April 28, 1925
Directed by Sergei Eisenstein
Work isn’t working.
It’s Sunday night and my opinion is that work sucks. I’ve been working at the same office job for seven years, where within a three meter radius of my chair sit four other people. Three of whom are in competition for a promotion with me. Even though I’ve been there longer, I think that two of them will beat me, if not all three. I can see how it plays out, and I think I am okay with not getting the job. I am fine with my wife being disappointed in me not getting it, even as I accuse her of not respecting my current job.
Advancing in my career as a means of getting more respect hasn’t been working for me, but I don’t know what else to do to get out of the trap I feel I’ve fallen into. I tried the “get good at a thing” line. I did it – I wrote four chapters for a book that was actually published this year and is now available in three different libraries. But writing is no way to a prosperous career. I know that. My favorite living writers have careers that are uncertain or unlucrative, if they have a job at all. No, my best chance is to win a promotion to a job that is only slightly different from the one I have now.
Because I know my job’s not all that bad. I work in an office, at a computer, and while I sometimes work 9, 10, 11, or even 12 hour days, those days are always punctuated by plenty of food – swordfish, salmon, tilapia, filet mignon, truffle aioli, fresh vegetables cooked and raw and a variety of fruits, not just oranges and apples but even in the darkest depth of winter. Eggs, sausage, and potatoes every morning for breakfast. Hot dark coffee available at all times. High quality green tea. Beer and wine. Occasional travel to New York or San Francisco where I can dine at any restaurant I want.
None of this changes the fact that work sucks, but I can only barely imagine how much work must have sucked for factory workers in St. Petersburg before the revolution. Seriously, what do I know? I’m frustrated working the same job without promotion for seven years. But for workers to consider a strike in 1890’s or 1900’s Russia, things must have been a total dead end with conditions continually getting worse. You can’t just quit and find a new job. This same factory is where you work forever.
If you must work until you die, then the working conditions must change.
Finally, after all these years, there is a movie about work, for the workers. Their struggle – not man vs nature, man vs man, or man vs self, but man vs Capital. A struggle against a social relation.
But what does it matter? This movie about a radical irruption of the production of Capital is now just a DVD for your personal collection of movies on plastic or instant stream and it’s been cataloged and assigned its due place in the canon of commodities. Except that the processes of commodity production have neither neutered or assimilated it. Of all the movies in this story so far, this one presents the most problems in watching and understanding. I had been waiting to watch it with pleasurable anticipation, but I wasn’t ready for it. I had to restart the movie a few times before I could get even the most rudimentary grip on what I was seeing, and I had to watch the whole thing three times to make any sense of it. It’s maybe the most modern movie yet created. Fuck that. This is most modern thing yet created. It’s utterly bizarre.
We immediately depart from the standard of bourgeois fiction, as first exemplified by the novel, wherein the reader learns about an individual and her problems, conflicts, and journey, and then relates that journey to the reader’s own life. These are the stories you will find in every netflix queue. Here, the characters are always archetypes, and the story is mythic.
The workers work, and it sucks. But they have opportunity to talk, write, and even distribute newspapers among themselves. They share their grievances and discuss their scant options. But the micrometer is stolen and the machinist is blamed. Since Capital holds all the cards and can make whatever demand it wants, he loses his wages for the last three weeks and is fired. Facing his and his family’s immediate starvation, he commits suicide. His fellow workers decide to strike and seize the foundry.
Life on the strike begins to approach the happy state of nature. Men and women reunite. Animals and people coexist. The workers make their demands for a return to production, but the owners are determined to ignore them even as they lose money with each passing day. Neither side moves, and it wears down the solidarity of the workers. The police hires provocateurs from the lumpen-proletariat to start a fire and set off the workers. The fire department arrives to attack them with the firehose. The striking workers are blamed for this incident, and Capital calls in the army.
The ending is not a happy one. The strike is brutally crushed. The final slaughter performed by the military in the interest of preserving property and order is intercut with the slaughter of a cow – a scene of unsimulated carnage with no narrative connection to the story. After a sweeping pan of the bodies in the field, there is a quick close-up on a pair of eyes, and the words “Remember, Proletarians!”
Their action may appear to be a failure, but we must look at it more broadly than the immediate bloodbath. The strike activates the class struggle and makes a claim for power, however unsuccessful. The movie is one step forward. Eisenstein has more to show us. The thesis awaits its antithesis.
The successful one is a prophet of the next generation. The trick is to get the Lord to speak directly to you. Sometimes to do that, you must create a rule, and then break that rule.