29. Bronenosets Potyomkin

Battleship Potemkin

January 18, 1926
Directed by Sergei Eisenstein

Stachka demonstrated the power of revolutionary cinema by showing the effect workers can have when they organize. Yes, the strike itself ended in annihilation, but it was punctuated by a final command, addressed directly to the audience: Remember, proletarians!

Sergei Eisenstein and his comrades gave them little time to forget. Within a year’s time Bronenosets Potyomkin brought the cinema into its next dialectical stage, demonstrating what can happen when proletarian power is joined by military power. We saw in the German Revolution how the military, which normally operates as the repressive apparatus of state power, has within its organization its own version of proletarian industrial workers, namely sailors. In 1905, when the Russians were being obliterated by the Japanese, a non-Western industrial upstart, the sailors of the ship Potemkin decided to join the revolution their were hearing rumors about and stage a mutiny. The events of this mutiny, largely fictionalized to suit the needs of cinematic narrative, were depicted here as part of a 20-year celebration of the Revolution of 1905.

The film wasn’t a big hit in the Soviet Union, but news spread, and it scared the shit out of foreign governments. Industrial nations were experiencing worker unrest of their own, and it was a very real possibility that they would see their own Bolshevik moment in the months ahead. To those in power, this movie was a manual of how to stage a real revolution. Britain and France banned all public showings. The German censorship office made substantial cuts, including the entirety of the most-famous pram sequence, but ultimately approved the censored version (military personnel were still prohibited from seeing it).

The movie premiered in Berlin two days before Mayday and was an overwhelming critical success. Douglas Fairbanks declared it “the most powerful and the most profound emotional experience in my life.” Bertolt Brecht composed a poem about it. Potyomkin was a bold display of the power of revolutionary political art and an example of the potential for superior cinema in a socialist economy.

The power of a movie that presented all filmmaking under the capitalist mode of production with an artistic challenge presents modern viewers with a different challenge. Potyomkin is almost exclusively watched as a technical exercise. The emotional centerpiece, the famous Odessa Steps sequence, which exploded onto the Berlin screen as a consummate vision of war-as-chaos, has been so institutionalized and academized by countless shot by shot analyses that it can be hard to feel anything when watching it. John Waters, that master of screen chaos, recalls a screening of the Odessa Steps as the moment he decided film school was unnecessary bullshit.

Is it possible to see in this movie with its original revolutionary thrill? Possible for it to excite us with its picture of a new way to live, showing us what is greatest and most important in life, and filling us with solidarity and the courage to defend our brothers and sisters against the dread force of Capital?

Sound may be the key that unlocks this silent film.

Eisenstein himself saw his masterpiece as a sound film. All of his montage tricks, gross or subtle, were to be matched in unison or counterpoint by similar moves in the soundtrack. But the versions I’ve seen on video use those standard orchestra or piano scores that tend to make silent movies a dull, academic experience. A Film 101 class to fall asleep in. A great silent movie is timeless, but the soundtrack is usually not. Many composers and ensembles have re-scored Potemkin, and you should never pass up the opportunity to see it this way. For those playing the home game, I can personally recommend the Pet Shop Boys version, which as of this writing is available here in what is apparently a fan edit. Chris and Neil’s synthesizer melodies soar in solidarity as the skiffs meeting the battleship and sing an understated dirge during the great Steps scene. As the tension of the final showdown mounts, they go into full Hi-NRG. We are your brothers! As we move into our own version of 1926, prospects for World Revolution are once again starting to look up.


20. Our Hospitality

November 19, 1923
Directed by Buster Keaton and John G. Blystone

The Civil War is over, and the South won!

Sorry, let’s back up a bit. Or rather speed ahead to Fatty Arbuckle, the first great screen comedian and mentor also to both Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton. When Fatty Arbuckle’s career was ruined by the scandal of rape and murder of a young woman, Keaton rose to take his place. He made excellent shorts and was given a chance to direct a feature, or what was more like a trilogy of intercut shorts called Three Ages. The ages in question were the Stone Age, Imperial Rome, and the modern era. Jeff Mills, who come to think of it looks a bit like Buster, composed a score for this one, where prehistory and ancient times, with their anachronistic gags, act as preludes for the techno assault of the modern world, with automobiles, bank balances, and illegal liquor.

