Potomok Chingis-Khana

The journey of Bair, the Mongol, is almost a ritualistic study of the Mongols fighting alongside the Partisans, who are helping the Soviets against a British occupation. It also shows, in great detail, the plight of the struggling fur-trader in 1920 northern Russia. I think this is the first film from 1928 that I feel suffered a little from being silent, although the musical score provided by the DVD, does help with the pace of the film. The story is slightly jerky though and they do hang on certain scenes a little long. That doesn't mean this is a bad film. By no stretch, is that the case. I loved this film accept for those knit-picks.

Director Vsevolod Pudovkin, choreographed many great battle scenes. They utilize some very cool editing tricks, especially in my two favorite scenes. In the first scene, when the warning goes out to find the man who drew the white man's blood, they use great flip editing and quick-cuts, most notably, during the storm/battle at the end. Lots of metaphorical montage.

The battle in the woods was fantastic also. Great emotion! The death of the Partisan leader shows great emotion, with great facial expressions on the actors. Vsevolod Pudovkin captures moody imagery of the woods that enhances the experience. All-in-all, a beautiful film, which almost attains a flow, that is like a poetic symphony, until it hits those little knit-picks I mentioned earlier.

8.8 (B+ MyGrade) = 8 IMDB.

There's a scene early on in Storm Over Asia where Mongolian fur traders are bringing in their pelts for a British imperialist to purchase. The power dynamic is so stilted and he treats them with no humanity, haughtily tossing down a couple of coins for what he deems a piece is worth after having seized it. When he does this with a particularly beautiful and rare fur, the previously placid locals get rankled over how unfair he's being, and the tension is palpable. It's a fantastic scene and while it may seem like communist propaganda, it was a completely legitimate critique of capitalism, a system which if unchecked, invariably allows for the selfish exploitation of the poor by the wealthy - much like an American film like Ninotchka contained valid criticisms of communism in the Soviet Union. This was a five star moment and I wish the film had managed to remain focused. The visuals are also brilliant, including breathtaking landscapes in Mongolia, artistic close ups, and fast cut montage sequences. These scored high marks for me as well.

Where the film falters is in the story it tells, and the excruciatingly slow pace it takes to tell it. Shortly after the fur trading scene, the local flees and comes across a group of Russian partisans fighting British forces. Huh? You might think, wondering when such activity took place, and you'd be right to doubt it. And the history here matters, because it was actually the Soviet Union that was actively involved in undermining local autonomy in this region. To make a film showing someone else committing the evil your protagonists actually committed is similar to old American westerns which are heavy on Native-American violence instead of showing any semblance of the brutal genocide, and it's wrong to do so, no matter how skilled the filmmaker.

The film shows some authentic footage of Buddhist ceremonies which held some interest to me, but they aren't filmed in a way to foster understanding of the culture, but rather, seem to emphasize how "exotic" the natives are. Ordinarily I wouldn't care as much and just be happy something like this was filmed for posterity, but here it felt out of place and elongated and already bloated film. The shots of the reincarnated Lama on his throne as a baby were pretty fun for me though, I must confess.

The business of making the supposed descendant of Genghis Khan a puppet leader takes far too long to unfold though, and the scenes with the British aristocrats were a chore to sit through, even they it did bring us back around to the beautiful pelt in the story line. There is something to be said for the fury of the Mongolian man at the end, and it's impressive that he's shown to be righteous in the face of racism. Right before that, you see, the British businessman has said white people "must be protected from the encroachments of colored scoundrels!", and the British general, smoke billowing out from behind him as if he were the devil, orders him to withdraw, because he has his own plans. That's a wonderful moment.

Ultimately, I liked the power in the anti-imperialist message and the visual artistry, but 131 minutes was too long, and the historical distortion was too tough for me to overlook. In any event, it's not one I'd like to see again, except in clips of the finer moments.

This is an unusual project, deeply polemic like all Soviet cinema of the period but with the entire 'tyrants and proles' puppet play relocated to the far eastern steppe; so standing in for the exploited but spirited with fight peoples are now the indigenous Mongols, but again trapped between antiquated, superstitious religion and a cruel ruling elite financed by unethical capitalism. Workers back in Moscow and Lenigrand were supposed to relate.

Pudovkin is talented in making the equivalence, he intercuts the military aristocrats being pampered and groomed for an occasion with the Buddhist priests being helped in their ceremonial attire to receive them. The meeting of these two oppressors is marked with secret dances made to look chaotic, and Buddhist music made to sound intentionally grating and dissonant.

The mockery continues inside the temple, with the all-knowing, wise high lama revealed to be only a child; he looks apprehensive as everyone accords him the utmost respect. The insidious comments are particularly egregious when viewed in context of what the Buddhist were about to suffer in the hands of the Chinese comrades and how much of that elaborate spiritual culture was trampled under the mass-suicide of Mao's agricultural reforms.

