“Battleship Potemkin” - Sergei Eisenstein (1925)

Even though it is not shown very often these days, Sergei M. Eisenstein’s silent film Battleship Potemkin (1925) has long been regarded as one of the greatest films ever made.  It was ranked 11th on the British Film Institute’s 2012 poll of international film critics [1] and ranked 75th on the BFI’s 2012 poll of international film directors [2].  Its fame rose quickly despite the fact that is was not a big hit at the box-office when it was released in Eisenstein’s native Russia, and its distribution elsewhere was often restricted due to the film’s propagandistic message promoting communist revolution. 

Eisenstein was only twenty-seven when he made Battleship Potemkin, which was his second feature film, following his similarly politically-intoned first feature, Strike (1925).  He went on to make a number of films over his varied directing career (see for example his Alexander Nevsky, 1938), but his lasting fame rests largely on Battleship Potemkin and on his subsequent film-theoretical writings [3,4].  Indeed Battleship Potemkin came to be seen as the exemplary showcase of Eisenstein’s ideas about film aesthetics and production. Thus the film soon achieved iconic status.

Eisenstein was particularly concerned with formulating a theoretical foundation for the relatively new medium of film expression, for which the crafted temporal arrangement of sequenced images was a process he referred to as “montage”.  Like his young contemporary film theoretician Lev Kuleshov, who taught at the Soviet National Film School, Eisenstein was aware of and concerned with the fact that a viewer’s perception and understanding of an individual film image (i.e. a shot) is very much influenced by the immediately preceding images, which provide a narrative context for the interpretation of that shot.  The synergistic effects of successive contrasting images on the viewer were what Eisenstein referred to as “collisions” [5,6].  By injecting and manipulating these collisions, a filmmaker could expressively convey his or her thematic message and heighten its dramatic impact.

The story of Battleship Potemkin concerns a real event that took place in 1905 during the Russian revolution of that year.  Sailors onboard the said battleship mutinied against the officers on the ship in June of that year, and the event was later hailed by Lenin as dramatic evidence concerning how the military could rise up and support a people’s revolution.  Eisenstein was commissioned by the Russian Communist government to make a film for the 20th anniversary of that historic event that would celebrate its revolutionary important.  The highly fictionalized account that Eisenstein went on to make of those events was thus intended to be an instrument of government propaganda and not so much concerned with historical accuracy.  In this respect Eisenstein visualized these events as a clash of general social forces rather than as a more customary  narrative depicting the conflict between key individual agents.

So when students of film look at Battleship Potemkin now, they are often interested in seeing how Eisenstein’s filmmaking ideas were manifested in his politicized account.  The film’s story is divided into five distinct acts, each of which has its own emotional message.

1.  Men and Maggots

The first act is devoted to a presentation of the unsatisfactory conditions of the sailors onboard the battleship.  It is clear early on that the sailors, who are symbolic of the Russian working class, are treated like dogs.  One sailor, Vakulinchuk, is seen urging his fellow abused shipmates to join with the popular revolution that was taking place at the time.  Finally the sailors erupt in complaints about the worm-infested meat they are being fed.  In response to their complaints, the stuffy ship’s doctor  assures them that the crawly creatures they see on the meat are only maggots, not worms, and that they should go ahead and eat the borscht that is made from the meat.  But the sailors refuse to eat it.

The message for this act is suffering injustice on the part of the upper classes towards the lower class in a corrupted system. Throughout this act, the sailors are not shown as individuals but as members of a suppressed class.  The officers shown are uniformly haughty and disdainful of the sailors, whom they see as beneath them.  Thus the oppressors are individualized, while the oppressed are more abstractly presented.

This is the weakest act in the film, because the elements in this section are not effectively organized as a narrative.

2.  Drama on the Quarterdeck
When the ship Commander Golikov learns about the insubordination of the borscht-spurning sailors, he orders everyone up on deck and summarily commands that about twenty randomly selected sailors be executed by firing squad.  To symbolize the generic aspect of these chosen victims, Eisenstein has the officers cover them with a tarpaulin as the armed men line up in front of them to shoot them. 

