Ghosts of a Stolen Past: A Review of Dahomey

Dahomey is a bold cinematic endeavor by the French-Senegalese director Mati Diop, known for her ability to blend the supernatural with reality in a way that not only captivates but also provokes thought. Imagine walking the corridors of history with both the weight of the past and the eyes of the present on your shoulders. Well, that’s exactly what this 68-minute documentary does—it takes you on an intriguing journey that is as unsettling as it is enlightening.

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A Moment in Time

November 2021. It was here, amidst the dimming lights of Paris and the hum of relentless street life, that 26 royal treasures began their journey back to the Republic of Benin. These were not just objects; they were pieces of a history interwoven with narratives of colonial theft and cultural displacement. Diop’s camera opens with scenes that feel almost too ordinary to not be profound: the quiet eeriness of museum vaults and the melancholy yet hopeful flight of these artifacts back to their homeland.

And here's the thing—these treasures aren't merely historical artifacts. They're living whispers of a colonial past, a narrative that Diop captures with a stillness that echoes reality itself. If you’ve ever found yourself standing in a room full of history, feeling both the presence and the absence of the past, then you know exactly what Diop’s film is doing here.

Voices from Beyond

But what sets Dahomey apart is its daring leap into the supernatural. As we sit with students from the University of Abomey-Calavi, who are fervently debating the significance of these returns, Diop injects the voice of none other than King Ghézo. This ethereal element, a monologue from the statue's perspective, gives the film an edge that meanders between what's seen and what's felt. The spirit of the past giving testimony in its own right—how often do we see that?

This juxtaposition—a spirited dialogue between the tangible and the ethereal—heightens the film’s urgency. It serves as a potent reminder that while objects return, the ramifications of their absence linger, like a shadow that doesn’t quite fade with time.

Objects and Awe

The narrative reaches a crescendo as these treasures are unveiled in Benin, a moment brimming with both celebration and skepticism. Twenty thousand eyes witness their homeland’s history handed back, yet the narrative unfolds slowly, like layers of an ancient manuscript just waiting to be deciphered.

Amidst the pomp, there's evident tension. Diop’s skepticism towards the self-congratulatory narratives surrounding the return of these treasures glimmers subtly. She is not one to dance to the tune of one-dimensional narratives. The film, much like Diop's approach, refuses to settle for simple answers. It pushes us to question—what does true restitution look like in a world governed by historical amnesia and present-day politics?

A Call to Contemplate

Mati Diop has created more than just a film; she’s crafted a conversation—a counter-narrative that challenges the dominant discourse on cultural restitution. Dahomey doesn’t seek to tell us what restitution means but compels us to listen to those who lived—or watched—the history unfold. The documentary’s unique blend of observational realism and supernatural storytelling makes it a vital addition to contemporary dialogues about heritage and historical accountability.

When you walk away from Dahomey, you're left with the resonant feeling of a past not yet reconciled. It's haunting and hopeful, solemn yet necessary. A must-see for those who believe in the power of stories—not just those we hear, but also those we feel.