A “Burning” Review of a Kyrgyzstani Film : Examining the Family Tragedy Where Duty is Fleeting

Spoiler Alert

Very few people know where Kyrgyzstan is, and even fewer realise it has a growing film industry. Right now, that industry is innovating and expanding—and Burning stands at the forefront. Directed by Radik Eshimov, the film blends folk horror with a chilling exploration of a family falling apart at the seams. It begins with the mysterious murder of a boy whose killer remains unknown.

The story unfolds through multiple perspectives: the father’s mother, the grieving parents, and family friends—all searching for answers about Amirchik’s death. Farida (Elvira Sofiyeva), the family matriarch, embodies tradition and old-world ways. Often seen as the “old witch,” she firmly disapproves of her son Marat (Aibek Kudabaev) and daughter-in-law Asel’s (Nazgul Kenzhetay) plans for another child. Sofiyeva delivers an exceptional performance—both intimidating and commanding, demanding respect. Though she’s not my grandmother, the cultural echoes helped me connect her portrayal to my own heritage. Farida’s presence feels deeply matriarchal, even if her old ways cannot mend family rifts.

I can’t say if this dynamic reflects all Kyrgyz families, but the emphasis on respect and authority speaks volumes. Marat wants to do what’s right, but the family’s grief lingers—and with Farida in charge, no one feels truly safe. As the story unfolds through multiple perspectives, it becomes difficult to distinguish fact from interpretation. That’s the charm of the film; we’re not meant to know, and it deepens the mystery.

Unlike Broadchurch or Gracepoint, where crime, varying perspectives, and investigation drive the story, Burning focuses on unraveling the consequences of past actions. The ghosts are not literal but symbolic—manifestations of guilt, grief, and unresolved trauma. That drew me to the film after its rave reviews at the Fantasia Film Festival. While the boy’s spirit seems to linger, the film avoids cheap scares.

The filmmakers craft eerie moments with impressive subtlety. The supernatural elements feel more imagined than real, far surpassing clichéd found-footage horrors like Paranormal Activity. While some might dispute it as a traditional ghost story, this ambiguity enhances its power. Mysteries work best when their worlds feel alive and fully realised. Too often, adaptations fail by not building believable settings. Here, the atmosphere defines the terror, and I could not help but be captivated by Farida’s ominous presence. She brings a sinister edge—even though the magic and hauntings serve as metaphors, her influence makes the tension tangible. Asel clearly struggles with guilt and haunting memories. She wants to move on, but losing her child leaves a lasting scar.

The opposition to the new baby feels deeply unsettling and brings to mind Roman Polanski’s classic psychological horror about a young woman trapped in a controlling environment while facing terrifying uncertainty about her pregnancy. Like Rosemary’s Baby, this work builds a slow-burning, claustrophobic dread centered on family pressures and the fear of what the future holds for a child. Both films explore how familial expectations intensify deeply personal tragedies, especially with a controlling matriarchal figure around. 

In the film’s last moments, a couple discusses whether to intervene in the family’s tragedy, reflecting the community’s broader hesitation. Their reluctance mirrors the social pressures that keep many silent in the face of pain. The woman’s willingness to help suggests hope, but it quickly becomes clear it’s too late—Asel is dead. This devastating revelation highlights how inaction can enable tragedy.

Marat’s obvious lying about what happened adds another layer of darkness. His deception represents how truth can be obscured to protect self-interest, effectively shutting down any chance of justice. This last scene brings full circle the film’s themes of generational conflict and societal complicity, underscoring how silence and denial perpetuate violence.

Ultimately, Burning is not just a folk horror tale. It’s a thriller that transcends cultural boundaries. It tells a universal human story of loss, grief, and fractured truths. The perspectives come from fresh eyes, recounting the events leading up to the house fire that opens the film. When the past refuses to stay buried, someone must face it—and while Grandma Farida may seem like the Wicked Witch of the West, perhaps she’s the one forced to decide whom to support and save. But much like the couple in the finale, by the time help is offered, it’s tragically too late—and that is the real terror.

3 Stars out of 5

Burning Movie Trailer