Sundance Film Festival 2026: Praise Odigie's “Birdie” is a Quiet Portrait of Refugee Grief

Birdie at Sundance 2026: Nigerian-American director Praise Paige Odigie crafts a moving portrait of a Biafran refugee family navigating loss and identity

Once upon a time, a mother and her two daughters lived in the American countryside. They were from another country, building a new life in the aftermath of a war between their people and those whom they once called compatriots. The older daughter believed her father was dead. Mother and younger teenage daughter believed he was alive. Faith in God kept them together. 

And then a man came. 

This is Birdie in an oversimplified nutshell. This sophomore short film by Nigerian-American Praise Paige Odigie, screened in the US Shorts category of the 2026 Sundance Film Festival. It was one of three African shorts to do so, and part of a significant six in total, from the continent. 

The film begins with an establishing wide-shot of sisters, young adult Birdie/Bernadette (Precious Maduanusi) and teenage English (Eniola Abioro), walking across a meadow, small against the grandeur of the grasses and flowers that flood the screen. As they draw closer, English's voice comes through, narrating. It’s the summer of 1970, and she, alongside her sister and mother, Celeste (Sheila Chukwulozie), are refugees, thousands of miles away from Nigeria, where the Civil War has just ended. They wait and pray for news of their father, a soldier on the Biafran side, and attempt to settle into their new life. English is mercurial, a 16-year-old navigating that stage of adolescence where there’s a better grasp of reality, but everything can’t seem to go as she wants. Birdie is withdrawn, much like her mother, who’s either listening on the phone, to the radio, or in prayer when we see her. 

Celeste, English, and Birdie in prayer. Here, one can see the difference in hope between all three.

Their doldrum is interrupted one evening by the arrival of Justus (Said Marshall), a young ex-soldier (on the Nigerian side, judging by his use of Yoruba). Birdie is immediately drawn to him. As her feelings grow apparent, so does the distance from English, who settles for listening to the pair through the walls. He’s soon to leave. Birdie wants to go with. There’s a slight commotion as Celeste confronts her over this desire, but she doesn’t budge. We’re not sure what she chooses in the end. Images of the teary-eyed family singing in front of a framed photograph of their lost patriarch close out the film, borne, as in the beginning, on the wings of a forlorn English’s narration. 

Director Praise Paige Odigie utilises silence to great effect here. Much of the film’s 20-minute run-time has no words, not even a voice-over, such that every bit of dialogue lands. A brief mention of nuns from São Tomé and Príncipe bringing news of the war teases broader historical relevance; the fact that the former Portuguese colony’s ports became the sole gateway for food and relief for the Biafrans for months during the war. And as this 1968 New York Times article shows, there was a joint ecumenical effort across Europe and America, which would explain how the family found their way to a Catholic safehold. Radio broadcasts tilt the entire family’s gravity, ears-first towards whatever new happenings they can’t see. When sound is absent altogether, we watch the characters process their emotions and can almost tell exactly what is on their minds. It is a weighty economy. It also means the audience has to fill in the gaps concerning these women’s lives. How did they get here? Why does Celeste seem so adamant that her husband is alive? We know only as much as the film tells us (Birdie is the only one mentioned by name). The short appears written deliberately to avoid resolution. Affording us a look into the moment in time where this family exists, but not a second more; these sad, displaced sisters and their grieving mother stuck in denial. 

Birdie explores identity and what it means to be family when normalcy ceases. Celeste doesn’t hesitate to speak Igbo to her kids. And were it not for the presence of the white Reverend sisters, one could easily believe they live in a posh community somewhere in post-Independence Nigeria. At the same time, she takes extra care in preparing food for the nuns, and is taken aback when one presents her with a bottle of wine. The Sisters sing at the dinner table. She doesn’t. And why should she? This Igbo woman, who tells her daughter to wash beans intended for dinner a second time so the Sisters know “they come from somewhere”, is unlikely to let loose. That’s without accounting for the ache in her heart. We feel the family’s grief in her insistence that her husband lives, and the slow unravelling when denial gives way to anguished acceptance. 

Soldier Justus sets the unfurling in motion.

Her daughters are coming into their own, too. It makes sense that Birdie seeks escapism at this age. Precious Maduanusi’s shifting facial expressions – smiling only when with Justus, frowning at prayers, contorting into visible irritation — and body language capture her character’s flux. She’s tired, and the ex-soldier is a gift from a God who’s ignored prayers for Father to return. Plopped between both women, English is lonely, separated from anyone else her age. She calls her sister “Ashawo!’ for applying makeup, and regrets it immediately — applaudable acting for first time actress, Eniola. The connection between sisters fades. Perhaps it’s because I grew up with two older sisters, but I immediately related to the identity shift and redefining oneself in the absence of an older sibling. Birdie deals with the quotidian concerns of this family, attempting to redefine themselves. Even Justus seeks solace in being alone. Escaping war isn't enough if you're not at peace with who you are becoming.  

These themes are better reflected in the film’s visuals. Cinematographer Lidia Nikonova and Colourist Joseph Bicknell  contrasts muted  tones with the household’s tension. Lidia’s compositions focus on the family’s simplicity; minimal possessions, English draped in faded Ankara wrappers, as is common with girls and women back home. Shots of the meadow, stretching for miles, create the illusion of freedom, when really, outside is only a temporary break from a permanent loss of home. There are a few sharp transitions between shots. But even those seemed to fit into the overall picture of uncertainty; like when we cut from the kitchen with dish-washing Birdie and Justus sharing a moment of playful intimacy — I felt like an intruder here — to English sitting on the stairs, listening to their laughter in longing. 

Appraising this film without considering its music would be a disservice. On multiple occasions, including the final scene, the family sings the second verse of “I Have Decided to Follow Jesus”, fitting for the “world behind” them, the country they’ve abandoned, and faith in “the cross before” them. It’s emblematic of Nigerian Christian families who have that one song that recurs in morning devotions, sometimes even passed down across generations. 

One of my favorite shots in the film is this one of English, back against the door, light pouring through netting, pondering on whatever it is that has arrested her thoughts in that moment. 

There’s the diegetic use of “Ka-Nyi Naba Nibo”, a song from almost two decades before the Biafran War, written by musical luminary, Haruna Ishola, for the Asaba Youth Orchestra. In the summer the film is set, both Ishola and the Orchestra would have been on opposite sides of the war. Boys in that orchestra might have been part of over five hundred predominantly Igbo males killed by Federal troops in the infamous October 5-7, 1967, Asaba massacre. Celeste and her daughters could have been victims of this androcide. Or one of the many other undocumented murders, carried out under the banners of war, stripping families of brothers, uncles, sons, and fathers. I don’t assume that the Director knew of this link. If at all she didn’t, it’s proof that culture speaks, and artists just have to listen to draw from those wells, regardless of the medium. 

There is no denouement in this film. No overarching message. It feels incomplete, in the mould of a Jane Austen novel that stops a third of the way through; clearly intended for post-screening discourse. Birdie calls us to watch and reflect. To stay with this family awhile, learn their troubles, and leave, quiet as we met them. 

Black Film Wire Score: 4/5

Performances: 0.8/1

Plot and Scriptwriting: 0.5/1

Cinematography: 1/1

Themes: 0.7/1

Production Technicalities (Costuming, set design, sound design, etc.): 1/1