Soundtrack to a Coup d'État

It’s the quietly magisterial Fiennes who steals the show. Don’t be surprised to see white smoke billowing out of the Academy Awards come March.

It might manifest as a straightforward historical documentary, but the fascinating, hypnotic Soundtrack to a Coup d'Etat unfolds into something much deeper -- and more sinister.

The effect, although lengthy at two-and-a-half hours, is dreamlike yet propulsive, a timeline that’s optimistic and sinister at the same moment.

This is a film which has a little of Oliver Stone in the way it inhales something eerie and sinister in the atmosphere, and it’s something to set alongside Leon Gast’s 1996 documentary When We Were Kings.

Provoking a bit of confusion is the point. Covert power relies on misdirection, and it is only by looking back that we can sometimes make sense of what happened. That’s why “Soundtrack” lands on a coda.

The film, with its dazzling musical energy, its complex narrative sweep and its dizzying cast of characters, finally emerges as a tragedy: a story of promises broken and trust betrayed.

Tyranny is presented here with a full acknowledgement of its cruelty, but care is taken not to be gratuitous, not to further exploit suffering; and beyond this, Grimonprez is keen to highlight its ridiculous side.

If you have the concentration to keep up with the information thrown at you, the reward will be a multi-layered look at how history is rarely told in a straight line.

There are resonant stories and great music to be heard in Soundtrack to a Coup d'Etat, but its 150-minute running time is too demanding for anyone who isn't already a student of decolonialism in Africa.

One of the most exhilarating and inventive nonfiction pictures of the year