Just as they are about to shoot, Vakulinchuk shouts out to the firing squad members, “Brothers!  Who are you shooting at?”  The armed men lower their guns in disobedience of their orders, and a full-scale insurrection quickly ensues.  The sailors soon succeed in taking over control of the ship, and they kill all the ship’s officers by throwing them overboard.  During the melee, however, the heroic Vakulinchuk is shot and becomes a martyr.

One wonders how this mutiny could have been executed without some planning, but no such scenes are presented.   

The overall message for this act is righteous revenge and murderous hatred towards the oppressors.

3.  The Dead Man Calls Out

The pace of the film now slows and becomes mournful.  When the Potemkin arrives in the Odessa harbor, Vakulinchuk’s corpse is loaded onto the pier, and it quickly becomes a shrine symbolizing his martyrdom.  Crowds of sympathetic people paying mournful homage to the corpse are soon whipped into a frenzy of anger and hatred towards their czarist oppressors. 

The increased use of closeups on individual faces in this act moves the focus more to the human level.  The overall message and tone in this act is still primarily that of righteous hatred – but towards a class, rather than towards individuals.

4.  The Odessa Steps
The memorable Odessa Steps act begins with the people now joyfully coming to greet the Potemkin, many traveling out to the ship in the water on a flotilla of small boats.  A large crowd of well-wishers also streams continuously down an open concrete staircase that extends down to the water's edge.  But suddenly a group of armed guards from the Czar’s army appears at the top of the staircase and begins systematically shooting at the crowd, which includes many women and children.  The ensuing slaughter is graphically filmed and edited, with rapid cuts between the merciless soldiers and the suffering women and children.  An iconic image is that of an unguided baby carriage careening wildly down the staircase after the baby’s mother has been shot dead. 

The emphasis here is on the contrast (the “collision”) between the inhuman mechanization of the soldiers and the pathos of the vulnerable women and children being massacred.  Thus the message is that of agonized suffering cruelty at the hands of inhuman perpetrators.  Some critics have gone so far as suggesting that the cruel and machine-like soldiers are embodiments of the masculine principle, while the suffering victims, who draw our sympathies, are embodiments of the feminine [7].  (Note, though, that the film as a whole seems to appeal more to male viewers than female viewers [8].) 

In retaliation for this slaughter on the Odessa Steps, the Potemkin battleship in the harbor fires its cannons on the Czar’s government headquarters building.

5.  Rendezvous with the Squadron

The final act is all tense expectation and, like the previous act, is tightly edited.  The Potemkin’s rebellious sailors, knowing the Czar’s military will send a punitive squadron out to attack them, get ready for a deadly confrontation.  They make grim and careful preparations through the night to get ready for the battle.  When dawn arrives, they see a squadron of government destroyers, and the Potemkin presents to them a semaphore signal to “Join Us”.  At the last minute, just as hostile shots are about to be fired, the ships draw close enough for the Potemkin crew to see the sailors on the government ships cheering them.  They, too, are apparently ready to join the revolution.

So the message here is that of solidarity and the triumphant joining of forces to wage a common battle.


As the film proceeds through its five acts, the pace quickens and the momentum builds.  So the second half of the film is better than the first.  One element that deserves special mention is the cinematography of Eduard Tisse.  Even though the editing pace means that most camera shots are of short duration, they all seem carefully composed, many of them from high and low angles, for maximum atmospheric effect [7]. 

However, I feel that the film’s overall narrative suffers from a lack of individual focalization.  By focalization, I mean seeing things from the perspective of an individual participant in the story.  Most films have this kind of focalization over the course of the story presentation, and this goes beyond just point-of-view shots – we see what is happening from the perspective of an unseen witness (the camera) that is, to a certain extent, a silent partner of the character being focalized.  Thus we share that character’s field of view and only know what that character knows during that period of focalization.  Some films only focalize on one character throughout the course of the story, but most films will individually focalize on several characters before the story concludes.  In Battleship Potemkin there is almost no individual focalization, except briefly on the sailor Vakulinchuk and on a mother carrying her gunshot child.  Instead, the viewer’s narrative perspective is from a more scattered, global perspective that represents a “God’s eye view” of what is going on.  The overall effect is to reduce the viewer’s empathetic engagement and, in its stead, increase resentful alienation.

