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October: Ten Days That Shook the World (1928)

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.

*Eisenstein uses statues throughout October as ideological icons, elevating them to a prominence beyond carved stone and moulded clay.*

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.

An avant-garde exercise in pure, intellectual montage – Eisenstein saw the potential to extend his craft beyond straightforward narrative convention, and creates abstract symbolism from religious and military icons.

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.

*Rapid-fire montage slices like bullets, flashing between the machine gun and the artilleryman.*

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.

Montage in service of action as this bridge is raised, cutting the protestors off from the city centre. The hair of a dead woman slides off one side, a horse hangs from its tangled reins, and a wagon slowly begins to roll backwards.

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.

*Kerensky is set against a dour-faced Napoleon, diminishing his historical stature.*

*Kerensky is also compared to a mechanical peacock, preening and posturing to his fellow Mensheviks.*

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.

*A low, canted angle as the Bolsheviks march to war, set against a dark sky.*

Ten o’clock in the morning of October 25^th 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.

*The Women’s Death Battalion lounge around on billiard tables and decorate statues with lingerie in the Winter Palace – the Provisional Government’s greatest defence.*

*Eisenstein mocks Kerensky’s pleading with a graphic match cut to this angel statue.*

*Eisenstein batters the Mensheviks with his intellectual montages as they literally ‘harp on.’*

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.

*The wheels are in motion, their spinning unstoppable.*

*The storming of the Winter Palace plays out through a series of epic imagery, flooding the vast, ornate halls with Bolsheviks.*

At 2:17am on 26^th 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.

*Clocks around the world mark this historic moment, spinning in concentric circles to the rhythm of the crowd’s applause.*

October: Ten Days That Shook the World is currently streaming on Tubi.

For a Few Dollars More (1965)

Sergio Leone | 2hr 12min

Few words are exchanged by rival bounty hunters Manco and Colonel Douglas Mortimer when they finally come face to face in the rural settlement of El Paso. For the first fifty minutes of For a Few Dollars More, Sergio Leone has been intertwining their paths in search of escaped bank robber El Indio, each scoping out their common target while remaining largely ignorant of each other’s presence. From their raised vantage points on either side of the main road, they spy on the outlaw’s gang gathering outside a bank, before incidentally turning their telescope and binoculars on each other. That evening, Manco sends the porter to packed Mortimer’s belongings and bring them outside where he is waiting, consequently leading to the pivotal confrontation that will ultimately decide the fate of both their quests.

Ennio Morricone’s score is sparse here, though the few notes he does play unite a pair of musical motifs. When we cut to Manco, a flute skims through a terse, cautionary phrase, while the Jew’s harp we have come to associate with Mortimer reverberates a piercing twang. The Colonel is framed in the classic Leone shot between Manco’s spread legs, before they take turns scuffing each other’s shoes. As much as this peacocking is an attempt to mark their territory, the prospect of either backing off seems increasingly unlikely, especially when they begin shooting at each other’s hats to prove who is the better gunslinger. The editing is taut, but with Morricone’s majestic score largely absent, we recognise that this sequence is not building to one of his deadly quick draws. From this rivalry, a begrudging respect is born between Manco and Mortimer, who soon begin negotiating the terms of their professional partnership over drinks.

*Rival bounty hunters spy each other, their paths colliding in this POV shot.*

*The classic Leone low angle, foregrounding the feet and framing the opposition.*

This willingness to cooperate may be the greatest virtue which our heroes possess in For a Few Dollars More, contrasting heavily against the villain’s treacherous manipulation of his own gang. El Indio acts purely on greed and self-preservation, stoking mistrust among his henchmen in the hopes that they all end up murdering each other. If he and his lieutenant’s plans work out, then he need only split the loot they have stolen from the bank two ways.

Unfortunately, El Indio’s shrewdness is not so forward-thinking. The fracturing of his gang drastically weakens his position against Manco and Mortimer, placing him in a precarious position by the time their final showdown arrives. In the Old West, this choice between unity and division is the only shot anyone has at finding order in anarchy, and may be all that stands in the way of life and death.

Treachery runs rampant within El Indio’s gang, stoking divisions and *distinctly* *setting them apart from our protagonists.*

After the extraordinary hit that was A Fistful of Dollars, it was only natural that Leone should continue probing these blurred binaries of Americana. With twice the budget, he is no longer restricted to a single location, but rather sprawls his narrative scope across multiple settings and expands his ensemble. The only point of continuity to carry over between films is Clint Eastwood as The Man With no Name, informally recognised here as Manco, and this time sharing the lead role with Lee van Cleef. Together, they form a stoic duo as they infiltrate, outsmart, and outshoot El Indio’s gang, seeking to claim the bounty that has been placed on the bandit’s head.

*Clint Eastwood and Lee van Cleef make for a compelling screen duo, reluctantly cooperating in their efforts to infiltrate, outsmart, and outshoot El Indio’s gang.*

Despite this narrow character link between A Fistful of Dollars and For a Few Dollars More, there is no doubt that both films inhabit the same dusty, lawless world of Leone’s American frontier. Far from the polished black-and-white cinematography or the blazing Technicolor beauty of classical Hollywood Westerns, this sequel maintains the faded colours and coarse textures of its precursor, using the natural rugged terrains of the Spanish desert to stand in for the harsh Texan wilderness. The only moisture to be found in this environment is that which drips down the faces of Leone’s actors, pressed up against the camera lens in deep focus close-ups that simultaneously track the action unfolding in the background.

*For a Few Dollars more has a larger scope than A Fistful of Dollars, giving Leone many opportunities to bask in these natural, rugged terrains.*

*Rural Spanish settlements stand in for the Old West, setting the stage for meetings and skirmishes.*

*A mastery of deep focus on display, pressing faces up against the lens while action unfolds in the background.*

There is much tension to be drawn from such lively staging, layering shots with dynamic motion and nervous stillness, though it is once again Leone’s editing which most crucially navigates each moving part of his staggering set pieces. Beyond even his John Ford or Akira Kurosawa influence, Leone’s montages call all the way back to Sergei Eisenstein, patiently cutting between twitching hands, holstered pistols, and apprehensive faces as they anticipate an outburst of action. Suspense is also rife in his constant cutaways to the safe that the gang is planning to steal from the bank, while the rapid cutting between Mortimer’s eyes and El Indio’s wanted poster when the bounty hunter first learns of his prison break lands like bullets, binding their destinies together in a cacophony of gunshots.

*Rapid-fire cutting volleys between these shots, viciously binding Mortimer and El Indio’s destinies.*

After all, the Colonel is not merely in this for the payout, as handsome as it is. His stakes are personal, and although we don’t learn the details until Leone’s climactic conclusion, the foundations of this grand reveal are woven throughout El Indio’s backstory. Most prominently, flashbacks to the time he raped a woman, murdered her family, and stole her musical pocket watch as a memento sit like a pit in his stomach, hinting at a shred of guilt. Whenever it is opened, memories of that tragedy return in its delicate, tinkling melody, effortlessly weaving a haunting sadness into Morricone’s otherwise majestic score of electric guitars, percussive chants, and piercing whistles. This is the melancholy which resides in all these characters, his motif reminds us, feeding the vengeful sorrow which has transformed the frontier into a battlefield of personal vendettas. On a more sadistic level, so too is it a cruel countdown that El Indio frequently uses in duels, challenging his opponents to only draw their pistols when its wind-up tune has run out.

*El Indio’s flashbacks arrive as dreamy, disconnected montages, giving ambiguous background to the pocket watch motif.*

This pocket watch thus makes for a fitting accompaniment to his and Mortimer’s eventual showdown, staged within the circular boundaries of a low stone wall. As its melody slows to a halt though, an identical tune suddenly starts up elsewhere, and Leone cuts to a magnificent wide shot of both men on either side of the frame with Manco’s hand in the centre. There, a second pocket watch he pilfered earlier from Mortimer is flipped open, and the historic connection between hero and villain comes to light. El Indio’s eyes move between the pocket watch’s photo of his victim and his adversary, and recognition of a family resemblance crosses his face – yet this is not his story to see through to its completion. For the first time in his life, he is the slowest to draw, and Mortimer chooses not to claim the monetary reward, but rather the inner peace he has long pursued.

*Flawless editing matched by meticulous framing during the final shootout, brought to a standstill by Manco’s reveal – a second, identical pocket watch raised in the foreground between both men.*

With set pieces as awe-inspiring as these, it is virtually impossible to separate Leone’s cinematic style and mythic storytelling. Character emerges from action, which is in turn born from a flawless synthesis of staging, music, and editing, revitalising the Western genre with the countercultural vigour of the 1960s. Manco is not a classical hero serving righteous ideals for the betterment of society, but a killer who sees death as little more than a commodity to be traded, though at the very least there is some grace to be found in Mortimer’s consideration of murder as an act of moral justice – however bloody it may be. In the absence of men living by virtuous principles, For a Few Dollars More gives us gunslingers choosing to wield their darkness as weapons, and strengthened by the coalition they form against greater, far more rotten evils.

