Oktober

This film is highly reminiscent of Eisenstein's later work, POTEMKIN, in that it looks like like a typical historical film but more like a re-creation of the events--much like a documentary. However, like POTEMKIN, it too is a very politically driven propaganda film. While most of the moments on film are pretty realistic, Eisenstein and Alexandropov also intersperse little scenes that portray the Communists as noble peasants and the Kerensky government as patently evil. While depicting the Czarist regime that preceded the Kerensky government as evil is pretty accurate, the story of Kerensky isn't quite that cut and dry. While he did create his own downfall due to the foolish decision to continue the war against Germany after the May Revolution (the non-Communist revolution of 1917 that sought reforms and forced the czar to abdicate), Kerensky and his men weren't quite the evil pigs they were depicted as in the film. But, of course, considering the October Communist Revolution was still recent history when the film was made, this sort of hyperbole is rather understandable. Plus, given the control exercised over the Soviet film industry, it is doubtful that Kerensky and his cronies could have been depicted any other way.

Particular standouts in the film are the interesting and very imaginative camera-work as well as the brisk pace and realism of the film. About the only negatives (other than the way they depicted the Kerensky government) were the excessive use of some footage to make a simple point--such as showing men scrambling out of a doorway again and again and again to let the audience know people are pouring into a room or returning to the same shot repeatedly. At the time, this was pretty forgivable and normal, but today it appears, at times, like it could have used a bit tighter editing.

American John Reed, who never met a Bolshevik he didn't admire and trust, wrote a still spellbinding first-hand account, "Ten Days That Shook the World," of the November (October in the Old Style calendar) revolution that ended Russia's Provisional Government. Directors Sergei Eisenstein and Grigori Aleksandrov dipped into Reed's almost breathless panegyric to the quixotic and jumbled events that led to the capture of the fabled Winter Palace for the epic, "Oktyabr" (shown here as "October").

Whatever Aleksandrov's contribution, this is emphatically and unmistakably Eisenstein's film and it's a masterpiece. Tracing the increasingly chaotic days from the overthrow of the Romanovs until the victory of the Bolsheviks and their foolishly trusting partners, Eisenstein's 1927 movie freezes the mood and emotions of one of the most turbulent episodes in Russian, indeed in world, history.

A signature technique of Eisenstein is the fast pan from enormous, fluid and raging crowd action (here occasionally taken from news film but more often staged with a cast of thousands) to a closeup of faces that reflect deep emotion. As in "Battleship Potemkin," dealing with an earlier phase of the unraveling of tsarist Russia, Eisenstein's heroes are the proletariat, poor but possessed of a fierce and empowering nobility. The bourgeoisie are inflated, food and drink-sated fools, their supercilious natures reflected by expressions bordering on the imbecilic.

With Eisenstein's films, viewers tend to remember several scenes that most exported his vision. Here a dead horse and a long-haired young woman, killed as she joined in a workers' protest, undergo a slow passage from the deck of an opening bridge into a river. It's harrowing, unforgettable.

Lenin is, of course, a hero. The hero. Trotsky, on his way to banishment and eventual assassination, is shown as a weak would-be compromiser, actually a mild obstacle to the march of the Soviets to power. I bet he didn't like this movie.

Contrasting peoples' moods with still shots of objects was always an Eisenstein trait. The workers are juxtaposed with weapons, streets, bridges. The feckless Kerensky, head of the Provisional Government, is pictured against statuettes of Napoleon. Depicted as a coward he abandons his cabinet in a car bedecked with a small American flag. The flag is shown several times. I wonder why. And the poor tsar and tsarina, soon to be brutally murdered with their children and servants at Ekaterinburg, have their framed photos alternated with those of their imperial commode.

Dmitri Shostakovich, not simply the greatest Russian composer of the last century but also one of the world's finest, was ideologically and creatively in tune, no pun intended, with Eisenstein and officialdom's retrospective paean to the Bolshevik overthrow. In 1927 he was years away from being Russia's most endangered composer because of the whims of the madman, Stalin (who isn't in this film). His score is hardly his best work, not even his finest film music. It is an effective accompaniment to the action.

Originally a silent film, the added-on soundtrack has virtually no speech but the sounds of marching, running, trains, guns and other objects enliven the picture, now faithfully and well-restored.

"Oktyabr" is, of course, a political polemic and the history portrayed is what the party ordained as truth. Eisenstein was a brilliant innovator but he was no counter-revolutionary deviationist and wrecker. He adhered to the party line and so does the movie.

The restored print is making the rounds of film societies and art theaters and should, if possible, be viewed on a large screen. But even on a TV set "Oktyabr" will reach out and grip the viewer.

