In a year when Nigerians are reckoning with rising insecurity, shrinking trust in the state, and the emotional weight of daily negative headlines, The Herd arrives as a film that refuses to offer escape. It confronts. It provokes. And it mirrors a national mood many would rather not acknowledge.

Directed by Daniel Etim‑Effiong, who also stars in the movie, The Herd follows a newlywed couple and their convoy whose celebration turns into a nightmare when armed men disguised as herders ambush them on a quiet road. What should have been a familiar Nigerian road‑trip ritual becomes a violent descent that reflects a reality millions now fear. It is fiction, but the tension is not. The conversations it has triggered are certainly not.

Nigeria is currently grappling with a wave of terrorism, kidnappings, bandit attacks, communal clashes, and unprovoked violence. Families now plan interstate journeys the way people in conflict zones plan evacuations: leave early, travel in groups, share live locations, and hope for the best. The Herd taps into that tension.

It does not glamourise insecurity, nor does it sensationalise it. Instead, it recreates the unpredictability, helplessness, and sheer terror that have defined so many real‑life attacks. Viewers described the experience as “too real,” “uncomfortable,” and “emotionally exhausting”, which is precisely why the movie has dominated conversations online and offline.

In many ways, the movie functions less like entertainment and more like a documentary in disguise, a cinematic reminder of how fragile life on Nigerian roads has become.

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 Nigerians will show up for real stories

 For a thriller this heavy, the commercial performance is notable. The Herd opened with ₦28.8 million between October 17 and 19, 2025, and reached ₦30.1 million in its first week. According to the latest box-office data, the film earned ₦137.7 million in its run, a strong result for a non‑comedy, non‑romance Nollywood movie.

The success speaks volumes to Nollywood producers and distributors: audiences are willing to pay for stories rooted in truth, trauma, and shared realities, not just escapism or predictable romance. It proves that local cinema can thrive even when it demands discomfort.

 Applause, outrage, and a debate Nigeria was bound to have

If box-office numbers showed popularity, social media revealed division. The film sparked heated debates over its portrayal of the attackers as herders, a depiction critics say edges too close to ethnic profiling. Several voices on X (Twitter) echoed this.

One notable criticism came from a prominent former presidential aide, who wrote: “The reason why some Arewa people are angry about The Herd movie is not because we are denying the reality of banditry, far from it. It is about the dangerous consequences of profiling an entire ethnic group and region that has already suffered immensely from years of insecurity.”

Another user posted: “Ban Netflix, ban The Herd. Delete Netflix on your phone.”

Yet, others have defended the movie. Some netizens argue that the movie reflects a painful reality many Nigerians live in, where criminal violence often masquerades under cultural or occupational identity. One of them described The Herd as “a gripping, unfiltered reflection of the deep-rooted security, cultural, and moral crises shaping modern Nigeria”.

One X user wrote: “The Herd is one of those rare Nigerian films that does not just tell a story, it exposes a system. It is a gripping, unfiltered reflection of the deep-rooted security, cultural, and moral crises shaping modern Nigeria.” 

Another commented that watching the film felt like “watching Nigeria cry out loud”, saying the movie was more than fiction; it was a reflection of real fear, loss, and societal pain many families now live through.

This polarity, between those who see the film as necessary truth-telling and those who fear it, deepens division, illustrating exactly why The Herd resonates or disturbs so much.

 A brutal, unflinching delivery

Beyond the controversy, the filmmaking itself deserves credit. The Herd does not rely on melodrama or romantic subplots to soften the blow. Instead, it embraces a raw, visceral realism. The direction, cinematography, sound, and performances combine to create an atmosphere that feels like Nigeria’s tragic headlines played out with flesh-and-blood faces.

The actors deliver panic, grief, anger, and despair not as stylised cinema tropes but as lived human emotion. The transition from celebration to chaos happens fast, shocking, and the horror feels earned. The ambiguity of morality, the moral cost of survival, the complicity, the betrayals, the film does not pretend there will be closure or redemption. It leaves viewers with unease.

The result is not entertainment in the traditional sense. It feels less like a thriller and more like a warning.

 What The Herd says about Nigeria today

The movie raises urgent questions Nigeria has often avoided facing. It shows that insecurity is not a regional issue. It is national. Trauma, fear, and danger do not respect state boundaries, ethnic identity, or religion. Anybody can be a victim. And the protagonists, more often than not, may not announce themselves.

It also shows that trauma can become a national language. When a film this grim becomes a hit, it says something about collective psychology: about fear, uncertainty, and helplessness.

At the same time, The Herd reveals the increasing maturity of Nollywood. The industry is growing bolder. Filmmakers are willing to tell difficult stories rooted in real suffering. Audiences are willing to watch. That dynamic, of brave creators and engaged viewers, can push Nigerian cinema forward beyond formulaic plots and predictable genres.

And, perhaps, most importantly, the film urges honesty. Not optimistic fairy tales, not escapism, but unfiltered truth.

 Does The Herd help or hurt?

Whether the film heals or inflames depends on the lens through which one watches it. For some, The Herd validates trauma and forces a long-overdue conversation about safety, identity, representation, and social fracture. For others, it risks painting groups of people in the same hue.

What cannot be denied is that The Herd shows the power of cinema in shaping national discourse. It does not just reflect headlines. It humanises fear. It forces discomfort. It refuses to let Nigeria get used to tragedy and silence.

Whether that discomfort leads to empathy, reform, unity, or further division remains in the hands of viewers, critics, community leaders, and media. The film itself delivers the questions. It is up to society to answer them.

 The Herd is not easy viewing. It is meant to unsettle. It is meant to leave a mark. For many Nigerians, the film will feel like truth rendered on screen. For others, it will feel like a simplification of a complicated, painful reality.

Either way, The Herd is one of the most important Nigerian films of the moment, bold in intent, unflinching in execution, and deeply rooted in a truth many Nigerians would rather not know. In a time when Nigeria is searching for clarity amidst chaos, The Herd offers a powerful, haunting mirror.

Anita Chinedu