How good does a film have to be to become one of the most renowned in the history of cinema despite being made in 1925, without sound or spoken dialogue, despite having no memorable or well-developed individual characters, and despite being a blatant propaganda piece? This describes Sergei Eisenstein’s early masterpiece The Battleship Potemkin. It retains its place of high honor, despite its limitations, because it demonstrated conclusively the potential of film-editing techniques for creating works with an ability to provoke powerful emotions, whether for artistic, political, or commercial purposes – noble or sinister.

Historical Context: Eisenstein was commissioned to produce the The Battleship Potemkin by the Soviet communist leadership of the 1920’s to commemorate the 20th anniversary of the unsuccessful 1905 revolution, which was a precursor to the successful Bolshevik revolution twelve years later. The broad contours of the events depicted in the film are true. The main deviation from fact is that no massacre actually took place on the Odessa steps, although many innocent citizens of Odessa were killed by Czarist troops throughout the city. Eisenstein’s condensation of these events for dramatic purposes is no more egregious a deviation from historical fact than what has been done in many other films depicting stories based on historical events.

In 1956, The Battleship Potemkin was voted the best film ever made. Although it no longer possesses quite that degree of lofty stature, an esteemed place in cinematic history is firmly assured. It is most important for having introduced editing techniques that have been mimicked ever since and which are utilized to one extent or another in nearly every film you watch. This movie also features arguably the single most famous individual scene in film history – the scene at the Odessa steps. It too has been widely imitated, most notably in Brian DePalma’s The Untouchables. The Battleship Potemkin is currently listed as the 161st most popular film according to the Internet Database top-250 poll, which makes it 19th among non-English language films. It is the 2nd oldest foreign film in the top 250. Not too shabby for a film made in 1925!

I’m going to suggest later how The Battleship Potemkin reveals a “dangerous” potential in filmmaking, but my concern is different than that which motivated Great Britain, France, and the United States all to ban this film at various times in history. These governments feared the capacity of Eisenstein’s film to evoke powerful emotions or to incite violent uprisings. Initially, The Battleship Potemkin was seen in America only by small audiences composed of either film aficionados or labor activists. Ironically, even Stalin temporarily banned this film from viewing by Soviet audiences during a time when there was fear of rebellion against his own regime. There is no question that The Battleship Potemkin can excite passionate feelings of righteous indignation against brutal repression, but such feelings will not erupt into action without there being a large mass of viewers who personally identify with the issues of class repression in their own lives.

This remarkable film gained both fame and cautious respect for Eisenstein. The fame that he derived from it won him a degree of insulation from overt harassment by the Soviet government but the awe invoked by the power of his film also earned him the constant attention of authorities. During portions of his career, Eisenstein worked in the West, but found the environment there barely more conducive to his creative talents. While in the Soviet Union, he was restricted by the political agenda, but in the West (the United States and Mexico), he was equally restrained by the commercial agendas of the studios. Ironically, both his native country and the West, each in its own way, demanded of him films that would cater to the needs of the masses – mindless entertainment for the American masses but politically correct propaganda for the Soviet masses. Eisenstein ultimately suffered a nervous breakdown from the pressures that were imposed on him. Eisenstein not only left behind a marvelous film legacy, but also a large body of theory and writings about cinema that is as extensive as for any great filmmaker.

The Story: The Potemkin was a Russian battleship, cruising the Black Sea after returned from war with Japan. Russian pride was badly bruised by humiliating defeats at the hands of the Japanese and the country was in a state of unrest and isolated uprisings. The film begins on June 14th, 1905. The film is divided into five episodes, each introduced by a title frame.

The first episode is called “Men and Maggots.” The sailors on the Potemkin are aware of the ongoing revolt of Russian workers against their czarist employers and discuss it among themselves, although never within earshot of the officers or boatswain. They live in extremely cramped quarters, with only hammocks to sleep upon, and their rations are very poor. Maggots are crawling over the meat which they are to be served for lunch later in the day. When some sailors complain, the ship’s surgeon declares that there is nothing wrong with it and that the maggots should just be rinsed off with sea water. When the Borsch (Russian soup) is made using this meat, the sailors refuse to eat it and purchase food instead from the ship’s store.

In the second episode, “Drama on the Quarterdeck”, the Captain has been told of the action by the sailors and calls all hands on deck. He demands that all those who enjoyed their Borsch step forward. Only a few petty officers comply. The Captain then adds that all others will be hung from the yard arm. The sailors nevertheless hold firm. One rebellious group gets separated from the rest. The Captain singles them out for a disciplinary example and orders a tarpaulin to be tossed over the group. He calls out the guard, which is ordered to fire on the tarpaulin. As they prepare to fire, a sailor named Vakulinchuk (Alexander Antonov), who is a volatile rebel among the sailors, cries out, “Brothers! Who are you shooting at?” The members of the firing squad lower their guns. When one of the most hated officers tries to force them to shoot, full mutiny breaks out. The officers try to subdue the mutiny but are outnumbered. The ship’s priest (played by Eisenstein himself), an ignorant, bearded Rasputin-like fellow with wild long hair, sides with the officers as well. Although Vakulinchuk is killed by the Captain, his companions triumph in the end, and the officers and the priest are either killed or thrown overboard. When the ship steams into Odessa, it is completely in the control of the enlisted men.

