First Word

This early silent movie is about a mutiny during czarist time on the battleship Potemkin. Director Eisenstein takes the mutiny as the basis to construct a story showing the necessity and glory of the later Russian revolution. It is divided into six “acts” that are labeled by their theme. The first act begins with the overall theme announced via a quote from Lenin: “Revolution is war. Of all the wars known in history it is the only lawful, rightful, just, and truly great war… in Russia this war has been declared and begun.”

The mutiny comes about because of maggot-infested food rations and the officers’ unwillingness to do anything about it except offer severe discipline to anyone that complains. Vakulinchuk is the leader of the mutiny, and when he is killed in the ensuing fight, he becomes a martyr figure whose death, a bit later, inspires the townsfolk of Odessa to rise up. But they are cut down ruthlessly by the czarist brigade in the town, a particularly dramatic moment being a baby carriage bumping down the stairs — an image imitated by Hollywood later. Later, the rest of the fleet bears down on the Potemkin in a climaxing scene of great tension and drama.

The film as we have it has Shostakovich music dubbed in, very effectively.

A good silent film has to capitalize on the lack of heard dialogue by emphasizing action, telling the story in a way that the viewer can fill in the missing dialogue. At this task, Eisenstein is a master. The pacing and use of light and images is remarkable.

A small example of his skill occurs when the captain threatens to hang the complaining men from the yard; all eyes look up to the mast, and phantom hanging bodies appear.

Another is the montage of images of “fascism” of the czarist regime as the mutiny breaks out: an arm-flapping priest intoning about the unruly, and close-ups of his crucifix, an officer’s sword, the royal crest on bow of ship, a ceremonial bugle, the looming gun barrels of the ship, the crisply uniformed officers. It is well-done, but is it fair to the characters? Is it really anything other than poetically-done propaganda? indeed, propaganda of the most odious sort, that stimulates irrational hatred of one’s enemies?

There are ambiguities of interpretation. When the dish-washing detail had come to a plate inscribed with “give us this day our daily bread,” he smashes it down in disgust. Does it make them angry because they don’t have any “bread”; or is it symbolic rejection of turning to God?

When, in the Odessa riot, a man yells out “kill the Jews,” he is smothered by the mob. Is this to symbolize that the old order of treating the Jews as scapegoats is now to end in a new brotherhood, or is it a subliminal message that the Jew/bolshevik is the new leader of the coming order of justice, and so must be embraced by the proletariat desiring justice?

The story in Odessa is apparently completely fictionalized, to the point that the modern Ukrainians, as it dawns on them that they were duped by the propaganda, are beginning to murmur that the communist memorial set up in their town should be torn down.

It’s interesting that the communists, in their most effective propaganda, cannot help but resorting to such bourgeois (according to their theory) notions as justice, respect for the elderly and love of young, and so forth.

For some reason, even though the propaganda nature of the film is widely recognized, this never seems to boomerang to Eisenstein’s shame and discredit. Instead, he is simply praised for his cinematographical excellence.