This avoidance of individual human sub-narratives is what makes Battleship Potemkin more of a visual disquisition than what we usually characterize as a story. Eisenstein’s intent was to evoke our support for the people collectively, rather than for any individual character in the narrative.  And the top-down message of this emotional disquisition is one celebrating hatred, revenge, and violent repudiation – essentially a basic pro-war message. In keeping with Marxist historical materialism, there are no spiritual or religious message invoked here.  In fact during the Potemkin mutiny, a prophet-like ship’s priest appears on deck; but he is dismissed by the rebellious sailors as a sham sorcerer.  Any notions of compassion, forgiveness, and love are nowhere to be seen in this work. The focus is on more primitive aggressive feelings. Thus the individual primitive emotive messages of the five acts:

• suffering injustice, 
• revenge, 
• hatred, 
• suffering cruelty, and 
• joining a common war effort

 – all contribute to the film’s basic pro-conflict theme (it is no wonder that Nazi propagandist Joseph Goebbels admired this film [9]). 

So Battleship Potemkin stands as an excellent demonstration of how to use cinematic tools to fashion a work invoking and supporting our most violent passions.  But what has perhaps most fascinated people over the years since its release is Eisenstein’s underlying theory of cinematic “collisions” that can be used to evoke those strong passions.
★★★½

Notes:

1. “Critics’ Top 100", Analysis: The Greatest Films of All Time 2012, Sight and Sound, British Film Institute, (2012). 
2. “Directors’ Top 100", Analysis: The Greatest Films of All Time 2012, Sight and Sound, British Film Institute, (2012).
3. Sergei Eisenstein, The Film Sense, Jay Leyda (trans. and ed.), Harcourt Brace and Company, (1942). 
4. Sergei Eisenstein, Film Form, Jay Leyda, (trans. and ed.), Harcourt Brace and Company, (1949).
5. Sergei Eisenstein, “Collision of Ideas”, (selection from "The Cinematographic Principle and the Ideogram”, Film Form, Jay Leyda (trans. and ed.), Harcourt Brace and Company, (1949/1957), pp. 37-40.), Film, A Montage of Theories, Richard Dyer MacCann (ed.), E. P. Dutton, (1966), pp. 34-37.
6. Evelyn Gerstein, “Russia’s Film Wizard”, Theater Guild Magazine (February 1930), included in Introduction to the Art of the Movies, Lewis Jacobs, (ed.), (1960), pp. 134-139.
7. Helen Grace, “1925: Battleship Potemkin (Sergei Eisenstein)”, Senses of Cinema, Issue 85, (November 2017).   
8. “Battleship Potemkin (1925) User Ratings”, IMDb, (28 February 2018).    
9. “Battleship Potemkin”, Wikipedia, (26 February 2018).

“Alexander Nevsky” - Sergei Eisenstein and Dmitriy Vasilev (1938)

Film directing luminary Sergei Eisenstein (1898-1948) was, at least among the international critical community, a superstar from the outset of his career in Russia, when at the age of twenty-seven he made his classic silent film The Battleship Potemkin (1925). In fact to this day, his reputation, rests primarily on that film and its immediate successor, October: Ten Days That Shook the World (1927).  But his most successful film with the wider public was his first sound film, Alexander Nevsky (1938).  This latter film had interesting cinematic features that contrasted with his earlier work and shed light on Eisenstein’s complex aesthetics.