For a Few Dollars More is currently streaming on SBS On Demand, and is available to rent or buy on YouTube and Amazon Video.

Mother (1926)

Vsevolod Pudovkin | 1hr 27min

The defiance of a lone, unarmed rebel standing against a tyrannical state is unlikely to shift the course of history. Their position is hopeless, dooming them to perish beneath the boot of their oppressors as so many others have before them. It is not this singular protest though which elevates them as a countercultural icon in Mother, but rather the tragedies that have led them to this point, radicalising those who find strength in defeat. While Sergei Eisenstein was celebrating the powerful solidarity of a unified working class in Strike and Battleship Potemkin, Vsevolod Pudovkin was turning his camera towards those whose resilience is fed by anguish, painting such individuals as models of Russia’s impassioned, revolutionary spirit.

Pelageya is the long-suffering mother in question here, caring deeply for her adult son Pavel who in turn protects her from the abuse of her alcoholic husband, Vlasov. No one in this family holds any explicit political affiliations, though as subjects of pre-Revolutionary Russia, tensions run rampant in their local community. While Pavel is secretly helping local socialists by hiding a stash of handguns in his home, ultra-nationalist group the Black Hundred are bribing Vlasov to join their counterattack upon an upcoming workers’ strike, making for an awkward, unexpected confrontation between father and son when they come face to face at the protest. “So you’re one of them?” Vlasov furiously growls as he chases Pavel into a pub, only for his rampage to be halted by a stray bullet from a revolutionary’s gun.

*A devastating confrontation of father and son on opposing sides of a workers’ strike, inevitably driving both towards tragedy.*

As his killer is forcefully apprehended, Pudovkin takes a moment to cut away from the action. Rustling tree branches, drifting clouds, and gentle streams carry us out of the chaos, before returning to the broken body of the man who took Vlasov’s life, now lying dead on the floor. The strike is over, and the Tsarists have won, leaving a captive Pavel in the hands of a judicial system he knows is not on his side.

*A peaceful montage of nature inserted within this violent assault – Pudovkin plays it perfectly, knowing when to let us step away from the action in deep reflection.*

Through Pelageya’s mixture of grief and desperation though, she remains convinced that mercy will be granted if he confesses the truth. At Vlasov’s funeral, her mind wanders to that loose floorboard back at home, which Pudovkin rapidly dissolves to reveal the stash of firearms below. Later at Pavel’s interrogation, her eyes shift nervously in close-up, intently observing the suspicious police officer, her son’s stoic denial, and his clenched fists behind his back. Her torment is unbearable, and finally reaches a breaking point when she reveals the hidden firearms – only to worsen again when she recognises the dire, irreversible consequences of her actions.

*A clever dissolve putting us in Pelageya’s mind, drawn to the hidden stash of firearms beneath a loose floorboard.*

*A tense montage of close-ups, observing Pelageya grow more anxious as her son maintains a stoic facade.*

Given that Mother‘s intimate drama operates on a relatively small scale, the editing isn’t quite as spectacularly complex as Eisenstein’s, though Pudovkin’s development of narrative continuity through montage is nevertheless a remarkable achievement. Where Eisenstein produces meaning from the abstract collision of images, Pudovkin emphasises the seamless flow of emotions, placing more weight on each individual shot. Especially when it comes to the juxtaposition of close-ups during Pavel’s trial, his editing delivers an intense clash of expressions, preceding The Passion of Joan of Arc’s historic innovation of this technique by two years. There in the Russian court of law, the judges’ sheer incompetence, laziness, and prejudice are on full display, and Pudovkin doesn’t miss the chance to implicate the highest levels of government through cutaways to a bust of Nicholas II.

*Pudovkin borrows from Eisenstein in his use of Nicholas II’s bust through cutaways – intellectual montage in action, symbolically comparing the corrupt courtroom officials to the Tsar.*

As Pelageya’s lonely head pokes above empty rows of courtroom seats though, Pudovkin reminds us where the emotional centre of this film lies. Gradually over the course of Mother, actress Vera Baranovskaya visibly unravels, her tired eyes drooping and her posture slouching with dwindling hope. Only when her son’s sentence to a life of hard labour in Siberia is delivered does she abruptly rise from her seat, stretching her face wide with horror as she indignantly screams – “Where is truth?!”.

*A minimalist composition underscoring Pelageya’s sheer loneliness as her family dwindles.*

*Vera Baranovskaya erupts with fury for the first time, and it is a sight to behold – the passionate anger of a mother seeing her family torn apart.*

For the first time, Pelageya’s agony does not wane into dreary depression, but rather explodes with fury. Once out in the world, that righteous anger is not so easy to put back in its box either. Even when it eventually simmers down, still it manifests as seething resentment, following her all the way to Pavel’s prison some months later.

With this narrative transition, Pudovkin once again delivers more montages celebrating the natural world, contrasting the inmates’ dreams of sunny, open pastures back home to the melting ice floes of Siberian rivers just outside their cells. Spring has arrived in this frozen wasteland, and nervous excitement is in the air. Between the latest batch of visitors making their way to the labour camp with a socialist flag and whispers of a prison break, Pudovkin’s parallel editing generates palpable anticipation, drawing the reunion between mother and son ever closer.

*Peaceful meadows back home versus the cold Siberian prison – Pudovkin’s scenery spans the utopias and wastelands of modern Russia.*

From here, the violent action which unfolds is a tightly choreographed dance between hope and despair, carrying this daring set piece aloft upon swift, unyielding momentum. The collective effort of the inmates ramming down doors, climbing walls, and overwhelming guards is largely successful, though Pavel soon finds himself cornered when faced with that vast, glacial river. Still, the only path is forward, and thus he begins jumping from sheet to sheet in epic long shots intercut with daunting close-ups of breaking ice.

*The prison break is a masterful orchestration of action and editing, carrying an energy through to Pavel’s daring escape across the river.*

*A climactic set piece worthy of Hitchcock, watching Pavel bravely jump between ice floes to meet his mother on the other side.*

From the other side, the visiting protestors are keen to celebrate the escapee, though none are so ecstatic as his mother. Her arms wrap him in an embrace so tight that only death itself could tear them apart – and that is exactly what the cavalry tragically delivers as they ride across a large, steel bridge, firing bullets at the crowd. Kneeling over her son’s body, she weeps, and becomes the only remaining visitor to not instantly flee at the first shots.

*A daunting, perfectly symmetrical composition of this giant bridge, granting passage to the cavalry who ride directly towards the camera.*

*Tremendous montage editing as the troops line up their rifles, the crowd scatters, and Pavel is tragically shot dead.*

In this moment, Pelageya transforms. The very foundations of her motherhood have been stripped away, and yet her maternal instincts persist, inspiring her to channel that fierce protectiveness she once reserved for Pavel towards the people of Russia. Within the fast-moving chaos, we carefully linger on her picking up the socialist flag, raising it to the sky, and fearlessly facing down the oncoming stampede in an imposing low angle. At last, the radicalisation is complete. Even as she is ruthlessly cut down like a martyr in these glorious final seconds, Pudovkin recognises that not even a hundred Tsarist troops can destroy her radiant spirit, infectiously shared among those lucky enough to witness the valour of a selfless, devoted mother.

*The radicalised spirit of Russia, facing down her oppressors with no hope or reward – just an undying, selfless devotion to her child.*

Mother is not currently streaming in Australia.

A Fistful of Dollars (1964)

Sergio Leone | 1hr 39min

When the Stranger first arrives in the rural border town of San Miguel, the reception from its locals is foreboding. A noose hangs from a withered tree, warning visitors away from the lawless justice that runs rampant. From a distance, he observes a small child trying to sneak into a building, only to be kicked out and shot at as he runs back to his mother. As he rides down the street, the civilians aren’t much friendlier to him either. “I reckon he picked the wrong trail,” one mouthy bandit scoffs. “Or he could have picked the wrong town,” his companion retorts, before their small gang sends the Stranger’s galloping off in a panic.

It only takes a couple of minutes for our hero to deliver fierce retribution. With four swift gunshots, he wins the quick draw against their entire crew, and sends them to early graves. It is also in this moment that we see three separate artists make their first major step towards culture-defining excellence.

Leone works magnificently in scenes with minimal dialogue, stretching out the silence of this opening scene with taut suspense, and offering nothing but a few signifiers of the danger that lurks ahead.

As the Stranger stands alone in his poncho against a daunting arrangement of outlaws along a wooden fence, Sergio Leone’s fine orchestration of his editing and staging ominously build their interaction to an impasse, before shattering the tension with an angry, violent bloodbath. This sequence was not only a resounding artistic breakthrough, but also marked the beginning of the Western genre’s most significant shake-up to date. Where America sought to define its own national mythology through fables of good vs evil, Leone’s importation of these archetypes into Italy infused them with a harsher, grittier edge, cynically leaning into the moral grey areas of history that never found easy resolutions. Perhaps even more impactful on his style though was the cinematic nihilism of Akira Kurosawa, with samurai film Yojimbo providing the narrative template upon which A Fistful of Dollars is based.

