Le cuirassé Potemkine

On June 14 1905, during the Russian Revolution of that year, sailors aboard the Russian battleship Potemkin rebelled against their oppressive officers. Frustrated with the second-rate treatment they receive, and most particularly the maggot-infested meat that they are forced to eat, the ship's crew, led by the inspirational Bolshevik sailor Grigory Vakulinchuk (Aleksandr Antonov), decide that the time is ripe for a revolution. And so begins Sergei M. Eisenstein's rousing classic of Russian propaganda, 'Bronenosets Potyomkin / The Battleship Potemkin.'

The film itself is brimming with shining examples of stunning visual imagery: the spectacles of an overthrown ship captain dangle delicately from the side rope over which he had been tossed; the body of a deceased mutineer lies peaceful upon the shore, the sign on his chest reading "KILLED FOR A BOWL OF SOUP;" close-up shots of the clenching fists of the hundreds of spectators who are finally fed up with the Tsarist regime; a wayward baby carriage careers down the Odessa Steps as desperate onlookers watch on with bated breath (this scene was memorably "borrowed" by Brian De Palma for a particularly suspenseful scene in his 'The Untouchables'); the barrels of numerous canons are ominously leveled towards the vastly-outnumbered battleship Potemkin.

However, the film itself is best analysed – not as a fragmented selection of memorable scenes – but as a single film, and, indeed, every scene is hugely memorable. Though divided into five fairly-distinct chapters, the entire film flows forwards wonderfully; at no point do we find ourselves losing interest, and we are absolutely never in doubt of whose side we should be sympathetic towards.

The film is often referred to as "propaganda," and that is exactly what it is, but this need not carry a negative connotation. 'The Battleship Potemkin' was produced by Eisenstein with a specific purpose in mind, and it accomplishes this perfectly in every way. Planned by the Soviet Central Committee to coincide with the 20th century celebrations of the unsuccessful 1905 Revolution, 'Potemkin' was predicted to be a popular film in its home country, symbolising the revitalization of Russian arts after the Revolution. It is somewhat unfortunate, then, that Eisenstein's film failed to perform well at the Russian box-office, reportedly beaten by Allan Dwan's 1922 'Robin Hood' film in its opening week and running for just four short weeks. Luckily, despite being banned on various occasions in various countries, 'The Battleship Potemkin' fared more admirably overseas.

The film also proved a successful vehicle for Eisenstein to test his theories of "montage." Through quick-cut editing, and distant shots of the multitudes of extras, the audience is not allowed to sympathise with any individual characters, but with the revolutionary population in general. Eisenstein does briefly break this mould, however, in a scene where Vakulinchuk flees the ship officer who is trying to kill him, and, of course, during the renowned Odessa Steps sequence, as our hearts beat in horror for the life of the unfortunate child in the tumbling baby carriage. The accompanying soundtrack to the version I watched, largely featuring the orchestral works of Dmitri Shostakovich, served wonderfully to heighten the emotional impact of such scenes.

One of the greatest films of the silent era, 'The Battleship Potemkin' is a triumph of phenomenal film-making, and is a significant slice of cinematic history. The highly-exaggerated events of the film (among other things, there was never actually any violent massacre on the Odessa Steps) have so completely engrained themselves in the memory, that we're often uncertain of the true history behind the depicted events. This is a grand achievement.

Sergei Eisenstein's silent masterpiece is a very influential and possibly the most famous landmark film ever made. Many, many memorable scenes, including one of the best and most powerful scenes in film history, the massacre on the Odessa steps. No film in our time has captured such power and amazement from one sequence. Along from being a landmark in film history, it also has a strong message on brotherhood and power hungry leaders. This one has stood the test of time and will for ever more.

There is something special about watching the really old films, especially when it is a film as influential as 'Bronenosets Potyomkin' ('The Battleship Potemkin'). Besides the historical value of the film I was surprised how much I really enjoyed it. Director Sergei Eisenstein takes reel events and changes them a little for this powerful film.

The story begins on the battleship Potemkin where the men are served rotten meat. A sailor named Vakulinchuk (Aleksandr Antonov) steps up and after a series of events mutiny is what follows. Out of revenge an officer is able to kill Vakulinchuk. The men on the ship want to honor him and try to bring their revolution to the shore, to the city of Odessa. They place him in the harbor in a tent with a sign that says he was killed over a boil of soup. The people of Odessa sympathize with the sailors from the Potemkin and they are welcomed in their city. A massacre, in one of the most famous sequences of the cinema, is what follows on the Odessa Staircase.

It is especially this great sequence that shows some real horrors, uncompromising I should add. There are images, like the slit eyeball from 'Un Chien Andalou', you will remember. The people on the staircase, troops firing at them, a crushed hand, a woman with her child shot dead, but most of all a carriage with a baby in it, rolling down the staircase. Every image is effective, showing things what few (or no) films did back then. I was amazed of how good this scene still works today; I was watching in disbelieve.

On a technical scale the film is also very good. Most of the time we believe we are watching what the film wants us to see, the visuals work. Eisenstein is able to make things even more effective the way he cuts between the images. Famous for its montage, 'Bronenosets Potyomkin' sometimes seems like a choreographed sequence of presented images, with a rhythm and a tempo. I could say so much more about this film, one you should have seen if you are interested in the history of the cinema. If you do not really care you might give it a chance. It is one of the most effective silent films I can think of, still very accessible for a large audience.

