610151

EDITED BY NAUM KLEIMAN & ANTONIO SOMAINI
FILM THEORY FILM THEORY

INMEDIA HISTORY INMEDIAHISTORY SERGEI M. EISENSTEIN
NOTES FOR A GENERAL HISTORY OF CINEMA
EDITED BY NAUM KLEIMAN & ANTONIO SOMAINI
An iconic figure in twentieth-century cinema, Ser- NAUM KLEIMAN is a film his-

gei M. Eisenstein directed landmark films such torian. He was previously cura-
as Battleship Potemkinand Ivan the Terrible and tor of the Eisenstein Memorial
authored a vast body of theoretical texts.This is Apartment and director of the
the first English-language edition of his recently Cinema Museum in Mos
cow.
rediscovered notes for a general history of cine- He has participated in recon-
ma. In these, Eisenstein presents a fascinating structions of Eisensteins films
genealogy of the media and art forms that preced and unfinished books and has
ed the birth of cinema and accompanied its first edited several volumes of his
decades. Cinema is presented as a medium in contexts. Since 2013 he serves as
stant flux and as heir to an expansive tradition, the chief-editor of the journal
ranging from Dionysian mysteries to death masks Kinovedcheskie Zapiski.
and mummies, from wax museums to dioramas
SERGEI M. EISENSTEIN
and panoramas, pursuing a breathtaking trajectory ANTONIO SOMAINI is Profes
from Dionysus to television. Eisensteins notes are sor of Film, Media, and Visual
accompanied by a series of previously unpublished Culture Theory at the Universi-
critical essays by internationally recognized Eisen- t Sorbonne Nouvelle Paris 3.
stein scholars. He has published extensively
on the work of Eisenstein and
Vertov, Benjamin and Kracauer,
Balzs and Moholy-Nagy.
I S B N 978-90-896-4283-7
AUP.nl
9 789089 642837
Sergei M. Eisenstein
Film Theory in Media History explores the epistemological and theoretical
foundations of the study of film through texts by classical authors as well as
anthologies and monographs on key issues and developments in film theory.
Adopting a historical perspective, but with a firm eye to the further development
of the field, the series provides a platform for ground-breaking new research into
film theory and media history and features high-profile editorial projects that
offer resources for teaching and scholarship. Combining the book form with
open access online publishing the series reaches the broadest possible audience
of scholars, students, and other readers with a passion for film and theory.
Series editors: Prof. Dr. Vinzenz Hediger (Goethe University Frankfurt,

Germany), Weihong Bao (University of California, Berkeley, United States),
Dr. Trond Lundemo (Stockholm University, Sweden).
Editorial Board Members:

Dudley Andrew, Yale University, United States
Raymond Bellour, CNRS Paris, France
Chris Berry, Goldsmiths, University of London, United Kingdom
Francesco Casetti, Yale University, United States
Thomas Elsaesser, University of Amsterdam, the Netherlands
Jane Gaines, Columbia University, United States
Andr Gaudreault, University of Montral, Canada
Gertrud Koch, Free University of Berlin, Germany
John MacKay, Yale University, United States
Markus Nornes, University of Michigan, United States
Patricia Pisters, University of Amsterdam, the Netherlands
Leonardo Quaresima, University of Udine, Italy
David Rodowick, University of Chicago, United States
Philip Rosen, Brown University, United States
Petr Szczepanik, Masaryk University Brno, Czech Republic
Brian Winston, Lincoln University, United Kingdom
Film Theory in Media History is published in cooperation with the Permanent

Seminar for the History of Film Theories.
Notes for a General History
of Cinema
Edited by
Naum Kleiman &
Antonio Somaini
Translations from Russian
by Margo Shohl Rosen, Brinton Tench Coxe, and
Natalie Ryabchikova
Amsterdam University Press

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Table of Contents
Acknowledgements 7
Editorial Criteria 9
Naum Kleiman and Antonio Somaini
Foreword 13
Naum Kleiman
Cinema as Dynamic Mummification, History as Montage:
Eisensteins Media Archaeology 19
Antonio Somaini
Part One Notes for a General History of Cinema

1. The Heir 109
2. Dynamic Mummification: Notes for a General History of Cinema 119
3. Revelation in Storm and Thunder 207
4. In Praise of the Cine-chronicle 225
5. The Place of Cinema in the General System of the History of the
Arts 241
6. Pioneers and Innovators 247
Part Two Essays
1. What Renders Daumiers Art so Cinematic for Eisenstein? 255

