It’s looking likely that French director Mati Diop’s bold, thought-provoking and atmospheric documentary Dahomey will be nominated for Best Documentary Feature at the 97th Academy Awards, and it will be well-deserved. Intriguing, inquisitive and artfully strange, this film explores how stolen artefacts hold two histories; one of where they came from, and another of the colonial forces they had to survive. Diop gives these artefacts a voice, not only opening up our imagination and empathy, but also an awareness of the ugly, often undocumented consequences of colonialism.

Dahomey depicts the return of 26 royal antiquities from Paris to The Republic of Benin, which was the Kingdom of Dahomey in the 17th century. French troops seized thousands of artefacts in the midst of the First and Second Franco-Dahomean Wars in the early 1890s, a cultural erasure which added to the physical violence that decimated the West African Kingdom. As we are currently seeing in Gaza and have seen many times before around the globe, erasing art, culture and historians from a region acts as a form of colonial violence. Diop explores how African nations have had their culture disrupted and diluted by invading forces, and the knock-on effect that has for young people growing up in regions where their native history has been replaced with western narratives and religions.

A community discussion filmed at a large hall plays out a little like a university debate, with speakers discussing how colonisation has impacted their sense of identity. “I was told I was descended from slaves,” one woman says defiantly, “But I was descended from Amazons.” The speakers discuss their feelings on the return of the artefacts. Some see it as a token gesture, others as political manipulation. Many see it as a “savage insult.” The discussions are never tidy, with ambivalence, grief and anger at the fore, underscored by a deep sense of doubt over whether redress or national redefinition is even possible. The unruliness of the narrative is vital. Diop isn’t trying to judge the conversation or enforce a more comforting sense of hope, she merely witnesses it, allowing speakers to express the role history plays in their identities, as well as the great schisms that are felt, both personally and politically.

Diop’s experimental choices elevate Dahomey further. One section sees her give a voice to one of the returned artefacts, which is referred to as '26' despite being a wooden statue of King Gezo, ruler of Dahomey in the mid 1800s. In a low and raspy voice (voiced by Makenzy Orcel), 26 uses the Beninese language Fon to narrate its journey from France back to Africa. We follow 26 as it is packed up and put in a crate – carefully, though face down, which feels dehumanising. Occasionally Diop switches to 26’s point of view, showing how light disappears and its journey descends into darkness. Over the course of the journey, the people handling 26 move from being French museum workers and white transport officials to locals of Benin. There is a genuine feeling of relief and safety when 26 is finally embraced by the hands of its people.

Despite running for a relatively brief 68 minutes, Diop’s film manages to play with time, history and voice, creating a deep sense of connection with past and present. Most importantly, the director addresses the cultural violence that comes with erasing history and rewriting narratives from the perspective of the oppressor. Beautiful, challenging, poetic and political, Dahomey is essential viewing for all.

• Watch the trailer below: