With a duration of 150 minutes, and a freeform structure heavily reliant on highly innovative montage, Soundtrack to a Coup d’Etat takes viewers on a loud and colourful journey across the developments that led to the murder of Congo’s first democratically elected leader, Patrice Lumumba. Most of the events take place in 1960. The Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) gained its independence from Belgium (“an independence rotten at the roots”) on June 30th of that year. Just seven months later, the Belgian government – in cahoots with the CIA – carried out the assassination of the young, bright, handsome and charismatic Congolese leader.

Much of the story is told through quotes, which pop up across the screen. In the very opening of the documentary, American president Dwight Eisenhower expresses his desire that “Lumumba would fall into a river of crocodiles”. “Regretfully” replies British Foreign Minister Home, “we’ve lost all the techniques of old-fashioned diplomacy”. The machinations of colonialism and imperialism are thus dissected from the very beginning. This kaleidoscopic movie shuns a traditional chronological approach in favour of a cubist style. Fragments of history are put together in a rough artistic fashion, with a very clear picture being painted at the end.

Soviet leader Nikita Khrushchev is one of the main characters. His dislike for all things American is prominent: “when I hear jazz, it’s as if I had gas in my stomach”. His commitment to African people is a lot more ambiguous. While purporting to care for the “independence and freedom” of the Congolese people during a passionate UN speech, it soon becomes clear that it is the minerals that he’s most concerned about. These are the raw materials that could enable to USSR to generate uranium, and take a huge leap ahead in the nuclear race against the United States.

The West is indeed concerned that Lumumba may have Communist inclinations. Or Africanist ambitions. Either way, neither the former Belgian colonisers nor the new American “friends” (an ingenuous Lumumba does initially seek help from the United States) welcome the idea of a free-thinking African leader, and a truly independent Congo. So they enable the secession of Katanga, the mineral-rich southern province of the DRC. Belgian airplanes land in the “break-away” region with five tons of weapons. Similarly to Khrushchev, Eisenhower too delivers a sanctimonious defence of the country’s self-determination at the United Nations, while in private refusing to talk to Lumumba (or even contemplating the reptile food option).

The climax at the story comes at the end, when Louis Armstrong is convinced to perform in Katanga, unaware that his concert was being used as a smokescreen for the assassination of Lumumba. Upon finding out the reasons behind his travel, the singer threatens to give up his US citizenship and move to Ghana (something that never came to fruition).

Music is at the heart of Soundtrack to a Coup d’Etat, with Armstrong, Nina Simone and Miriam Makeba often singing as the dark events unfold in front of our eyes. Their songs are mostly of hope and resistance. Max Roach’s intense, frantic drumming provides the perfect touch of tension to the proceedings. King of Bebop Dizzy Gillespie is also conspicuous: “the weapon which we will use is a cool one”, he claims with a sax to hand.

The most extraordinary element of Johan Grimonprez’s fourth feature documentary is its impressive montage. Images, title cards, voiceover and music are arranged in a multitude of impactful ways in order to create a genuinely hypnotic experience. Armstrong sings “I’m confessing that I love you, but do you love me too” just as Eisenhower welcomes Khrushschev into the United States. Lumumba loyalist Leonie Abo describes an attempted murder, while Nina Simone plays the piano and sings, and images of a derailed train take over. Eisenhower’s display of “independence” tussles with Louis Armstrong’s version of La Vie en Rose for the spotlight. The contrast is clear: there is nothing rosy about Congo’s independence.

Soundtrack to a Coup d’Etat has the aesthetic and the energy of Raoul Peck’s I Am Not Your Negro (2017), an informal biopic of Malcolm X (also a recurring character in this Belgian movie). Both films boast a vertiginous montage, abundant music, fiery text popping on the screen, and more. Johan Grimonprez is a white multimedia artist from Belgium, and deserves praise for stepping into the shoes of the colonised and creating a film piece that will be remembered in film studies and school curricula alike. Soundtrack to a Coup d’Etat is a movie that deserves unequivocal praise for its format and for its historical content alike.

Soundtrack to a Coup d’Etat received a Best Documentary Academy Award nomination, but lost the prize to the far more conventional – and no less powerful – No Other Land (Yuval Abraham, Basel Adra, Hamdan Ballal Rachel Szor). It is available on all major VoD platforms on Monday, March 10th.