Johan Grimonprez on reclaiming our voices through rebellion: ‘Confrontation is necessary’
Film and music have never existed in a vacuum. Every piece of art is inextricably linked to the political and cultural landscape in which it came from, with some of our greatest creative minds making work that is in conversation with and responding to the events that shape our world. From the melancholic yearning for freedom in the songs of Nina Simone to the hyper-realism of Nathan Fielder, art that is most personal inevitably becomes political, with those who intend to remain passive and apolitical naturally becoming more entangled in the political.
A number of films have articulated the relationship between both forces, but in Johan Grimonprez’s latest documentary, Soundtrack to a Coup d’Etat, he has created an explosive cacophony of history and sound that follows the assassination of Patrice Lumumba, the first prime minister of the Democratic Republic of Congo, and the musicians who unknowingly accompanied a country’s downfall. The level of artistry on display from Grimonprez is staggering, showing an incisive understanding of history and meticulously curated archival footage that is forensically layered to guide us through a story.
The film feels dense with information without bombarding the viewer, instead washing over us due to its genius duet with the soundtrack, evolving into a protagonist of its own as we slowly understand the intersection between both. It is relentless in its discovery and constant narrative shedding, with each moment juxtaposing the one before and adding a new layer of meaning, with a pulsating energy running throughout that pulls you into its current and commands every ounce of your attention. It’s a feat that many filmmakers wouldn’t attempt due to the sheer magnitude of the task at hand, but Grimonprez was more than passionate about tackling the subject matter, and I was incredibly lucky to speak to him after the London Film Festival to discuss the joys and challenges of carving out the story in Soundtrack to a Coup d’Etat.
Patrice Lumumba was elected in 1960, and the film follows the events shortly afterwards as the country gained independence from Belgium. The Congo is a country rich with natural resources that have typically been exploited by the Western world to create weapons and make technical advancements, with the country being colonised by Belgium in 1908. However, there are many different intersecting threads that influenced the assassination of Lumumba in 1961, and the initial challenge of approaching this slice of history is the overwhelming number of sources that need to be coordinated and outlined during pre-production. However, for Grimonprez, the image of a shoe hitting a desk was the starting point for the film.
In October of 1960, Nikita Khrushchev allegedly banged his shoes on his desk in protest of American racism and colonialism. The widespread confusion of this event has spawned countless conversations, with Grimonprez being drawn to the double meaning, saying, “In researching that, what I didn’t know is that the slamming and the banging of the shoe was actually because of the history of my country. Rubber money is what built Brussels, you know, and it’s seeped into the soul. The history of Belgium was the history of Congo. It was part of that colonial hold on that continent. And although it defined a lot of what Belgium is about, it was never blown in the open that we were so composite in smashing that independence movement and slashing that sense of hope, that solidarity that was popping up all around the world in the global south as a non-alignment movement.”
The lack of acknowledgement and glossing over of history is something that is shamefully present in the UK, too, and I tell Grimonprez how I found the level of disdain he showed towards his country quite refreshing, with British patriotism often used to avoid collective accountability and ignore the ugly legacy or where we come from.
He answered: “Yeah, that confrontation is there, of course, and it’s necessary. The contradiction comes from a place of pride. But there’s also that kind of deep layer of lacking in awareness and wanting to avoid more than guilt. I would call it maybe a trauma that is not acknowledged, and trauma is on both sides. But trauma is one of those things that is not acknowledged and then you keep moving forward in the same system, but I think to sit around the table is so crucial when both parties are present. What is not common knowledge on both sides prevents us from moving forward.”
But Grimonprez encourages us to sit with the lesser-seen side of the conflict, creating a mode of reflection that allows for these images and sounds to envelop us and drench us in an all-encompassing truth. It’s simultaneously harrowing and uplifting, blending victory, defeat, resistance and subjugation, combining the past with the fragments that still linger today, with snippets from recent iPhone commercials that expose the conflict around materials that feel jarringly modern and present.
“It was a wake-up call,” explains Grimonprez, saying, “You have the numbers, the statistics. And for me, it was so crucial to include that. I didn’t want the film to be a nostalgic trap. It was so important to allude to sort of that Congo Inc is still happening. If you put a map of East Congo, where all the conflict and minerals are, and you put the statistics of raped women on there, it’s a one-on-one correlation because it’s used as a weapon of war to empty villages. It’s those borders where all the confidence was slashed and shipped to China, and then Apple can sort of wash their hands. But it weighs on the conscience of all of us.”
It’s a provocative message that is only exaggerated through the use of jazz, which mirrors the conflict happening within the country. I’m curious about how he organized the placement of music throughout the film, and Grimonprez describes the correlation between music and the independence movement, saying, “You know, music was always so close. I really felt that music was historical and a political agent. And we sort of were looking, how can we not make from this film the music as a protagonist, right? That driving force in the film.”
Continuing, he adds: “The music also brings the people together while the politics is all about divide and conquer. I knew about Louis Armstrong being over in the Congo third week of October and third week of November. But I did not know it was such a correlation that it was right at the moment where they were plotting to overthrow and actually already assassinate Patrice Lumumba. And so this whole Black jazz message is an interesting theme.”
Black musicians like Armstrong, Nina Simon, Duke Ellington and Dizzy Gillespie were sent to perform around the world as a gesture of American goodwill and solidarity, despite the fact that segregation was still a law in the States. However, the music begins to reflect the dichotomy of this clash, with an inner voice reflecting the rebellion and anxiety of this conflict and adding a hidden layer to their performance. Art often speaks in a coded language that isn’t immediately understood, something that Grimonprez mimics in the film through his own double meanings and loaded quotes.
He explains: “These Black jazz musicians sort of function as a decoy, as a story. Again, it’s an untold story that underneath, something else was happening, right? And the beginning and end of the film is bookended by, ‘We Insist! Freedom Now’ suite by the Max Roach quartet. It’s literally the drum of Max Roach that opens the film. And then it ends with a scream.”
Max Roach is referenced directly in the film, with a quote from him reading, “Music is a weapon against man’s inhumanity towards man”, a message that sparked new meaning after Maurice Roach attended a screening of the film. I asked him how he feels about the role of the artist in the political landscape today and how that’s shaped his approach to creativity. He responds, “Well, I would say we’ve been bombarded with narratives that tell us how we should live our life.”
Elaborating further, he continues: “You know, you walk in Times Square, and it’s all brand logos, corporate logos that, in a folded way, tell you what your intimate life should look like. And there’s a little project for artists on top of one building at Times Square. And that’s become our public imagination. But it doesn’t add up. I feel like it’s an upside-down world. I think the whole of Times Square should be filled up with our own public imagination, not the corporate images. And I think it’s so crucial as an artist that we reclaim the space, to reclaim our story. When Abby Lincoln is screaming at the end of the film, that anger says, ‘I’m not agreeing with this world.’ So the anger that becomes part of the music says a lot about how we don’t agree with this story.”
Soundtrack to a Coup d’Etat embodies this very idea: to flip the narrative and expose the truths hidden in murky layers of history, to provide a seat at the table for those who have been excluded from having their stories shared. It’s an unflinching and astonishing wake-up call that shows he we cannot disentangle ourselves from the past; what existed then bleeds into the now and only manifests itself in new ways. It pulls suffering and hope into the open, making the pain briefly bearable through the animated rebellion of the jazz soundtrack and the subtle power of these sounds that reclaim the story and redirect us towards a new future.
Soundtrack to a Coup D’Etat will launch on BFI Player on December 20th and TVOD on major streaming platforms on December 30th.