However great the shorts and the first feature, Keaton made an enormous creative leap with his second movie Our Hospitality. The anachronism gags are abandoned almost entirely in favor of meticulous period detail. And there aren’t any gags at all in the opening scene, which is a horrifying depiction of revenge murder and the widow’s flight north to Manhattan, where in 1830 the very first shoots of modernity are in bloom. McKay takes the very first steam locomotive, and the first four reels are the journey south, to a destination with both plantations and mountains. The primitive locomotive is so ridiculously quaint that it feels like a dream. It constantly falls apart, becomes derailed, and when it does work, can easily be outrun by a dog.

In the fifth reel, we get to the trick. McKay in invited by the daughter of his father’s rival Canfield. Once the family discovers who she’s brought home, they are filled with murderous lust but can’t kill him because he has already been accepted as a guest in their home. They must offer him hospitality until he leaves the house. And they’re not planning for a duel betwee gentlemen. As soon as McKay steps outside the door, crosses the threshold between inside and outside, it’s hunter and hunted. They fire at him, and he has only his wits to save him, getting him back into the house each time.

After a few feints, he makes the dash in the sixth reel, and immediately finds himself in the mountains. Then the brothers are tethered together by rope, and both plunge into the river, return to land, and their tether is severed by the steam locomotive passing left to right. The river reconsumes McKay, along with the Canfield daughter who has followed him. McKay saves the daughter, catching her just as she goes over the big waterfall and then saving himself. This act of heroism wins her heart and by extension the hearts of the girl’s father and brothers. All is resolved.

There’s a symmetry in this film where the train journey of reels two and three is mirrored by a river journey of reels six and seven. The train is man conquering nature, and the river is nature reconquering man. The first half sees man conquer nature but turn on his brother, and the second sees man almost succumb to nature’s chaos and then find brotherhood in the face of this danger. Survival in a world both natural and mechanical.

Now when I said that the South won, I am speaking of the hegemonic victory. Reconstruction failed after Grant – it was dismantled by Rutherford Hayes’ administration. When Birth of a Nation came out, that movie’s nauseating perspective was accepted as historical fact. Our Hospitality is a devastating critique of the romantic southeren nostalgia for the antebellum years. The Southerners themselves are ridiculous characters. Foppish, casually brutal, obsessed with honor at the expense of compassion. Our Hospitality is not only the first great comedy feature, but it is a satire great enough to deliver an equivalent blow against the Birth of a Nation’s horror-melodrama.


  • Gunning, Tom. “Buster Keaton, or the Work of Comedy in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction”. Cineaste, Vol 21, No 3, 1995.
  • Robinson, David. Buster Keaton. Indiana University Press, 1969.


3. The Birth of a Nation


February 8, 1915
directed by D.W. Griffith

Perhaps it is anti-climactic for this story of One Thousand Movies to face the most controversial, the most offensive, the most pernicious movie, the main villain, the Big Boss, at #3. If the first two movies in this story, both from the French Republic, flirted with evil themes, this one fully embodies evil in what amounts to an ideological revolution. But in addition to the ideological revolution, the movie was a formal revolution.

David Wark Griffith’s great genius was to make a such a penetrating analysis of the art of cinema that he analyzed it all the way down to its principal unit: the shot. Before him, film was a collection of scenes, mere photographs of the theater. He shed so much of the theatrical structure that his body of work became, with minor adjustments, the very formula for cinema. The Hollywood narrative that we have all breathed our entire lives, and that informs how we create narratives in our own heads.

But in addition to these two revolutions, there was a third revolution. A revolution that while not technologically novel, changes a medium so thoroughly as to constitute a new medium. For this is the very first movie as we now understand that concept. The first Hollywood feature film. The first propaganda film. The first new media production for the Bourgeoisie, who now have entertainment worth the full two dollars per ticket. There had never been a popular art event like this ever before. Griffith is one of the few artists of modernity that can be compared with Aeschylus of Athens and Homer of Chios.