Ada Ackerman
2. The Heritage We Renounce: Eisenstein in Historio-graphy 267
Franois Albera
3. The Notes for a General History of Cinema and the Dialectic of the
Eisensteinian Image 289
Luka Arsenjuk
5
4. Act Now!, or For an Untimely Eisenstein 299
Nico Baumbach
5. Pathos and Praxis (Eisenstein versus Barthes) 309
Georges Didi-Huberman
6. Eisensteins Absolutely Wonderful, Totally Impossible Project 323
Jane Gaines
7. Dynamic Typicality 333
Abe Geil
8. Archaeology vs. Paleontology: A Note on Eisensteins Notes for a
General History of Cinema 347
Vinzenz Hediger
9. Point Pathos Totality 357
Mikhail Iampolski
10. Distant Echoes 373
Arun Khopkar
11. Synthesis of the Arts or Friendly Cooperation between the
Arts? The General History of Cinema According to Eisenstein 385
Pietro Montani
12. Eisensteins Mummy Complex: Temporality, Trauma, and a
Distinction in Eisensteins Notes for a General History of Cinema 393
Philip Rosen
13. Sergei Eisenstein and the Soviet Models for the Study of Cinema,
1920s-1940s 405
Masha Salazkina and Natalie Ryabchikova
Bibliography 415
Notes 429
Index of Names 525
Contributors 541
6 table of contents
Acknowledgements
The preparation of this book has taken several years, and the editors, Naum Klei-
man and Antonio Somaini, would like to thank all those who have contributed in
different ways to its publication.
First of all, our thanks go to the authors of the thirteen critical essays which
help locate Eisensteins Notes for a General History of Cinema within the context of
his oeuvre, as well as within the history of film and media theories: Ada Acker-
man, Franois Albera, Luka Arsenjuk, Nico Baumbach, Georges Didi-Huberman,
Jane Gaines, Abe Geil, Vinzenz Hediger, Mikhail Iampolski, Arun Khopkar, Pie-
tro Montani, Philip Rosen, and Masha Salazkina with Natalie Ryabchikova.
Second, our thanks go to all those who have worked with us on the transcrip-
tion and the organization of Eisensteins Notes, and on the preparation of the
editorial apparatus that accompanies them: Artm Sopin, Natalie Ryabchikova,
and Vera Kleiman for their contribution to the establishment of the six texts of
the Notes; and Franois Albera, our coeditor on the French edition of the Notes, for
his contribution to the commentary and the footnotes.
Margo Shohl Rosen and Brinton Tench Coxe, with a further contribution by
Natalie Ryabchikova, have translated Eisensteins texts from Russian to English;
Franck Le Gac, with a further contribution by Michael Cramer, has translated
from French to English the texts by Franois Albera and Georges Didi-Huber-
man, while Manuela Pallotto has translated from Italian to English the text by
Pietro Montani and Mihaela Mihailova has translated from Russian to English
the text by Mikhail Iampolski. Abe Geil has made a final revision of Eisensteins
texts, while Michael Cramer made a final revision of several of the critical essays.
Olga Kataeva has contributed to the final phase of the editorial work, and has
helped us, together with Natalie Ryabchikova and Massimo Olivero, in establish-
ing the rich bibliography contained in this volume. The Index of names, finally,
has been prepared by Natacha Milovzorova.
The first presentation, outside Russia, of Eisensteins Notes for a General History
of Cinema took place during the conference Eisenstein Cinema History, or-
ganized on September 30 and October 1, 2010 at Columbia University in New
York City. It was sponsored by two seminars, Cinema & Interdisciplinary Inter-
pretation and Sites of Cinema as well as by the Harriman Institute. The edi-
7
tors would like to warmly thank Jane Gaines for having made this conference
possible and Nico Baumbach and Luka Arsenjuk for having organized it. The
organizers were responsible for securing the first translation in English of Eisen-
steins Notes, a translation financed by Columbia University and made available in
the public domain. This was the second international event to take place under
the auspices of The Permanent Seminar on the Histories of Film Theories.
A second presentation of Eisensteins Notes took place during the conference
S.M. Eisenstein. Histoire, Gnalogie, Montage, organized on May 28, 2011, at
the Institut National dHistoire de lArt in Paris by the Centre de Recherche en
Esthtique du Cinma et des Images (CRECI). The editors would like to warmly
thank Philippe Dubois for having made this conference possible and Benjamin
Lon for his valuable contribution to its organization.
Eisensteins Notes have subsequently been discussed on several other occasions
(lectures, seminars, journes dtudes, conferences, journal publications), and the
editors would like to thank all those that have contributed to these important
exchanges. A special thanks from Antonio Somaini to Vinzenz Hediger and the
Goethe Universitt Frankfurt for the invitation to present the Notes on June 17,
2014, within the program of the Kracauer Lectures series, to Leonardo Quaresima
for the various invitations to the Udine International Film Studies Conference,
and to all the friends, colleagues, and students with whom these materials have
been discussed over the last few years. Besides the authors of the critical essays
here published, these include Francesco Casetti, Alessia Cervini, Emanuele Coc-
cia, Grard Conio, Pietro Conte, Roberto De Gaetano, Ruggero Eugeni, Filippo
Fimiani, Olga Kataeva, John MacKay, Carmelo Marabello, Angela Mengoni, Phi-
lippe-Alain Michaud, Massimo Olivero, Dominique Pani, Andrea Pinotti, Gian
Piero Piretto, Francesco Pitassio, Marie Rebecchi, Laurence Schifano, Elena Vog-
man, and Georg Witte.
This book is published by Amsterdam University Press in a series whose title
Film Theory in Media History could not be more appropriate for Eisensteins
Notes for a General History of Cinema: Naum Kleiman and Antonio Somaini thank
the series editors (Oliver Fahle, Vinzenz Hediger, and Trond Lundemo), the edi-
torial board, as well as Jeroen Sondervan of Amsterdam University Press for hav-
ing invited us to publish the book in such an appropriate context.
Finally, Antonio Somaini would like to warmly thank Naum Kleiman for his
invaluable friendship and for his constant, generous support, over the last four
decades, to the entire international community of the scholars working on Eisen-
stein and on the history of Russian and Soviet cinema. Without his crucial con-
tribution, this publication of yet another important part of Eisensteins oeuvre
would have not been possible.
8 acknowledgements
Editorial Criteria
The six texts by Eisenstein presented in the first part of this volume were selected
and transcribed from the manuscripts by Naum Kleiman with the collaboration
of Artm Sopin, Natalie Ryabchikova, and Vera Kleiman. Antonio Somaini estab-
lished, together with Naum Kleiman, the critical apparatus (commentary, foot-
notes, illustrations, bibliography) that accompanies these six texts, and was re-
sponsible for the second part of this volume, which presents thirteen critical
essays written specifically for this occasion by international scholars in the fields
of film and media studies, art history, aesthetics, and philosophy.
All the texts by Eisenstein presented in this volume have previously been pub-
lished in Russian in the journal Kinovedcheskie zapiski: The Heir in vol. 28
(1995);1 Dynamic Mummification: Notes for a General History of Cinema in
vol. 100/101 (2012);2 Revelation in Storm and Thunder in vol. 15 (1992);3 In
Praise of the Cine-chronicle in vol. 36/37 (1997-1998);4 The Place of Cinema in
the General History of the Arts again in vol. 36/37;5 and Pioneers and Innova-
tors in vol. 28 (1995).6 A French translation of these same texts, edited by Fran-
ois Albera, Naum Kleiman, and Antonio Somaini, was published in 2013 by the
ditions de lAssociation Franaise de Recherche sur lHistoire du Cinma
(AFRHC),7 while a partial German translation, edited by Naum Kleiman and An-
tonio Somaini, was published in 2011 in the Zeitschrift fr Medienwissenschaft.8
The transcription and the translation of these texts raised a number of prob-
lems and demanded a series of choices which the editors would like to mention
here.
Publishing any writings by Eisenstein for the first time especially ones that
had not reached the status of fully completed texts during his lifetime, but rather
remained at the stage of handwritten fragments, notes, and diary entries pre-
sents editors with a whole series of philological problems, and this was indeed
the case for the writings published in this volume.
To begin with, the six texts published here under the general title of Notes for a
General History of Cinema gather notes that were written by Eisenstein in different
periods between October 1946 and January 1948, while he was working on sev-
eral projects at the same time, thus raising the problem of how to choose and
how to order the texts for this publication. The choice of the editors has been to
9
not include here the diary entries or the notes on the history of cinema that
seemed to belong closely to other projects that Eisenstein was developing in the
same period (for example, some passages from the book Metod, or from the lec-
tures on the psychology of art that Eisenstein prepared in November 1947 fol-
lowing an invitation by Alexander R. Luria9), in order to focus instead on the
notes that Eisenstein wrote specifically for the project of a general history of
cinema after having been appointed head of the Cinema Section of the Institute
of Art History of the Soviet Academy of Sciences. The core of these notes is pre-
served at the Russian State Archive of Literature and Art (RGALI) in the eight
folders of the inventory n.2 entitled The History of Soviet Cinema (archival
reference: 1923-2-1915-1022). To these notes the editors have decided to add
other materials that seemed to be necessary to present the full scope of Eisen-
steins project: the notes on the history of cinema preserved in other sections of
RGALI (1923-2-993/1030/1931/1939), and some of the notes that belonged to the
archive of professor Nikola Lebedev and that were later transferred to the archive
of the Central State Cinema Museum in a folder with the title The History of
Cinema (archival reference: Muzei kino 40-1-12). Within each one of the six
texts published here, the editors have chosen to follow the chronological order
in which the notes were written. The indications of the dates (and sometimes the
places) that Eisenstein systematically wrote in his notes are mentioned at the
beginning of each text and of each section of the texts, together with all the
references to the exact locations of these materials in the archives of RGALI and
Muzei kino.
A second problem was raised by the fact that the notes preserved at RGALI in
the sections 1923-2-1015 to 1022 were gathered under the general heading The
History of Soviet Cinema, while the intention of the editors was to present in
this volume the notes concerning the project for a general history of cinema.
As the editors explain in the two texts they are publishing in this volume,10 the
project for a collectively written, multivolume history of Soviet cinema, and
that for a general history of cinema written single-handedly by Eisenstein,
were closely connected. In several cases, there are notes that could be assigned
to both projects, and this is the case of the text published here with the title
Pioneers and Innovators. This text is closely connected to the project for a
history of Soviet cinema, but also contains a number of theoretical considera-
tions concerning the problem of a general history of cinema.
Thirdly, the editors had to decide how to publish in a book format what is
actually an array of very heterogeneous materials: besides passages that are fully
developed, there are phrases written hastily on the first piece of paper that was at
hand (a diary page, a hotel bill, an envelope), quotations taken from various
sources and most of the time without exact bibliographical references, more or
less elaborate drawings and schemes, as well as journal or newspaper articles cut
out from their original publications. In order to remind the reader of the hetero-
10 naum kleiman and antonio somaini

