Soundtrack to a Coup d'Etat

SOUNDTRACK TO A COUP D'ETAT (2024) Nominated for Best Documentary Feature. Johan Grimonprez' dynamic, densely layered Documentary is ostensibly about the Coup in the Republic of Congo in 1960 which dethroned Patrice Lumumba, but it extends further into the cultural and long-term political instability in the region.

Grimonprez blends Jazz and Blues with readings from several works on the subject as well as a generous amount newsreel footage to provide the 'Soundtrack'. It is the music which provides the ebb and flow of the film by the likes of Nina Simone, Louis Armstrong, Dizzy Gillespie, Abbey Lincoln, Duke Ellington, John Coltrane, Charles Mingus and Ornette Coleman. Max Roach's impassioned drumming is its blistering heartbeat. The graphics of the title card and on the posters evoke the style of Jazz and Blues records of that era.

Grimonprez' work is rigorously sourced with on screen annotations and references. Sometimes, it's all a bit too fast and furious to take it all in, but this is a highly engaging Doc which is riveting for its full 150 minutes. Many of the musicians were in the forefront of exposing the U. S. government's involvement in the overthrow. The Soviet Union's Nikita Khrushchev of all persons comes off as one of independent Congo's greatest defenders (of course, with major ulterior motives of his own). The clips of his colorful U. N. antics are given significantly better context here than usual. In addition to the CIA, the usually thought of as peaceful nation of Belgium stands as the villains of the piece.

SOUNDTRACK OF A COUP D'ETAT dares to be 'entertaining', but it's never less than thoughtful, thorough and provocative. A sterling Documentary.

This documentary is a serious testament to the archivist's art as it pieces together an impressive array of imagery of the great and the good of American Jazz and combines that with some intimate actuality of the turbulence ongoing in the Congo as it strived for independence. Why might anyone care about the future of an impoverished African nation that had all but bankrupted it's "owner" - King Leopold II of Belgium? Well that's because it holds enormous deposits of the uranium required by both the West and the Soviets - and that's just the start of it's reputedly $23 trillion worth of mineral assets. Emerging from the populace to lead this new country is Patrice Lumumba. He's an articulate man who unlike so many who took their nations out of colonial-hood, is not constantly bedecked in medals and ribbons with armed men at his back. What we see over the next couple of hours uses a superb musical soundtrack from the likes of Nina Simone, Louis Armstrong, Miles Davis - you name it, to provide a backdrop to CIA shenanigans, petulant strops from Nikita Khruschev, accusatory comments from just about everyone from Malcolm X to Fidel Castro and some extremely cynical insights into the Eisenhower presidency's approach to this man; to the problems he may bring or solve and to the precedents he was bound to set. As you'll expect, this freedom fight is tied-in closely with the fight for desegregation and equal/human rights for African American people and it uses that platform to illustrate just how ineffective the US-dominated United Nations was at brokering anything akin to a peaceable solution that was in anyway neutral or beneficial to the populace of this vast territory. The secession of Katanga - where the mining was at it's more lucrative and the privatisation of it's principal enterprise ensured that the West still pulled the strings, sets the tone for the final phase of the history and it's tragic conclusion. I knew some of this but I wasn't aware of just how exploitatively the American administration used unwitting people, many globally recognised household hames and who were still treated as second-class citizens (if citizens at all) at home, to peddle a political message of brotherhood and unity in Africa and at just how effective these deceptions were whilst the CIA experimented with new ways of assassinating. There's an arrogance here that's writ large as the local population are treated with a casual disdain that makes your flesh crawl. Fans of jazz will love the accompaniment which mixes some characterful performances of the more famous pieces of music from the genre with some more specifically written and delivered themes that directly address the issues of slavery, exploitation and freedom that led to a protest within the impotent General Assembly chamber itself. It is curious that many of the criticisms levelled at the UN in the mid 1960s are just as valid today, and that little progress as been made changing the format that was established by world powers in the 1940s whose "permanent" roles embedded in the political infrastructure remain unaffected sixty years later. This isn't a film about corporate greed, it's one about political influence and domination and has been thoughtfully put together to open a hornet's nest. Did you know that Dizzy Gillespie actually ran for US President?

Whereas a documentary of this caliber on the direct-to-streaming aisle would incorporate your basic interviews and archival footage with little to no forethought, Soundtrack to a Coup d'État is a rallying cry within a musical odyssey. Hyperfast editing and a symphonic pace make this visual essay so special, resembling jazz's rigid but unforgettable structure. Vastly covering the Congo's struggle for independence (with jazz giants being the preface)- the inherent timeliness to today's genocidal crimes reflects a period not too astray from ours.