*Superb blocking of faces in the frame, inventively using the full horizontal scope of the widescreen format for something other than a landscape.*

Leone was a huge admirer of Kurosawa’s action and editing, though where his idol often drew out the cinematic brilliance of sword fights, Leone built scenes towards sudden, jarring shootouts that explode with violence.

Also key to this pivotal scene are the distinctive musical cues of Ennio Morricone – and of course the accompanying silence that he wields with solemn purpose. A sharp, short series of descending notes on a flute accompanies the Stranger’s slight head raise, matching his piercing glare as it emerges from beneath his hat brim, and a high-pitched whining on strings carries us all the way to the inevitable gunfire. From there, Morricone continues weaving textured layers all through his score for A Fistful of Dollars, creating a sound which in decades to come would be recognised as the quintessential ‘sound’ of the Western genre. Whips crack, bells toll, and male voices chant in robust unison, while underscoring the bold, silent presence of the Stranger with blaring trumpets as he daringly strides into hostile territory.

*Clint Eastwood was not yet a star in 1964, but his breakout role here would ensure he would be one for many decades to come, defining the new image of a Western hero for a generation.*

It is impossible to imagine A Fistful of Dollars without either Leone or Morricone at the helm, but the final part of their trio would in time become the face of Spaghetti Westerns, and eventually transcend even that niche. Clint Eastwood’s screen presence is undeniable as the Stranger, squinting into glary landscapes and mumbling past a cigar that sits in the corner of his mouth. Faced with a town that is split between two rival families vying for control, he uses his sharp mind and sharpshooting skills to orchestrate their downfalls, though it is also the mystery that shrouds his stoic demeanour which turns him into such a compelling figure. After all, he is the Man with No Name, unbeholden to any title, status, or allegiance. When asked by the captive Marisol why he is helping her escaping the factions she has been traded between, his response is vague, yet hints at a past that has hardened him into an aggrieved, avenging angel.

“Because I knew someone like you once. There was no one there to help.”

This is a man driven by an internal sense of right and wrong, and Leone holds no regard for whether we believe he goes too far in certain instances. His quick anger and readiness to kill mars the image of the classic Western hero upheld by Hollywood throughout its Golden Age, yet he is nevertheless the closest thing to a saviour that San Miguel has. Even after being brutally beaten by his enemies, still he refuses to yield, instead recuperating in a cave and eventually being reborn from it as a Christ figure destined to deliver the town from evil.

*Only when the Stranger is brought to his lowest can he rise again to claim victory – it is the story of Christ and so many other mythological figures of history.*

*Only with his wide-angle lenses and wide aspect ratio can Leone achieve shots like these, essentially capturing both a wide and close-up in one.*

After all, the feud which divides San Miguel is deeply entwined with matters of prejudice, greed, and corruption. On one side, the Mexican Rojo brothers control the flow of liquor, while the white American Baxter family smuggle guns across the nearby border. Outside of both, the Stranger proves his wits in outsmarting them equally, spreading a rumour in the wake of a recent assault from the Rojos that two survivors escaped and are willing to testify against their attackers. After he props a pair of exhumed corpses against a gravestone outside town to appear alive, both families race to the cemetery and engage in a gunfight, shooting the ‘survivors’ in the process.

The distraction couldn’t have worked better for the Stranger. This is the opportunity he needed to empty the town and poke around the Rojos’ base, which Leone deftly intercuts with the battle he instigated unfolding several miles away.

*Perhaps the Stranger’s most ingenious trick, setting up two dead bodies as survivors from a recent massacre, and forcing both rival families to meet at the graveyard.*

It is ultimately this mutual, self-destructive hostility between the clans of San Miguel which sets in motion their own demise. Falsely believing that the Baxters helped the Stranger free Marisol from their grip, the Rojos retaliate with unrelenting fury, setting their house on fire and mercilessly massacring those who try to escape. If it weren’t for this display of utter cruelty, perhaps the Stranger’s attempt to dismantle these corrupt power structures might have been a little more forgiving. Now as they sadistically torture his closest ally Silvanito out in the open though, Eastwood projects a ferocity unlike anything we have seen from him before, commanding a wide shot that establishes him as the true law and order of this town.

*Low angle, centre frame, dust swirling in the air – the Stranger’s return is an image of indomitable power.*

Bullets cannot harm him as he fearlessly strides down the main road to face his would-be killers, instead lodging in the handmade plate armour protecting his torso. The rhythmic, accelerating pace of Leone’s montage, Morricone’s score, and the magnificent blocking of actors once again drive up the tension, though with a few added camera zooms and extreme close-ups studying each bead of sweat, the suspense also becomes unflinchingly visceral. With six gunshots, the Stranger disarms the leader Ramón, and dispatches his band of cronies. With a seventh, he severs the rope binding Silvanito’s wrists, and after challenging Ramón to a quick draw, the eighth takes his life.

*Leone plays the final shootout to perfection, using every cinematic tool as his disposal – including his trademark extreme close-ups which study every bead of sweat glistening on these brows.*

In using every cinematic element at his disposal to craft suspense and set pieces, Leone stands right next to a select few elite filmmakers in cinema history, including both Hitchcock and Kurosawa. Even outside of these gripping sequences though, A Fistful of Dollars also reveals his magnificent command of establishing shots, particularly using Techniscope technology to stretch vast, dusty landscapes across a wide canvas and draw dynamic compositions from beautifully designed interiors. When the arresting majesty of his crane shots is considered next to his creative framing of faces, Leone can’t help but reveal the influence of D.W. Griffith in his camerawork as well, proving his similarly extraordinary mastery in capturing both the epic and the intimate.

*Three layers to Leone’s depth of field, pressing faces up against the camera while others linger in the background.*

*An arrangement of bodies in the frame to rival the masters of Old Hollywood.*

*Horizons stretch far across Leone’s long shots, revelling in dusty, desaturated landscapes.*

The cumulative result of such varied techniques is operatic, serving a narrative that carries a far greater scope than its 100-minute runtime would suggest. Next to such grand achievements, the awful voice dubbing in A Fistful of Dollars barely warrants a mention, besides an appreciation for Leone and his crew’s perseverance through such a trying production. It seems that all it took to push the genre forward was the voice of an outsider who had never stepped foot in America, yet nevertheless had the talent and vision to cynically undermine its revered mythology, delivering a portrait of the Old West drenched in blood, sweat, and violent anarchy.

*The perfect crane shot to end this Western fable, lifting us far above the carnage that litters the main road.*

A Fistful of Dollars is available to rent or buy on Apple TV, YouTube, and Amazon Video.

Battleship Potemkin (1925)

Sergei Eisenstein | 1hr 15min

It is no coincidence that history’s most effective propaganda films have also featured fast-paced, avant-garde editing, and some of cinema’s finest at that. This device despicably valorised the Ku Klux Klan in The Birth of a Nation, celebrated Communist revolution in I Am Cuba, and stoked political conspiracy theories in Oliver Stone’s JFK – yet Battleship Potemkin nevertheless looms large among them all. The uprising of the working class against their Tsarist rulers is the central conflict here, and with Sergei Eisenstein labelling the oppressors “vampires” and “monsters,” it doesn’t take a great stretch of the imagination to realise where his loyalties lie.

This film is a product of the Soviet Union in its earliest years, not so much aiming to disseminate historical facts than to rouse passion and outrage from civilians. Under the purview of an artist who understands his craft on an intimate level though, Battleship Potemkin also transcends its own political message. The five methods of montage that Eisenstein developed in the early 1920s stand true across time, unaffected by shifting ideologies or opinions, and are cleanly distilled here in their purest forms. From this mechanical arrangement of moving images, he composes a narrative that disengages from conventional notions of heroic individualism, and in true socialist fashion identifies the collective masses as their own champions.

*In absence of a solo protagonist, the masses are our heroes in Battleship Potemkin, and Eisenstein’s eye for blocking these enormous crowds are major visual strength.*

If we are to pick a protagonist from the vast ensemble gathered in Battleship Potemkin though, that label must fall on sailor Vakulinchuk, who leads his crew’s initial rebellion against the cruel commanding officers. Even then though, his presence after Act II is largely symbolic, spurring on the Bolshevik cause as a martyr. Besides the obvious political dramatisation, Eisenstein represents the story of the real Vakulinchuk relatively accurately here, using a little-known historical event as the foundation of his artistic experimentations.

With Battleship Potemkin‘s dedication to packing hundreds of extras into the scenery and covering the full totality of this revolt, it may very well be one of the shortest epics ever put to screen, coming in well under 90 minutes. This can be mainly attributed to the sheer amount of visual information being thrown at us in the brisk, economical editing, though Eisenstein’s magnificent mise-en-scène shouldn’t be underrated either, particularly in scenes set upon that remarkable monument of naval warfare that is the Potemkin. Here, he carves out a rigorous array of geometric shapes from its industrial design, slicing through compositions with long, grey cannons and trapping its crew among vast webs of rope. Symmetry is crucial here as well, particularly in his blocking of the crew in militaristic formations along both sides of the deck, while his immense depth of field capture them in motion across multiple levels of the ship.