The twin revolutions of form and media do much to obscure the ideological revolution. This movie is three hours (or as much as you can sit through) of Pure White Evil Ideology, but presented in a way never before dreamed of, so as to render a critical viewer politically dumb. Not entirely successful, because initial showings were in fact bravely protested by the NAACP, YWCA, and other organizations. Supposedly Griffith, as well as star Lillian Gish, couldn’t even see what all the fuss was about. Surely it was just a movie, right? Aren’t Whites and Blacks portrayed both positively and negatively? Their inability to see the utter hatefulness in shot after shot shows us that ideology cannot be identified so easily. Ideology is our constant background screen, a completely blind set of assumptions that we fail to see even when it is explicitly pointed out to us.

Reading about the movie goes a long way to distract one from actually watching it. It helps that this second-most analyzed movie there is, and each source references countless other analyses and accounts. Birth of a Nation has been exhaustively formally analyzed, and each of the 1,610 shots has been numbered. Of all the text I encountered, my favorite is James Baldwin, from The Devil Finds Work. Baldwin begins with the distinction between Plot and Story. Plot is a resolution, a working out. Story, on the other hand, is a revelation. Birth of a Nation delivers an endless labyrinthine plot designed to obscure the Story, which amounts to mass murder. Mass murder, on what grounds? The answer is purity. In its quest for a nation’s moral purity through a policy of racial extermination, this movie becomes the first crucial piece of Fascist propaganda. The race hate is rendered far more explicitly, both visually and emotionally, than either of the most notorious antisemitic films, Jud Süß and Der ewige Jude, and this is America’s Movie. The shame of the race hate is our own.

Endless plot. No story. The cat and dog fighting in shot 54 is Griffith’s initial metaphor for the war, but the pure hostility of the bestial world, animal vs. animal, instantly removes any trace of politics. This is important, because the politics are ugly. The cause of the South was, after all, an attempt to build an American Aryan Patriarchy and stretch it out to the conquered Mexican territory. The Southwest was to be ruled as a pre-capitalist agrarian slave system, and the Kansas-Nebraska Act ensured that they could do that. The Republican Party campaigned on repeal, and they won in 1860. The Confederacy immediately seceded, the Union fought over its military possessions, and a full-scale Civil War ensued.

This war was different from the stories the soldiers had grown up hearing about. They had muskets, but now with metallic cartridges. They had a steam frigate, but now clad in iron, ramming the ships that were blockading the James River. It didn’t lift the blockade, but they did kill a few hundred people and got their point across. Industrial Capitalism was now in the business of mass death (to preserve a pre-capitalist slave society, of course). But the South’s cause was hopeless. They would have needed the Royal Navy to win, which they never received. Slaves were emancipated, free to sell their labor. The Radical Republicans occupied the South and continued the battle to impose Capitalism, along with Civil Rights, and were successful during the two terms of Ulysses Grant. In Grant’s last year, the 1876 election was won by one electoral vote by the Republican Rutherford Hayes, who had lost the popular vote to Democrat Samuel Tilden. To appease the Democrats in this dubious victory (imagine that), the forces of Reconstruction was removed, and both the Democrats and the Republicans abandoned the class of freed black men, who were disenfranchised and subjected to pogroms.

In 1912 about 15% of the American population participated in a presidential election that was a resounding victory for the Democratic Party. Woodrow Wilson became the first President from the Confederate states since Zachary Taylor. It was fifty years later, the South had finally risen again. Woodrow Wilson instituted a number of progressive policies, railed against the big business trusts, strengthened federal power, but he instituted Segregation in the United States Government. Birth of a Nation’s second half begins with a racist quote from Wilson. This is the sitting United States President, whom Griffith depicts as Philosopher-King. This is an unimaginable level of patriarchal respect, given recent representations of Clinton, Bush, and Obama.

