‘Cinema Can Create a Reality That Doesn’t Exist Yet’

As a filmmaker and storyteller, I find Diop’s journey absolutely captivating. Her dedication to unearthing truths about her heritage, her resilience in facing complex historical narratives, and her innovative approach to cinematic storytelling are truly inspiring. It’s fascinating how she seamlessly blends art, history, and politics in a way that transcends traditional boundaries.

Mati Diop had never anticipated witnessing this during her lifetime: 26 regal artifacts, taken by the French from the kingdom of Dahomey, were eventually returned to contemporary Benin more than a century after they were stolen. Prior to President Emmanuel Macron’s announcement about the return of these pieces in 2021, Mati Diop had been pondering writing a fictional movie centered around restitution. She had already conceived a scenario: An African mask would narrate its own story, detailing its theft and eventual homecoming, that she imagined happening in the future. It would be his time to share his tale.

In a different yet understandable phrasing: Diop’s creation carries the weight of truth and the charm of imagination. The compact yet impactful film titled “Dahomey“, which was awarded the top honor at the Berlinale this year, blends documentary with fantasy to portray the intricate and multifaceted return of these artifacts to Benin. It commences in a chilly basement at Paris’s Musée du Quai Branly, where statues are placed into coffin-like wooden crates. Woven within this scene is a voiceover from the statue symbolizing Ghezo, the king of Dahomey who ruled from 1818 to 1858, speaking for “the 26” against a black screen. He expresses his feelings about his homeland, now foreign after years of being confined in Europe: “I am torn between the fear that no one will recognize me and not recognizing anything.” Upon reaching Benin, the film unfolds. We witness the local populace seeing these treasures for the first time, and university students discuss what this initial, modest restitution means for them. Their conversations reverberate through the streets of Cotonou. (As per one study they refer to, 90% of African culture and artifacts remain in French museums.)

As a movie critic, I had the opportunity to sit down with the talented filmmaker Mati Diop during the New York Film Festival. In our conversation, she eloquently expressed that her debut feature, “Atlantics” (winner of the 2019 Grand Prix at Cannes), embodies the essence of her craft – a concept she referred to as ‘restitution’.

After sharing much about the film Dahomey in various screening venues globally, from Benin to Senegal and even New York, I’m still discovering new insights. Engaging with viewers provides me with a fresh perspective on this movie. It makes me ponder if my chosen medium is fully equipped to address today’s critical issues effectively. There are times when I feel we should all consider taking more active roles as advocates, as the challenges we face may necessitate such involvement for meaningful change.

This movie rejuvenates me since it turns out to have met and surpassed the purpose I intended for it – sparking thought, provoking questions, and inciting discussions among viewers. It was astonishing to discover how much room the film provided its audience. This space enables them to employ their own insights, their own sensitivity. I believe that spectators are increasingly seeking more autonomy within films, preferring not to be overly guided. Many have expressed gratitude for Dahomey beyond just praising it as well-made.

As a filmmaker, I haven’t avoided tackling political matters; instead, I’ve discovered a balance where film and politics intersect, which gives me great satisfaction since I didn’t want to have to pick just one.

Have you ever felt apprehension regarding the creation of politically-charged art due to potential risks? Not me, because I believe that my works circumvent the dangers often associated with activism. They stimulate thought, spark debate, and challenge perspectives, but they refrain from taking shortcuts or resorting to polemics. Therefore, they are not inherently controversial.

It’s accurate that I expressed my support for Palestine in public at a venue in Berlin, which was indeed a delicate environment to do so. However, I firmly believe we should never let fear control us. I’m French and incredibly fortunate, yet if the highly privileged like myself become overly concerned about making political statements, well, that’s not necessary. Many others face much greater risks in expressing their views.

Are you also able to minimize risks with the unique format of your film, which blends documentary and fantastical elements? This approach was conceived prior to the production of Dahomey. Originally, I intended to create a fictional film centered around the subject of restitution. When I learned that 26 royal treasures were to be returned, my idea for this return journey, seen from the perspective of the artifacts themselves and as an internal odyssey, was already in place. Later, when I decided to make a movie longer than just the repatriation, I immediately imagined the debate: the university, the marketplace, this circular space where discourse flows. I often base my work on intuition. Once the vision is established, then comes the task of organizing an entire production to bring it to life.

