The Herd is a debut that demands attention: not merely for its suspense, but for the moral and cultural questions it raises about survival, family, and humanity in an era of pervasive uncertainty.
By Joseph Jonathan
Kidnapping has become an all-too-familiar reality in Nigeria, a tragic fixture that disrupts lives in an instant, where joy can turn into terror without warning. In The Herd, Daniel Etim Effiong’s debut feature as a director, this societal crisis forms the visceral backdrop against which a seemingly ordinary event—a wedding—spirals into chaos. The film opens with the warmth of love and celebration, only to thrust its characters into the sharp, frightening immediacy of Nigeria’s kidnapping epidemic, forcing audiences to confront the fragility of life and the suddenness with which safety can vanish.
Written by Lani Aisida, the film follows Derin (Genoveva Umeh), a bride whose dream wedding day devolves into a nightmare when, on the drive back to her hotel, she and her wedding party are kidnapped by men posing as cattle herders.
The premise is deceptively simple, but the film’s power lies in how it captures the randomness of danger and the fragility of joy in a country where violence can erupt without warning. From the outset, Effiong establishes a duality between celebration and terror. The wedding scenes are warm and bustling, capturing the vibrancy of a family milestone, and Derin is luminous in her joy. But just as quickly, that energy is inverted, thrusting both the characters and audience into an unrelenting tension that refuses to let up.
In a way, The Herd mirrors life in Nigeria itself — moments of elation and celebration coexisting with sudden, pervasive threat. Effiong’s choice to juxtapose these tonal extremes works because he trusts his actors and his audience. The film earns its tension through pacing rather than cheap jump scares; you feel the peril because the characters feel real, and the stakes are human.
At the moral and emotional centre is Gosi (Daniel Etim Effiong), whose courage under fire frames the ethical heartbeat of the story. As Derin’s self-proclaimed protector and a man caught between societal expectation and urgent circumstance, Gosi embodies the difficult choices forced upon ordinary people in extraordinary moments. Effiong navigates his dual role as actor-director with surprising assurance, as there is a restraint in his performance that never drifts into self-indulgence, allowing the tension to remain grounded.
Genoveva Umeh’s Derin is the emotional fulcrum of the story. Her terror is palpable, her resilience understated, and her vulnerability entirely believable. There is hardly a trace of melodrama; instead, Umeh channels lived-in fear and the quiet courage of someone confronting both personal and systemic chaos.
Yet the film’s most provocative performances may well be Tina Mba and Norbert Young as Gosi’s parents. Through them, The Herd interrogates the corrosive nature of prejudice. The tension surrounding the perils of the Osu caste system is woven seamlessly into the story, making their bias a living, breathing antagonist that complicates the human drama. Even as their son fights for survival, they remain tethered to ego and custom in a way that is infuriating as characters, but effective as cultural commentary. Their presence is a reminder that in Nigeria, as elsewhere, societal constraints and familial expectations often operate as quiet yet lethal forces.
The kidnappers themselves defy Nollywood caricature. These are not over-the-top villains designed solely for spectacle; they are men and women hardened by circumstance, their cruelty terrifying precisely because it feels plausible. There is nuance in their depiction that makes the violence feel immediate, the threat ever-present.
Where The Herd falters is less in performances than in its narrative economy. The film’s writing is sometimes overstuffed, jumping from hostage tension to family drama and back again without allowing moments to breathe. Secondary hostages fade into the background, their arcs unresolved.
Subplots, such as the tension between Adamma and Gosi’s parents, tease intrigue but never find a payoff. There are moments when the audience is perpetually reacting rather than observing, which can feel exhausting, even as it mirrors the chaos the characters are living through. A slower, more contemplative rhythm might have allowed the film’s social commentary to land more fully.
Technically, Effiong’s debut impresses. The cinematography shifts seamlessly between the warm intimacy of wedding scenes and the stark, chilling reality of captivity. Sound design leans into silence at just the right moments, letting tension build organically. Production and costume design are polished, selling both the opulence of celebration and the starkness of threat convincingly. Yet, like many Nollywood thrillers, the shootout sequences occasionally feel overly animated, breaking the immersion just when realism is crucial.
Linguistically, the film is a triumph. Dialogue flows between Igbo, Yoruba, Hausa, Pidgin, and English, reflecting Nigeria’s polyphonic reality and lending authenticity to character interactions. It is a rare pleasure to see such linguistic diversity handled without feeling forced or performative.
What lingers after the final scene is the film’s refusal to soften its subject matter. The Herd does not reduce Nigeria’s security crisis to statistics or headlines. Violence is immediate, disruptive, and unpredictable. The audience is left unsettled because life itself offers no tidy resolutions. This is a film that demands ethical engagement, not passive consumption.
While the film is occasionally predictable, and some narrative threads remain unresolved, it earns its tension through character-driven stakes rather than spectacle. Its most striking achievement is the balance of suspense with humanity: viewers feel fear and desperation, but also empathy, connection, and admiration for characters who make morally difficult choices.
Ultimately, The Herd is less about the mechanics of a kidnapping thriller and more about how ordinary people navigate extraordinary circumstances. It is a meditation on courage, love, and the delicate line between joy and catastrophe in a country where either can emerge without warning. The film invests in its characters, and in return, it earns the audience’s investment — even if, at times, that investment is exhausting.
In a Nollywood year crowded with subpar efforts, The Herd is a debut that demands attention: not merely for its suspense, but for the moral and cultural questions it raises about survival, family, and humanity in an era of pervasive uncertainty.
Rating: 2.9/5
Joseph Jonathan is a historian who seeks to understand how film shapes our cultural identity as a people. He believes that history is more about the future than the past. When he’s not writing about film, you can catch him listening to music or discussing politics. He tweets @Chukwu2big.