The third segment of the film, “An Appeal From the Dead”, is set in Odessa. This is an ancient city in the Ukraine on the Black Sea. It is a circular shaped manufacturing city and seaport. It is especially well known for a remarkable array of steps that stretch down to the sea. In Odessa, news of the uprising spreads among the people. They, too, are terribly repressed by the czar’s agents. Vakulinchuk is laid out on shore in a makeshift tent which quickly becomes a kind of hero’s shrine. The people from Odessa begin to line up to pay homage to Vakulinchuk and file past his corpse for hours. A sailor stands nearby and repeats to each visitor, “He died for a spoonful of soup.” Later, the citizens of Odessa provide supplies (food and water) to the Potemkin via a flotilla of skiffs. As they approach the great battleship, the citizens cheer the brave sailors in a show of respect and solidarity.

The climatic segment is the fourth one, called “The Odessa Steps.” The Czar’s Cossacks are called out and march down the long flight of steps, firing indiscriminately at the citizens – men, women, and children alike. A woman is shot while holding her child and pleading. A man is seen wearing glasses and later we see the glasses with a bullet hole through one lens. Another man without legs is seen trying to scurry away propelling himself with his arms. A woman pushing a baby in a pram is shot and the pram bounces down the stairs out of control. In response, the Potemkin turns its great guns on the Cossacks and their quarters in Odessa.

The last segment is entitled “Meeting the Squadron.” News of the uprising has reached the government and a Russian fleet of twelve destroyers is ordered to intercept the Potemkin. They make for Odessa. When they are spotted by the rebels on the Potemkin, the ship is readied for battle and steams out to meet the fleet. One destroyer from the fleet joins up with the Potemkin. Will these military comrades and fellow Russians engage each other in deadly battle? The Potemkin signals the other ships, inviting them to join in the uprising. Although the other ships don’t respond or join them, the Potemkin steams through the flotilla without a single shot being fired by either side. The crews of the other ships cheer the Potemkin as it passes. (Later, the Potemkin crew sought asylum in Romania and the ship was returned to the Russians, but that is beyond the scope of the present film.)

Issues: The scale of this production was utterly enormous. It utilized thousand of extras (ordinary Russian people, for the most part). Eisenstein had a sizable chunk of the Russian fleet at his disposal during the filming. It is a testament to the power of this film that, today, many Russians actually believe that a massacre occurred on the Odessa steps as depicted in the film.

Obviously, The Battleship Potemkin is blatant class-struggle propaganda, commissioned expressly for that purpose. It is the technique that Eisenstein uses to achieve the film’s purpose that makes it extraordinary. The narrative is entirely a political story, emphasizing masses of people rather than individuals, never allowing itself to be side-tracked with personal stories. It’s an approach that fits well with the absence of dialogue. There are no fully developed individual characters and none that progress over the course of the story. All are archetypal. We have sailors and officers, citizens, mothers, children, cripples, and Cossack troops, but none have personalities beyond their type. Eisenstein never allows the camera to pause on an individual character long enough to evoke the audience’s personal interest or sympathy. The masses move in unison, especially the robotic and inhuman troops of the czar.

What is most important about The Battleship Potemkin is Eisenstein’s introduction of his theory of film montage. By rhythmic juxtaposition of images in rapid succession, he creates a whole that is greater than the sum of its parts. He creates implicit argument and associations that arouse strong emotions. For example, he shows the impersonal brutality of the Cossacks, then immediately cuts to the impassioned face of a terrified mother or the hand of a child being crushed under the boot of a soldier. We see the brutal control being exerted by the soldiers; then suddenly a shot of the panic of the citizens. Eisenstein thus demonstrated for the first time the nearly unlimited manipulative potential of juxtaposing images to elicit audience responses – to stir them emotionally or to imply associations. In so doing, he changed the way films have been made ever since. Unfortunately, such techniques are equally effective for either artistic purposes or for political or commercial exploitation of viewers. Not only are such editing techniques used in almost all films made today but in almost all advertising, both political and commercial. We are shown an image of someone’s political opponent, for example, followed quickly by images of decaying slums or someone dying from a health problem or some kind of violence – whatever association the ad wants to imply. Without ever stating expressly that the opponent is contributing to the problem, the juxtaposition of the images suggests it. If you doubt that very many people are susceptible to this kind of implied association, just consider how many Americans believe that Iraq was responsible for the 9/11 attack on the World Trade Center. Eisenstein’s use of abrupt cuts in The Battleship Potemkin also served the ancillary purpose of suggesting the chaos in the mutiny scene and the later massacre.

Bottom-Line: The Battleship Potemkin is a film of undeniable power. It is fast moving and exciting. The scene on the Odessa steps will leave you speechless and breathless. All of the crowd scenes are choreographed to perfection. Still, the value of watching this film goes beyond its immediate appeal as a movie experience. It should be part of every movie lover’s education, to better understand the origin of a film technique that we take for granted today.

Apparently the score that accompanies this film varies from one version to another and can impact the viewing experience. I can’t comment further on that point, since I’ve only myself seen one version. The VHS copy that I watched had a score by N. Kryukov that I thought to be appropriate and effective. This film is just 67 minutes longs. I personally would not allow a child under fifteen to watch the film because of the massacre scene but I think it could be easily handled by teens fifteen or older, given the routine violence in many films today. It has no official rating.

Recommended:
Yes

Video Occasion: Better than Watching TV
Suitability For Children: Suitable for Children Age 13 and Older