*Eisenstein carves out a rigorous array of geometric shapes from the battleship’s industrial design, angling the camera up through these grates to frame the sailors like prisoners behind bars.*

*Long, grey cannons slice through the mise-en-scène – these harsh diagonal vectors are especially valuable given that the length of each shot is so short.*

*Hammocks encase the sailors in a web of cocoons, hinting at the imminent emergence of newly born insurgents.*

Inside the sleeping berth where Eisenstein’s story begins, the hammocks crowding the frame almost look like cocoons, hinting at the imminent emergence of newly born insurgents. Talk of revolution has been passing around for some time, and after they refuse to eat a hunk of rotten, maggot-infested meat, the threat of execution is visualised in a haunting dissolve of bodies hanging from the masts.

The rising tension here demonstrates the first of Eisenstein’s five methods, metric montage, which creates a tempo based on a specific number of frames for each shot. As a canvas cover is thrown over the condemned sailors and a firing squad marches out, the pacing accelerates, cutting between rifles raised in perfect rows, Vakulinchuk’s stirring fury, and the officers’ malicious grins. This immediate danger is what finally triggers the riot on the vessel, leading into the first of Battleship Potemkin’s bravura set pieces.

*A creative use of a dissolve edit, visualising the threat of hanging sailors from the masts of the ship.*

*The first of Eisenstein’s masterclasses in rising tension through montage editing, accelerating the pacing as Vakulinchuk’s fury reaches the end of its fuse.*

Eisenstein’s staging here is marvellous, navigating the multiple battles unfolding across the ship with rhythmic montage – the adjustment of each shot length according to the movement unfolding onscreen. Meanwhile, cutaways to the Russian Orthodox priest onboard reveal him holding his cross like a weapon, demonstrating intellectual montage through the symbolic association of juxtaposed shots. These sailors are not merely rebelling against the government or its armed forces, but are subverting organised religion itself, toppling the power structures which bolster the Tsarist rule.

*Movement in the frame, running parallel in opposite directions – what looks like chaos is actually orchestrated through purposeful blocking.*

*The Russian Orthodox priest wields his cross like a weapon, symbolically representing the tyrannical connection between organised religion and the state.*

*A fine composition as Valukinchuk hangs from the side of the ship, martyred in his righteous rebellion against the Potemkin’s commanding officers.*

This mutiny is a victory for the Bolsheviks, yet for now celebrations must be put aside to mourn the loss of Valukinchuk, whose body is delivered to the Port of Odessa and set up inside makeshift shrine. Ships gently pass by as bereaved crowds gather, looking to pay respects in powerful solidarity. Eisenstein’s editing is not defined by tempo, continuity, or symbolism here, but rather uses complementary close-ups and long shots of unified crowds to capture the melancholy lament in the air, typifying his method of tonal montage. When one loudmouthed man tries to turn this wounded sorrow into antisemitic prejudice, fists clench and brows furrow, but not in support of his bigotry. Everyone can see that he is appropriating this tragedy for his own purposes, and thus he is promptly shut down.

Tonal montage as ships pass through the port and crowds gather to pay respects to a fallen hero. Eisenstein moves from frantic action to melancholy grief, yet still carries every emotion through his editing.

*Close-ups are played like staccato montages as one man tries to turn wounded sorrow into prejudice, only to be faced with the anger of those seeing through his ploy.*

*108 frames of blazing socialist glory, aggressively puncturing Eisenstein’s black-and-white mise-en-scène.*

As the Potemkin docks at the Port of Odessa and its locals gather in camaraderie, Eisenstein continues to navigate these swells of emotion with remarkable dexterity, even injecting colour in 108 frames of a waving red flag that he hand-tinted himself. As such, the shift from enamoured celebration to terror arrives with a jolt, heralded by a woman’s head violently spasming in uneven jump cuts as she is shot down by an advancing Cossack army. Before we can even register the threat, the infamous massacre upon the Odessa Steps has begun, seeing Eisenstein pull out every montage technique at his disposal to deliver seven minutes of raw editing genius.

*Tonal whiplash through editing – rapid-fire jump cuts of a woman being shot commences the Odessa Steps sequence.*

*Eisenstein’s greatest set piece and a monumental piece of cinema history, using this long stretch of stone stairs down to the harbour as an icon of social instability.*

From either end of this Soviet landmark, the stairway appears to stretch far into the distance, forcing citizens to flee towards either the infantry descending from above or the cavalry waiting to pick them off below. Eisenstein’s camera does not offer these soldiers the same empathetic close-ups as it does their victims, only ever taking their perspective by descending the steps with their steadfast regiment, and moving in a line as unyielding as the geometric formations of their raised rifles.

While this wall of white uniforms mows down everyone in their path, children are horrifically crushed in the stampede, pushing one devastated mother to pick up the broken body of her son and face her assailants. She stands alone in their long, dark shadows, begging them to end this terror, and for a brief moment we wonder whether she has at least slightly stirred their hearts. Within this fable of good and evil though, Eisenstein leaves no room for moral ambiguity – this mother is shot dead on the spot, and the Cossacks continue their forward march.

*Rifles aligned in perfect rows, mercilessly cutting down those who stand in their way.*

*Close-ups play a crucial role in Eisenstein’s montages, bouncing horrified expressions off the trauma surrounding them.*

*Tremendous compositions even in the midst of such fast cutting, as a lone, grieving mother hopelessly stands beneath long shadows of the descending Cossack forces.*

As the Odessa Steps sequence torpedos towards its climax, Eisenstein demonstrates the fifth type of montage that he defined as a young film theorist, inducing a more complex emotional response than metric, rhythmic, or tonal montages on their own. Overtonal montage combines all three here, suspensefully inching a baby carriage closer to the steps, following the motion of its uncontrolled descent, and spreading panic among onlookers who helplessly watch on in terror. The pacing accelerates as we cut from the baby’s face to the spinning wheels, and then just as it tips over, we are confronted by a snarling Cossack soldier striking the camera. Denying us the clean resolution of a long shot, Eisenstein instead chooses to end this sequence on a dissonant note, tightly framing a gasping woman with shattered, blood-streaked spectacles before fading to black.

*Overtonal montage as the scene builds to a devastating climax, cutting between the falling baby carriage, the reactions of onlookers, and the aggressors continuing their march.*

*Shattered, blood-streaked spectacles – the final shot of the Odessa Steps sequence is also perhaps its most memorable after the tumbling baby carriage.*

More than any political message or isolated image, Eisenstein recognises that emotion in film is derived from the timing and arrangement of these shots, congealing into a sweeping indictment of the merciless Tsarist regime. Beyond the disenfranchised men leading the Bolshevik cause, the innocence of women and children are at stake in Battleship Potemkin, and with it, the lifeblood of the very nation.

If the government considers this slaughter the best course of action to quell growing dissent among civilians, then they underestimate the furious passion of the Bolsheviks. “The ship’s guns roared into reply to the massacre,” the intertitles read, before we witness the Potemkin’s cannons shatter the Odessa Opera House into pieces.

That night as its sailors rest and prepare for an imminent confrontation with the Tsarist squadrons, Eisenstein settles an anxious tranquillity across the ship, silhouetting men against moonlit skies and slowing his montage editing down to a gentle lull. When that fleet of enemy ships begins to emerge over the horizon though, Battleship Potemkin launches into its final set piece, fearfully anticipating the gunfire that will surely sink this vessel of hope.

*Soldiers silhouetted against a moonlit sky, heavily intertwined with the ropes, masts, and ladders they hang off.*

Machines whir and black smoke billows from the warship’s chimneys, hanging a dark, ominous cloud overhead as it steers towards the squadron with nothing but a tiny destroyer by its side. Rather than meeting them with violence though, another far riskier tactic is considered. “Signal them to join us!” the sailors call out, raising flags and beseeching peaceful passage.

Once again, Eisenstein uses his metric montage to drive up tension, weaving close-ups of rotating gun turrets and rising cannon muzzles among long shots of the naval battleground – though this time bloodshed does not eventuate. “Brothers!” the sailors of the Potemkin call to their comrades aboard the Tsarist fleet, who eagerly allow them to pass between their ships. Hanging from the railings and crow’s nests, crews from both sides wave to each in solidarity, spurring on the Bolshevik movement which in years to come will take over all of Russia.

*Once again, Eisenstein builds his montage editing to a climax – and this time greets us with total catharsis as the Potemkin is allowed safe passage past Tsarist ships.*

Such bright optimism marks a notable shift from the bleak cynicism which ended Eisenstein’s previous film Strike, though if anything it simply proves the versatility of his editorial orchestrations, coordinating hundreds of dynamic images into fervent expressions that span humanity’s full emotional spectrum. In the hands of this young Soviet film theorist, cinema becomes a symphony of notes, rhythms, and textures, and Battleship Potemkin towers within the art form as the peak of such visual, kinetic innovation.