geneous nature of these materials, the editors have chosen to highlight as much
as possible the presence of drawings, diagrams, and cut-out journal or newspa-
per articles by reproducing them in the illustrations.
A further editorial problem becomes immediately evident if one takes a look at
the illustrations that reproduce some of the handwritten notes from which the
texts presented in this volume have been transcribed.11 As the reader will quickly
see, such handwritten notes are not easily transposable into the orderly, linear
format of a typewritten book page. Besides being written in several different lan-
guages (Russian, English, German, French, with occasional words in Spanish,
Italian, and Latin), and being handwritten in a way that is often hard to decipher,
with a constant use of abbreviations, these notes do not follow a clear linear
order. The frequent presence of various diagonal sequences that run in different
directions on pieces of paper which have clearly been rotated several times con-
stitutes a true challenge for the editor. In trying to find the most appropriate way
to transcribe these notes, one often has the feeling that they could be transcribed
in many different, equally legitimate ways, and that the version that is presented
to the reader in the printed text is just one of the many possible versions. This
said, one should also remember that in 1929 Eisenstein had already formulated
the idea of organizing his writings on montage in the form of a spherical
book, an obviously impossible project which he nevertheless considered as a
way of thinking about how one could overcome the limitations of the traditional
book format and of linear, sequential writing. The editors believe, therefore, that
the nonlinear way in which the notes published in this volume were originally
laid out on paper is not only the result of the specific, contingent situations in
which they were written, but also one of the many traces, in Eisensteins theore-
tical oeuvre, of the attempt to overcome the limitations of linear writing and
thinking.
Finally, the editors had to deal with the fact that Eisenstein often discusses the
same themes in different texts, creating a complex web of repetitions, overlap-
pings, and variations. In order to help the reader navigate all the implicit inter-
textual references that Eisenstein constantly makes to his own texts, the editors
have chosen to indicate in the footnotes whenever a specific theme or a specific
example that is mentioned in the Notes for a General History of Cinema is further
developed in other texts by Eisenstein.
The following abbreviations have been used in order to refer to the following
two editions of Eisensteins texts in Russian and English:
IP (followed by the volume number) for Sergei M. Eizenshtein, Izbrannye

proizvedeniia v shesti tomakh, 6 vols. (Moskva: Iskusstvo, 1964-1971)
SW (followed by the volume number) for Sergei M. Eisenstein, Selected Works, ed.
Richard Taylor, 4 vols. (London: I.B. Tauris, 2010)
editorial criteria 11
Foreword
Naum Kleiman
In 1997, on the eve of Eisensteins centenary, Aleksandr Troshin, Nina Dymshits,

