Soundtrack to a Coup D’Etat (Select Theaters and On Demand)
History is brought to vivid life in this documentary that doubles as a political thriller
What’s it about? Jazz and decolonization are entwined in this historical rollercoaster that rewrites the Cold War episode that led musicians Abbey Lincoln and Max Roach to crash the UN Security Council in protest against the murder of Patrice Lumumba.
Who it’s for? History buffs, fans of experimental documentaries, Jazz enthusiasts, fans of conspiracy narratives, social justice advocates
Who should avoid? Those seeking light entertainment, viewers averse to non-linear storytelling, fans of casual documentaries, if you’re not interested in world history
Watch if you like: JFK, The Act of Killing, I Am Not Your Negro, OJ: Made in America, The Fog of War
News and Notes:
Premiered at Sundance 2024
Released on VOD January 7th
Schmear’s Verdict: A wildly immersive and fiercely provocative documentary that captivates with its labyrinth of political history, music, and righteous fury.
In the most complimentary way, it took me five hours to watch Soundtrack to a Coup D’Etat instead of the film’s actual runtime. So fascinating were this highly original documentary’s myriad threads that I ended up with hundreds of tabs open, Wikipedia-ing this dark, postcolonial mid-century universe all the livelong day.
If you asked me to describe Soundtrack to a Coup D’Etat in one sentence, I’d say it’s a documentary that utilizes archival footage and jazz to explicate the assassination of Congolese politician Patrice Lumumba. If you permitted me a few more sentences (as you have, as a devoted Schmear reader), I’d say this is a wildly involving, artfully edited, emotionally stirring rabbit hole of a video essay, sure to swirl you violently and disorientingly down its drain.
The film comes from politically minded Belgian documentarian Johan Grimonprez, whose righteous indignation at his country’s hushed-up colonial history boils over into a fury of music and image. The film extensively covers the pan-African movement and the ensuing turmoil at the nascent United Nations, as the institution wrestled with its egalitarian mission and its overlording capitalistic interests—you can guess who wins out.
This is a searing, damning portrait of colonialism’s long, hypocritical tail and how, in our lifetimes—just 65 years ago—scheming, murderous barbarism was allowed to exist, dressed up in doublespeak, as nefariously genteel as CIA director Allen Dulles and his pipe.
There are no traditional talking heads here. The pace and rhythm of Soundtrack reflect free jazz, apropos of the artists lionized here, like Dizzy Gillespie, Louis Armstrong, and Abbey Lincoln. The invigorating music not only connects with you on a corkboard conspiracy crack-up level but also figures into the storyline, as in highlighting Armstrong’s trip to the Congo, as well as the way Black artists were used unwittingly as ambassadors in Africa and around the world to soften America’s image and distract from its rapacious violent purposes.
This is a heady trip to a specific moment in world history, where you hopscotch between Patrice Lumumba to Nina Simone, Malcolm X to Duke Ellington, Nikita Khrushchev to Langston Hughes, and somehow, through the magic of editing, research, and music, it all makes sense, with a true-life conspiratorial vigor that’d make Oliver Stone blush.
This is not to be missed for those interested in history—an academic PDF meets a music video—as its director Johan Grimonprez put it. I was enthralled, bewitched, and enraged.