Afterward, I can delve deeper and deeper into perfecting each aspect, using sound, editing, and text. It feels like sculpting during the editing process – especially when working on the debate, which is essentially a six-hour segment where we could trim away unnecessary parts to highlight the core ideas that needed to be conveyed, heard, and understood.

‘Cinema Can Create a Reality That Doesn’t Exist Yet’

Given the tight timeframe of just two weeks, the focus primarily shifted towards the logistical aspects of production. With limited funds available, how could we bring this significant film to life? My co-producers and I realized that either the Benin government would provide us with funding or grant us permission to film the artifacts, or there simply wouldn’t be a film. It was a delicate situation as no movie wants to be overly tied to a government. However, this was about restitution, a highly political matter. So we reached out to the government, who had an advisor to the minister of culture familiar with my work. They likely saw the advantages of having a film about their restitution made by me. As a result, they agreed that I would be the one to create it, provided that the movie retained its independence.

Over a fortnight, we secured both government approval and financial backing. To ensure a balanced perspective for this movie, I founded my own production company, Fanta Sy Productions, in Dakar, with a partnering French and African firm. Given my ongoing commitment on another set, I entrusted crucial aspects of the project to my team. Most significantly, I emphasized that quality cinema was paramount – we were not making a documentary or news report; we were creating a film. If initial shots are subpar, there’s no movie. The cinematographer, Joséphine Drouin-Viallard, captured stunning footage of the treasures’ arrival at the airport, just as I had envisioned.

As a fan, I’d ask: What further guidance did you provide her about immersing ourselves into the journey and the return as if we were living it through the art itself? Was it essential to always remember that the story was being narrated by the works themselves?

In the opening of the movie, we find ourselves in Paris, by the River Seine. This is one of the rare locations in your production that’s in France. To be precise, I’ve also shot a music video for Bonnie Banane at the Eiffel Tower and captured Paris from my room for a film titled “In My Room“.

I found myself yearning for independence from a dominating Western culture, which was slowly consuming all aspects of my life. This transition was personal and solitary, without being part of any specific group or movement. At the time, I was immersed in a predominantly white setting; my friends in Paris were all white. However, I had a role in Claire Denis’ film “35 Shots of Rum“, where I portrayed the daughter of a Black man. This experience, combined with the tenth anniversary of my uncle Djibril’s passing and the desire to challenge my connection to my African roots, prompted me to seek reconnection with my African heritage.

The origin of my intention to focus less on France in my work stems from a desire to challenge the centrality and universalist, colonial legacy that positions France as the focal point of intellectual thought and aesthetics. Growing up, I was predominantly influenced by Western art, which was not inherently problematic, but at a certain point, I became aware of the hegemonic nature of this culture, particularly during the early 2000s when it wasn’t widely questioned. Films like “Kids” by Larry Clark and “Virgin Suicides” by Sofia Coppola, as well as works by Cassavetes and Claire Denis, sparked my interest in filmmaking. However, there came a moment of realization for me: I am not just French; I am also Senegalese, Black, and the niece of Djibril Diop Mambéty. This realization prompted me to question and redefine my own identity within this broader context.

I began to deeply understand the vanishing state of what is often referred to as African cinema. It was disheartening to see so little self-representation from Africans on the continent. Instead, the world saw images of migrants struggling in canoes or collapsing at European fortresses – images that seemed all too familiar for my country, Senegal. My uncle’s work, however, had made a politically groundbreaking contribution and opened new avenues for creativity. I felt compelled to continue his legacy while also creating something entirely new using the tools and sensibilities of my own time. This approach would allow me to remain faithful to his work but also carve out a unique path forward.

How did Senegal influence your upbringing while you were growing up in Paris?

That’s really lucky.
It is. My mother, who is white and French, did the work of transmission that my father didn’t. As a result, this kind of belonging that I have always felt toward Senegal allowed me to return there as an adult without any complexes. Because I was close with my family, because I felt at home there. And the fact of being Djibril Diop Mambéty’s niece — even though I never met him because he died when I was a teenager and transmitted nothing to me directly — I admit that it also gave me a form of legitimacy. Not because I’m his niece, but because I chose to inherit his cinema, just as someone who isn’t related to him might. It gave me the strength to free myself from questions of legitimacy.

