Produced to celebrate the twentieth anniversary of the Russian revolution, the silent epic _Battleship Potemkin_ serves as both a historical drama and a passionate example of Soviet-friendly propaganda. Originally plotted to depict several key moments in the 1905 uprising, the state (which funded this production) demanded a tight deadline and the film was subsequently cut down to just one symbolic episode. In that, a crew of mistreated sailors bristle at the wormy meat they’re provided and, when superiors ignore their complaints, stage an uprising that ignites a fire in the hearts and minds of civilians watching from the shore.

From a filmmaking perspective, there’s a lot to admire here. Utilizing a huge cast of extras, director Sergei Eisenstein brings us an abundance of expertly-composed panoramas, dazzling in their size and scope. Teems of people march to join the protest, clenching their fists and raging against the oppression like an angry human sea. _Potemkin_’s use of montage was revolutionary for the time, and its heavy reliance upon manipulative visual storytelling remains potent today. It’s also an ambitious example of the limitations inherent in silent film. Melodrama abounds; a flood of overly romantic body language and postured patriotic proclamations dominate the screen. Its depiction of the mutiny at sea is long, over-edited and confusing, desperate for a narrative guiding light amidst all the chaos. The same can be said for the famous Odessa Steps sequence, a powerful and historically significant act which depicts a bloody massacre by the military. One could argue that the disorientation evident in these scenes is intentional, an accurate depiction of pandemonium in a threatened crowd. I’d agree, but that doesn’t make it any easier to follow. I don’t think clarity needed to be discarded in order to enable the vision.

My takeaway is this: _Battleship Potemkin_ is an essential film when viewed through the context of cinematic achievement. It raises the bar for emotional heft in the format, manages some staggering vistas that surely hit the marks its Soviet bosses were looking for, and delivers one especially dynamic scene which has stood the test of time. I can’t argue the artistry, but its storytelling is simplistic, cryptic and vague. The blame for that can’t be lain at the feet of this era. Chaplin, Keaton and Lloyd had already published masterworks by 1925, telling brighter, more lucid stories in a much lighter genre, and they didn’t need the dozen pages of dialogue cards _Potemkin_ uses to do so. It may be important in a historical sense, and the story behind its production and distribution is fascinating, but I’ve lost count of how many times this one’s put me to sleep.