*Gorgeous symmetry as the sailors of the Potemkin celebrate their solidarity, delivering a win for the workers of Russia.*

Battleship Potemkin is currently streaming on The Criterion Channel.

Eyes Wide Shut (1999)

Stanley Kubrick | 2hr 39min

The mysterious, erotic cult that Dr. Bill Hartford infiltrates one night after a bitter argument with his wife Alice may be deeply sensual, but it can’t exactly be described as intimate. Anonymity is highly valued here, concealing the faces of its members with impassive masks even as they bare their naked bodies. Orgies are performed with ritualistic solemnity upon fine furniture, while other guests quietly watch from the sidelines of this manor’s lavish, Baroque interiors. Within the main hall too, their red-cloaked leader conducts a ceremonial prayer, chanting a deep, guttural hymn and swinging a thurible around his circle of prostrating followers. Whatever this is, Bill certainly finds it more exciting than his monogamous marriage to Alice, though playing in the realm of dreams is a dangerous game when reality inevitably beckons from the other side.

Having long been fascinated by cinema’s potential to unlock humanity’s repressed desires, Stanley Kubrick’s interrogation of matrimony and temptation finally sees him aim his camera towards the act of sex itself. It may be one of the most common human activities alongside eating and sleeping, but it is perhaps the only one to also be considered taboo, never to be spoken about in polite company. In essence, it is a secret club that we know everyone is part of, yet which also demands us to remain silent on the personal matter of our fantasies, habits, and history. As we witness when Bill is caught out and forced to remove his mask, the threat of being exposed does not simply incite shame and humiliation. It is an existential threat to our very being.

*A stunning piece of production design inside the cult’s manor, laying into the warm, red palette of sensuous lustful desire while injecting a harsh sterility.*

*Superb blocking throughout the manor, draping fully-cloaked and naked members across each other while hiding their identities behind masks.*

Fortunately, there is a woman at this party who is oddly protective of Bill, offering to take his punishment when he is put on trial in front of the entire cult. He is “redeemed,” and therefore allowed to leave with nothing but a stern warning to disregard what he has witnessed – though the urge to probe deeper into this underworld isn’t so easily ignored. How can he return to his ordinary life and marriage after glimpsing such a thrilling, earth-shattering secret?

Of course, this is not the only function Bill attends in Eyes Wide Shut. Being one of cinema’s greatest formalists, Kubrick foreshadows the cult’s covert gathering with a Christmas party in the film’s first act. Besides the wealthy host Victor Ziegler and old friend Nick Nightingale providing entertainment on keys, Bill and Alice do not know any other guests – an awkward situation that returns at the cult’s mansion where Ziegler and Nick are again the only acquaintances present in a crowd of strangers. If the masquerade is where identities are concealed and desires are freely expressed, then this soirée sees its guests put on courteous facades for the sake of social convention, while infidelity quietly simmers in flirtatious passes. That is, until Ziegler urgently summons Bill upstairs to save his mistress Mandy from an overdose, suddenly shining a harsh light on his private affairs.

*The first of many beautifully lit scenes, illuminating the Christmas party with golden fairy lights, chandeliers, and coloured bulbs.*

It is clearly a thin layer of decorum separating these characters’ private and public personas, even behind the closed doors of their most intimate relationships. That is where Bill’s psychosexual journey starts in Eyes Wide Shut after all, as the day after Ziegler’s party, he and Alice jealously confront each other about the strangers they flirted with. The only reason men would ever speak to women like her is to sleep with them, he asserts, while the opposite sex is simply programmed differently. This is the belief which his faith in their marriage rests upon, and so when she confesses to a fantasy that she had about another man, his fragile world is shaken.

The verbal sparring between Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman here displays incredibly fierce performances from both actors, drawing from the well of natural chemistry they shared in their real-life marriage before its breakup. While the rest of Alice’s story in Eyes Wide Shut is largely confined to their apartment, jittery, monochrome hallucinations of her making love to other men continue to haunt Bill on his night-time wanderings, as he smoothly glides across rear-projected backdrops of New York’s streets.

*Jittery, monochrome hallucinations manifesting Bill’s greatest insecurity.*

*Rear projection as Cruise wanders through New York streets, disconnecting from his surroundings as if in a dream.*

Kubrick’s reappropriation of what used to be a classical Hollywood technique is carried through with avant-garde flair here, effectively lifting Cruise out his immediate environment and submerging him in a dreamlike state. The ambient, practical lighting that is carried through the film as a whole also serves to shape his ethereal world with vibrant beauty, constantly underscoring the holiday setting with sparkling Christmas trees, golden fairy lights, and decorated shop windows. When Bill ventures into a dim, moody jazz club, its array of coloured bulbs become bleary stars in the background of shots, while cool, blue washes in his apartment contrast its festive warmth with melancholic innocence.

*The jazz club where Bill meets with Nick is an underworld of ethereal, ambient beauty, its lights becoming a backdrop of bleary stars.*

*A meticulous recreation of Greenwich Village streets despite being shot in England, maintaining the excellent use of practical lights.*

*The occasional cool, blue wash in Bill and Alice’s apartment contrasts its festive warmth with melancholic innocence.*

Eyes Wide Shut does not evoke this cultural imagery merely for its striking aesthetic though. Like the cult’s devout worship of sex, Christmas represents the intersection of the sacred and profane. It is historically a Christian celebration, yet its pagan roots stretch even further back, while in modern-day society its spiritual significance has been entirely stripped away. Religious iconography is scarce to be found here, as Kubrick instead recognises it as an annual orgy of consumerism, encouraging us to gorge ourselves on the world’s temptations. As the final scene in the toy shop demonstrates, these may merely manifest as whimsical, material goods for children, though adults are far more likely to pursue more carnal exploits as an escape from loneliness that this time of year often brings.

*Christmas represents the intersection of the sacred and profane, here stripped of religious significance and embodied purely through secular decorations.*

*An annual orgy of consumerism, celebrated in the commercial stores that Bill visits throughout the film.*

For us too, the atmosphere that Kubrick builds is deeply intoxicating, lulling us into a trance strung together by impressionistic long dissolves and a minimalist piano motif alternating between two eerie notes. His camera is fully engaged with the movement of bodies, twirling around Alice’s amorous dance with an older Hungarian man at Ziegler’s party, and later slowing down into a steady, prying zoom as she and Bill embrace in the mirror. Moments like these often break up the cold sterility that is present in Kubrick’s detached wide shots, and thus we often find ourselves alternating between perspectives of the human body as either vessels of profound emotion, or merely an anatomical collection of organs acting on animal instinct.

*Kubrick’s eye for composition did not weaken over the decades – the framing, blocking, and palette of this opening shot is a stunning formal setup for the film.*

*An excellent camera zoom as Bill and Alice embrace in this mirror shot, tentatively inching closer to the following consummation.*

*Long dissolves as dreamy transitions between scenes, shifting from intimate close-ups to wide shots.*

There is no need to settle on one interpretation over the other here – Kubrick recognises that it is merely a matter of subjective versus objective perceptions, and it is frequently impossible to tell the difference. Whether he is being seduced by his patients’ daughters or going home with a prostitute, Bill is teased with sexual advances everywhere he goes, though each time he is incidentally pulled away by some other engagement. If this is a dream, then perhaps it is his subconscious mind waking him back up, pushing him back to his duties as a faithful husband and respectable doctor who must maintain a clinical relationship with the human body. He walks a very narrow line, but the fact that he never entirely throws himself into temptation even saves his life on at least one occasion, as we learn when the prostitute’s HIV diagnosis comes to light.

*Temptation follows Bill everywhere he goes, yet each time he is pulled away as if waking from another dream.*

More ambiguously, the treatment that Bill administered to Mandy may have also incidentally been the reason he was allowed to leave the cult’s manor unharmed, as he eventually deduces the identity of his masked saviour and receives confirmation from a man who was present – Ziegler. With that said, his secret club did not actually play any role in killing her, the cultist claims. It was all a ruse to scare Bill off, and the fatal overdose being reported in the news is merely incidental.

Whether or not Ziegler is telling the truth, it is enough motivation for Bill to abandon his investigation completely. Whatever personal issues may be present in his marriage to Alice, the risk of divorce, an STD, or even death is simply too significant to be treated with such recklessness. At the same time though, can we truly appreciate what we have in front of us if we don’t grapple with the darkness that lies on the other side?

*The green hanging lights over the red billiard table – subtly evocative of the red circle in the manor’s main hall.*

“Maybe I think we should be grateful,” Alice ponders in the final minutes of Eyes Wide Shut. “Grateful that we’ve managed to survive through all of our adventures, whether they were real or only a dream.” After all, dreams do not belong to distant, far-flung worlds. They are closely intertwined with the actions and decisions we make every day, guiding us towards tangible futures born from primal fantasies. By carefully traversing that indistinct realm which dissipates each morning upon being touched by sunlight, Kubrick delicately reveals those depraved, shadowy figures that live inside us all, and the invisible power they hold over our minds, civilisations, and humanity.

