“The Herd,” Daniel Etim-Effiong’s debut as a producer, arrived on Netflix after a solid cinema run, carrying with it the weight of a country still figuring out how to live with fear. It’s a crime thriller, yes, but also a quiet reminder of how insecurity has seeped into the everyday lives of Nigerians. The film doesn’t rush to dramatise this anxiety; it simply mirrors it, and in that reflection lies its strength.
The story opens with a wedding that should have been only joy and soft music. Instead, it becomes the kind of nightmare families whisper about on long road trips. A sudden kidnapping shatters the celebration, and the couple — along with their guests — are thrust into a fight for survival. What unfolds is a tense journey that braids love, fear and loyalty into one relentless thread.
Where the film shines most is in its honesty. It doesn’t pretend that kidnapping is a distant headline; it shows how close it sits to ordinary life. A character casually recounts escaping abduction before falling into the same trap again, a moment played so simply that it becomes chilling. The performances deepen this realism. Ibrahim Abubakar brings a quiet, simmering menace to Anas, while Linda Ejiofor carries her solo scenes with an emotional clarity that makes the stakes feel intimate.
Technically, the film is confident. Night scenes are lit with care, the tension is deliberate rather than frantic, and the sound design adds a layer of unease without overwhelming the viewer. Even the special effects — especially during the gunshot sequences — hold their ground.
Yet the film is not without cracks. Some subplots lose their way, such as Gosi’s unexplained embezzlement or the rushed family conflict over ransom money. Moments of geographical inconsistency also nudge the viewer out of the story. These gaps don’t break the film, but they keep it from rising to its full potential.
Still, “The Herd” lands its message. It understands the complicated dance between who we are, what we fear, and what our society has become. Its conversations about ethnicity, religion and identity are not framed as judgments but as observations — the kind you only make when you’ve lived long enough in a country defined by its divisions.
Effiong draws from personal history and national memory to craft a story that feels both urgent and familiar. And while the film sparked criticism for perceived stereotyping, it ultimately argues for a more uncomfortable truth: insecurity has no single face. Everyone, in one way or another, has been touched by it.
With “The Herd,” Effiong steps into a new chapter of his creative life, offering a film that is both gripping and grounded. It asks its audience to look a little closer — not just at the story on screen, but at the country outside their door. And perhaps that is the film’s quiet triumph: it invites us to pay attention.
Verdict: 7/10.