At times it may seem like the gargantuan presence of information overwhelms the viewer into submission, but rest assured the film continues its tapestry of bedazzlement all the way through. This is how historical documentaries should be made. Lessons will be learned, techniques will be seen. Enthralling from beginning to end, Soundtrack to a Coup d'État must not be missed. A charming, distinctive gateway for those yearning to learn more about deep-seated neocolonialism.

"Soundtrack to a Coup d'État" feels more like a jam session of ideas and emotions than a straightforward history lesson. Directed by Belgian filmmaker Johan Grimonprez, the documentary blends music, politics, and collective memory to transport us to post-independence Congo and dive into the tragedy of Patrice Lumumba's fall. It's a powerful mosaic where every element-from archival footage to the jazz-heavy soundtrack-contributes to a dynamic portrait of a historic moment filled with promises, betrayals, and echoes that still resonate today.

Right from the start, the film sets its tone by weaving vibrant footage of newly independent Congo with electrifying performances by jazz legends like Nina Simone and Louis Armstrong. The music isn't just background noise-it's a crucial part of the narrative, capturing both the optimism and the chaos of that era. Grimonprez uses jazz as a living metaphor for the political and social improvisation that defined the struggle for independence amidst Western powers' scheming. Every off-key note and unexpected pause mirrors the turbulence of a Congo striving to shape its own future while external forces worked to keep it chained to the past.

The documentary's non-linear structure is utterly fascinating, jumping between decades, events, and cultural contexts. This approach might feel disorienting at first, but it's a deliberate choice that reflects the complex history Grimonprez aims to unravel. There's no attempt to smooth over or simplify the narrative; instead, the film demands your full attention, pushing the audience to deeply engage with the events on screen. This fragmented style is also a reminder that colonialism and its aftermath aren't linear stories-they're scars that continue to branch out, connect, and reverberate.

At the heart of the film is Patrice Lumumba, a pulsating symbol of hope and tragedy. Grimonprez emphasizes his revolutionary vision and martyrdom without holding back. Lumumba is portrayed as a messianic figure, a leader whose dream of a sovereign Congo and a unified Pan-Africanism was as inspiring to his people as it was threatening to colonial powers. Here, the film takes on a heavier tone, showing how his vision was systematically dismantled through calculated assassinations, coups, and political manipulation.

Grimonprez also masterfully examines the intersections of culture and politics. The tours of musicians like Armstrong and Simone are contextualized as part of Western powers' soft diplomacy strategies, while the music they performed in turn became a form of cultural resistance. This duality-of artists often unknowingly serving imperialist interests while their songs inspired revolutionary movements-is one of the documentary's most tragic and thought-provoking aspects.

Perhaps the film's greatest strength lies in its ability to turn historical facts into a visceral experience. Its sharp editing connects archival footage of Lumumba's speeches, contemporary Congo scenes, and modern ads from brands like Tesla and Apple, drawing provocative parallels between colonial exploitation and present-day systems of extraction and inequality. It's a stark reminder that history doesn't just repeat itself-it evolves, often disguising its predatory core.

Even with its hefty runtime of 150 minutes, the film rarely loses its momentum. If the pacing occasionally feels slower, it's due to the sheer density of the material rather than any narrative misstep. Grimonprez seems more interested in overwhelming the audience with information than delivering a neatly packaged story. While this can be exhausting, it's immensely rewarding for those willing to dive into its depths.

Ultimately, "Soundtrack to a Coup d'État" isn't just a tribute to Lumumba or a study of Congo's past. It's a call to reflect on how music, culture, and politics are intertwined in a constant cycle of oppression and resistance. This is a film that challenges us to look beyond the headlines and listen to the stories that linger in the spaces between the notes-stories of struggle, loss, and the relentless pursuit of freedom.

It's a documentary on the birth of the Republic of Congo and the assassination of its first prime minister, Patrice Lumumba. The approach incorporates much film footage from about 1950 to the early 1960s, juxtaposing the music and comments of leading jazz musicians of the era with contemporary news footage. Particular emphasis is placed on the various political machinations at the United Nations by Nikita Khrushchev, Dwight Eisenhower, Adlai Stevenson, and other world leaders, including Fidel Castro and Malcolm X.

At some levels, "Soundtrack to a Coup d'Etat" is an intelligent and brilliant work with an incredible musical score. However, it takes too long to make the fundamental connection between the American jazz musicians and Patrice Lumumba. When it finally does, it's highly effective, but a half hour could easily have been edited from the final production.