If one thinks of Scottish cinema, chances are many will think of Local Hero or Trainspotting, or of some variation on the formulae of those seminal films. Picturesque or poverty-stricken would just about cover it, with little in between. However, recent acclaimed films like Limbo and Aftersun have broadened the scope of Scottish filmmaking, diversifying both the stories being told, and the people doing the telling. Adura Onashile’s wonderful drama Girl is a superb addition this impressive new wave. An incredibly confident and assured debut told with exacting delicacy and infinite empathy, this story of an African mother and child adapting to a new home in Glasgow is very special indeed.

24-year-old Grace (Déborah Lukumuena) and her 11-year-old daughter Ama (Le’Shantey Bonsu) have survived an unspecified trauma and are living in a flat in Glasgow. Grace is in a terrified stasis, paralysed – often literally – by her past. As the bright, curious Ama begins to get used to her new environment and makes a friend in the boisterous Fiona (Liana Turner), Grace’s concerns increase and her anxiety threatens her bond with her daughter.

Girl is a preternatural combination of writing and performance. Onashile has removed many of the narrative elements that would make this a worthy issue-of-the week film, principally melodrama, and also the specificities of Grace and Ama’s situation: where they left, why they left, how they got to Glasgow. Most is conveyed through the two leads; Lukumuena’s rigid fear and pugnacious hostility to anything approaching authority, and Ama’s exuberance and delight in exploring her new home being eloquent enough to provide plenty context. Onashile is sure enough that the viewer will be able to piece together the likely circumstances from the crumbs she provides. That assumed history is also likely to subtly manipulate the same viewer into assuming they know what type of story Girl is going to be. They’re likely to be pleasantly surprised.

Girl isn’t interested in plunging into misery or in prodding at raw wounds. There aren’t even any visual hints to what Grace has suffered until well into the second act, and even then only through almost subliminal flashes that specify nothing. Instead, Onashile is interested in healing, or at least beginning the process of healing. There are hurdles to be cleared, but the generous storytelling depicts most of those as internal and self-imposed. Ama’s teachers and Grace’s social workers, the ever-sympathetic, leonine Danny Sapani among them, are competent and compassionate. The pair don’t suffer any open instances of racism (one ill-considered attempt at humour from Grace’s boss is thoughtless rather than discriminatory), and their new neighbours are largely friendly and inclusive. The pair’s isolated, almost hermetic existence dictated by Grace doesn’t give Glasgow itself much chance to shine, but if, as the slogan goes, People Make Glasgow, then it’s a fine advertisement for the city.

The film is aesthetically stunning too. Cinematographer Tasha Back‘s compositional sense often has Grace standing in corridors or doorways, subtly constrained by her surroundings. Ama is often filmed at shoulder height, forever seeking potential adventure. The lighting in these evening scenes where Ama watches Glasgow through binoculars, bathed in a purple glow, is utterly gorgeous. Nigerian composer Ré Olunuga‘s score is an unusual but effective choral work that manages to avoid the liturgical connotations that would normally imply. The use of songs by the likes of Blick Bassy, Sans Soucis, and Ami Yerewolo offers a fluid, pan-African influence, reinforcing the narrative avoidance of geographical specificity.

One of those magical instances of every aspect working in harmony, at times Girl feels like it’s been sculpted rather than written; formed as much by what’s been removed or elided than by what is included. It’s as if the story was a fresh block of marble and Onashile has pared away everything that’s not strictly necessary to leave an elliptical but cohesive narrative that is all the more satisfying for its willingness to challenge the viewer. The screenwriting process was ruthless (Onashile played Medea during Edinburgh International Festival last year, so is clearly more than happy to kill her darlings), with the editing fine-sanding to a beautiful enigmatic polish. It’s perhaps possible that the refusal to offer a specific point of origin for Grace and Ama may indirectly bolster the tendency among some people to see Africa as a homogenous entity, but that would be over-stretching for the slightest of criticisms.

Impressionistic but not obtuse, this is a drama with such compassion and understanding for its characters that it takes the breath away. It’s a story forged in the crucible of pain and trauma, but it’s also unfailingly hopeful and optimistic in its belief in family, friendship, and community. Likely to be an absolute highlight of Sundance, where’s it’s in contention for the World Cinema Dramatic Competition prize – although Sundance as a whole tends to favour more explicitly inspirational fare – and a perfect choice to open Glasgow Film Festival. It’s a remarkable achievement, even more so that it’s Adura Onashile’s debut.

Premieres as part of Sundance Film Festival 2023 on Mon 23 Jan 2023 and as the Opening Gala of Glasgow Film Festival Wed 1 Mar 2023