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Review: In sharp documentary ‘Dahomey,’ African art returns home, but colonialism still stings

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Review: In sharp documentary 'Dahomey,' African art returns home, but colonialism still stings

As a film enthusiast with a deep appreciation for history and culture, I found “Dahomey” to be a profoundly moving and thought-provoking cinematic experience. Born and raised in Africa, I have always felt a strong connection to my roots, and this film resonated deeply with me.

A long-silent voice from a distant past — eerie and reverberating — awakens in the climate-controlled, antiseptic chambers of a Paris museum. The forum through which this entity communicates to us is Mati Diop’s “Dahomey.” The French Senegalese filmmaker returns with a rich and absorbing exploration of the specter of colonialism that continues the enthralling, otherworldly quality of her 2019 breakthrough film, “Atlantics.”

In my exploration, I followed the captivating journey of a groundbreaking documentary titled “Dahomey.” This film chronicled the odyssey of 26 artworks, once stolen from the ancient West African Kingdom of Dahomey and now, in the year 2021, returned to the contemporary nation of Benin – the cradle of voodoo. This collection, reclaimed after a long absence, is but a tiny piece of the vast 7,000 artifacts that the French plundered from their former colony. This count pertains only to what they seized from this one location, among numerous others.

The voice emanates from the artifact labeled “26,” a statue of Dahomey’s King Ghézo. In a stacked sound of multiple voices speaking at once, the statue vocalizes grievances in its native Fon language (also known as Dahomean). Poetic ruminations on imprisonment in a foreign land and yearning for a home that may no longer exist are supported by Wally Badarou and Dean Blunt’s entrancing synth score. Their alluring compositions sonically resemble the wonder of discovery with a hint of trepidation at the unknown.

Among other items, there’s a sculpture of valiant King Béhanzin (someone proposes would make a fantastic subject for an animated series for Beninese kids), a depiction of King Glele and a traditional memorial piece known as an asen or sinuka, an intricate object designed to honor the deceased.

In just 68 minutes, the documentary “Dahomey” is rich in thoughts about what returning these historic artifacts signifies and the complicated political ramifications involved. For the government of Benin, it’s a win they can leverage to gain public approval, while France can exploit it as a means to enhance their image with undertones of silent paternalism. The meager number of items France is prepared to relinquish suggests they are gauging whether Benin can properly safeguard them. This negotiation takes place on the terms set by the colonizer.

It’s not just Benin; even the Aztec emperor Moctezuma II’s feathered headdress, now housed in Vienna, is a similar situation. Mexico has asked for its return, but the Austrian authorities have declined due to concerns about potential damage during transportation.

At the city of Abomey, a knowledgeable individual examines the state and importance of the artifacts. One of these, a beautifully carved throne, symbolizes the Kingdom of Dahomey’s historical expansionist policy of capturing enemies and enslaving them. In a clever juxtaposition showcased by Diop and editor Gabriel Gonzalez in “Dahomey”, they transition from this portrayal of ancient enslavement to scenes of young laborers diligently preparing the local museum for diplomats’ upcoming visit.

Are these men able to appreciate the exhibit, or is it an enriching cultural experience they might miss out on due to their financial constraints? If it’s the former, then for whom was it intended? Diop insightfully extracts meaning from images: In the movie’s initial scenes, we observe vibrantly illuminated replicas of the Eiffel Tower being informally sold along the Seine River’s shoreline, presumably by immigrants (from Africa and elsewhere) earning a living in Paris. These contemporary symbols of mass production and excessive consumption hold their own narrative, shaped by both the vendor’s necessity and the buyer’s indulgence.

The name “Dahomey” is most fiercely defiant when Diop incorporates clips of a panel discussion among students, where they debate the central topics. Some believe that by appropriating the material, the French effectively robbed the Beninese people of an opportunity to see themselves in a broader historical perspective, rather than solely through the eyes of white oppressors. Others caution against viewing restitution through rose-tinted nationalistic glasses, suggesting instead a dose of skepticism, as the opening of the exhibit may bring little change for the average person struggling to survive on a daily basis.

The intense debates challenge the notion that museums are solely Western institutions, serving as the only means for preserving and interacting with history in a significant way. Philosophical ideas surrounding these topics have historically been influenced by the colonizer, favoring certain thinkers while marginalizing others. Notably, the language used to criticize this, French, is not indigenous to Dahomey but rather a foreign one.

But though these art objects carry the weight of centuries of defeats and conquests, they can’t alone engender a cultural identity. They are only precious memories. It’s the living people of the land and their self-determination who give expression to a history in perpetual transition, waiting to be written, crafted, spoken and lived into existence in the here and now.

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2024-11-02 04:31

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