striking — flooded dorms and homes, women huddled sleeping in an empty pool and aunties piled atop each other in the pantry fighting the cousins’ vocal protest.
The film’s anger toward the absurdity of such performative grief is taut and pulsing in each display of the disparaging treatment faced by these women. A harrowing sequence where several uncles demand Shula’s attention while ignoring the severity of the situation at hand exemplifies the film’s boiling tension.
Furthermore, the characters are cleverly written, with every main and side character alike possessing such depth and multi-dimensionality. For example, Nsansa (Elizabeth Chisela) appears at first as a crutch for comedic relief, and Shula’s distaste for her cousin is evident. However, as the film progresses, their solidarity flourishes, and Nsansa’s many layers are peeled back. The cousins’ relationship showcases the beauty and necessity of solidarity in survivorship, which develops in sharp contrast to the stifling matriarchal complicity of the older generation of aunties.
Though the writing of the characters is incredible, the performances are undeniably what anchors the film’s success. The hardness of Shula’s expressions at first comes across as stoic and even careless, but as the film progresses, Chardy’s subtle and nuanced brilliance reveals itself. In her debut performance, Chardy establishes herself as a truly phenomenal actress and a force to be reckoned with.
Chisela’s obnoxious exuberance perfectly offsets Chardy’s quiet rage, and though her persistent intoxication is at first frustrating, her character’s gradual development reveals itself as heartbreaking.
Esther Singini’s incredible portrayal of Bupe, the third and youngest of the uncle’s victims, rounds out the heartbreaking display of the various coping mechanisms with trauma in a family that seeks to silence survivors.
“On Becoming a Guinea Fowl” was tragically under-advertised by A24 and greatly underappreciated at the Festival de Cannes, but it is a modern masterpiece that deserves far more attention. Its exploration of traumatizing abuse, though never visually represented, is heavy. While steeped in Bemba traditions, the film’s message transcends nationality; it invites viewers to examine the patriarchal underpinnings of their own cultures and to recognize how they may be complicit in silence.