and I were selecting materials for the anniversary issue of the journal Kinovedches-
kie zapiski.1 Among the many still unpublished texts by Eisenstein we found drafts
dating from 1947 to early 1948, which were connected to the plan of activities for
the newly established Cinema Section of the Institute of Art History of the USSR
Academy of Sciences.
It would not be fair to say that we hadnt known about the existence of these
notes before. The first time they caught the eyes of Leonid Kozlov and I was at
the very end of the 1950s or at the beginning of the 1960s, when most of the
archive was at Pera Atashevas house on Gogolevskii Boulevard. We were work-
ing on the six-volume edition of Eisensteins selected works at the time.2 Pera
Atasheva headed the process of looking through and selecting for typing those
unpublished texts, which had a chance to pass through the scrutiny of the pub-
lishers editorial board. Scattered pages with lists of names and dates, somehow
connected to the history of cinema, were perceived as a not very significant part
of Eisensteins manuscripts, especially compared to his yet unpublished trea-
tises. Besides, the deciphering of this hurried, almost automatic writing in a
mix of four languages (Russian, English, German, French) presented a serious
textological task. So the pages were put away, along with a multitude of other
drafts, waiting for better times.
The situation almost repeated three decades later. Even the double volume 36/
37 of Kinovedcheskie zapiski, dedicated to Eisensteins centenary,3 could not accom-
modate all archival materials. Among the manuscripts waiting for publication
remained his topical journalistic articles and critical prognoses; his interviews
abroad with self-commentary to films, projects, and ideas still hadnt been trans-
lated into Russian; chapters of theoretical works that had been cut by censors or
editors were still shelved; letters, so important for Eisensteins biography and
for understanding of his personality, were begging to be printed.
At the same time, the importance of these surfaced notes for the history of
cinema was evident. Besides, three separate notes from this series, entitled Re-
velation in Storm and Thunder, had already been published in Kinovedcheskie za-
piski, vol. 15 (1992),4 dedicated to sound in cinema. Another three notes (Heir,
13
Soviet Cinema as Offspring of Russian Culture, and Towards the History of
Silent Cinema) were published in vol. 28 (1995),5 within the context of the cen-
tenary of cinemas invention. In vol. 36/37 (1997/1998) we decided to publish two
more fragments: The Plan for the Work of the Cinema Section and The Place
of Cinema in the General System of the History of Art.6 We decided to postpone
the publication of the rest of the notes again, justifying this decision by the diffi-
culty of deciphering the fragments. I remember, however, that Aleksandr
Troshin, with his characteristic sensitivity to a manuscripts potential and with
the severity of a born publisher, said: We have to publish them in the future. By
all means. Spare no time and effort: these pages are a treasure!
In that moment I could not imagine that this effort would be dedicated to
Aleksandr Troshins memory and that it would be published in the anniversary
100th volume of Kinovedcheskie zapiski.7
When, after Pera Attashevas death the manuscripts were transferred to the
Central State Archive for Literature and Art of the USSR (TsGALI, now the Rus-
sian State Archive of Literature and Art [RGALI]), the notes written between June
26, 1947, and January 30, 1948, comprised eight folders in the inventory n.2. The
notes that referred to the same topic, but were dated 1944-1946 ended up in other
folders (more on them later). The archivist Galina Endzina combined these eight
folders under the title The History of Soviet Cinema.
It is true that the officially approved plan of the Cinema Section of the Institute
of Art History of the USSR Academy of Sciences had established the project of a
collectively written history of Soviet cinema, and the largest part of the notes re-
fers to it. But, as it was always the case with Eisenstein, his scientific curiosity,
his unbounded erudition and unrestrained imagination could not fit into the Pro-
crustean bed of the state plan. Parallel to the History of Soviet Cinema he
began to discern the outlines of a General History of Cinema. This was to be-
come not just an introductory volume, as he had thought at first, but an indepen-
dent work, which called for an overview of the many centuries of the develop-
ment of world culture (including science, technology, and the arts) and at the
same time demanded taking into account the laws of human perception. Only
the study of these two sides as a unified whole, according to Eisenstein, would
be able to explain the genetic code of cinema, the development of its means of
expressions, and at the same time to account for the expectations and abilities of
the audience.
This twofold approach to cinema historical-dialectical, at once objective and
subjective, anthropological and phenomenological (as not just to art, but to the
way of perceiving the world) explains, it seems to me, the meaning of the
epithet chosen by Eisenstein for the title of his history.
In other words, the maximally broad epithet general [vseobshchaia] stems nor
from the cinema centrism of Eisensteins youth, neither from his 1930s fasci-
nation with cinematic totality (cf. his article Pride ),8 and least of all from the
14 naum kleiman
ideological totalitarianism, which some weak-sighted critics have ascribed to
him.
The English general history only partially covers this meaning. And the name
of Georges Sadouls multivolume work Histoire gnrale du cinma9 reflects rather
the global, worldwide character of the material included in it: films of all countries
and periods of the twentieth century. Of course, the first volume, with which
Eisenstein was well-acquainted, begins with the prehistory of cinema, with the
technical inventions and discoveries that had prepared the birth of the Lumires
brainchild. This material has similarities with some of the examples in Eisen-
steins Notes. However, the panorama that the historian draws is radically dif-
ferent from the methodology followed by the director-theoretician.
It seems that for Eisenstein there were no boundaries whatsoever in this proj-
ect between cinema and the other arts, between science, art, technology, and hu-
man psychology; between ancient and present times, and least of all between
different countries and cultures, East and West, ideologies and beliefs.
We have to remember that in the USSR the time when these notes were written
is the dark era of the struggle against cosmopolitanism and formalism,10 the
era of the state-endorsed xenophobia and of the sterilization of art. This era
was not simply hostile to, but mortally dangerous for an author of such a project.
It is unlikely that Eisenstein reported at the Cinema Sections meetings about his
untimely enterprise. But there is no doubt that he realized its topicality within
the great time [bolshoe vremja], to use a term from Mikhail Bakhtin,11 who was
at the exact same time writing the hopeless book on Rabelais.
As always with Eisenstein, however, the naturally conceived idea was above all
dangers. In his mature age he overcame his earlier search for cinematism in
other arts: those qualities and potentialities that had been gradually preparing
the invention and the poetics of cinema. He already understood the need for a
deeper understanding of the ontology and anthropology of cinema, just like An-
dr Bazin, who was reflecting on what is cinema at the same time and who un-
expectedly has many things in common with the later Eisenstein. In the same
way today we find, post mortem, that he has things in common with Walter Benja-
min, Pavel Florensky, Aby Warburg, and other newly found prophets of moder-
nity, which used to seem in opposition or simply alien to Eisenstein.
Moreover, cinema itself was not the final stop of the progress of art for
Eisenstein anymore. He noticed the emerging television and reflected on its
place, its function, its aesthetic potential and claims, and on its influence on the
good old cinema. Cybernetics was still in its making, and the internet wasnt
even in the plans, but the need to interpret that which would later be termed
mass media was already emerging, and the enormity of the new development of
culture was already felt. The premonition of this qualitatively new phenomenon
did not alert, but rather intrigued Eisenstein as a theoretician, as a practitioner,
and a historian of cinema.
foreword 15
Eisensteins self-realization as a long-time historian of the new art happened, it
seems naturally, in the same period when the Presidium of the USSR Academy of
Sciences appointed him head of the Cinema Section. The diary entry of June 25,
1947, recorded that moment. Eisenstein describes in it the awareness that I
have, for already many years, been writing history such as* it appears to me. Al-
most all of my essays on cinema involve some historical excursus. [] And I have
become a historian of the One Thousand and One Night of the possibilities of cine-
ma.12
The entry from June 30 continues this train of thought:
Essentially, almost everything that I have written during the last years (already
since 1929, on Japanese hieroglyphs) is in a certain basic way* not only the theory,
but also the history of the issues that interest me: theory being history,* com-
pressed in the conception of the phases.13
Indeed, the genesis of cinema as an art form interested Eisenstein since the
very first years of his artistic career. In the genetic code of the Tenth Muse he
searched not for the specificity that many pioneers sought at the time, but
rather for the justification of its legitimacy. This position serves as the basis of
the term cinematism invented for the cinematic potentials of the older arts
that had been historically developing toward cinema and had been preparing
its birth.
Still, when a long time ago I read the lines about the sudden awareness of
the nature of his dabbling in cinema history, to be honest, I interpreted them as
an unconscious attempt by Eisenstein to justify to himself the rightness of the
move into an academic institute in the context of the period when the second
part of Ivan the Terrible had been banned by Stalin and no prospects of further
work in cinema seemed to be in sight.
A recent discovery has made me seriously modify this assumption.
The manuscript collection of the Museum of Cinema received the archive of
the film scholar Nikolai Alekseevich Lebedev. Among his papers there was a
folder with previously unknown notes on the history of cinema written by Eisen-
stein. There is a possibility, of course, that Lebedev had received these notes
directly from Eisenstein, since he had been among the members of the new sec-
tion as one of the authors of the future History of Soviet Cinema. It is more
probable, however, that the historian decided to acquaint himself with Eisen-
steins notes that he had taken from the archive, which Pera Atasheva had initi-
ally submitted to the Cabinet of Film Studies at the All-Union State Institute of
Cinematography (VGIK).
The earliest of these notes, dated July 27, 1945, reads: The Institute of Art
History (the Cinema Section). History of Cinema (estimated work till the end of
life).14
It seems then, that the idea of the organization of the Cinema Section in the
Institute headed by the painter and art historian Igor Grabar, as well as the plan
16 naum kleiman
of writing the multivolume book on which Eisenstein was ready to work till the
end of life, were not born in the situation of the ban of the second part of Ivan
the Terrible. Instead, they were born in the time of more than auspicious reception
of the first part, and, most importantly, in the period (in the context, the situa-
tion) of the hopes brought about by the victory in the war. They were born as a
natural manifestation of Eisensteins true historicism.
List 3 of the same note delineates the main guideline of the future history:
Cinema as such.*
Silent cinema is the completed cycle of following its own principles. What
was done and realized by it.
The limits it reached (intellectual cinema).
The fundamental history of cinema as the history of cinematographic
principles and ideas, not a portrait hall of characters.
To establish its general trend* from the beginning to the end.
Le Grand dsarroi* [In French: The great disarray] at the coming of sound.
The period of reaction (y compris Jeannot* [in French: including Jeannot]).15
Neuaufbau as Aussicht und Ausblick par excellence* [In German and French: The
new construction, essentially, as a view towards the future and as a
perspective].16
The draft of the subject area for this fundamental history made on the same
day is a direct precursor of the detailed plans of the general history of cinema
from 1947.17
These plans have waited patiently for us to turn our attention to them. The new
edition of Eisensteins fundamental texts, textologically approximating the
authorial intent as far as it is possible, made us direct our attention to the notes
for the history of cinema. It has become evident that the hot lava of these drafts
erupted from the same depths where ideas, examples, and associations of the
unfinished books Metod, Nonindifferent Nature, and Memoirs were being fused.
These were the drafts of one more segment of the spherical book18 that he had
conceived long ago and had been working on for years.
The notes for the General History of Cinema published here can become an incen-
tive for a series of investigations, and form a field for research both for scholars
working in the sphere of art history and of film and media studies, as well as for
artists working with various media. They will not have to agree with their by now
classic author: his hypotheses can be refuted, his guesses can be contested,
and new conclusions can be suggested. The phenomenon of Eisenstein lies pre-
cisely in his ability to broaden and develop even when he is used for construc-
tive polemics or when unforeseen aspects are introduced into his theory. The
evidence of this is the present volume.
foreword 17
Cinema as Dynamic
Mummification, History as
Montage: Eisensteins
Media Archaeology
Antonio Somaini
Eisenstein worked on the project for a general history of cinema during a

