Dahomey

The documentary, elevated by poetic undertones, narrates the journey of historical artifacts returning from France to Benin. It highlights the debates among the Beninese about the significance of this event, showcasing a broad spectrum of perspectives. Particularly captivating is the technique of narrating from the artifact's point of view, adding depth and complexity to the audience's understanding. From a technical standpoint, the project is exceptionally well-crafted, impressing with its image quality, thoughtful pacing, and mesmerizing sound.

As a viewer from Europe, I felt a slight lack of explanation about what modern Benin is like beyond its capital, which would have helped form an opinion on the discussions presented by the Beninese in the film. However, it's clear that the filmmaker did not set out to provide a comprehensive overview of the country's current state.

Highlighting the narrative of historical artifacts returning to the original country, Mati Diop's documentary about artifacts, history, and culture is a slow, meditative, and poetic documentary that does offer an interesting observation of it's main subject.

Diop's approach is interesting as it felt like a real-life poetry being at displayed. Filled with gorgeous sound designs, music, and interesting imagery choices to present, it's definitely a documentary that sheds a good light on it's way. Interconnected with poetic dialogue, it's slow and meditative approach creates an interesting experience.

It isn't a standard documentary as it's more of an experimental art piece of a movie at times. But it's definitely an interesting experience.

Even though this is a short film it seemed to me to contain a lot of filler. It gained some interest about halfway through with in the public forum segments. With such an interesting subject matter, I felt myself wanting to learn more about the artifacts, the process that got them back to Benin, how and why they were stolen. I found myself annoyed with so many lengthy shots of security cameras, hallways, airports, and moving equipment.

Listening to Beninese talk about the significance of gaining these pieces back and all of the relics still in France was the meatiest part of this film and the most engaging for me. Often, I feel that a unsubstantial film could be edited for improvement. In this case, I feel that a lot of substance could have been added.

Saw this at IDFA 2024, the documentary film festival in Amsterdam. It reminded me of a recent visit to Rosenburg Castle in Copenhagen, where lots of ornaments and furniture was displayed, samples out of the collection of former Danish kings. As a not-so-frequent visitor of museums, this was my first confrontation with looted art. (I knew the term in a WW II context, but that is a totally different issue.) And it was by far not my last confrontation, as Denmark was no exception.

I am now perfectly aware that more countries acted similarly in their colonies. In hindsight I should have known better: names like Ivory Coast and Gold Coast are given for a reason to some parts of Africa. Since then, it stayed on my radar, knowing that the inhabitants at the time were not properly paid for those locally made handicraft, nor for mining materials coming out of their soil. Since then, I see contemporary movements to return those artifacts to the original countries, things I was less aware of before.

(Along the same line are parallel movements to offer excuses for past misdeeds around grabbing men and women from African countries, shipping them under harsh circumstances over the ocean, and letting them work under even so harsh conditions without proper pay. It seems a different matter, but it comes forth from a similar abuse of power over former colonies, accompanied by a condescending attitude against other races, and supported by the church, e.g. Pope Nicolaas V writing Dum Diversas in1452.)

It is easy to blindly applaud the return journey of 26 artefacts, going back from Paris to Benin (as the country is called nowadays). This is what we witness in the first half of the documentary. Rather than applauding France's generosity to facilitate this return journey, the 2nd half of this movie shows that it is by far not the last word. Firstly, there is the fact that merely 26 artefacts are just a small fraction of the thousands taken away in past centuries.

Secondly, there is much more to it, like their native languages and cultures that were "stolen" in the past, by actively suppressing all dialects and forcing everyone to speak French, the language of the ruling colonial country France. The current generation in Benin demonstrates this in open discussions on the matters at hand.

All in all, this movie is a welcome contribution to our social perception, at least to mine. It worked for me as an eye opener, broadening the scope of how we utilized our colonies, not only by taking away their natural riches but also by suppressing their local culture.

"Dahomey" is a film that transcends the documentary format, becoming an intimate and collective journey of healing and self-discovery. Under Mati Diop's sensitive yet powerful direction, it finds poetry in a subject steeped in historical pain: the restitution of 26 royal treasures from the Kingdom of Dahomey, looted during French colonialism. More than just a story about the return of artifacts, the film unfolds as a lyrical portrait of a culture that was deprived of its own reflection for centuries.

The narrative use of "26," the artifact that serves as the story's guide, is one of Diop's masterstrokes. Giving a statue its own voice-imbued with a subjective and almost spiritual perspective-turns the narrative into something profoundly human and, paradoxically, otherworldly. The statue's low, wise voice leads us through its journey of displacement, capture, and eventual reconnection. When we see the world through "26's" eyes-like in the scene where light fades as it's packed into a box-we feel the symbolic weight of being stripped of one's roots and confined to a foreign space.

Diop's cinematography is another standout feature. She skillfully balances the grandeur of Benin's landscapes with intimate shots of hands touching, holding, and carrying the artifacts. Every movement captures not just the object itself but the emotional and spiritual bond between the people of Benin and their cultural heritage. This visual duality creates a rhythm that feels almost meditative, giving the audience time to reflect on the depth of loss these artifacts represent-and the powerful act of their return.

Yet "Dahomey" doesn't stop at celebrating restitution as a triumphant event. The film honestly and thoughtfully explores the conversations sparked within the community as the artifacts are brought back. The joy of their return is intertwined with deeper questions: What exactly was lost? Can the void left by centuries of cultural colonialism ever be filled? While some voices express optimism about reclaiming these objects, others question the impact on a history that has been fractured and reshaped by foreign hands. Diop wisely observes these discussions without passing judgment, allowing the viewer to absorb the layers of meaning embedded in every exchange.

At just 68 minutes, the film might leave some viewers feeling like there's more to uncover. The conversations are so rich that a deeper dive would have been welcome. Still, this brevity is part of "Dahomey's" impact: it leaves you wanting to continue the dialogue, both internally and with others. The film doesn't offer easy answers or definitive solutions. Instead, it invites ongoing reflection on the intersection of history, identity, and justice.

"Dahomey" is a brilliant example of how cinema can serve as a tool for resistance and reconstruction. Diop doesn't just document a historic moment-she transforms it into a sensory and intellectual experience that reverberates far beyond the screen. The pain of colonialism is palpable, but so is the hope for a more just future, where stolen stories can be reclaimed and retold by those to whom they truly belong. This is a film that demands attention, reflection, and, above all, action. A work of art that reminds us the fight for historical justice is both a collective and deeply personal act.