This film really got me thinking. How is it possible to like a propaganda film made at the behest of a dictator, extolling the virtues of a specific policy that would lead to the death of over ten million people? We find the work of Leni Riefenstahl problematic to say the least, but how is this any different? The answer I think is not just in the beauty of the images in this film (and they are considerable), it's in the beauty of communism's ideals - to sweep aside the old power structures of religion and the unfairness of a class-based society, so that the common man could share in the fruit of his labor.
That's what director Alexander Dovzhenko is showing us, these ideals, and he presents them in such a poetic, spiritual way as to be deeply moving. We see the waves of grain billowing in the wind, and the towering clouds floating majestically in the sky. We see the creatures under the sky as equals, and brothers. It's presented as the inevitable flow of power to the people. God is no longer the paternalistic deity of our fathers, god is in land and the bounty our shared labor creates. Vindictive to none and fair to all, it's a new world in which "We'll prosper with tractors." It's all incredibly naïve, but there is great power in its idealism.
In an era of extreme capitalism reminiscent of the Gilded Age, it's easy to gravitate to the concept expressed in the film of simply taking the wealth (in this case, the earth) away from the rich, but at the same time it shouldn't be forgotten just how horrible communism was in the Soviet Union. The collectivism we see extolled here killed millions, and they were ironically concentrated in Ukraine, where Dovzhenko was from and made the film. The kulak who murders out of his opposition to collectivism is essentially pardoned by the crowd, whereas the reality under Stalin was far different. One can only wonder what Dovzhenko thought of how communism played out in reality over the decades which followed.
The film's spirituality and exuberant love for the peasantry made it suspect by communist leaders at the time, who I think would have preferred a more naturalistic approach. In one fantastic scene the peasant father says through a steely stare that "There ain't no god," but the music we hear throughout the film is soaring with a kind of religious reverence, and while weeping over a funeral, one of the elderly peasant women says "Without a priest. That's all very well, if there is no God, but what if there is!" It's in these things and in the sublime beauty of Dovzhenko artistry that made me appreciate this film somewhere deep within me.
That's what director Alexander Dovzhenko is showing us, these ideals, and he presents them in such a poetic, spiritual way as to be deeply moving. We see the waves of grain billowing in the wind, and the towering clouds floating majestically in the sky. We see the creatures under the sky as equals, and brothers. It's presented as the inevitable flow of power to the people. God is no longer the paternalistic deity of our fathers, god is in land and the bounty our shared labor creates. Vindictive to none and fair to all, it's a new world in which "We'll prosper with tractors." It's all incredibly naïve, but there is great power in its idealism.
In an era of extreme capitalism reminiscent of the Gilded Age, it's easy to gravitate to the concept expressed in the film of simply taking the wealth (in this case, the earth) away from the rich, but at the same time it shouldn't be forgotten just how horrible communism was in the Soviet Union. The collectivism we see extolled here killed millions, and they were ironically concentrated in Ukraine, where Dovzhenko was from and made the film. The kulak who murders out of his opposition to collectivism is essentially pardoned by the crowd, whereas the reality under Stalin was far different. One can only wonder what Dovzhenko thought of how communism played out in reality over the decades which followed.
The film's spirituality and exuberant love for the peasantry made it suspect by communist leaders at the time, who I think would have preferred a more naturalistic approach. In one fantastic scene the peasant father says through a steely stare that "There ain't no god," but the music we hear throughout the film is soaring with a kind of religious reverence, and while weeping over a funeral, one of the elderly peasant women says "Without a priest. That's all very well, if there is no God, but what if there is!" It's in these things and in the sublime beauty of Dovzhenko artistry that made me appreciate this film somewhere deep within me.