phase of his life that he considered as a sort of postscript1 following the severe
heart attack he had suffered in February 1946. Having barely survived and being
now forced to lead the much quieter lifestyle of a patient at risk, he felt the need
to look back in order to understand who he had been and what he had become.
This was the goal he pursued writing his Memoirs, a free arrangement of texts
born out of a series of flneries through his own past and intended as a sort of
personal genealogy, presenting different stations of the path that had led from a
bourgeois childhood in Riga all the way to the troubled years of the direction of
Ivan the Terrible (1942-1946). A similar genealogical approach lies at the basis of
the project for a general history of cinema: if the aim of the Memoirs was to
show the reader how to become an Eisenstein,2 as one of his students at the
All-Union State Institute of Cinematography (VGIK) had once asked him, the aim
of this general history was to understand how cinema had come to be what it
was in the Soviet Union of the 1940s and in Eisensteins own cinema, in order to
better understand where it was headed.
The notes gathered in the six texts published in this volume (The Heir, Dy-
namic Mummification: Notes for a General History of Cinema, Revelation in
Storm and Thunder, In Praise of the Cine-chronicle, The Place of Cinema in
the General System of the History of the Arts, Pioneers and Innovators, often
referred to in general as the Notes3) show clearly, even in their fragmentary state,
the wide scope of this ambitious project which was destined once more as
happened to all of Eisensteins book projects to remain unfinished. Initially
planned as an introductory volume to a collectively written, multivolume history
of Soviet cinema Eisenstein was supposed to supervise after having been ap-
pointed in June 1947 to be head of the Cinema Section of the Institute of Art
19
History of the USSR Academy of Sciences,4 the project quickly developed beyond
the boundaries of an introductory volume, and this general or universal (two
possible translations of the Russian vseobshchaia) history turned into an indepen-
dent work characterized by the same drifts toward endless development, the
same oscillations between centrifugal and centripetal tendencies, that are typical
of most of Eisensteins theoretical writings.5
After having investigated, since the end of the 1920s, the relationships between
cinema and the history of the arts, Eisenstein tried to establish in the Notes a vast,
double genealogy, organized into different meandering lines (linii).6 On the
one hand, the genealogy of cinemas expressive means (vyrazitelnye sredstva
kino), that is, the history of all the media and all the forms of representation that
had explored, before cinema, the same expressive means that cinema would later
employ: the recording of images onto a light-sensitive surface, the composition
of forms within a frame, the projection of images onto a screen, as well as all the
possible forms of visual, audiovisual, and chromatic montage. On the other
hand, the genealogy of all the media and all the forms of representation which
had been invented, once more before cinema, in order to respond to the same
urges (Eisenstein alternates this English term with the German Trieb,
drive) to which cinema had responded: in particular, the urge to record phe-
nomena,7 that is, to register, preserve, and reproduce a variety of phenomena
which would otherwise be destined to disappear with the passing of time.
Rather than a history of cinema conceived as a portrait hall of characters
(portretnaia galereia personazhei)8 a history centered on authors and works, direc-
tors and films Eisenstein chose to construct his general history as a vast
genealogy of all the forerunners of which cinema could be considered as the
heir,9 searching for these forerunners in the history of the arts (drawing,
painting, sculpture, architecture, literature, theater, music), the history of popu-
lar forms of entertainment (fairground shows and Grand Guignol theater, cabar-
et and circus), the history of displays and exhibitions (Kunstkammern and cabinets
de curiosits, wax museums and world exhibitions), as well as the history of funer-
ary practices and religious rituals (Egyptian mummies and Roman death masks,
Dionysian cults and Catholic processions). Entire sections of the Notes are then
dedicated to finding the forerunners of cinema in the history not only of visual
media (camera obscura, magic lanterns, microscope, panoramas, and dioramas)
but also of other media such as the typewriter, the microphone, the phonograph,
and the radio, highlighting the idea that cinema as a form of representation and
as an audiovisual medium can be fully understood only within a broad history of
techniques, devices, and dispositifs.
The double, meandering genealogy that we find in the Notes sharply distin-
guishes Eisensteins general history from other histories of cinema written
during the 1920s, 1930s, and 1940s such as Lon Moussinacs Naissance du cinma
(1925), Terry Ramsayes A Million and One Nights: A History of the Motion Picture
20 antonio somaini
through 1925 (1926), Bardches and Brasillachs Histoire du cinma (1935, 1943),
Lewis Jacobss The Rise of the American Film (1939), and even Sadouls Histoire gn-
rale du cinma, whose first two volumes (LInvention du cinma, 1832-1897 and Les
Pionniers du cinma, 1897-1909) came out while Eisenstein was working on his
Notes, and from which Eisenstein probably derived the title of his own project.10
Judging from what we find in the six texts published in this volume, Eisensteins
general history was not centered around film directors and films and was not
supposed to be organized according to a linear, continuous, chronological order.
Instead, he chose to develop a vast, loose genealogy made of unexpected connec-
tions between temporally distant phenomena, and to search for all the ruptures
and the revolutionary leaps introduced by those whom Eisenstein considered
as the pioneers and the innovators in a centuries-long history of representa-
tional forms, media, and techniques.11 Furthermore, this general history was
not conceived as a teleologically oriented process leading from some clearly iden-
tified origins (be it Edisons discovery of the kinetoscope, or the first public pro-
jection of the Lumires cinmatographe) to the gradual but inevitable affirmation
of a single, guiding aesthetic principle (be it realism, narrative form, or the
full mastery of a supposed film language): on the contrary, Eisenstein men-
tions several possible, distant origins or cradles of cinema and follows through
history the various, interwoven lines that take zigzag paths from these multiple
origins to the present, showing how cinema should be conceived of as a medium
with many roots and many possible future developments. In fact, even though
Eisenstein insists repeatedly on the idea that cinema is the heir and the synth-
esis of the arts, he did not consider the cinema of his own times to be a final
stage of development of the history of the arts. On the contrary, he believed that
cinema was a medium in constant development, never reaching a final, fixed
stage, and various passages of the Notes open up to a still unexplored future by
highlighting the potential of the most recent technical developments of the cine-
matic dispositif: color film, stereoscopy, and even television, which Eisenstein
considered to be a further stage of his general history of cinema.12
Writing from the vantage point of a film director and film theorist who con-
sidered cinema the most perfect apparatus [apparat] for research and assess-
ment of the aesthetic principles of art,13 a magnifying glass, through which
the method of each of [the arts] is visible,14 Eisenstein used as a guiding theore-
tical and historiographic principle the same process whose forms and whose
artistic and epistemic potential he had investigated in most of his previous writ-
ings: the process of montage, which in the Notes is interpreted as a tool for disas-
sembling and reassembling the flow of historical phenomena in order to produce
connections, sequences, and constellations capable of revealing morphological
analogies between apparently heterogeneous forms that are distant from one an-
other in time and space.
eisensteins media archaeology 21