Eisenstein’s eminence rests not only on his film-directing talents but also on some other factors.  In those early days of the 1920s, Marxism and communism were fascinations of those on the political left, and Eisenstein’s films championing these causes attracted those in the critical and academic community who were sympathetic to such ideas.  In addition, film was a relatively new form of expression in those days, and Eisenstein’s theoretical writings on the subject attracted its own following.  In particular, Eisenstein promoted the notion of film’s unique element of montage, which was primarily concerned with the composition and juxtaposition of images over the temporal dimension.  Following on from the work of his colleague Lev Kuleshov, Eisenstein was interested in formulating a formal grammar of montage, and he was particularly interested not so much in the smooth transition between successive film images, but in the idea of how successive images could “collide” with each other [1,2].  In general, Eisenstein’s published articles on film, which were later collected, translated into English, and published in The Film Sense (1942) [3] and Film Form (1949) [4], revealed a man who was focused on a scientific and materialistic understanding of reality.  Film was simply a new and powerful tool of expression that could be employed for socially useful purposes. But I would say that Eisenstein’s subjective passions were still lurking in his aesthetic subconscious.

With the advent of sound in film, Eisenstein was particularly interested in learning how he could incorporate the sound medium into his montage theories of “collision” [5].  He accepted an invitation to come to the United States, where sound technology was most advanced, to participate in some sound film projects on offer from Paramount Pictures.  Although he entered into several projects, Eisenstein couldn’t make a go with his American producers and collaborators, and all his efforts in America, including a lengthy production endeavor in Mexico supported by famed author Upton Sinclair, came to nothing.  When he returned to Russia, Eisenstein was assigned to make a film there, Bezhin Meadow, but that, too, was a project that got bogged down in production difficulties and was ultimately cancelled.  It may have been the case that Eisenstein, once he became famous, was given too much artistic latitude to explore his theories and could not now bring his productions to closure under these circumstances.  The tolerance in Russia under Stalin for such missteps was of course much less than in the American environment, and this presented an immanent danger.  Fortunately for Eisenstein, the blame for the failure of Bezhin Meadow was ultimately pinned on someone else, the producer Boris Shumyatsky, who was then arrested, convicted of treason, and executed.

Finally Eisenstein was given another chance to direct, which resulted Alexander Nevsky.  This time, though, in order to curb Eisenstein’s artistic wanderings, he was assigned a co-director, Dmitriy Vasilev, who was instructed to maintain a tight shooting schedule.  The film was completed on time and was well-received in both Russia and the West.  Interestingly, prior to the film’s release, an early version was shown to Stalin, but with a reel missing.  Since Stalin approved what he saw, the completed film was released by the producers without that missing reel [6].

When we watch Alexander Nevsky today, we don’t see so much a tightly edited montage collision of opposing feelings and ideas. Instead we see a fascinating presentation of expressionistic imagery that relies less on temporal composition and more on the almost dreamlike emotional landscape evoked.  I would suggest that this expressionistic mode was always an important part of Eisenstein’s aesthetics, even if it was not so much articulated in his essays.  In any case Eisenstein’s expressionism in his later films, which also include Ivan The Terrible, Part I (1944) and Ivan The Terrible, Part II (1945), may seem overblown to some viewers today, and critical reactions to these films vary widely [6,7,8,9].

The story of Alexander Nevsky concerns 13th century Russian military leader Prince Alexander Yaroslavich Nevsky, who turned back an invasion attempt by the Teutonic Knights of the Holy Roman Empire in 1242.  Since the Teutonic Knights were primarily a German order, the entire scenario is clearly depicted as a metaphor for the then threatened German Nazi invasion of Russia, which did in fact take place a few years after the film’s release.

Overall, the film has very much a pro-war message. In fact some critics have even said in this regard that this is Eisenstein’s most propagandist film [6].  Its pro-war message is part of an essentially “blood and soil” theme that underlies the entire film [10].  “Blood and soil” had been primarily associated with and fully exploited in Germany, and it emphasizes allegiance to racial origins and possessive claims to native lands.  But here we see it transformed perfectly into a Russian context. 

To convey the idea that war is a noble act of heroism, Eisenstein and his cinematographer Eduard Tisse constantly employed low-angle shots to look up to their Russian heroes.  This effect is accentuated by the tall stature of the title-role actor Nikolai Cherkasov, who was 6' 6" (1.98m) tall [11].  The film also features Russian patriotic anthems along with a score composed by Sergei Prokofiev.  It is said that Prokofiev worked closely with Eisenstein in connection with the music, sometimes composing musical elements that fit Eisenstein’s shooting script, and in other places the film was cut to synchronize with Prokofiev’s music [6].  Despite this close cooperation, though, I don’t think the music goes well with the images, particularly in connection with the battle scenes.  In addition, I also found it surprising, given Eisenstein’s fascination with the montage possibilities of sound, that the sound effects in the film are weak and add almost nothing to the presentation.