Eyes Wide Shut is currently available to rent or buy on Apple TV and YouTube.

Strike (1925)

Sergei Eisenstein | 1hr 22min

Much like the factory workers uniting against their exploitative managers in Strike, Sergei Eisenstein walks a very narrow line between anarchy and order. There is the temptation in both political and artistic rebellion to throw caution to the wind, tearing down traditional institutions with reckless indignation, and yet revolution for revolution’s sake is no way to pave a path for the future. As furiously impassioned as these Bolsheviks may be, unity requires discipline and willpower, ensuring every action is driven by ideological principles rather than emotional instinct.

So too does a rigorous formal purpose underlie every visual and editorial choice that Eisenstein makes in Strike, pragmatically applying the ‘methods of montage’ that he had innovated as a young film theorist. In approaching his craft with such mathematical precision, he effectively set the stage for the Hitchcocks and Kubricks of the future, understanding the compositional details from which profound sensory experiences of art are born. More specifically, it was the ability to cut from one image to another which he identified as cinema’s distinguishing feature, separating it from theatre, literature, and painting as a radical mode of creative expression for the twentieth century. By connecting two individual shots in this manner, a third idea is born which is not contained in either, but is rather delivered through the sum of both.

It is easy to underrate Eisenstein’s skilful arrangement of mise-en-scène when so much of the discourse surrounds his editing. Geometric shapes imprinted as silhouettes against backgrounds draw ever so slightly from the German expressionist films of the era.

*Poignant editing as this suicide plays out through visual inferences, focusing on the kicked over stepladder and the fastening belt loop.*

Eisenstein was not the only filmmaker of the 1920s to be experimenting in this arena, yet Strike was among the first features to demonstrate the enormous potential of Soviet Montage Theory, wielding cinema as a tool of propaganda. Set in pre-Revolution Russia, its narrative raises up the working class as their own heroes, planning to instigate a mutiny at their factory before the suicide of one labourer prematurely lights the spark. Close-ups on Yurik’s hands fastening his belt into a loop, a stepladder being kicked over, and the belt suddenly tightening around a metal beam tell his story through visual inferences, and from there Eisenstein executes a fervent set piece unlike any other that came before.

The length of the average shot in Strike sits a brisk 2.5 seconds, half that of the typical Hollywood film, though within this sequence it is even shorter. Machines are halted, feet run by, and tools are thrown into a pile, not to be picked up again until concessions are made. Quite unusually, there are no main characters here who stand above the fray. In true socialist fashion, strength instead lies in the masses, and as such Eisenstein dedicates many wide shots to his magnificent staging of their movements in powerful unison. The visuals are frantic, but never uncontrolled, propelling the scene forward as loose rocks are thrown through the foundry windows and the office gates are forced open. With nowhere left to hide, two unfortunate managers are carted out in wheelbarrows and tossed into a filthy river, at which point the temporarily satisfied crowd heads home.

*Eisenstein’s first great set piece unfolds with tremendous vigour, carrying on D.W. Griffith’s legacy to reveal the vast, unique potential of cinema as an art form.*

*Excellent blocking of crowds in unison. There are no main characters in this story – it is the people as a collective who we sympathise with.*

Cinema is clearly more than just a narrative vehicle for Eisenstein, as this first day closes with an image that serves only to reinforce the strength of the movement – three labourers folding their arms and directing stern gazes at the camera, while a spinning wheel is projected over the top of them. Equally though, this double exposure technique is also later used to dissolve the image of a clawed hand over the strikers drawing up demands, threatening to crush their aspirations of justice. Their stipulations are nothing outrageous by modern standards – an eight-hour workday, 30% pay increase, civil treatment by management – but their momentary peace is nevertheless interrupted by troops seeking to disperse them.

*Montage extends beyond the sequential arrangement of images for Eisenstein, but also blends them into the same frame, spinning the wheel of progress over these stoic, united factory workers.*

*A double exposure effect crushes these striking factory workers as they draw up demands.*

Through Eisenstein’s parallel editing, their sit-down protest makes for a compelling contrast against the small group of wealthy shareholders gathering in a dark office, puffing cigars and using their demand letter to mop up a spill. There, the image of a lemon being juiced in a squeezer underscores the visceral brutality of the police’s attempted crackdown, once again pulverising the proletariats in the hands of their superiors.

*Symbolism through editing – the squeezing of a lemon is visually compared to the police’s crackdown on the strikers.*

When it comes to orchestrating cinematic collages such as these, Eisenstein is in a league of his own, calculating the length, placement, and type of each cut according to the needs of the scene. Dissolves do not necessarily indicate the passage of time, but are woven organically into montages like a legato musical phrase, while close-ups of incensed faces are alternately played with rapid staccato. Even lively flourishes of style are integrated here in the visual blending of undercover agents with animals, noting their shared features and mannerisms. As we examine their frozen images in a photo book, these spies suddenly spring to life with comical glee, tipping their hats at the camera before promptly leaving their individual frames.

*Spies are given animalistic qualities through their code names, as well as the dissolves which blend them together in our mind.*

*Eisenstein reveals a lively sense of humour as the photos in this book spring to life, tip their hats to the camera, and cheerfully march out of frame.*

If these editorial rhythms liken Strike to a symphony, then Eisenstein is its maestro, merging every cinematic element in orchestral harmony. Despite his aesthetic perfectionism extending to his mise-en-scène and camerawork as well though, it is an unfortunate consequence of the film’s brisk pacing that many critics also underrate the strength of its individual shot compositions, which deftly build out the expansive world of this factory and its surroundings. The industrial architecture of glass and metal juts out at geometric angles, weaves through machinery, and frames bodies that are always in motion, particularly in those recurring tracking shots past rows of men at work. There is rich detail to be gauged from the camera’s tighter framing of people and objects as well, gazing at an upside-down, spherical refraction of the town’s streets through a glass orb in a shop, quite literally turning society on its head as the strike drags painfully on.

*Geometric* *composition* *through* *the sharp angles of the factory, fanning out across the ceiling in this low angle as workers hang from the beams.*

*The camera moves in a rigid path down this line of factory workers, effectively establishing the factory setting.*

*Eisenstien exchanges straight lines and angles for wheels in the junkyard, busying shots with circles and spokes.*

*The town is turned on its head through this glass orb – Kieslowski would pick up on this years later in The Double Life of Veronique*.

The junkyard of half-buried barrels marks another superb set piece as well when the crooked King of Thieves is introduced, seeking five unscrupulous types to loot and set fire to a liquor store. Crawling out from the ground like worms, his ragtag followers set out to do his bidding, instigating a riot as gathering masses cheer on the violence. “They’re trying to incite us! Don’t give in to these provocations!” the wiser proletariats among them shout, though the authorities need little justification to enforce their own oppressive rule of law. Rather than turning their high-pressure hoses on the blaze, the firemen cruelly blast the crowd, with the military arriving sooner after to capitalise on this moment of vulnerability.

*Barrels embedded in the ground, each housing the ragtag followers of the King of Thieves who are likened to worms.*

*The instigators threaten to ruin the strikers’ peaceful efforts, once again raising the temperature of these tensions by burning down a liquor store.*

*The fire fighters turn their high-pressure hoses on the protestors rather than the fire, revealing a deep corruption among forces of state and capital.*

This is the unchecked influence of capitalists in a corrupt system, Eisenstein demonstrates, enforcing their own rule through the arms of the state. All throughout Strike, the first line of Vladimir Lenin’s epigraph declaring that “The strength of the working class is in its organisation” has proven consistently true, though now as their unity fractures, the relevance of its second part begins to surface as well.

“Without the organisation of the masses, the proletariat is nothing.”

The devastation which follows is unrelenting. It does not carry the bittersweet tragedy of Hollywood melodramas, nor the haunting ambiguity of German Expressionism, but this conclusive downbeat rather reflects the gut-wrenching national trauma which eventually drove the Bolsheviks to revolt in 1917. A child is tossed over the edge of a balcony, hands reach to the sky in desperation, and as these labourers and their families are rounded up like animals into a field, Eisenstein intercuts their massacre with the slaughter of a bull. It is a symbolic and editorial device that Francis Ford Coppola would later use in the final minutes of Apocalypse Now, though where that signified the death of a madman, here we mourn and rage at the murder of innocence.

*The police assault invades the workers’ living quarters, silhouetting figures against a bright sky as children are ruthlessly tossed over balconies and homes are ransacked.*

*Devastation reigns – Eisenstein’s parallel editing compares the massacre of the strikers to the slaughter of a bull, raging at the loss of innocence.*

We are right to feel disgust. Eisenstein would not have used such dehumanising imagery if he did not agree that the physical desecration of a living creature is a deeply disturbing sight to behold, yet only in witnessing this bold artistic statement might we experience a fraction of the repulsion the Russian people held towards their oppressors. While cinema was still young, few people understood its immense power in shaping political thought, and even fewer mastered this skill through a dextrous, virtuosic command of moving images as Eisenstein does here in Strike.