Ill. 1 A handwritten page from the notes entitled Dynamic Mummification: Notes for a
General History of Cinema
22 antonio somaini
Handwritten in the form of multilingual notes (the prevailing Russian is inter-
spersed with terms and phrases in English, French, German, Spanish, Italian,
and Latin) which are arranged in vertical and diagonal sequences of historical
examples, with a constant mix of words and drawings, lists and diagrams (see
Ill. 1), the Notes presented in this volume are at once a synthesis of Eisensteins
previous writings, and the opening toward new, unexpected directions in his
theoretical reflections. The use of montage as a heuristic and hermeneutic strat-
egy in order to find and compare phenomena belonging to different cultural and
historical traditions, which constitutes a defining trait of most of Eisensteins
texts since the end of the 1920s, reaches here an unprecedented level of complex-
ity. Moving freely forward and backward in time, using montage as a writing
style capable of establishing anachronic connections and sequences that do not
follow any linear chronology, Eisenstein invites the reader to conceive cinema as
a form of dynamic mummification related to Roman death masks and Egyptian
mummies; to consider early documentary cine-chronicles in relationship to
body tattoos and wax museums; to see in the colored light that flows through
the stained glass windows into the nave of medieval Gothic cathedrals a precur-
sor of the floating images of stereoscopic cinema; finally, to interpret television
as a medium that allows a direct participation in historical events which finds its
origins in the reenactments of the life, death, and rebirth of Dionysus that were
staged in the Dionysian mysteries. Such unexpected junctures to quote the
title of a 1928 essay in which Eisenstein had highlighted a whole series of analo-
gies between the future of Soviet sound cinema and the ancient tradition of Japa-
nese Kabuki theater15 appear throughout all the genealogical lines traced by
Eisenstein in the Notes. For him, they were the only way to discover and analyze
the various recurrences16 in a history of images and media that had to be ap-
proached with a gaze that was at once a retrospect (Rckblick) and a prospect
(Ausblick).17
In the following pages I will try to underline some of the central ideas of this
general history of cinema, while at the same time locating this project in the
context of the rest of Eisensteins oeuvre (films, film projects, writings, draw-
ings) and in the context of other attempts, during the 1920s, 1930s, and 1940s,
to reflect on the relationships between cinema, time, and history.
Section 1 (Cinema, Montage, and the Vertical Column of History) argues
that the montage-based approach to history writing that we find in the Notes
might have been influenced by Eisensteins experience as a film director working
on several occasions on historical films. A special attention is dedicated here to
films and film projects such as The General Line (1926-1929), Que Viva Mexico!
(1930-1932) and Moscow 800 (1947), since they all deal with the problem of how
to use montage to portray historical processes that are characterized by the coex-
istence of several different historical layers.

Section 2 (Theory, History, Creation: A Flash in Slow Motion through Centu-
ries of Evolution) focuses on two diary entries written by Eisenstein in the sum-
mer of 1947 in which we find elements very important for understanding how he
considered the project of a general history of cinema to be closely connected to
his creative activity as a film director and to his theoretical writings. In one of
these two diary entries Eisenstein presents himself as the historian of the One
Thousand and One Nights of the possibilities of cinema, highlighting the open and
unconventional nature of his general history.
Section 3 (Heir and Synthesis: The Place of Cinema in the History of the
Arts) discusses the passages of the Notes in which Eisenstein presents cinema as
heir and synthesis of the arts. This idea of cinema as synthesis of the arts
is here analyzed through a reconstruction of the various meanings and connota-
tions that the notion of synthesis takes on in Eisensteins previous writings.
Section 4 (Cinemas Forerunners: The History of Cinemas Expressive
Means and The Route to the Chronicle) provides a schematic presentation of
the two main genealogical lines traced by Eisenstein in the Notes: the one recon-
structing the way that cinemas expressive means have appeared in the history
of the arts, and the one reconstructing the various media and forms of represen-
tation that have responded to the same urge to record phenomena to which
cinema has responded.
Section 5 (The Psychological and Anthropological Foundations of Eisensteins
General History: The Urphnomen of Cinema, the Formula of Pathos (Ei-
senstein and Warburg), and the Urge to Record Phenomena) shows how in
the Notes Eisenstein looks for psychological and anthropological principles cap-
able of explaining the historical appearance of cinema and the genealogy of its
forerunners. The urge to record phenomena that we find in the Notes is here
compared with the Urphnomen of cinema mentioned in Montage and with the
formula of pathos that Eisenstein introduces in Nonindifferent Nature, a notion
which presents significant analogies with Aby Warburgs Pathosformeln.
Section 6 (Urge and Instinkt, Dynamic Mummification and Momie du
changement: Eisenstein, Bazin, Kracauer) discusses a number of unexpected
junctures between the Notes and the writings of Bazin and Kracauer. The urge
to record phenomena is here compared with the instincts and fundamental
impulses mentioned by Kracauer in the Marseiller Entwurf (1940), one of the
preparatory stages of his later Theory of Film (1960).18 Eisensteins idea of cinema
as dynamic mummification is then compared with Bazins statement (in The
Ontology of the Photographic Image, 1945) that cinema has to be considered a
medium capable of embalming time: a momie du changement, or change mum-
mified.19
Section 7 (Rckblick and Ausblick, Fore-history and After-history: Eisen-
stein and Benjamin) argues that Eisensteins attempt to construct his general
history of cinema through an anachronic montage of examples taken from very
24 antonio somaini
different historical and cultural contexts presents significant analogies with Ben-
jamins attempt, in the Arcades Project, to carry over the principle of montage into
history. In both cases, historical phenomena are always considered in relation
to their fore- and after-history.
Section 8 (The Spherical Book and the Atlas: History as Cartography) shows
how the project of a general history of cinema was accompanied by an attempt
to completely rethink the traditional book format, and by a use of drawing as a
cartographic tool capable of visualizing different phases of historical develop-
ment within the rectangular space of the page.
Section 9 (An Excursion into the Future: From Dionysus to Television),
finally, presents Eisensteins views on television as a form of representation that
is part of a long genealogical line that has its roots in Dionysian rites, and shows
how his general history is characterized by an opening toward the future devel-
opments of cinema and of audiovisual media.
As I would like to show throughout the nine sections of this text, Eisensteins
project for a general history of cinema although clearly rooted in the context
of the rest of Eisensteins oeuvre, in the political and ideological context of the
Soviet Union of the second half of the 1940s, and in the history of film theories
of the first half of the twentieth century can also be read with a whole series of
issues that are at the center of contemporary film and media theory in mind.
The way Eisenstein treats cinema as a dynamic, evolving set of expressive
means and possibilities may be considered in the light of contemporary dis-
cussions on the past and present status of cinema as a medium and as a dispositif
in a rapidly changing media landscape.20 Judging from what we read in the Notes
and in previous texts, Eisenstein never believed that cinema had reached a final,
fixed stage of development. On the contrary, both in his films and in his theore-
tical writings, he always tried to explore and understand the new possibilities, in
terms of montage, introduced by the technical development of the various parts
of the cinematic dispositif: the 28 mm lens he used for the first time in The General
Line, the arrival of sound cinema, the new screen formats, the first experiments in
stereoscopic cinema and, as we have already seen, television, which he consider-
ed a development of cinema that allowed new forms of montage and a live, con-
tinuous participation in the unfolding of historical events.
His constant attempt to highlight the connections between cinema, other me-
dia and other arts, and his conviction that montage was a compositional process
whose traces could be found throughout the history of the arts, may be analyzed
in connection to contemporary notions in film and media theory such as medium
specificity, intermediality, remediation, and relocation.21 With these notions in mind,
one can read the Notes and come to the conclusion that Eisenstein never theorized
cinemas medium specificity, but rather always considered cinema in an interme-

