Sergej Ejzenstejn
Bronenosec Potemkin

Writing a comment on what, in my opinion, is the most beautiful film ever made presents quite a few challenges. I will attempt this daunting task with my humble means at my disposal. Filmed in 1925, just twenty years after the spark that led to the Soviet revolution, it is divided into five well-structured episodes, almost entirely reflecting the real events of the time.

Men and Maggots - A turbulent sea lashing at breakwaters and an exposition of Lenin open an interesting representation of a dramatic comparison between man and beast, in terms of treatment. The sailor Vakulinchuk realizes that the meat intended for the sailors' rations, the true engine of the battleship, is severely rotten. The denial is obviously collective, and when asked for the provision of food worthy of consumption, they receive, as a response, a material form of tyranny that often characterizes a superior: execution for arbitrary insubordination.

It's important to highlight the figurative importance of the shots. In this and the next episode, Eisenstein, supported by excellent non-professional actors for better emotional representation, focuses on close-ups, capturing the facial and internal expressions that appear absolutely spontaneous and believable. Every element is the protagonist of its assigned role. There are no despicable cameos destined for oblivion. The gritty sailor, the embittered one, the sleeping one, the scornful officer, spirited, domineering. Even the gear, the mast, the cannon. The views are deliberately narrow, limited, so as not to leave elements useful for imagining the possible dimensions of the ship, cleverly concealing even its grandeur.

Drama on the Deck - Men, even if hierarchically inferior, have dignity, and each life has value. If a piece of clearly rotten meat has more support than the moral and mechanical utility of a sailor, better execution by fire than living with animals disguised as men. Faced with terrifying rifles parallel to the ground, the sailors who have expressed denial quiver, heads held high. The first miracle occurs: I cannot shoot a man like me, and besides, in the right. The barrels lower, and a mutiny overwhelms the heated demands to fire on the rebels.

Blood Cries for Justice - Vakulinchuk takes control of the cruiser but is mortally wounded in the midst of the revolt by a forgotten officer. The indignation is overflowing. The ship docks at the port of Odessa, and the body of the brave sailor is raised as a symbol of the victims of the superior's gangrenous power. For common people, Vakulinchuk is a hero, as he is for those who possess a minimum of humanity. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for the Tsarist troops, who are preparing a violent armed reprimand against the people gathered in protest.

The images extend, and the expressions assume other protagonists, from the man smoking to the crying mother, the old woman seeking justice, and the idiot dispensing whims. The battleship's majesty begins to emerge, ridden by clusters of men, and the landscapes take on their figurative importance.

The Odessa Staircase -The epitome of cinematic art. During the warm greetings of the people to the humanity of the crew, joy is shattered by the infamous bullets of the Cossacks charging the crowd crowded on the steps with rifle shots. Panic spreads swiftly among the innocents, who are eliminated without hesitation by the Tsar's troops. The icy gaze of the mother noticing her son hit and trampled is one of the rarest sights in terms of emotional intensity. What follows is history. The mother advancing diagonally, alone and unarmed, with her dying child in her arms, who is riddled after splitting the scene in two, is art in its solid state. Vain are the pleas to cease fire, where human bestiality does not stop even in front of a mother with a baby in a pram. The scene of the same pram rolling down the steps, sobbing, has no equals in beauty and perfection, despite various attempts at imitation. The gaze of a woman incredulous, struck in the eye, dissolves to make way for the last episode.

The Assault Through the Fleet -The images focus again on the leading elements. Man yields the stage to the machine, and in this episode, the spotlight is on the cruiser in all its power. From the colossal engine pistons to the speedometers, from the three-dimensional cannons to the shells, from the perspective gun emplacements to the rudders. The Potemkin must be destroyed. The Tsarist battleships advance, preparing for execution, the animated movements of the cannons ready to spew fire are truly chilling, but when it seems a naval battle is about to ignite, the second miracle occurs: the word FIRE! turns into BROTHERS! with a smile. The sailors lean over the deck and greet with deep emotion the brothers on the other ship, and together, sailing a calm sea in a sequence where the battleship reveals all its majesty by tearing the scene, they will navigate towards freedom.

This grand work by the extraordinary Soviet master, along with some films by Murnau and Griffith, are not part of the history of cinema; they ARE the history of cinema. A communist film but in earnest, where, unfortunately today, there is a utopian recognition of the equality and communion between men and goods. Hidden during the Nazi-Fascist period (who would have guessed), it was retrieved and widely disseminated in the immediate post-war period and thus idolized for what it truly is worth. The battleship Potemkin IS cinema.