Sergei Eisenstein | 1hr 40min
Within the tumultuous Russia of October: Ten Days That Shook the World, statues ascend to a prominence beyond carved stone and moulded clay. They are icons of ideological resolve, seeing the grand effigy of Tsar Nicholas II torn down with his abdication of the throne in March 1917, and comparing the Provisional Government’s leader Alexander Kerensky to a dour-faced figurine of Napoleon. So too are idols of Christianity, Hinduism, and ancient mythology set against the advance of the Imperial Army on Petrograd, linking the tyranny of organised religion to its militaristic nationalism, and leading into the ominous, reverse-motion restoration of the Tsar’s statue.
Freedom is fragile in Revolutionary Russia, and Sergei Eisenstein’s docudrama is pointed in its attacks upon those who threaten it. Having engaged with smaller-scale strikes and mutinies in his previous two films, he now turns his focus to the uprising which officially established the Soviet Union, stretching his narrative across a far wider scope. Although this leads to somewhat looser storytelling that lacks the formal rigour of Strike or Battleship Potemkin, October continues to demonstrate the pragmatism of his montage theory, particularly in its comparison of juxtaposed images to create fresh, symbolic connections. This is intellectual montage at its strongest, setting Russia’s tale of Bolshevik victory against its historic, deeply emblematic statues, both set equally in stone.
As the Provisional Government takes control in the film’s opening minutes, it is clear through such comparisons that little has changed after the collapse of the Romanov dynasty. From the cutaways to laughing men in suits, church crosses, and the imperial eagle, it is plain to see that the bourgeoise are celebrating this new state of affairs, while the presence of flags in virtually every second shot at Lenin’s rally conversely defines the working class by their righteous anger.
Beyond Eisenstein’s intellectual montages though, the full expanse of all his editing techniques is not to be ignored, as he continues to experiment with the slicing and timing of images in action-heavy set pieces. When the army attacks Bolsheviks peacefully protesting in Nevsky Square, Eisenstein unleashes rapid-fire montages alternating between machine guns and artillerymen, with each shot lasting no more than a frame each. It is a novel development of metric montages which not only rhythmically cuts to the army’s barrage of bullets, but also disorientates us within the panic, as the masses frantically scurry back to the city centre.
Seeking to isolate the protestors from their destination though, the government orders Petrograd’s bridges to be raised – a sequence which Eisenstein grotesquely plays out with victims being forcefully split between both sides. There is no reverence for the dead here, as one slain woman’s hair and hand slowly slide into the widening gap, and a horse hangs from the scaffolding by its tangled reins. His imagery is visceral, finally ending the massacre with the bourgeoise tossing Bolshevik newspapers and flags into the river, and gratuitously ransacking their headquarters.
October’s immediate shift into the vast, ornate Winter Palace where the Provisional Government operates from couldn’t be starker in comparison. Now empty of Tsars, these arched halls and grand stairways host meetings between Mensheviks, while its imposing statues watch on with unimpressed gazes. Passing by the Greek goddess Diana, Minister-Chairman Kerensky pauses to admire the laurel wreath she seems to bestow upon his head, yet he is ignorant to the fact that victory is not yet secured. As he preens and postures to his fellow officials, Eisenstein even cuts to a mechanical peacock as his stand-in, mocking his artificial attempts to impress the same people who snicker behind his back.
It is no thanks to Kerensky that Petrograd is so well-defended against the attempted coup led by General Kornilov. The Bolsheviks alone are responsible for the successful counterattack here, expeditiously uniting their forces against the aspiring dictator. Low, canted angles of them trekking in lines against a dark sky give the impression of an uphill march, meeting their enemy with rifles while those who remain behind spread leaflets and arm citizens. Their triumph is swift, yet their temporary alliance with the Provisional Government is only fleeting. Emboldened by their solidarity, their vote to revolt against the country’s incompetent leaders passes in a landslide, and Eisenstein thus leads us into the final days of the October Revolution.
Ten o’clock in the morning of October 25th is the time that the assault on the Winter Palace is to begin, but first the Bolsheviks must prepare their operational and political strategies. Eisenstein formally reiterates shots from earlier as the bridges are once again raised, although now it is the workers in control, allowing the warship Aurora safe passage into Petrograd. Elsewhere, delegates from across the nation gather to vote the Soviets into power, prompting the Bolsheviks to surround the Winter Palace where the Cossacks and Women’s Death Battalion weakly defend their government. Eisenstein particularly depicts the latter as frivolous layabouts, lounging on billiard tables and decorating statues with lingerie, while the Mensheviks are left to draft ineffective treaties declaring themselves Russia’s legitimate masters.
It is no wonder that both these military units surrender out of pure frustration before the assault is even launched. All the Provisional Government seems capable of is redundantly filibustering about sad misunderstandings and peaceful resolutions – and of course Eisenstein aims his editing towards this too with a mocking tone, undercutting their ‘harping on’ with a literal montage of harps.
The Mensheviks’ wishes for non-violence may be granted, but the coup d’état which follows is no less epic for it. The momentum building outside the palace is as unstoppable as the spinning wheels and roller chains intercut through the scene, finally reaching a breaking point when the signal to storm the building arrives with a cannon blast from the Aurora. As insurgents climb the opulent gates and wreak havoc on this relic of Tsarist splendour, Eisenstein’s vigorous editing races toward climactic victory, bringing each narrative thread together in these now-crowded halls of power. The courtyards outside are showered with sparks and smoke, while in the wine cellar a small group of Bolsheviks shatter bottles they see as icons of bourgeoise greed, stashed away to be hoarded but not consumed.
At 2:17am on 26th October 1917, the Soviets officially seize power from the Provisional Government, and Eisenstein does not let the significance of this historic moment escape us. A Petrograd clock bears this analogue timestamp right next to one in Moscow, and soon they are joined by New York, Berlin, London, and Paris among others in a circle, proudly placing the October Revolution on the world stage. The movement of clockfaces flying by the camera matches perfectly to the crowd’s applause, delivering one final montage that sets its sight on a much brighter future. Eisenstein makes no secret of his ideological biases when it comes to illustrating the past, yet rarely has history been instilled with as much lively effervescence as it is in October, immortalising that jolt of exhilaration once felt in 1917 through the eloquent arrangement of allusive, flickering images.
October: Ten Days That Shook the World is currently streaming on Tubi.
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