In A Dying Colonialism, Frantz Fanon details the cultural and political changes that emerged from the Algerians’ rejection of French colonial rule. It’s a beautiful book because of how clearly it shows these people becoming more politically conscious, which affects how they view themselves, each other and the world around them. This same sense of revolutionary change animates Mati Diop’s latest offering. Winning the Golden Bear at the Berlinale, this documentary blends fact with fiction to follow the journey of 26 African artworks being returned to present-day Benin, capturing all the discourse sparked by this event.
Editor Gabriel Gonzales efficiently cuts between speeches given in town-hall styled forums where citizens debate whether the sculptures being returned is a victory or a cementing of their defeat. Some argue that, because only 26 of the 7,000 objects stolen were returned, it’s more of an insult from France than an acknowledgement of Benin’s independence. Others assert that change is a historical process, and the return of these statues gives Benin’s people more access to their own history than ever before, making their return a milestone in the long road to liberation. Diop’s position on the matter becomes clear through the movie’s use of close-ups.
Zooming in on hands carefully wrapping the statues for their long trip home, or carefully following museum workers as they painstakingly install the statues in their rightful place, gives viewers a good sense of how meaningful these artworks really are. They take on an almost epic sense of importance, becoming manifestations of a history that colonialism tried and failed to wipe out. Zoom-ins are again used to observe people’s awestruck faces as they stand before the statues, realizing they too are part of this same history, causing some to even wipe tears from their eyes. It’s very powerful to witness and speaks to Fanon’s idea that “It is the country as a whole, its history,” that is targeted by imperalism. Thus, seeing these images of people reconciling their place in said histories and debating the path forward makes this a wonderful depiction of anti-colonial resistance, one that is increasingly necessary as the Zionist genocide of Palestinians continues. Along with these images, the film is punctuated by the voice of history itself.
Haitian writer Makenzy Orcel not only co-wrote the script, but also voices the statue of King Ghézo who ruled from 1818 to 1859. Playing the voice of this object, Orcel’s narration throughout the movie offers wonderfully subjective thoughts on Ghézo’s time at the Paris museum, his memories of Africa and thoughts of returning to his homeland. There are even some scenes filmed from the perspective of this statue, showing the light disappear as its box is nailed shut. I found these sections particularly compelling because they acknowledge just how much has changed since these sculptures left Africa. It makes one wonder if anyone can truly ‘return’ to a place, especially after being gone for so long. There’s a kind of melancholy in this rumination, and I think that’s important. Diop refuses to let us think that just because the statues were returned everything is solved. Instead, he offers the bone-chilling realization that no matter how many art pieces France gives back, they’ve taken something from these people that will forever alter their identity as a country and as individuals. This isn’t to say there’s no hope—a large part of the runtime is comprised of citizens debating the best way to proceed on their own terms—but it also isn’t afraid to acknowledge all the contradictions brought by the end of formal colonialism. One of these is class, how even though the statues are back in Benin there are some citizens who can’t afford museum entrance fees, keeping them just as disconnected from their history and culture as before. In a documentary already dealing with such complex subject matter, Diop uses the genre-bending element of Ghézo’s voice to introduce questions of identity, emigration and history, themes which are expanded on in these town hall scenes.
At just over an hour long, it’s astounding how much intellectual stimulation Diop was able to fit into this movie. One might even wish he’d extended the runtime just a bit, maybe show more of these great debates, but I don’t see how that would change anything about the film itself. There would still be no solutions offered because confronting historical atrocities and how they shatter our collective sense of self is an ongoing process of negotiation that people across the globe will continue to navigate for centuries to come. The scars of imperialism run deep, and new wounds are created daily. Facing a horrific past from an equally-bloody present, Diop presents audiences with a question that’s as timely as it is powerful: where do we go from here? It’s a question I hope will spark more discussion after leaving the theater. Maybe this is why Senegal selected it as their submission for the 2025 Oscar for Best International Feature Film. Until then, Dahomey opens in theaters today, and you should absolutely make time to watch this stunning documentary.
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