Storm Over Asia

V.I. Pudovkin - 1928
Compared to your average work, this is a piece of the Soviet montage aesthetic. It frequently uses still, quite close shots, in fast excahnge, to convey its ideas. There is much evocation of place, here, largely the steppes. In many ways it reminded me of the great 'Earth', with these wide open spaces.
And like 'Earth', it is not exactly like one expects of the montage school. The takes are a bit longer, and here they are often not canted. There isn't much glorification of the human figure; even the capitalist is bad because we are told so, rather than from any paricular framing choise. There are some very long shots, and not short takes, of the steppes, along with just medium or full body stuff. The story, while not psychological, does have a main character, who conflicts with events (those he is buffeted aroumd rather than initially dcisive).
The end really is remaraklbe; incredibly quick cuts and effects, no sense of realistic space, powerful and stirring. There are some pretty noutceable effects throughout, either using gauzes or distorting angles, al combined with the classic Soviet lights from two sides approach. Half the film one might expect.

The End Of St Petersburg

Vsevolod Pudovkin - 1927
This is so perfectly, classically what one thinks Soviet montage cinema is. Clear, fast cuts, striking angles, harsh lights, still powerful figures. The gesture is very significant, pointing, outstretched arms. Also the statue, later arrayed in flowers.
Pudovkin's montage can be very fast, incredibly so, but one always feels he is in control of it- even the frenzy is controlled. Along with the hands, actions in the montage is a lot of food, nature. The sky is low. There is a real 'Earth' -esque sense of poetry here, a few lingers on those fields, and generally on the beauty of the photography. The face is also studied with a sense of beauty in the detail.
The stillness of the grand poses, the perfection of the offcentered compostions, the men photgraphed, with Kuleshov, against the factory owners from their high angles (actually, all are high angles) in their huge empty rooms, is deeply stirring, poetic, powerful, cinema. The actual attempt at personal story isn't the point here; this is a height on cinema just the way it is.

Ivan The Terrible Part II

Sergei Eisenstein - 1958
Eisenstein's images are so much like portraits, even more so here in the longer framings used, and the extremely stylised use of colour. Striking primaries, largely. Symbols, expressionist motifs are everywhere, the eye and the religious idols particularly.
One thing seen here is quite how still Eisenstein's camera is; next to no movement. I would really call Eisenstein still a silent director in many senses (though obviously a still camera means nothing on its own on this count). The wish to express action through montage, facial expression, everything seems to come to a halt when there's dialogue, it's not really a fluid part.

Ivan The Terrible, Part I

Sergei Eisenstein - 1944
Iconic imagery is used, that baroque thinness. The verticals throughout accentuate; bodies are often low down on the frame, creating thoughts in the mind of slanting up.
The acting style is expressionist, I'm not sure what this does; I'm really not able to make much of a critique of this film. What I did see was expressionist shadows that seem to leave bodies (affects outside materials is clear here). This adds to the madness theme, Ivan at once powerful, but also going too far.
The montage is often individual face to individual face, that's how the mass is shown. There is also a huge amount of axial cutting, usually from the out in, that deserves study, as I'm unsure of its purposes. Surely any analysis of this film should also discuss, which I'm not really capable of, Prokofiev's score.

Shadows Of Forgotten Ancestors

Stunning, genuinely new-seeming Sergei Parajanov, 1966
looks stunning, use of hot, saturated colours on barren landscape
different skin tones from usual
low contrast, low key lighting? Use of deep focus, but no real sensation of depth
wide angled lenses
shot often handheld, from underneath
absolutely no continuity, no one-eighty rule
no scene to scene matching graphically, almost none narratively
great advance is use of space
not composed symmetrically, disorientates, genuinely exciting
makes one have to postulate off screen space
use of discordant sound, comes from all angles. Music disorientates
constant movement, characters (non continuity) intrude from outside frame)
constant references to what is not in the frame
creates sense of camera not creating space, but in space
use of non-symmetrical, lack of continuity, manages to do this
feels as though genuinely part of the world
maybe only cinema can do this; makes this film at the heights of the cinema
use of fragmented space/ assymetry in a less cool manner than Antonioni, but not dissimilar
watched by Fellini, likely, but use of wide angles more dreamy, more movement
the deep space without space, constant intrusions, make this a true dream
the associational story builds up with spectacular images
a sensational film, pushing at what we believed cinema can be

Man With A Movie Camera

It's the montage that gets us really excited here; the questions are, is there a pattern, is there a narrative structure?
There may indeed be some kind of deliberate rythm, of some shot returned to after four (say) other shots, or a longer more relaist shot deliberately put in at a certain proportional point. Or it may all be down to the eye, subjective, of Vertov and his editor. There is an obvious structure of narrative in parts, and the wider one of the day in the life of the city, the city symphony, is clearly in place. It seems doubtful though that the 'man with the movie camera' himself actually follows a coherent structure.
Sopmetimes the montage really does get so fast as to confuse the eyes. This is a film that sucks you towards it, time does not pass at all. This is what montage cinema does, takes you outside of yourself, frankly reduces you to a sivering ball. A good thing or a bad thing? A great film.

