When it launched fifÂteen years ago, the movie podÂcast BatÂtleÂship PreÂtenÂsion took its name from two well-known sources: an attiÂtude popÂuÂlarÂly assoÂciÂatÂed with cinephiles, and a 1925 motion picÂture by Sergei EisenÂstein. To some, mereÂly refÂerÂencÂing a silent film made by a SoviÂet auteur in 1925 conÂstiÂtutes sufÂfiÂcient eviÂdence of preÂtenÂsion in and of itself. But most, even those who’ve nevÂer seen a frame of EisenÂstein’s work, do recÂogÂnize that BatÂtleÂship Potemkin has an imporÂtant place in cinÂeÂma hisÂtoÂry — and if they actuÂalÂly watch the movie, which is embedÂded just above, they’ll find that it looks and feels more familÂiar than they’d expectÂed.
Like any work of wide and deep influÂence, BatÂtleÂship Potemkin has often been parÂoÂdied over its nearÂly 100 years of exisÂtence. But none of its scenes has been paid as much homage, tongue in cheek or elseÂwhere, than the masÂsacre on the Odessa Steps, the symÂbolÂic entryÂway to that city in what’s now Ukraine.
“Czarist troops march down a long flight of steps, firÂing on the citÂiÂzens who flee before them in a terÂriÂfied tide,” as Roger Ebert describes it. “CountÂless innoÂcents are killed, and the masÂsacre is summed up in the image of a woman shot dead tryÂing to proÂtect her baby in a carÂriage — which then bounces down the steps, out of conÂtrol.”
The conÂtent of this sequence is as harÂrowÂing as its form is revÂoÂluÂtionÂary. That’s true in the proÂpaÂganÂdisÂtic sense, but even more so in the artisÂtic one: the Odessa Steps masÂsacre, like the whole of BatÂtleÂship Potemkin, funcÂtions as a proof-of-conÂcept for EisenÂstein’s theÂoÂries of monÂtage. Today we take for grantÂed — and in some casÂes have even come to resent — that movies so expertÂly juxÂtaÂpose their images so as to proÂvoke the most intense emoÂtionÂal response posÂsiÂble withÂin us. That wasÂn’t so much the case a cenÂtuÂry ago, when most examÂples of the still-novÂel art form of cinÂeÂma used their visuÂals simÂply to make their narÂraÂtives legÂiÂble.
EisenÂstein, howÂevÂer, underÂstood cinÂeÂma’s true potenÂtial. He explored it in a range of picÂtures that also includÂed Ten Days That Shook the World, a dramaÂtiÂzaÂtion of the 1917 OctoÂber RevÂoÂluÂtion; AlexanÂder Nevsky, on the repulÂsion of invaders by the eponyÂmous thirÂteenth-cenÂtuÂry prince; and the epic hisÂtorÂiÂcal draÂma Ivan the TerÂriÂble, the stoÂry of the first tsar of all RusÂsia (and idol of StalÂin, who comÂmisÂsioned the project).
You can watch these films, as well as EisenÂstein’s unfinÂished tribÂute to the MexÂiÂcan RevÂoÂluÂtion ¡Que viva MĂ©xÂiÂco!, free on the Youtube chanÂnel of MosÂfilm, the preÂemÂiÂnent stuÂdio in the SoviÂet era. That EisenÂstein’s techÂniques have surÂvived not just him but the SoviÂet Union itself underÂscores a truth he might have susÂpectÂed, but nevÂer admitÂted: cinÂeÂma is more powÂerÂful than polÂiÂtics.
RelatÂed conÂtent:
Sergei Eisenstein’s Ten Days That Shook the World (1928)
A VisuÂal IntroÂducÂtion to SoviÂet MonÂtage TheÂoÂry: A RevÂoÂluÂtion in FilmÂmakÂing
Sergei Eisenstein’s SemÂiÂnal BatÂtleÂship Potemkin Gets a SoundÂtrack by Pet Shop Boys
101 Free Silent Films: The Great ClasÂsics
Based in Seoul, ColÂin MarÂshall writes and broadÂcasts on cities, lanÂguage, and culÂture. His projects include the SubÂstack newsletÂter Books on Cities, the book The StateÂless City: a Walk through 21st-CenÂtuÂry Los AngeÂles and the video series The City in CinÂeÂma. FolÂlow him on TwitÂter at @colinmarshall, on FaceÂbook, or on InstaÂgram.
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