Most of it flows by without much incident; vast dusty landscapes, petty human cruelties. Wars, and counterwars. The plot is eventually about a humble Mongol fur trapper being mistaken for the heir of Genghis Khan and groomed by the military to be the puppet ruler of a new nation.

Pudovkin was never quite an Eisenstein or Dovzhenko; he could concentrate his films into a motion as pervasive as they did, but couldn't sustain for as long. So we get bumpy stretches across otherwise pleasant vistas.

But then we have the ending, absolutely one of the finest pieces of silent cinema. It is a karmic hurricane of splintered image; motion that begins indoors with a fight is eventually transferred outside and escalates in a revolutionary apocalypse of stunning violence that scatters an entire army across the steppe like dead leaves. Trees, dust, crops, dirt - all rushing before the camera like Pudovkin's montage is so frenzied and powerful it threatens to rip apart the very fabric of the world.

Watch the film just so you get to this part, then watch side by side with Kuleshov's By the Law for the haunting aftermath of the apocalypse that begins here, and Zemlya for how it's endured. The call is, as usual, for revolution, but we can use it now in all three films as a broader metaphor about the effort to release the energies of the soul, about a metaphysical breakthrough.

Watch like you were having your soul trained for this breakthrough.

Contrary to what the English guy says (hey, the Brits are the bad guys in this movie, whaddaya expect), this is to my mind the most impressive work of Soviet silent cinema-- an epic with several dazzling sequences of rat-a-tat-tat editing that invite comparison with Gance's Napoleon, as well as a deliberate build to an explosive climax that, in its willingness to delay gratification until almost the breaking point, has the operatic grandeur of something like The Godfather. Highly recommended (in fact, highly recommended before you see less accessible works such as October or Potemkin).

In his last silent film, Storm Over Asia, Pudovkin changed direction by creating a non-Russian plot. Although the film deals with political situations, it is not about a Soviet worker, farmer or mother-- but about a Mongolian, and for this Pudovkin received a lot of condemnation by the film critics of his time.

The chronicle is set in 1918 (at the time of the Civil War) on the Mongolian steppe. The narrative is focused on one character; the brave Mongol hunter Bair. He comes into a precarious situation when his father falls ill, and Bair must go to the town to trade his pelts for food for the family. After a disagreement with a wealthy British trader over the price of his treasured silver fox fur, the hunter is forced to flee into the mountains where he meets up with a group of Red Partisans. After a visually confusing fighting scene with quick shots and unidentifiable participants, the hunter is captured by the British and taken back to the city. Unable to communicate with the British officers, they order Bair to be executed.

At this point the narrative splits and we follow the actions of the officers and the lengthy execution of our protagonist. The officers soon discover that Bair is a descendant of Genghis Khan (by an amulet that Bair chance acquired) and attempt to stop the execution. After the discovery of Bair's ancestry, the British take our protagonist and attempt to set his up as a prince in order to justify their own control and power. After experiencing several awkward moments and being put on display, Bair becomes enraged and destroys the British headquarters. He then flees the town. The climax, his fight, has quick editing and flashes the words "down," "bandits," "thieves" and "robbers" with an image of our protagonist screaming in rebellion. Pudovkin juxtaposes the dramatic and quickly edited scene with a subsequent attack on the Mongolian steppe. The protagonist is on horseback wielding a sword and followed by a great horde of warriors, evoking images of Genghis Khan. The dust and debris of the steppe follows this attack, forming the image of a storm sweeping over the land and attacking the British.

The scenes on the steppe are very significant to the mood of the film. When all is well in the film, the steppe echoes this seemingly peaceful feeling. During the climax, the steppe becomes violent and windy, much like the horde of warriors. These natural shots set the mood for the narrative and reflect the emotions of the protagonist. Pudovkin implements fade-ins and outs. This is one of the earliest films where this cinematic technique has been implemented in a productive way, pertaining to the narrative by signaling a time lapse or location change.

This film is very unique for its time. It is one of the first Russian films with non-Russian characters (all of the Mongolian cast are real Mongolians). It also focuses on political themes that do not glorify Soviets. Many critics at the time of release saw this film as non-Soviet and non-political because it neither deals with Russia nor serves a direct purpose for a propaganda film. Pudovkin's critics were ruthless and alleged that moving away from Soviet themes was going to lead a film crisis. Where films would no longer confront and convey the complex problems of Soviet society. Many also alleged that Pudovkin's endeavor was unattainable and uninteresting for audiences, who just could not grasp the meaning behind the film. There was no purpose for Storm over Asia to serve in the propaganda films of the time. This detachment from the Soviet themes was refreshing for me, so I would infer that it would also be for Russians at the time.