Family, Grief, and Truth in “On Becoming a Guinea Fowl”

ON BECOMING A GUINEA FOWL

Director: Rungano Nyoni

Written by: Rungano Nyoni

Produced by: Ed Guiney, Andrew Lowe, and Tim Cole

Starring Cast: Susan Chardy, Elizabeth Chisela, and Henry B.J. Phiri

Run time: 95 mins

Rated: PG-13

In theaters March 14th

Rungano Nyoni’s On Becoming a Guinea Fowl is a shock to the system—especially for those unfamiliar with its premise. A surreal undercurrent propels this seemingly dark tale into a web of family secrets, cultural repression, and a search for truth, which is not unusual for an A24 film.

The film opens with an unforgettable image: on an empty, moonlit road, Shula (Susan Chardy) stumbles upon her uncle’s lifeless body—dressed in what can only be described as Missy Elliott’s infamous inflated garbage-bag costume. It’s an absurd visual, one that sets the tone for the film’s intricate balancing act between dark humor and the grotesque realities of familial dysfunction. Even her father’s offhand dismissal—suggesting Fred merely “passed out”—lands with an unsettling mix of absurdity and avoidance, made all the more surreal by the neon-lit brothel framing the scene.

At this moment, I thought, “it’s giving Barney from The Simpsons or maybe even Drop Dead Fred energy.” That feeling intensifies when Shula’s cousin Nsansa (Elizabeth Chisela) arrives, slamming against Shula’s car window in a drunken stupor before launching into an impromptu Afrobeat-fueled dance routine. The headlights become her stage, the absurdity masking an unspoken tension. But just as the audience settles into the offbeat, almost comedic rhythm, the film abruptly shifts into darker territory—one I wasn’t prepared for.

A Jarring Tonal Shift

The film’s transition from dark comedy to slow-burning drama mirrors the unpredictability of everyday life. Moments of levity, often courtesy of Shula’s father—who seems more invested in his club lifestyle than his daughter’s reality—serve as stark contrasts to the weightier themes lurking beneath the surface. I found myself wondering: “does this man even have a job?” Every phone call ends with him asking Shula for money, reinforcing a generational cycle shaped by avoidance, indulgence, and unspoken pain. His and Fred’s behaviors—one drowning himself in partying, the other in alcohol and women—speak to a broader cultural phenomenon: men numbing themselves to trauma rather than confronting it.

Throughout the film, intermittent clips from a local children’s television show punctuate the narrative. At first, they seem like random, discordant interludes, but as the story unfolds, their significance becomes clear. They function as bittersweet reminders of innocence lost, much like the small girl wearing the same Missy Elliott costume Shula sees at the beginning—a ghostly foreshadowing of trauma that refuses to be ignored.

The Funeral and the Cracks in the Façade

As funeral proceedings commence, the thin veneer of middle-class respectability begins to crumble. Shula remains stoic, carrying the weight of responsibility, but her eventual emotional outburst—subtle yet seismic—feels like a long-delayed eruption of grief and suppressed truth.

The film asks an uncomfortable question: When someone dies, do we erase their sins in the name of decorum? Shula’s aunts and other family members are quick to dismiss Fred’s past indiscretions, choosing to honor his memory rather than acknowledge the damage he caused. But Nsansa—her drunken hilarity barely masking her own pain—hints at a more harrowing reality. And then there’s Bupe (Esther Singini), whose frequent blackouts and inebriation speak to a deeper generational numbness, one the family refuses to confront.

Direction: What We See and What We Don’t

Nyoni’s direction is both vibrant and restrained, often focusing on absence rather than presence. Fred’s face is rarely seen; instead, the camera lingers on his feet, the reactions of those around him, the way his body takes up space even in death. The most haunting shots come in moments of quiet devastation: Nsansa and Shula arriving at Bupe’s dorm, where she lies passed out on a bottom bunk while the room floods with ankle-deep water. People are still living in these conditions, yet Nyoni’s framing suggests something more—perhaps a drowning in guilt, a submersion in the past.

A dream sequence echoes this imagery: Shula sleeping among her family, the floor beneath them submerged in water. It’s a chilling, poetic metaphor for the way unresolved trauma lingers, how it seeps into every crevice of a family’s history.

One particularly powerful scene finds Shula being interrogated about whether Fred ever crossed a forbidden line with her. A staircase obscures her face—a striking visual choice that adds to the moment’s ambiguity. The framing leaves us uncertain, mirroring the unspoken tension of whether she’s revealing the truth or holding something back.

In discussing her cinematographic approach, Nyoni has stated: “We used a lot of dolly shots, as I don’t like handheld for this. Normally, I don’t come in with a lot of reference images from other films, otherwise, I think I’ll try to mimic that film. We sort of discover the language as we go along. I also don’t want—to exotify Zambians or Africans or my people. I don’t want to make them into some kind of National Geographic version of a film.” Her intent is clear: this is not a film meant to explain or pander. It simply exists in its truth, forcing the audience to sit with it.

Afrobeat, Soundtrack, and the Guinea Fowl

Sonically, On Becoming a Guinea Fowl is just as deliberate. Afrobeat rhythms intertwine with eerie, atmospheric compositions, keeping the audience tethered to the film’s shifting moods. The soundtrack isn’t just an accompaniment; it’s an emotional guide, amplifying moments of humor, unease, and ultimately, catharsis.

And then there’s the guinea fowl itself—its presence in the film slowly gaining symbolic weight. Through whimsical yet unsettling animated sequences, its significance unfolds, reinforcing the themes of inheritance, transformation, and the cyclical nature of trauma.

Final Thoughts

Nyoni’s film is an uncompromising, evocative exploration of grief, memory, and the stories we tell ourselves to survive. It challenges us to confront the ways we navigate familial pain—whether through avoidance, self-destruction, or, in Shula’s case, an aching pursuit of the truth.

Final rating: 7/10. Worth the watch—but bring tissues.