dial perspective, as a medium remediating previous media and relocating pre-
vious forms of spectatorial experience.
The idea of presenting cinema as both synthesis of the history of the arts
which preceded it, and as an heir in which the other arts survive as if they
were embedded in it, can be considered in relation to contemporary studies
concerning the anachronic nature of media, images, and works of art. Consid-
ered in this perspective, Eisensteins decision to use anachronic montage to
construct his general history of cinema may be seen as a way of highlighting
the various layers of cinemas plural temporality.22
Eisensteins search for the urges and the Triebe that have determined the
appearance of cinema within the longue dure of a history of media that have re-
sponded to the same fundamental needs may be compared with contemporary
attempts to establish an anthropology of images and media.23 The several refer-
ences that we find in the Notes to the roles that images play in funerary practices
and religious rituals, staged reenactments and acts of commemoration, are a
clear sign of Eisensteins intention to approach cinemas history from an anthro-
pological perspective.
The way Eisenstein, who in his youth had published two essays on the mon-
tage of attractions praising the value of the traditions of circus and music hall,24
lists in the Notes boulevard attractions together with a whole series of other
forms of popular entertainment (boulevard melodrama, funambulists and ven-
triloquists, Barnums circus and Grand Guignol theater, fairy-tale plays and light
shows) as the fairground forerunners of cinema in battle with higher forms of
spectacle,25 can be compared with the way the founders of the so-called New
Film History have studied early cinema or early kinematography, a period
which has also been defined as the cinema of attractions.26 This historical
turn in film studies initiated by the landmark 1978 FIAF27 congress in Bright-
on, which hosted a symposium entitled Cinema 1900-1906 can also be re-
lated to Eisensteins attempt to identify the various coexisting cultural series28
with which cinema has been connected since its origins, as well as to his rejec-
tion of the linear, continuous, chronological models of history writing that char-
acterize most of the histories of cinema that precede the Notes.29 Read in this
perspective, Eisensteins general history of cinema shows how already in the
1940s a different, intermedial, nonlinear approach to the history of cinema was
possible: an approach that combined history and theory and that was well aware
that writing a history of cinema implied a reflection on what it means to write
history in general.
Finally, Eisensteins attempt to understand the future of stereoscopic cinema
and television (the new media of the 1940s) through the rediscovery of a deep
time of the media30 which is situated far back in history, highlighting the new
in the old, and the old in the new, can be considered in relation to the research
field that has recently developed with the name of media archaeology.31 As it
26 antonio somaini
has been written, this research perspective invites us to consider media history as
an archaeology of possible futures and of the perpetual presence of several
pasts,32 and this, it seems to me, is exactly what we find in Eisensteins general
history: a history of the possible futures and the several pasts of cinema
that, as we will now see, can be considered a form of media archaeology also
because it is based on an archaeological understanding of culture as the coex-
istence of various different historical layers.
1. Cinema, Montage, and the Vertical Column of History

The project for a general history of cinema was conceived by a film director
whose films whether fully completed, begun but unfinished, or simply planned
dealt largely with events belonging to Russian and Soviet history.33 Strike (1924)
and Battleship Potmkin (1925) showed events leading to the October Revolution,
which was directly portrayed in October (1928). Bezhin Meadow (1935-1937) and The
General Line (later renamed Old and New) (1926-1929) represented the social con-
flicts accompanying the deployment of collective farming policies in the Soviet
Union. Alexander Nevsky (1938) and Ivan the Terrible (1942-1946) focused on two
legendary figures of Russian history, while the unrealized projects Moscow in time
(1933-1934), The Great Fergana Canal (1939) and Moscow 800 (1947) were conceived
as large historical frescoes spanning through centuries and portraying a series of
crucial historical turning points that had led to the glorious present of the Soviet
Union. Other films and film projects dealt instead with the history of revolution-
ary events throughout the world: Black Majesty and The Black Consul (both 1930-
1931) dealt with the Haitian Revolution at the end of the eighteenth century and
with the historical figures of the revolutionary leaders Henri Christophe and
Toussaint Louverture; Que Viva Mexico! (1930-1932), finally which Eisenstein
never had a chance to complete because the rushes were kept in the United States
and never sent to Moscow by the American writer Upton Sinclair, who had fi-
nanced the project was supposed to present a spatio-temporal itinerary
throughout Mexican history and culture.
What impact did all these historical films and film projects have on Eisen-
steins idea of history? What lessons did he derive from them when the time
came to write the general history of the medium he had been working with
since Glumovs Diary, the short film which he had included in the 1923 theater
production of The Wise Man?
On the one hand, working on films such as Battleship Potmkin and October had
led Eisenstein to understand how cinema could contribute to the production of a
powerful, epic vision of history and to the construction of a widely shared collec-
tive memory. In the Notes Eisenstein considers these films as belonging to the
specifically Soviet genre of the cine-chronicle (kino-khronika), a way of docu-
menting and narrating history through cinema which could be fully understood

