The picture is captivating: a young girl stands on a rock formation, the Mongolian mountain skyline providing a dramatic backdrop while a massive golden eagle perches on her outstretched arm. Photographed by Asher Svidensky, this picture of thirteen-year-old Aisholpan Nurgaiv went viral in 2014 and inspired The Eagle Huntress, a documentary which chronicles Aisholpan’s struggle to become an eagle hunter, a historically male privilege in the Kazakh culture. The documentary follows her as she attempts to participate in the annual Golden Eagle Festival, a hallmark of the Mongolian eagle-hunting tradition. Directed by Otto Bell and narrated by Daisy Ridley (Star Wars: The Force Awakens), The Eagle Huntress is full of both simple joys and breathtaking triumphs, largely thanks to the film’s unassuming and endearing star.
The film begins with a shot of the stunning, gigantic Altai mountains wrapped in snowy stillness. Director of photography, Simon Niblett, uses the immensity and beauty of the landscape to full effect, often framing people in contrast to its expansive emptiness, dwarfing the audience along with it. These shots alone — of the craggy steppe, the green plains and the eternal sky — merit the price of admission for the sheer sense of wonder they elicit.
It is in this setting that we first meet Aisholpan’s father, Nurgaiv, as he prepares to release his eagle after its traditional seven years of service. It is the first of the film’s many poignant moments that feel completely organic; Nurgaiv speaks tenderly to the animal, his actions deliberate and his eyes thoughtful as he bids farewell to a faithful companion. The shot of the eagle staring ahead as his former master leaves the mountaintop is bittersweet, succinctly establishing the deep connection these nomadic peoples share with their eagles.
Though Nurgaiv is a welcome, steadying force as he guides his daughter through the trials of becoming an eagle hunter, Aisholpan deservedly steals the spotlight. Ruddy-cheeked and usually beaming with delight, she seems unable to muster pretense. Whether she’s beating all the boys in her class at chess or racing her horse in below zero temperatures, she lives with unadulterated zeal and unpretentious confidence. While her family’s support enables the pursuit of her dreams, it is her pure talent and passion that propels her to mastery.
A particularly nail-biting scene involves her descending a practically vertical rock formation with only a rope around her waist to capture her own eaglet, the threat of a taloned mother eagle hovering not far away. She responds “Yeah, yeah” to her poor father’s appeals to caution and completes the task effortlessly, despite the palpable tension. The bond between girl and eagle flourishes as they begin preparing for the festival, a task showcased in awe-inspiring slow-motion, the film’s answer to Rocky-esque training montages.
The film does not shy away from its message of female empowerment. In a depressingly comical collection of shots, the camera addresses the male Kazakh elders of eagle-hunting who are less than open to the idea of a female eagle hunter. “They [women] get cold,” one offers. “She will have to get married,” another says. Shots of Aisholpan methodically pinning pink bows in her hair and painting her nails purple before she leaves for the festival are not-so-subtle nods to her femininity, rendering her singular abilities all the more heroic. Later, her father lectures her mute opponents on the equality of the sexes as she eats contentedly, happy to prove her prowess on the field instead of engaging in pointed banter. Her battles represent that of a collective struggle, and we cheer on her victories.
Boosted by gorgeous visuals and an exceptional narrative, the heart of The Eagle Huntress ultimately belongs to Aisholpan. Strong, brave and humble, the teenager emerges from the film as a new feminist icon, pink bows and all.