The film narrative is relatively simple, with everything leading toward the famous “Battle on Ice” between Nevsky’s forces and the Teutonic Knights.  There are two threads of focalization – one surrounding the struggle between Nevsky and his foes and the other concerning the friendly romantic competition between two of Nevsky’s lieutenants over a beautiful Russian maiden.  But even this second narrative thread is adamantly pro-war.

1.  The Background Situation

The opening section provides background information about Alexander and his situation. The Rus’ domain, which was a core area of medieval Russia, had recently been invaded from the east by the Mongolian Golden Horde (later known as the Tatars), to whom the Rus’ people were compelled to pay tribute.  But at least their sovereignty was still intact.  Then there was another threat, this time from Sweden.  However, the young Alexander Yaroslavich had successfully defended the key city of Novgorod from an attack by the Swedish army near the Neva river, for which victory he had earned the title of “Nevsky”.  Afterwards, competitive pressure from the aristocratic boyar merchants had compelled Nevsky to leave Novgorod.  But now, at the beginning of this film, the city of Novgorod is again imperiled, this time by the invading German Teutonic Knights from the west.  The desperate Lord Novgorod is finally forced to summon Nevsky back to the city to lead their defense.

At the same time, two leading Novgorod warriors and comrades, Vasili Buslaev (Nikolai Okhlopkov) and Gavrilo Oleksich (Andrei Abrikosov) are competitively eyeing a beautiful young woman Olga Danilovna (Vera Ivashova).

Meanwhile the German Teutons sack the nearby city of Pskov, throwing women and children into bonfires and hanging one of the city’s defenders, the daughter of whom, Vasilisa (Aleksandra Danilova), looks on in horror.

2.  The Call to War
The second section of the film is a strident summoning to go to war.  Nevsky knows that to defeat the Germans he will have to recruit an army of peasants, and the people joyfully volunteer to fight.  Even Vasilisa, who has made it to Novgorod, volunteers to become a warrior in true blood-and-soil feminist tradition.

The city’s craftspeople all devote themselves to making weapons.  As one craftsman Ignat (Dmitri Orlov) tells Vasilisa when giving her a sword, “even a flea cannot be killed without a tool.”  Olga tells Vasili and Gavrilo that she will marry the one who shows the most valor in battle.  It’s all about killing now.

The Germans are shown to be particularly demonic, and even their praying to God looks like a collective act of wicked sorcery.  In fact the portrayal here invokes notions of a religious war, as the Orthodox Russians are confronted by a Roman Catholic hegemony bent on mass annihilation [12]. Eisenstein always shows the German army in an eerily inhuman white color (except for their satanically black-clad bishop), while the Russians army is in earthy gray. 

Before the impending battle, Nevsky overhears Ignat tell a ribald joke, and from this he gets the inspiration of employing a pincer strategy much like the one that Hannibal employed against the Romans at the Battle of Cannae in 216 B.C.

3.  The Battle on Ice

The battle takes place on a frozen lake Chudskoye, and it consumes the next thirty minutes of screen time.  Much of the footage shows endless hand-to-hand fighting and swordplay, with Vasili and Ignat, in particular, joyously reveling in the slaughter, while Prokofiev’s loud carnival music plays. 
To these warriors, the whole thing is like a sporting event.

Although the Germans are better armed, Nevsky’s pincer attack works, and the tide of the battle eventually shifts in favor of the Russians.  Then the ice underfoot starts to crack under the weight of the heavier German armor, which engulfs much of the German attack force.

4.  The Celebration
After the German army is routed, the scene shifts back to Novgorod, where the townspeople celebrate their victory and honor their dead heroes.  The triumphant Nevsky announces that he will ransom the captured German knights.  Then he lets the vengeful townspeople tear to pieces two traitorous citizens who had been furtively assisting the Germans.