Strike is currently streaming on The Criterion Channel.

The Quiet Man (1952)

John Ford | 2hr 9min

The first time John Ford turned his camera to the pastoral villages of turn-of-the-century United Kingdom, he beat out Citizen Kane at the Oscars, delicately ruminating on a childhood spent among the mining communities of the South Wales Valleys. Contrary to its title, How Green Was My Valley excelled for its monochrome mise-en-scéne, painting hillsides black and chugging smoke from towering brick chimneys – yet to recapture this aesthetic on The Quiet Man would simply not fit the grand vision he had in mind. Thanks to his collaboration with cinematographer Winton C. Hoch, the craggy mountains, verdant pastures, and mossy stone walls of rural Ireland burst with Technicolor effervescence, setting up breathtaking backdrops for the nostalgic return of one American immigrant to his old family farm.

Retired boxer Sean Thornton is not looking to stir trouble when his train pulls up in Inisfree, though scandal is inevitable when he purchases the property that bullish local Will Danaher has been eyeing off. That he should almost immediately fall in love with Will’s sister, Mary-Kate, only further complicates this rivalry, stoking the flames of a potential brawl that Sean flat out refuses to entertain. He is a man of honour and peace, though given his violent past, it is evident that he has not always been this way. Only after witnessing the devastating power of his own brute strength in the boxing ring did he give up that life completely, and it will take more than a few verbal jabs to lure him back into a fight.

*Mossy stone walls, lush green pastures, and craggy hillsides – John Ford capitalises on his location shooting and Technicolor cinematography capture Ireland on film in an entirely new light.*

This brief venture beyond the realm of Western and war films is a refreshing change of pace for John Wayne, even if he is still typifying the masculine hero archetype with a hidden streak of fury. In place of dusty vests and cowboy hats, he wears tidy suits and berets, visually blending in with the local Irish population while his accent marks him as a foreigner. In fact, the only actor here who does cast an immediately striking figure is Maureen O’Hara, whose red and blue dress vividly stands out against Inisfree’s lush green fields and vegetation. Clearly Ford adores her sensitive command as the emotional centre of the film, dynamically billowing her red hair and dress in a powerful gust of wind when she and Sean share their first kiss, and framing her teary face behind a rain-glazed window after Will refuses to let them marry.

*A gorgeous first encounter between Sean and Mary-Kate – him framed between layers of trees, and her bursting out of her green surroundings with a dazzling red and blue dress.*

*Ford billows O’Hara’s red hair and dress in a gust of wind as she and Wayne kiss for the first time, underscoring the romantic drama.*

*Ireland’s weather takes a darker turn when rain begins douse the fiery spirit of Sean and Mary-Kate’s relationship, dripping water down the window here like tears.*

The constant humiliation of Mary-Kate’s brother at the hands of the stronger, kinder Sean is mostly deserved in The Quiet Man, yet the collective conspiracy that tricks him into allowing their marriage exposes a cruel underside to this tight-knit town. Will’s feelings for the Widow Tillane are his greatest weakness, and so a false rumour that she would be willing to marry him once Mary-Kate is no longer under his roof is all it takes for him to happily hand his sister off. Of course, it is only a matter of time before he realises that he has been fooled, seeing him immediately dampen the merry atmosphere of their wedding. Will’s sudden withdrawal of his dowry payment comes as a slap in the face to Mary-Kate, who considers this money her entire worth. On the other hand, Sean sees no significance in this tradition – they are officially married after all, and it does not make him love her any less.

Ford has always excelled at using his ensemble to create rich, distinctive communities, building entire societies upon the rituals, lifestyles, and comic eccentricities of the local populace, and this dynamic serves an especially crucial purpose in developing The Quiet Man’s cultural conflict. Will’s insult drives a sharp wedge between the newly wedded couple, revealing a clash of Irish and American values that turns Sean into even more of an outsider than ever. As a man of the New World, he fails to grasp the enormous weight which Mary-Kate and the entire village place on the dowry he is owed. As long as it remains unpaid, they cannot even consummate their marriage. In refusing to fight for it as well, he is essentially condemning his wife to suffer the ultimate dishonour.

*Cultural tensions rise up in this central romance, yet Ford still unites these lovers in a shared melancholy, composing a painterly portrait of persevering love here as they sit by the fireplace.*

The gossip which is sparked by quaint customs such as this are more of a side effect than anything else. At their core, these traditions foster a sense of camaraderie and security among neighbours, uniting them at the pub, church, and beach where jockeys race horses in friendly competition. By arranging his crowds through beautifully styled sets of 1910s pastoral décor and across magnificently weathered landscapes, Ford’s blocking underscores the importance of this fellowship as well, binding individuals together within shared expressions of joy and sorrow. Similarly crucial here is Ward Bond’s light-hearted narration as the friendly local priest, warmly reflecting on our protagonists’ romance with humour and grace, and effectively becoming the voice of the entire town.

Ford’s blocking of large ensembles is one of his greatest strengths as a visual artist, emphasising the sense of community through local traditions, demonstrated here in the horse race down at the beach.

This is evidently a culture of idyllic joy and simple tastes, given lush musical form in Victor Young’s Gone with the Wind-inspired soundtrack that soars and swings with playful Celtic inflections across strings, harps, and flutes. After locals sing a drunken rendition of ‘The Wild Colonial Boy’ at the pub, even that too exuberantly weaves its way into the score, developing a high-spirited motif that bounces with Irish pride. Were it not for Will’s stubborn resistance, Inisfree may very well be a paradise for a man like Sean looking to return to his roots, and yet if he truly wants to make a home here then he must first overcome his American ego and inhibitions.

Mary-Kate’s failed attempt to leave town is all the motivation that Sean needs to settle the score once and for all. Meeting her at the station, he grabs her by the arm and marches with stoic purpose to find Will. The excitement is palpable as crowds eagerly join his trek across town, anticipating a furious stand-off which Ford finally delivers with low camera angles and majestic blocking at Will’s farm. With Sean threatening to return Mary-Kate out of pure frustration, Will eventually concedes and pays the dowry – though certainly no one expects Sean to aggravate tensions even more by spitefully throwing the money into a furnace.

*Comedy and suspense as Sean marches across town to finally confront Sean, gathering the townsfolk behind him as they excitedly anticipate the inevitable brawl.*

*Three layers of blocking in Ford’s depth of field, dramatically captured at a low angle as tensions reach a breaking point.*

It is not this verbal exchange, but the ensuing fistfight between brother-in-laws which offers the release we have been itching for, and that much at least we have in common with the impatient townsfolk who seek drama within their mundane lives. Sean and Will’s brawl rolls across the countryside, claiming a stage as enormous as the frustration that has been quietly mounting for months, and which now explodes with cathartic vigour to snowballing crowds. Ailing men rise from their beds to join the fray, the Widow Tillane admires Will with newfound romantic interest, and even Father Peter Lonergan gets in on the action after his fellow priest beseeches him to end the madness. “We should lad, yes, we should. It’s our duty. Yes, it’s our duty…” he mutters, though his roiling excitement is betrayed by his broad grin.

*Brotherhood and respect is born of good-natured violence, releasing pent-up frustration as Sean finally grows accustomed to Irish culture.*

Only when both combatants take a break at the local pub mid-fight do they get a chance to properly talk, confessing a reluctant respect for each other – but only for a brief moment before a quarrel over who is paying for the drinks ends with another smack to the face. It barely matters who wins and loses this match of brawn and stamina. Through the act of good-natured violence, all grudges are aired, and old disputes are officially put to rest. Unlike the culture of cutthroat American competition that Sean has come from, ill will simply cannot exist as a permanent fixture between neighbours in Inasfree. Simple problems require simple solutions, and simple love deserves a simple life. Now as Sean finally returns to his idyllic country cottage with his beautiful, red-haired wife, even his greatest rival can accept that he has thoroughly earned both.

*A playful chase back to their cottage signals the official start of Sean and Mary-Kate’s idyllic marriage, crossing the stream and disappearing in the distance.*

The Quiet Man is currently streaming on Plex, and is available to rent or buy on Apple TV, YouTube, and Amazon Video, and the physical media is available to buy from Amazon.

The Substance (2024)

Coralie Fargeat | 2hr 20min

The first time that fading Hollywood actress Elisabeth Sparkle injects the fluorescent, black-market drug that is the Substance, her metamorphosis is shocking. As she writhes in agony on her bathroom floor, her skin bulges with the birth of new bones and organs, and her irises split like regenerating cells. Along her back, a large, gaping slit opens, and from it a creature is born. Stumbling towards the mirror, we adopt this newborn’s perspective, our eyes adjusting to its bizarre existence. There, we witness Elisabeth’s younger, more beautiful self ‘Sue’ come into focus, successfully reclaiming youth from the wrinkles, sags, and insecurities of middle age.

