In the 1950s and 60s, as Congo freed itself from Western rule, it also played a vital role in the Cold War and worldwide emancipation of colonized countries. The documentary unearths this often-forgotten part of history in an unconventional manner. Instead of using talking heads and chronologically going through past events, it uses activist musicians Abbey Lincoln and Max Roach as a starting point. It borrows their language—jazz—to tell their story. The result is mesmerizing. Many things are happening all at once; there’s the quick flash of images, the jarring cut from archival footage to live performances; and the bold text on screen, which serves as our narrator in a way. There are excerpts from newspapers as well as poets, diplomats as well as musicians. Then there’s the music, of course, whose fast-paced and unpredictable beats match the anger mounting in the film. Soundtrack to a Coup is strong, inventive, and further proof that there are more ways than one to teach history.
"Soundtrack to a Coup d’Etat is a dense and meticulously constructed picture."
— Philip Concannon
"Johan Grimonprez’s Soundtrack to a Coup d’État takes this collision of politics and jazz, Cold War and colonialism, and lays out with cool precision the different strands of its backstory."
— Sam Davies
Jazz and decolonization are intertwined in a powerful narrative that recounts one of the tensest episodes of the Cold War.
Marrying jazz and politics, this documentary explores the long history and complicated context behind the assisination of former Congolese prime minister Patrice Lumumba.
That Belgium is more known for its pastries and chocolates than its exploitation of Africa will never not stun me.
It’s dense, detailed, and well-researched, but it never feels too heavy thanks to the lively editing and snazzy music accompanying it.
