It’s hard to miss how often characters say “should” in Rungano Nyoni’s second feature On Becoming a Guinea Fowl. It starts early when Shula (Susan Chardy) spots the body of her uncle Fred (Roy Chisha) on an otherwise empty Zambian road on her way home from a party and calls her father (Henry B.J. Phiri) asking what she should do. He’s unhelpful, repeatedly asking who’s calling and immediately requesting money once Shula finally makes herself known. Shortly after this, once Fred’s body has been retrieved by law enforcement and funeral plans are being prepared, the “should”s switch from questions to reproaches.  

Shula’s brief conversation with her father is indicative of the film that follows, a young woman goes unheard and is then only acknowledged for what she can offer. But the true horror of On Becoming a Guinea Fowl doesn’t come from men, at least not directly; it comes from the cruelty of the women of the family as they rebuke Shula for not doing what she should and for focusing on the wrong things in the wake of Fred’s death. 

That “incorrect” focus is on the violence Fred inflicted on seemingly every girl in the family. As the film goes on, more and more young women reveal the dead man’s abuse, but the elder women do not want to engage this reality. They are more concerned with the fact that Shula isn’t crying, hasn’t brought food to her uncles, and is caring for Fred’s widow rather than shoring up their defenses of Fred’s relative wealth from the widow, a teenager who bore Fred multiple children. 

The Zambian setting and culture give the story some specificity, but Nyoni’s filmmaking and aesthetic choices make On Becoming a Guinea Fowl remarkable. 

The editing from Nathan Nugent creates disconcerting and confusing identities both visually and sonically. Early on, a pan up from Shula’s feet reveals a younger version of herself, a later edit cuts perfectly from one family member laughing Fred’s name to another crying it. It’s just one of the ways the film disrupts our understanding of time and the relationships between family members. 

Lucrecia Dalt’s score is built on extreme low end repetitions of one or two notes (tones may be more accurate) from a variety of sources including electronic bass and cello. It’s an astounding piece of film music that’s affecting in its thematic resonance; the score is built on reverberations, allowing these brief bursts of sound to draw themselves out before another sound takes over, just as Fred’s violence reverberates through time and family members. The focus on repetition of one or two notes throughout makes the moment when the score approaches traditional music, with notes giving way to one another in a progression, devastatingly impactful. 

Several conversations hold medium close-ups on one of the speakers rather than crosscutting, allowing the audience to see the changes in actors’ faces when their concerns are hand-waved away or they are told they should be crying for the loss of their uncle. Chardy is phenomenal and holds many of the long takes, but she’s not the only one. Elizabeth Chisela delivers an equally hilarious and heartbreaking performance as Shula’s cousin Nsansa who has turned to drink to cope with the abuse she suffered and puts on a brave and joyous face for the world. 

That joy isn’t a pure facade though. Nsansa’s laughter is often real and infectious, just as On Becoming a Guinea Fowl offers some instances of laugh out loud comedy in the midst of its mostly tense proceedings. Its humor is neither satirical nor a relief from the realities of individually inflicted physical abuse and group inflicted psychological abuse, rather one that places the abuse within the multifaceted world we live in. A world that can bring cousins together in uproarious laughter moments after they’ve acknowledged their shared traumas. 

On Becoming a Guinea Fowl is a truly special film from a singular cinematic voice I can’t wait to see grow in the future.