How does the tale of these artifacts’ return resonate with your experiences? I found an immediate connection. The concept of restitution, for me, has been central to my work since I embarked on it in Dakar with Atlantiques, a film made in 2008. In this movie, a young man who migrated from Dakar to Europe, violently repatriated by Spain, shares his journey across the sea with his two best friends, including my cousin. For me, it was a means to restore the voices of these migrants, to give voice back to those who lived it. It felt crucial to me to dedicate a film to someone who could narrate his own story in the first person, to place him at the heart of his reality once more. This, for me, is an act of restitution.

The artifacts from Dahomey experienced various occurrences linked to their colonial past. They were plundered, subsequently influenced by the colonial perspective, the ethnocentric view, and commercial factors as well. These factors distorted and redefined these artifacts from an external point of view. Upon their return to their native land, they carry traces of multiple origins, just as much from where they were taken as from where they spent over a century. The questions that might have arisen in my mind as a person of mixed heritage – “Will I recognize the homeland I left behind? Will I be accepted?” – could also resonate with these artifacts. As a product of such intricate history, your identity and experiences can reflect different realities depending on where you are, either in the former colonial power or the colonized country. It was crucial for me to underscore the multifaceted nature of their journey.

By using the statue of Ghezo as a medium, I’m actually expressing the sentiments of a vast group of souls that extend beyond the statue itself. This includes the spirits of Black individuals from the era of the slave trade right up to today’s young diaspora. In essence, it’s the collective spirit of an entire people that resonates through this voice.

Your unique vocal tone truly stands out. Could you tell me how you crafted this particular sound quality?

In a different phrasing, the voiceover for Old Fon was jointly scripted by Makenzy Orcel, a Haitian author. Since the ancestors of Haitians were transported during the slave trade from the gulf of Benin, it was crucial to me that the writer embody, in some way, remnants of this history, whether evident or hidden.

I invited Nicolas Becker, a sound artist and designer whom I was eager to collaborate with, into my project. To me, his work transcends simple words and Fon; it’s a rich texture. Together, we journeyed to Benin to capture the unique tones of three distinct voices: a woman and two men. The concept of blending various voices was Nicolas’s brainchild. I desired a sound that was robotic, forward-thinking, something that would shatter the tired, folkloric depiction of our traditions and ancestors that Westerners often conjure. Through cinema, we can spark fresh perspectives on our histories. Additionally, it’s crucial to rekindle interest in our stories and forebears, making them captivating and inspiring once more.

Intimidating.Yes, even threatening.

In the film, one of the most lively scenes features a discussion among students from a university near Cotonou. To facilitate this debate, I felt it was crucial to make it central to the movie as it underscores the importance of young people in restitution discussions. By placing the debate at the heart of the film, we were making a powerful statement that the conversation about restitution should originate from Africa and be led by its youth – the primary beneficiaries of this process. These young individuals, who have been culturally dispossessed, managed to develop political awareness despite lacking tangible remnants. As such, it was essential for the film to rekindle the debate among these young people, not only from a cinematic perspective but also as a political stance.

When it came to leading this project, I approached it similarly to directing a work of fiction. I conducted auditions and carefully selected individuals from diverse fields such as art history, history, finance, and political science, not just for their expertise but also for their ability to express themselves clearly and passionately on topics that intrigued me, yet were fresh and original. I ensured there was a variety of opinions among the chosen group. The location, being an open, picturesque area resembling a public square or agora, added to the cinematic feel. During filming, it was their words, ideas, and responses to specific questions posed by a moderator that took center stage.

The series appears somewhat utopian to me for two reasons: firstly, it mirrors genuine thoughts and sentiments; secondly, if not orchestrated by the film, these events wouldn’t have occurred. This suggests that cinema holds a unique power to manifest realities that might otherwise be non-existent, making them tangible.

I’m eager to learn about the response the movie received in France, as well as your personal experience with it. The film tackles some intense topics and I found it challenging to carry the weight of these subjects. It seems like the movie caused a small ripple effect, implying significant impact. We made the cover of Libération, and there was a lot of discussion about it on social media. I believe this film has a therapeutic quality, helping us explore our inherited colonial wounds. The narrative doesn’t present history in a simplistic manner, good versus evil, but rather in a more intricate and uncertain space that encourages viewers to reflect on the traces of the past in the present. It feels like the movie no longer belongs to me; it allows each viewer to make their own interpretation.

Diop’s uncle is the Senegalese actor-director who made 1973’s Touki Bouki.

2024-10-24 17:55

‘Cinema Can Create a Reality That Doesn’t Exist Yet’

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