A Mãe

Set in Russia during the harsh winter of 1905. A mother finds herself caught in emotional conflict between her husband and son when they find themselves on opposite sides of a worker's strike. The son is a supporter of the workers but the father has been blackmailed into supporting the bosses and blacklegs. Despite the grief which follows the mother gradually comes to support the strikers and eventually is prepared to risk everything in standing up to police and Cossak troops in a demonstration endangering both herself and her precious son.

Structures shaping into motion, motions reshaping into structure, against each other, so that the whole thing is like a snowstorm rolling down a hill; gathering itself to itself. Which is to say the people to the people, in an effort at once to reshape and portray the reshaped world.

Look here. The first third ends with a murder, so the entire part is about wild kinetic energy building to it; disenchanted workers plotting a strike – the metaphor for revolution, as so often in these films – factory cronies plotting to break them, pitting rugged father against idealist son. Meanwhile the factory owners, disinterested, arrogant, oversee the bloody drama from their lofty window.

The second third ends with injustice, and so the entire second part is about the mockery of justice; a colonel promising the hapless mother her son – the instigator of events - will be okay if she surrenders a hidden stash of guns, then arresting him, followed by a mock trial where each of the judges presiding is a parody of human values.

The final part is about revolution, so the entire thing is about the preparations of the final stand. Again the revolutionary metaphor, so poignant in these films; a prison filled entirely with workers, farmers, the oppressed with a dream languishing somewhere. And so, everything becomes imbued with meaning; the prison walls as walls at large, the doors slammed open with conflict, the bridge where passage is presaged by a rite of violence.

The strikers scattered by mounted police into a mob, it's the mother who picks up the banner of revolution. Down by the bridge, floating ice is shattered on the concrete pillars; ice dissolves, floating away, but the bridge stands.

And so the suffering and sacrifice of the nameless heroes is transformed into structures that will stand the test of time; bridges, factories, where the banner of revolution unfurls at the top, enduring symbols of a thriving industry, a healthy, self-sufficient nation. We may think what we want about the equation in terms of politics, but how it's equated through cinema?

It comes with the natural ease that only a filmmaking tradition so deeply centered in its worldview could afford; the individual is transmuted, engulfed into a collective structure - the Soviet god in place of a god - , in a way that reveals the individual struggle to have been redolent with purpose all along. It's a spiritual vision, make no mistake; about communion with the life-destroying, life-renewing source; about harmony of structure from the chaos of forms.

Vsevolod Pudovkin makes a thunderous debut with this adaptation of the Gorky novel of the same name that takes place immediately before the revolution of 1905. Steeped in the traditions of Soviet montage, Pudovkin's film explores the consequences of a mother's desire to protect her revolutionary son with a style that is both strident and unrelenting, but which avoids Hollywood-style sentmentality while never losing sight of the tale's human perspective.

a film of its time. adaptation of touching work. a good cast. a great montage. water as symbol, key and word for a silent movie about human storm. large isles of propaganda. and powerful, precise, touching silhouette of masterpiece. it is more than a film or page of history. more than instrument of regime. more than a kind of reflection for a profound social metamorphose. it is a unique meeting. with a subtle art to glorify a regime without sacrifice the truth. a show of nuances. and fabulous act of Vera Baranovszkaia. her role is exploration of small pieces of mother heart. the novel of Gorki is scene for one of powerful demonstration to present reality behind the words. and this is secret of this movie like many others Russians films. the heart of a sensitivity in perfect light, with delicate shadows.

Pudovkin's Mother is a strong film that refused to be bound by the limitations of its time and should remain interesting to contemporary audiences. The plot of the film is simply outstanding. While some would say it was to be expected since the film is based off of a novel by Maxim Gorky, it should be noted that good source material does not guarantee cinematic success. The film follows a mother and her revolutionist son, Pavel, as they navigate a series of difficulties resulting from her son's allegiance.

With no speech, a major challenge for silent films is the creation of multidimensional characters. Pudovkin overcomes this challenge by being able to capture the emotions of the characters. I thought the mother, was exceptionally interesting. Her struggle did not only represent that of a loving mother, but also that of a movement. Pudovkin make great use of the camera, whether it was a side profile emphasizing the pensiveness of the character or a well-timed frontal close-up, he facilitates our ride on this emotional roller-coaster.

For the most part, I really enjoyed the pacing of the film. While the pacing did vary in tempo, it was always well within its own "groove." Even in the extremely exciting conclusion, one did not get to feel the extremely fast-paced tempo of a Battleship Potemkin, which I believe speaks to the differences between the directors. On that note, it was interesting to see how Pudovkin's use of montage differed. His cuts were far more gradual and subtle when compared to Eisenstein's in Battleship which contributed to the stability of the film.

All in all, Mother was a good watch and one of the stronger films that we have seen.