Revolution, On-screen and Off... Film Review: Battleship Potemkin

Sergei Eisenstein is often considered to be one of the most complex film directors of his time. Simultaneously artist and engineer, Jewish and bisexual, his cinematic creativity and innovation were often overshadowed by his strong political agenda, and his films collectively mark him as one of the most significant filmmakers of the communist regime. His second full-length feature, Battleship Potemkin (1925), aroused such shock in its audience that it was banned in multiple countries, primarily because of its portrayal of violence. Eisenstein’s primary aim was to create a propaganda film showing the horror and oppression of the Tsarist regime, in particular by portraying a massacre of innocent civilians by Nicholas II’s troops in the famous Odessa Steps sequence. It is said that he was eating a cherry and threw away the stone, and the idea for the falling pram came as it bounced down steps. Seeing that steps are like the world tilted forwards to form a stage, he decided that murder should be filmed on such a stage. Eisenstein developed his ground-breaking editing techniques and “ploughed the mind of the audience,”1 and the film took the world by storm. It was admired by Charlie Chaplin, Walt Disney and Joseph Goebbels. Many critics claim that Battleship Potemkin merely justifies violence. However, the humanism in the film is hard to miss, and it could also be argued that it instructs the audience in making a revolution, but also highlights the desire for peace that comes from conflict.

Battleship Potemkin can be viewed simultaneously as a work of art, showcasing ingenious new creative techniques, and as a government propaganda film, designed not only to inform and entertain but to influence the viewer. The primary aim of the director if we reflect upon the film in relation to its intended audience is control, through fear and anger. Eisenstein makes full use of a viewer’s natural fear of change and the unknown in order to make the film more memorable. An example of this can be seen at the opening of Act Five, ‘Meeting the Squadron.’ As the Potemkin turns its guns upon the town of Odessa, three brief, consecutive shots of stone lions combine in quick succession to generate the impression that the lion is alive, and jumping to its feet. The resulting image is disconcerting; not only has the attack produced “an upheaval that shakes even statues to life,”2 but the violence and conflict occurring around has caused even a lion, the traditional symbol of bravery, to start in fear. It is likely that Eisenstein was aiming to unnerve the audience with this. The alteration of the reality of Tsarist Russia into the new world of the revolution is reflected by the bending of reality with the moving lion, and is likely to yield a primitive reaction in the audience; the revulsion and fear of things that cannot be. The lion is one of the only things that comes to life in Battleship Potemkin. The themes of death, and more importantly the threat of death are paramount when dictating audience response.

Ultimately, Eisenstein’s aims in creating Battleship Potemkin are twofold. As a dedicated advocate of and propaganda creator for the Soviet government, his primary concern was to make a film heralding the acts of bravery which led to the overturn of the Tsarist regime. Numerous narrative and cinematographic techniques conspire to present a powerful, if one-sided view of the 1905 revolution. Villains are entirely evil and heroes faultless in this simple plot which, as the director intended, has the power to raise strong political convictions out of the audience. This is achieved not only through the film’s portrayal of violent oppression of innocent civilians by armed forces, but also by appealing to our sympathetic human nature. By using images and situations which dictate the audience’s emotional reactions, such as the image of the crushed boy, the pram in peril or the martyred sailor, Eisenstein is able to forge a deeper connection with the audience based on empathy, rather than one merely made through shock and anger. Thus, as well as his strong socialist principles, Eisenstein’s humanism also shines through, showing his sympathy and identification with the oppressed common workers. However, despite this, Eisenstein’s political convictions never manage to overshadow his passion and flair as an artist and filmmaker. His development and use of cinematography and editing, in particular his employment of Soviet montage, continue to make the film as technically relevant today as it was upon release, and many of his ideas and techniques continue to be employed by and inspire directors today.