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Soviet filmmaker Vsevolod Pudovkin had produced a number of short films displaying his adapt handling from the teachings Moscow Film School instructor Lev Kuleshov on the messaging of montage editing. In 1926, Pudovkin embarked on reworking Maxim Gorky's 1906 novel, 'The Mother,' to illustrate the heroics of a mother whose son joins factory strikers in the face of brutal Tsarist troops. The October 1926 "Mother" proved to be one of cinema's most visible example of using editing techniques to fully explain the inner motivations of individual characters. Pudovkin's work departed from his film colleagues who implemented the montage to illustrate just the surface incidents leading up to the 1917 Russian Revolution.

When "Mother" kicked into high gear with action, Pudovkin implemented super-quick edits to portray the shown events as chaotic. He didn't waste even a nano-second of empty framing to lengthen these scenes. "Whenever we noticed some dead place at the edge of a shot," Pudovkin related, "we would eliminate it, to have nothing useless or superfluous in the composition." Fellow Soviet filmmaker Sergei Eisenstein noticed Pudovkin's focus on the individual, how the characters changed within the fluid social revolution. "He puts real living men in the center of his work," described Eisenstein. "His films act directly through their emotional power."

The Mother, Pelageya Vlasova (Vera Baranovskaya), is Pudovkin's focal point; she loses her abusive husband to a revolutionist who accidentally shoots him. Shortly afterwards, she turns in her son, who is storing arms for the rebels, thinking he'll rethink his position and eventually side with the Tsarist government. Her plan doesn't work-he receives a harsh life sentence of hard labor. He escapes from prison by crossing an ice-flow river, reminiscent of D. W. Griffith's 1920 "Way Down East's" exciting conclusion. While all this action unfolds on the screen, Pudovkin uses his lessons from Griffith to cross-cut his montage sequences with shots of a calming nature, ice flows, and the concluding calvary charge, among other scenes.

Camara positioning was equally important to Pudovkin as his editing. To show the transformation of the Mother, he initially positions the camera high looking downwards to show an oppressed, humiliated wife in the face of her aggressive husband psychologically dragging her down. Towards the finale, the director does the opposite with the camera as she gains awareness to her self and Russia's political ramifications: he positions it low looking up towards the confident and inspired Mother who faces an onrushing horde of Tsarist calvary.

During the filming, actor Nikolai Batalove, as The Mother's son, refused to walk on the ice flows in the dramatic escape sequence. Mikhail Dollar, Pudovkin's assistant director, took the clothes from the actor and proceeded to step confidently on the flows, capturing the heart-pounding athletic feat on film. Dollar was also instrumental in creating the factory crowd frantic scene where the mounted police were overrunning the strikers. At first the 700 extras looked lethargic as they ran down the street. Dollar and Pudovkin decided to turn around the two horses they were riding and gallop just out of frame against the throng of extras. The members of the crowd didn't hesitate to run for their lives, turning into a stampede of people, just as Pudovkin had scripted.

"The Mother" is the first in what later critics labeled Pudovkin's revolutionary trilogy. In the next two years the director proceeded to produce two additional classics along the lines of this classic film debut.

a film of its time. adaptation of touching work. a good cast. a great montage. water as symbol, key and word for a silent movie about human storm. large isles of propaganda. and powerful, precise, touching silhouette of masterpiece. it is more than a film or page of history. more than instrument of regime. more than a kind of reflection for a profound social metamorphose. it is a unique meeting. with a subtle art to glorify a regime without sacrifice the truth. a show of nuances. and fabulous act of Vera Baranovszkaia. her role is exploration of small pieces of mother heart. the novel of Gorki is scene for one of powerful demonstration to present reality behind the words. and this is secret of this movie like many others Russians films. the heart of a sensitivity in perfect light, with delicate shadows.

Set in Russia during the harsh winter of 1905. A mother finds herself caught in emotional conflict between her husband and son when they find themselves on opposite sides of a worker's strike. The son is a supporter of the workers but the father has been blackmailed into supporting the bosses and blacklegs. Despite the grief which follows the mother gradually comes to support the strikers and eventually is prepared to risk everything in standing up to police and Cossak troops in a demonstration endangering both herself and her precious son.

Vsevolod Pudovkin makes a thunderous debut with this adaptation of the Gorky novel of the same name that takes place immediately before the revolution of 1905. Steeped in the traditions of Soviet montage, Pudovkin's film explores the consequences of a mother's desire to protect her revolutionary son with a style that is both strident and unrelenting, but which avoids Hollywood-style sentmentality while never losing sight of the tale's human perspective.

Structures shaping into motion, motions reshaping into structure, against each other, so that the whole thing is like a snowstorm rolling down a hill; gathering itself to itself. Which is to say the people to the people, in an effort at once to reshape and portray the reshaped world.

Look here. The first third ends with a murder, so the entire part is about wild kinetic energy building to it; disenchanted workers plotting a strike – the metaphor for revolution, as so often in these films – factory cronies plotting to break them, pitting rugged father against idealist son. Meanwhile the factory owners, disinterested, arrogant, oversee the bloody drama from their lofty window.

The second third ends with injustice, and so the entire second part is about the mockery of justice; a colonel promising the hapless mother her son – the instigator of events - will be okay if she surrenders a hidden stash of guns, then arresting him, followed by a mock trial where each of the judges presiding is a parody of human values.

The final part is about revolution, so the entire thing is about the preparations of the final stand. Again the revolutionary metaphor, so poignant in these films; a prison filled entirely with workers, farmers, the oppressed with a dream languishing somewhere. And so, everything becomes imbued with meaning; the prison walls as walls at large, the doors slammed open with conflict, the bridge where passage is presaged by a rite of violence.

The strikers scattered by mounted police into a mob, it's the mother who picks up the banner of revolution. Down by the bridge, floating ice is shattered on the concrete pillars; ice dissolves, floating away, but the bridge stands.

And so the suffering and sacrifice of the nameless heroes is transformed into structures that will stand the test of time; bridges, factories, where the banner of revolution unfurls at the top, enduring symbols of a thriving industry, a healthy, self-sufficient nation. We may think what we want about the equation in terms of politics, but how it's equated through cinema?

It comes with the natural ease that only a filmmaking tradition so deeply centered in its worldview could afford; the individual is transmuted, engulfed into a collective structure - the Soviet god in place of a god - , in a way that reveals the individual struggle to have been redolent with purpose all along. It's a spiritual vision, make no mistake; about communion with the life-destroying, life-renewing source; about harmony of structure from the chaos of forms.