There are several caveats which come with the use of this drug, chief among them being the time limit – seven days in the young body, seven days in old, or else there will be severe side effects. “What is taken by one, is lost by the other,” we are frequently reminded by the distributor’s deep, disembodied voice, and upon this simple warning, director Coralie Fargeat builds her allegory for the physical deterioration of ageing bodies. Any attempts to recklessly cling to youth will inevitably be felt further down the track, forming destructive, self-loathing habits which give our younger selves greater reason to scorn us.

Fargeat builds a cartoonish mirror world of old-fashioned chauvinism, typified in Dennis Quaid’s sleazy producer who leans into wide-angle lenses and devours a bowl of prawns in the most vicious manner possible.

The Substance is not overly subtle in its metaphor, nor does it need to be. Elisabeth lives in a cartoonish mirror world of 1980s pop aesthetics and old-fashioned chauvinism, working closely with a sleazy producer who embodies every misogynistic stereotype of America’s entertainment industry. He leers uncomfortably over us in wide-angle lenses, physically invading our personal space and tearing into a bowl of prawns with all the etiquette of a salivating dog. His firing of our protagonist and subsequent casting call for “the next Elisabeth Sparkle” only feeds her self-doubt – but with this rejuvenating drug on the market, who better to take her place than Elisabeth herself?

*Clean, sanitised production design, conforming wholly to unified colour palettes and strong geometric shapes.*

Contrary to what Fargeat’s win for Best Screenplay at Cannes Film Festival may suggest, the writing may be the least interesting aspect of The Substance. This is not to say that it lacks a compelling narrative, but the strength of this psychological horror bleeds through the visual storytelling, often carried along without dialogue by the dynamic editing, subjective camerawork, and brilliantly unhinged acting. Especially for industry veteran Demi Moore and rising star Margaret Qualley, The Substance displays both of their strongest performances to date, playing two sides of one woman simultaneously envying and revelling in her youthful glamour.

*Beautiful formal mirroring between Elisabeth and Sue, carried through in Demi Moore and Margaret Qualley’s magnificent, parallel performances.*

Fargeat too clearly has an admiration for the human form, though her camera refuses to submit so cleanly to the objectification it is criticising. The allure and repulsiveness of our physical bodies are woven deeply into each other here, and as Elisabeth comes to realise, we cannot indulge in one without eventually confronting the other. Extreme close-ups of dissolving tablets, needles puncturing flesh, and the Substance’s physiological effects blend seamlessly with the augmented sound design and distorted synth score, and their collective impact is largely magnified by Fargeat’s aggressive, rapid-fire montage editing. It is no coincidence that she is directly referencing Requiem for a Dream here, comparing the processes of beautification to an uncontrollable drug addiction. As much as the older Elisabeth despises her other half, still she is compelled to keep chasing that high of soaring confidence and attention, thus feeding the loop of self-abuse.

“You’re the only lovable part of me.”

*Darren Aronofsky is a strong influence in the editing here, particularly in the rapid-fire drug montages.*

The dual visual styles that The Substance establishes for both women draws a harsh dichotomy here. Where Sue luxuriates in smooth, slow-motion photography, Elisabeth’s shame is amplified by handheld camerawork and grating jump cuts, viciously wearing away at her mind and body. Bit by bit, we see pieces of both personalities bleed out into the world as well, alternately polishing and contaminating interiors designed to sanitised, Kubrickian perfection.

*Sleek, slow-motion as we hang on Sue’s movements…*

...degrading into shaky, handheld camerawork as we adopt Elisabeth’s perspective.

Just as several decades’ worth of Elisabeth’s posters are stripped from the film studio’s bright orange hallway to make room for its newest star, so too is her image torn down from the billboard outside her penthouse window, and ultimately replaced with a larger-than-life model shot of Sue. This apartment is the only remaining space that truly belongs to Elisabeth, and so much to the revulsion of her younger self, she believes it is hers to degrade into filth and chaos any way she pleases.

*Fargeat borrows Kubrick’s patterned carpets and hallways from The Shining to craft this brilliant piece of production design, visually reflecting the fall of one woman and the rise of another.*

*Strong compositions of idiosyncratic interiors, transforming Elisabeth’s pristine penthouse apartment into a filthy extension of her breakdown.*

Still, as much as these women furiously complain to the drug distributor about each other, both are firmly reminded of their equal culpability for their afflictions – “Remember you are one.” Elisabeth’s single, withered finger that results from Sue’s first attempt to push the limits of the Substance is only the beginning as well, revealing the long-term effects of those poor choices we make when we are young.

The more Elisabeth transforms into a spiteful, grizzled hag, the more we are reminded of the Evil Queen in Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, jealously comparing her deteriorating beauty against a more youthful replacement. By the time The Substance reaches its final act too, Fargeat fully embraces these fable-like qualities, though not without a nauseating edge of dark, ironic humour. Where the body horror begins with Darren Aronofsky as its primary inspiration, it gradually mutates into Cronenbergian visions of grotesque monstrosities, rendered in practical effects that grow progressively more depraved.

*This is the least of the body horror on display – Fargeat revels in the beauty and grotesqueness of the human form, submitting us to both extremes.*

The bookended return to Elisabeth’s star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame makes for a surprisingly poignant conclusion to The Substance, escaping the bloody chaos to mourn her dehumanisation, even if just for a fleeting moment. Self-acceptance is a rarity in this industry of extreme beauty standards, so the point at which it is fearlessly embraced reveals the slightest salvation within reaching distance of catastrophic disaster. For those so consumed by such superficial ideals though, perhaps the physical manifestation of one’s most hideous impulses is the only path to inner peace, tragically confining them to a hollow, obsessive existence where youth fades faster than it can ever be reclaimed.

The Substance is currently playing in cinemas.

Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes (2024)

Wes Ball | 2hr 25min

Although the primitive simians of the Planet of the Apes prequels take great pride in their distinction from humanity, the parallels drawn between both species are apparent. “Apes together strong!” chimpanzee Caesar proclaims in Rise, asserting that their union behind shared values of peace and cooperation will herald a fresh start for planet Earth, while in Dawn prejudiced bonobo Koba seeks vengeance for his past traumas.

These are parables of evolution, constantly tugging intelligent beings who strive for greatness between their most inspiring and destructive instincts, but perhaps most compelling of all is their primal need to congregate around a prophetic leader. Much like Moses, Caesar was saved at birth, led his people to liberation, and established a doctrine of ethical commandments. Now in Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes though, his legacy is splintered among quarrelling factions. Their fight over upholding versus exploiting his message bears striking resemblance to the religious schisms of human history, each seeking survival through conflicting interpretations of their ancestor’s teachings.

It is hard to ignore the impact that the departure of Matt Reeves and Andy Serkis has had on this franchise, especially given that their strengths were uniquely matched to its visual and technical innovations. Nevertheless, the new crop of talent that director Wes Ball leads in Kingdom is dedicated to building on their predecessors’ foundations, making incredibly expressive use of motion-capture technology while shooting on location to build out its post-apocalyptic world. Beyond the lush, overgrown city that young chimpanzee Noa calls home, Ball’s long shots marvellously establish dense forests, abandoned structures, and rushing rivers, taking our protagonist on a journey through the wilderness to rescue his clan from a party of ape raiders.

Noa does not immediately recognise the name shouted by these marauders, but the wise orangutan he encounters on this quest knows it well. They do not truly follow Caesar’s tenets, Raka claims, as he imparts the truth of this ape luminary upon his pupil. Meanwhile, their meeting with young human Mae endows them with a greater perspective of the world before the rest of her species devolved into feral savagery, establishing her as a model of redemption when one’s own people appear beyond saving.

Only when Noa finally reaches the coastal settlement where the ape raiders live do Kingdom’s considerations of idolatry and ambition start to take shape, as Ball introduces the Caesar-worshipping tyrant, Proximus. Large, rusted husks of ancient ships host his followers along the shoreline, standing tall as monuments of a once-great civilisation that fell its own ego, yet Proximus remains blind to their symbolic warning. To attain humanity’s former glory, he believes that apes must claim their advanced weapons technology, aggressively asserting themselves as the planet’s dominant species.

Like Caesar, Proximus genuinely admires human achievements, but lacks the same desire to break their cycles of cruelty and hubris. Conversely, Noa does not seek to become another Moses, but is rather modelled after another ancient prophet instead. Given his readiness to separate the virtuous from the wicked, as well as the arrival of a biblical flood in the final act, it doesn’t take a particularly deep reading into his name to identify whose arc he will follow in future instalments.

Noa’s characterisation may be underdeveloped at this point, but Ball’s allegory for human history is promising, shifting the series into a fresh era of cross-species relations. As this world approaches the one established in the original Planet of the Apes film, so too does it continue bearing greater resemblance to our own, revealing the primal impulses that underlie society’s thin veneer of intelligence. Despite feeling like a small step back in quality, Kingdom’s development of this majestic civilisation through the legacy of its ancestors is admirable, setting up a new generation of apes who simultaneously live under, respect, and seek to escape the long shadow of Caesar.

Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes is available to buy on Apple TV, YouTube, and Amazon Video, and is currently streaming on Disney Plus.