I don't recommend that you see this as a 'landmark' in film; don't merely pass through to say you did, or because it's a travelled destination for most people. Instead, come to this with fresh eyes if you can. Rarely since has a film - and film tradition - been so deeply centered within its worldview, rarely indeed is a film made of the very fabric of the world it gives voice to. Most films these days are built at random, or from random spare parts.

Eisenstein had already made a more successful film before this, more reflexively about the seeing eye. So, even though there is a more rip-roaring story here, you may have to struggle a bit with how faceless appears this world to us, these days so accustomed to the paradigm of the individual hero. But Eisenstein was an architect - literally, as well as in film - and so space matters, our relationship with space through motion matters.

In other words; this may have been preserved to us as a museum piece, which is an indictment of our own understanding of cinema as coming down to us by the books and lists of assorted institutions, but at the time it was part of the most deeply revolutionary film school, one that rigged trains as movie studios and sent them scurrying the countryside to film the people and show them to themselves. I mean, here was a man - Eisenstein - who studied Japanese ideograms to understand synthesized image; who discovered that editing to the beats of the human heart affected more, true or false it shows the desire to both know and reach out.

Our cinematic ideas have mostly regressed into mechanical reproduction since the time when these things were first engineered. Oh, there's plenty of Eisenstein every time you open the TV, but none of it is knowing. It's merely a matter of going-through-the-motions, without the blueprint anymore.

So, look at how crowds are orchestrally conducted through stark geometries, how Eisenstein dissects cinematic space with even a stationary camera. But this type of cinema meant to agitate the people, was never about a thought, it was about an action.

And so with this one. There is the one hero who, although dead, calls out to the people. They rush to him, like ships around their harbor. So on board the ship there is valiant effort for brotherhood and justice, inspired revolution; portside is the motherland, cheering the effort with aplomb. And in the end there is the hero ship, itself filled with heroes, now passing through a sea corridor lined with brother ships, all cheering the one. You can imagine the people cheering at the cinema, who had been there to cheer the real thing years ago.

And when I say 'the real thing' I mean the revolution 8 years before; the Potemkin event depicted here was purely fictional. Yet by the famous steps at Odessa is erected a monument to the fictional sailors, what better example of cinema shaping reality?

So yes, it is a revolutionary film. We may be inclined to make fun of the notions, or worse yet dismiss off-hand because of hindsight knowledge. But this was a film celebrating a time when the world seemed like it could be new again. Then came Stalin and, ironically, vanished all these filmmakers that sung the paeans.

If you're a film student, or were one, or are thinking of becoming one, the name Battleship Potemkin has or will have a resonance. Sergei Eistenstein, like other silent-film pioneers like Griffith (although Eisenstein's innovations are not as commonplace as Griffith's) and Murnau, has had such an impact on the history of cinema it's of course taken for granted. The reason I bring up the film student part is because at some point, whether you'd like it or not, your film professor 9 times out of 10 will show the "Odessa Stairs" sequence of this film. It's hard to say if it's even the 'best' part of the film's several sequences dealing with the (at the time current) times of the Russian revolution. But it does leave the most impact, and it can be seen in many films showcasing suspense, or just plain montage (The Untouchables' climax comes to mind).

Montage, which was not just Eistenstein's knack but also his life's blood early in his career, is often misused in the present cinema, or if not misused then in an improper context for the story. Sometimes montage is used now as just another device to get from point A to point B. Montage was something else for Eisenstein; he was trying to communicate in the most direct way that he could the urgency, the passion(s), and the ultimate tragedies that were in the Russian people at the time and place. Even if one doesn't see all of Eisenstein's narrative or traditional 'story' ideas to have much grounding (Kubrick has said this), one can't deny the power of seeing the ships arriving at the harbor, the people on the stairs, and the soldiers coming at them every which way with guns. Some may find it hard to believe this was done in the 20's; it has that power like the Passion of Joan of Arc to over-pass its time and remain in importance if only in terms of technique and emotion.

Of course, one could go on for books (which have been written hundreds of times over, not the least of which by Eisenstein himself). On the film in and of itself, Battleship Potemkin is really more like a dramatized newsreel than a specific story in a movie. The first segment is also one of the great sequences in film, as a mutiny is plotted against the Captain and other head-ups of a certain Ship. This is detailed almost in a manipulative way, but somehow extremely effective; montage is used here as well, but in spurts of energy that capture the eye. Other times Eisenstein is more content to just let the images speak for themselves, as the soldiers grow weary without food and water. He isn't one of those directors who will try to get all sides to the story; he is, of course, very much early 20th century Russian, but he is nothing else but honest with how he sees his themes and style, and that is what wins over in the end.

Some may want to check it outside of film-school, as the 'Stairs' sequence is like one of those landmarks of severe tragedy on film, displaying the ugly side of revolution. Eisenstein may not be one of the more 'accessible' silent-film directors, but if montage, detail in the frame, non-actors, and Bolshevik themes are your cup of tea, it's truly one of the must sees of a lifetime.