Vasili and Gavrilo are both wounded but survive, and their rivalry ends in a gentlemanly and tidy fashion.  Gavrilo gets Olga, while Vasili selects the equally beautiful Vasilisa.

In the final shot, Alexander Nevsky issues his stern warning to the outer world:

“Go and tell all the people in foreign parts that Rus lives.  Let people come to us as guests without fear.  But he who comes with sword in hand, by the sword shall perish. On this Rus stands and will forever stand!”

The entire film plays like a bizarre Gothic carnival, and its nightmarish features lie at the core of the film’s overall appeal. However, Eisenstein’s cinematography and editing are sometimes surprising, with numerous axis-of-action crossings and awkward jump cuts.  This may have been an artifact of Eisenstein’s rushed shooting schedule.  And the long battle scene of the Battle on Ice becomes repetitious after awhile and was in need of more context-establishing longer shots to help sustain the visual narrative flow.  Nevertheless, some of the fighting shots are effectively and realistically enhanced by foreground swordplay that often obscures the battling subjects of interest.  This promotes the feeling that the invisible witness is right in the middle of the chaotic action.

In the end, we can see that Alexander Nevsky is a celebration of blood-and-soil patriotism, which always comes to dominate in times of war.  When war comes, all principles of universal humanity and empathy for the brotherhood (and sisterhood) of man are set aside in subservience to the heroic leader, like Alexander Nevsky.  So despotic elites sustain themselves and live off of the threat of war.
 

In recent times the threat of war has been extended further – to the notion of a pervasive and eternal terrorist threat. This is what was evoked by the Nazis after the Reichstag fire in 1933. (Immediately after the fire, the German Nazi government blamed it on leftist terrorists, suspended basic human rights in the  country, and let Hitler rule by decree.) This notion of a a pervasive and eternal terrorist threat is also the foundational thinking behind the current Global War on Terror. So we must be prepared, because current despotic leaders (and their chief strategist/puppetmasters) will most likely conjure up another Reichstag fire sometime in the next few years in an attempt to put an end to liberal, law- and rights-based democracy [13]. 
★★★

Notes:

1. Evelyn Gerstein, “Russia’s Film Wizard”, Theater Guild Magazine (February 1930), included in Introduction to the Art of the Movies, Lewis Jacobs, (ed.), (1960), pp. 134-139.
2. Sergei Eisenstein, “Collision of Ideas”, (selection from "The Cinematographic Principle and the Ideogram”, Film Form, Jay Leyda (trans. and ed.), Harcourt Brace and Company, (1949/1957), pp. 37-40.), Film, A Montage of Theories, Richard Dyer MacCann, E. P. Dutton, (1966), pp. 34-37.
3. Sergei Eisenstein, The Film Sense, Jay Leyda (trans. and ed.), Harcourt Brace and Company, (1942). 
4. Sergei Eisenstein, Film Form, Jay Leyda, (trans. and ed.), Harcourt Brace and Company, (1949).
5. S. Eisenstein, “Eisenstein on Sound”, New York Sun, (5 June 1930), included in Introduction to the Art of the Movies, Lewis Jacobs, (ed.), (1960), pp. 165-167.
6. J. Hoberman, “Alexander Nevsky”, The Criterion Collection, (23 April 2001).   
7. Roger Ebert, “Ivan the Terrible, Parts I & II”, RogerEbert.com, (19 January 2012). 
8. Roderick Heath, “Alexander Nevsky (1938)”, Ferdy on Films, (2010).  
9. Matthew Dessem, “#87: Alexander Nevsky”, The Criterion Contraption, (1 September 2008).  
10. “Blood and Soil”, Wikipedia, (20 February 2017).   
11. “Nikolay Cherkasov Biography”, iMDB, (n.d.).  
12. Michael E. Grost, “Sergei Eisenstein”, Classic Film and Television, (n.d.).    
13. Timothy Snyder, "The Reichstag Warning", The New York Review of Books, (26 February 2017).