Possibly The Greatest Movie Of All Time

Rating: 10/10 (12 November 2018)

Subjective opinions and personal value aside, Battleship Potemkin (Along with Leaving Las Vegas and Casablanca) is what I consider to be the greatest movie of all time and the closest example in the art of filmmaking to perfection. Eisenstein's appreciation for film as a visual medium, his visionary and creative means of using aesthetics rather than words to tell stories, convey themes and invest you in his narratives, is unparalleled by any filmmaker living or dead. Battleship Potekmin is his magnum opus, the crowning achievement of his career and the conclusive legitimization of filmmaking as a true artform beyond mere entertainment.
One of my favorite (And often most unsung) aspects of Eisensein's filmography is his talent for casting as a silent director. Despite not turning to professional actors (Or, alternatively, possibly because of it in part), Eisenstein has assembled an unforgettable cast of striking, memorable faces. From ghoulish, hysterical religious zealots to mustached, kind faced supermen, the performers who Eisenstein has chosen for their respective roles fully embody the themes and emotions of the characters they play on screen. No individual is the hero, no one man is made the star; success and emotional triumph depend entirely on cooperation of the collective of good men and women. It's not merely the themes of the film that represent Leftist values, it's the structure of the character development and the filmmaking itself.
Much has been spoken of Battleship Potemkin's radical use of montage to magnify the emotional power of its scenes. In my opinion, not nearly enough has been said. His framing of national tragedies through the eyes of the populous, the eyes of a collective, completely forces his audience from the role of bystander to active and compliant participant to the events of the film. This is what filmmaking is all about; sucking us into the world of your movie, sharing the importance of your thematic material through genuine empathy rather than listening to the hollow, recited words of cardboard cutouts telling us how to feel. Battleship Potemkin is one of the most singularly investing films I have ever had the pleasure of witnessing despite dialogue that may as well be absent from the picture entirely. Furthermore, Eisenstein's use of montage on its own is already a breathtaking and revolutionary filmmaking technique, but interweaving it with the themes of societal importance of the collective is a stroke of genius. Through this narrative decision, Sergei speaks to how the journeys and arcs of societies and communities themselves, not individuals, are what shape history. These are the narratives that benefit our world culture's the greatest, that show the legitimacy and importance of filmmaking to shaping the ideals and values of not just cult followings or a general "film buff" consensus, but entire nations.
Compared to its contemporaries released around the same time, Battleship Potemkin is a shockingly violent and brutal film. From the brutal murder of a protective and sheltering mother to the slaughtering of innocent civilians by mass to the abandonment (And possible death) of an innocent baby, Potemkin is a far cry from the "bread and circus" criticisms that could apply to many films of the era. This is brutal, harsh and dark filmmaking, but without any of the misplaced and childish "nihilism" displayed from "artists" in the filmmaking industry of future years. Unlike his unsuccessful imitators, Eisenstein uses violence out of a place of personal concern and dread. There is nothing artistic or stylized about his depiction, it's as mean and blunt and to the point as possible. Most of the best scenes of violence in film come from a place of rage, a place of impassioned and challenged personal ethics; every act of violence in Battleship Potemkin is treated for the tragedy it is, never forgetting the all-too important human element behind it. The images of helpless and vulnerable civilians futilely begging for their lives to hordes of Czarist Police, the shot of a woman's face being frozen in Horror as everything she ever was, everything she ever will be, ends at the sword of a corrupt soldier, are images of anger. Images that incite passion and fury. Eisenstein understood the power of violence in movies and uses it masterfully in Potemkin, with very minimal dialogue no less. Other smaller scenes like the monocle of the ship's surgeon (The very one used to unscrupulously validate the ethicacy of feeding sailors rotten and spoiled meat) dangling from the rigging after being tossed off of the boat, shots like the symbolic "shooting of the lion" representing the fall of lazy, unethical and monstrous tyrants, are just as staying in my memory as the infamous Odessa Steps for which the film is so heavily praised for.
It's not merely the images of brutal violence that give poignancy to the visual storytelling of Potemkin. The beginning imagery of a plate breaking with the words "Give Us Your Daily Bread" printed on it, as well as the synchronized swinging of the sailors hammocks with that of the galleys chains are wonderful and intensely subtle examples of foreshadowing that are a prime example of "show, don't tell" storytelling. (Take note, Michael Daugherty and Danny McBride)
Battleship Potemkin is a treasure. It is a triumph. It may very well be the best film of all time and anyone with a passion for the visual nature of storytelling, let alone film, owes it to themselves to watch it at least once. You're welcome in advance.