The Civil War itself is presented as heroic and triumphant for a brief 77 shots. Then we skip ahead two and a half years, to the raid on the southern hometown of Piermont. Blackfaced warriors invade and sack the Cameron house, followed by a scene of trench warfare presented gloriously but isn’t nearly as exciting as the raid. The field battle scenes have a strange quality though, because in 1915 there actually was trench warfare killing literally millions of people. The pro/anti-war stance of the film as a whole can be endlessly debated, but this is undeniably a film that depicts current events. This is a view supported by Griffith’s own remarks about his works. This guy was absolutely sure that his movies would be shown in history classes, even to the point of replacing old-fashioned textbooks.

After the first 536 shots of vile race hate, including the incredibly disturbing shot 517 where Flora rubs black ash into her raw cotton dress and smiles, the movie gets really strange. When the North wins the war and the Radical Republicans attempt to institute Capitalism and Civil Rights in the South, we return to the wise old man moderate Abraham Lincoln, who appears to be utterly impotent in any ability to hold the radical elements of his coalition. We know what is going to happen to him at Ford theater, and Griffith draws out the tension. Each title card lasts an eternity. 596 is the killshot, and we see the entire thing, multiple camera angles along the halls and seats of the theater capturing the evidence. Raoul Walsh plays Booth, and while the assumed audience reaction is shock and sadness, there is a palpable swagger to Walsh’s villainy that makes me think more than a few audiences would be tempted to cheer.
The second half is even more frantic and racist, as the occupied South is subjected to Civil Rights until the fed-up veterans form the Ku Klux, stage a thrilling ride of re-conquest, and we watch the first classic movie where the bad guys win. I don’t really want to get into the details. Is there any revolutionary potential to this film? Any way to root for the freed blacks, the Union army, the carpetbaggers? To cheer them during the raid and sigh during their final downfall? Any way to celebrate the destruction of a disgraceful system of oppression and the rout of a defeated ideological enemy? I don’t think so. All of the principal black and mulatto roles are played by white actors, and the blackface ultimately remove any hope of constituting a black subject amid the wreckage. Sure, actual black people were employed in the making of this film, playing slaves and freedmen in wide shots of the streets. Their faces do not always register on the film, their features lost as if punched out black holes in the celluloid. Unable to emote, only to work. This movie is pure fascist propaganda, which preaches an ideology of white purity and domination, under the strong lead of a patriarchal authority. The employment of cinematic violence was the final masterstroke in this pernicious plan. As Siegfried Kracauer noted in a letter to Seymour Stern, Griffith discovered cinema’s innate ability to portray the excitement of CROWDS, TERROR, and VIOLENCE. Violence is one of the central pleasures in the story of cinema, and we cannot reject it so easily. The ideology that provides the background screen to the cinematic violence must always be addressed, as the function of ideology is often to disguise existing violence or render it entirely visible. In this case, the ideology of this hundred year old film is so gross that it can no longer be disguised, and it is important to see all movies have their own ideology, potentially even more revolting than this one, though hidden with a level of sophistication that Griffith was only beginning to make possible.


  • Baldwin, James. The Devil Finds Work: An Essay. Dial Press, 1976.
  • Ebert, Roger. „Great Movies: Birth of a Nation“ http://www.rogerebert.com, 2003.
  • Eisenstein, Sergei. „Dickens, Griffith, and the Film Today“ Film Form: Essays in Film Theory. Edited and translated by Jay Leyda. Harcourt, Brace, 1949. Originally published 1944.
  • The Griffith Project: Vol. 8: Films Produced in 1914-1915. Edited by Paolo Cherchi Usai. British Film Institute, 2004.
  • Lang, Robert Birth of a Nation: D.W. Griffith, Director Rutgers Films in Print series,1994.
  • Platt, David „Fanning the Flames of War“ The Daily Worker, 20 December 1939.
  • Stern, Seymour „Griffith I – Birth of a Nation“ Film Culture 36, Spring/Summer 1965.
  • Stokes, Melvyn. D. W. Griffith’s the Birth of a Nation: A History of the Most Controversial Motion Picture of All Time – 2008
  • Taylor, Clyde. „The Re-Birth of the Aesthetic in Cinema“ The Birth of Whiteness: Race and the Emergence of United States Cinema. Rutgers University Press, 1996.