10/10. A milestone in film-making.

Few films have this much bitterness, and few filmmakers have the correct balance of passion and creative talent that Eisenstein had. That is what makes this film such an important achievement in the history of cinema.

Here, it is the notion of time and space that is at the forefront of the director's concerns, utilising what artist Derek Jarman once dubbed 'a way of viewing the past by way of the present' in order to recreate the 1917 revolution; complete with thousands of extras and a never before seen approach to scene layering and editorial juxtaposition. Eisenstein himself had set the bar for this kind of thing with the much-imitated Battleship Potemkin (1925), though the experimentation here is much more revolutionary, what with the combined number of cuts, the constant switch between camera angles and location, and also in the repetition of montage.

This was all new when first released, and it still seems fresh today. Others have mentioned the debt that filmmakers like Jean Luc Godard, Nicolas Roeg and Steven Soderbegh owe to this kind of editing. Godard, Resnais, Roeg and Cammell all attempted to elaborate on the cinematic notions of this film, though you could perhaps argue that they failed to attach their creativity to a story with this much emotional resonance. Who cares if the underlining political and historical accuracy are true to the time? If we are willing to forgive Eisenstein for breaking narrative continuity then why do so many viewers refuse to disengage from cinematic distortions of reality?

This is a notion made all the more impressive due to the documentary-like nature of the film, and the raw aggression that the filmmaker gets from his extras. Here it is the contrast between what we view as real and what we know to be a façade that really tugs at the heartstrings. Surely the massacre and the image of the slaughtered horse dangling lifelessly from the toll bridge is one of the saddest scenes in the history of film; again, because of the film's roots in reality and the passion of the filmmakers.

October isn't just a film; it's a continuation in the growth of film as an artistic medium. It's also a wonderful, though often shattering story that should be seen by all; definitely a film that works on an emotional level, as opposed to the psychological.

I first saw this film in the late 80s at the NFT (UK National Film Theatre) with a piano accompaniment. The print was scratchy and the inter-titles longer than several of the scenes. I was expecting it to be interesting as an example of Eisenstein's use of montage and cross-cutting (and indeed the audience seemed to be composed mainly of film students), thus worthy and perhaps a little dull. Instead, I was stunned. Now released on DVD with a Shostakovitch score and sparse sound effects, the film is revealed as masterpiece which surpasses both Battleship Potyomkin (1925) and Alexander Nevsky (1938) in its use of these two, and many more, filmic devices.

It's a young man's film and completely of its time and place, that is to say it gives a romanticised and idealised view of the Bolshevic revolution and its origins. The Tsar is directly compared to a horse's arse, Lenin harangues from the front of a steam engine, the proletariat are the true beneficiaries of the revolution. Statues fall apart and are re-formed in reverse motion, the people re-enact the storming of the winter palace (and climb its real gates), the battles cross-cut from faces and hands to carefully staged set pieces. In the second most famous sequence in early film history (the other being the Odessa steps from Potyomkin), a young woman's hair flops over the edge of a rising bridge while a cart and dead horse drop into the water.

The film is politically naive but decades ahead of its time in every other respect. The young people who inhabit these pages might like to compare its editing and pacing with that of the average music video and CGI-driven special effects film. I contend there is essentially nothing in these which they will not find in Eisenstein, and in October (Oktyabr) in particular. Yes, it's black and white, and silent but for the lately added score, and yes, it's from the early 20th century (by no means the earliest history of film), but it still stuns after repeated viewing. This is where modern film-making started, and everything we think we know about it (slow motion, montage, cross-cuts, reverses, you name it) had its origins in Eisenstein. The inter-titles (not sub-titles) still go on too long, though.

Oktyabr October This is one of the few times in film that the movie and history agree. It is a historically accurate account of the Bolshevik revolution and the overthrow of the monarchy in 1917. Oktyabr is full of symbolism that many will find amusing. For instance, the scene where the tsar walks through the doors and a shot of a peacock flashes on the screen, giving the illusion that the tsar walks into the peacock's butt. This is also a fairly graphic film, showing the deaths of many people. This is comparable to what someone would see if they viewed old World War II footage. The film mainly documents the revolution and makes intellectual connections between people and events in history. Many conclusions can be made about the connections that someone who recognizes the symbolism can make. For being a historical documentary type of movie, it does a good job of telling the story while still providing some interesting parts to keep the film viewer entertained. I felt that this movie gave me a greater insight to what happened in Russia during that time period. If you are interested in Russian history, this is definitely a movie that you want to see.