Time runs in circles here, and memory keeps the clock. Told by a child who seems to speak across past and future, The Burial of Kojo blends everyday Ghana with quiet enchantment: a white heron that guides, a black crow that tempts, doors appearing where walls should be, a mine that plays both pit and underworld. The magical touches aren’t spectacle so much as second sight, folding folklore into family business.
Blitz Bazawule shoots it like a story you could walk into—sun-struck water, smoke, and colour that feels half-remembered. The circular narration is intriguing, and the film’s best passages trust images to carry meaning. When it leans on voiceover and symbols a little too firmly, the spell thins; the rhythm can drift, and a few motifs announce themselves rather than emerge.
Still, the enchantment mostly holds. As a tale about guilt, love, and finding one’s way back, it’s tender, imaginative, and worth the journey.