Man With A Movie Camera

A man named Vertov, in 1929, uses the medium of film in ways not used before, but to be aped constantly over the next century. He not only uses manipulations and techniques that startle at the time, but uses them in such a way as to create an enduring, non-narrative, masterpiece.
How far through a film does one realise that one is watching one of the greatest pieces of cinematic art one has ever seen? It is perhaps when Vertov really cranks up the use of montage, the wonderful, sometimes head spinningly fast, juxtapositions of shots. Vertov is enough to convince even the most straight-edged realist of the great, special opportunities cinema offers in the field of formalism. The various techniques do indeed create something far beyond what perhaps the single image viewed quickly could convey. It is a matter of economy, the montage showing more with less.
This is a difficult film to use words about, as it is so articulate visually. We have mentioned the sensational use of montage, which does not so much follow a narrative line as go on visual riffs, like some jazz/classical mash up of image. The split screen and fade ins are on paper now cliches, but Vertov uses them in such a way as to seem exciting, audacious. Indeed, so much of this film is just that, audacious. The tracking shots of horses, the train tracks the train tracks. One gasps.
The images themselves are too spectacular, emphasised always by the way they are used. Fascinating as is 1929 revolutionary Russia, with its otherwordly streets and humming greys, the frame speed and even the freeze frames give it a poetry near impossible to capture otherwise.
A word also on the music; we heard Nyman's soundtrack, and though admittedly repititive it is also hugely powerful, stirring, a work of art in itself, though not intrusive on the image. The strings of power, balance and constancy complement the grandeur of the factories and the montage of machinery particularly well.
All we can really say about this film is that it must be seen, as many times as possible. It is always a little silly to say 'the greatest', but we are scratching around to find a documentary (or indeed any piece) that can use film as this does. It is a masterwork.

Alexander Nevsky

Eisenstein's 1938 war epic. It contains some arresting images and a beautiful stately manner, if some aspects do strike as frankly bizarre to the modern cinematic sensibility (it is a question we will leave open whether these shortcomings lie in the viewer or in the work itself).
The opening is frankly not promising, we have an odd acting style of archetypes, we have some pretty blatant Stalinist rewriting of doctrine (note the new found emphasis on heroic individuals, nationalism, and history in comparison to 'Potemkin').
The film surges on though, and we start to develop greater interest. The whole thing is photographed beautifully, the steppes, the wide flat lands. Eisenstein has calmed down on the montage (with latermentioned exceptions) and largely portrays this film is a panorama of the land. He has a technique of the wider shot, and then a close up to whoever was the centre of that wider shot, that is often repeated but barely bettered in the elegance of its editing.
The battle scenes are of particular interest. The first one is perhaps the most bizarre we have ever seen, where just as the action is about to take place we cut to the steppes, long duration shots, hearing the action off stage. This is most un-Eisenstein Russian Montage-esque, but is damn interesting and rather effective. Then we have the hugely famous final battle, which is where Eisenstein returns to the montage with baby killing, drowning knights, and all round excitment and beauty in juztaposition.
The arresting images mentioned earlier are of Alexander's wonderful square face, the foreign agent serpent (an obvious political nod, as is the trial), and most obviously of the German knights. The use of white to show their evil, the covering of faces, has been repeated thousands of times across movie history.
A film with layers in its use of the camera and edit that can be picked apart on rewatching, as a first go we found this film, a little stilted and banal narratively as it is, a good watch.

Strike

The great Eisenstein's first full length feature film, a silent piece ordered by the Bolsheveiks. It is obviously an important film, and we have full respect for what it did and the genius behind it. This does not necessarilly translate into a riveting experience, however.
The deliberate lack of characterisation, with the focus on collectivisation, is neither good nor bad filmically, but is one of the symptoms of this film's apparent directionless to the modern viewer. It can seem like a rather confusing collection of tricks and scenes, with no plot clearly explained at any point, rather it seems, even with the overarching themes, just a bunch of things happening. Thus the film becomes quickly repetitive, and not much of a watch.
What is powerful in this film are the quick cuts montages, and the stirring music. Both can give brief, sometimes seemingly contextless, moments of stirring grandeur and excitment. The use of these does, howvever, again become repitive over ninety-five minutes.
To conclude, this is a curio and important, but not a great watch. We shall have to see 'October, 1917', 'Ivan The Terrible' and 'The Battleship Potempkin' to find if these issues for the modern viewer are overcome by the great innovator Eisenstein.