"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.