only within the wider context of a history of all the forms of historical chroni-
cle (khronika), especially those based on spectacular restaging and symbolic re-
enactment.
On the other hand, films and film projects such as Que Viva Mexico!, Moscow in
Time, The Great Fergana Canal, and Moscow 800 showed Eisenstein how montage in
all its forms (visual, audiovisual, chromatic) could be considered as a powerful
tool for portraying the different shifts that characterized historical processes
unfolding through long spans of time: the history of Mexican culture from the
pre-Columbian civilizations to the new, postrevolutionary Mexico of the 1920s,
the centuries-long struggle of the Uzbeks with the problem of the supply of
water, and the 800 years of the glorious capital of the Soviet Union. In a chapter
of Metod entitled Diffused Perception, Eisenstein states that what renders a
work of art emotionally powerful is the capacity to host within itself a number
of shifts (sdvig) between different historical layers.34 In a film project like
Moscow 800 this idea was carried out in the representation of the different
shifts of the centuries-long history of Moscow through a chromatic montage
capable of weaving together different epochs according to what Eisenstein de-
fines, in English, as a jumping chronology: a way of organizing the sequences
of the film according to thematic recurrences rather than linear chronologies.35
In this perspective, the work on Que Viva Mexico! during the months spent in
Mexico between December 1930 and February 1932 plays a particular important
role.36 According to what we read in various texts, Eisenstein returned, during
the 1930s and 1940s, to his beloved but unfinished Mexican film, the trait of
Mexican culture that had most struck him was the fact that in Mexico history
had been replaced by [] geography in such a way that traveling throughout the
various regions of that country one had the impression of traveling in time,
across centuries of history.37 This same idea can be found in a passage of Mon-
tage, in which Eisenstein explains how the structure of Que Viva Mexico! its divi-
sion into a prologue, four novellas (entitled Sandunga, Fiesta, Maguey, Soldadera)
and an epilogue was based on a spatial vision of history, as if the vertical column
of history (which Eisenstein imagines here as something like Trajans column,
which he mentions in the 1930 conference The Dynamic Square38) had been
unfolded and spread out like a fan across the various regions of Mexico:
The chain of novellas was held together by a set of linking ideas, proceeding
in a historically based sequence, but not so much by chronological epochs as
by geographical zones. For the culture of Mexico of any one epoch from the
vertical column of history seems to be like a fan spread across the surface of
the land. Various parts of Mexico have retained the cultural and social features
which characterised the country as a whole at certain stages of its historical
development. When you travel from Yucatan to tropical Tehuantepec, from
the tropics to the central plateau, to the civil war battlefields in the north or to
28 antonio somaini
the completely modern Mexico City, you seem not to be travelling in space but
in time.39
Eisenstein had already experienced a journey through space that was simulta-
neously a journey through time during the second half of the 1920s, when he
was working on the film The General Line. As we read in the article The Five
Epochs, published in Pravda on July 6, 1926,40 the condition of the Russian
countryside that Eisenstein had encountered while working at a film which was
supposed to celebrate the process of collectivization and mechanization of agri-
culture reminded him of what Lenin had written about the condition of mnogouk-
ladnost: the coexistence of several (mnogo) different social and economical re-
gimes (uklad) stemming from different historical stratifications that according
to Lenin characterized Russian society just after the October revolution. Here is
how Lenin names the five different socioeconomic structures that according to
him one could find scattered across the Russian territory:
Let us enumerate these elements:

1. patriarchal, i.e., to a considerable extent natural, peasant farming;
2. small commodity production (this includes the majority of those peasants
who sell their grain);
3. private capitalism;
4. state capitalism;
5. socialism.41
Even though in his article on Pravda Eisenstein quotes Lenins notion of mnogouk-
ladnost, his attitude toward the fragmented condition of the Russian countryside
was different. Lenin believed that the condition of mnogoukladnost had to be re-
placed in revolutionary Russia by a new, homogeneous social order, while Eisen-
stein was convinced that the representation of the problematic coexistence of
different social regimes in the Russian countryside could have enhanced the
pathos of the story narrated in The General Line: as he proudly writes in Pravda,
we construct in all the five epochs at the same time.
In his article, Eisenstein mentions a specific filmic example of such a con-
struction in different epochs at the same time: Buster Keatons film Three Ages
(1923), which had been conceived as a parody of Griffiths Intolerance (1916). In
both cases, a series of events unfolding in different historical periods were woven
together in order to emphasize the suprahistorical nature of certain deeply rooted
human behaviors. In Griffiths film the fall of the Babylonian Empire to Persia in
539 BC, Christs Passion, the massacre of St. Bartholomews Day in 1572 and a
drama of crime and redemption in the United States of the 1910s were woven
together like a grandiose historical fresco in order to show how a same attitude,
intolerance, had manifested itself throughout history. In Buster Keatons parody,

three historical periods are intercut (prehistoric times, ancient Rome, the 1920s),
and the general theme that is followed through history is mens love for women.
Buster Keatons Three Ages, with its explicit reference to Griffith, seemed to Eisen-
stein to be a possible reference point for a film like The General Line which tried to
portray the five epochs that Lenin had distinguished in Russian society at the
times of the October Revolution. As Eisenstein writes in the article The Five
Epochs: In our movie theaters has circulated the American film Three Ages. All
woven in one. And this is silly. In dealing with the problem of agriculture, we
have the five epochs of Lenin. All woven in one. And this is grandiose.42
Five years after beginning to work on The General Line, Eisenstein found himself
dealing with another kind of mnogoukladnost, the one that could be found while
traveling across Mexico. The problem was now that of weaving together the dif-
ferent historical layers of a culture in which the traces of the pre-Columbian civi-
lizations (Olmec, Maya, Aztec), the Catholicism imposed by the Spanish conquis-
tadores, the regime of Porfirio Diaz (the Porfiriato, 1876-1910), and the Civil
War (1910-1920), coexisted across the various regions of Mexico, giving place to
various forms of cultural and iconographic montage. Traveling through space
and time across such a stratified cultural landscape, Eisenstein conceived Que
Viva Mexico! both as travelogue and as cine-chronicle, two forms which will
be mentioned repeatedly in the Notes. It was to be a travelogue and a cine-
chronicle which used montage not only the filmic montage that Eisenstein was
planning for the editing of Que Viva Mexico!, but also the free, instinctual, graphic
montage that he was experimenting in the hundreds of drawings produced dur-
ing his travels through Mexico in order to play with the different elements of a
culture which seemed to be itself the result of a long process of montage.
Considered in this perspective, the Mexican journey appears to be a decisive
turning point in Eisensteins life and work:43 a turning point whose conse-
quences can be clearly felt in the late project for a general history of cinema.
Preceded by a period of six months spent in Paris (from November 1929 to May
1930) in which Eisenstein had already discovered through the encounter with
the circle of intellectuals, artists, art historians, and ethnologists that had gath-
ered around the Surrealist magazine Documents (whose subtitle was Doctrines, Ar-
chologie, Beaux-Arts, Ethnographie) and its founder Georges Bataille44 how mon-
tage could be used in order to give place to a kind of cultural criticism which
united art history and theory, archaeology and ethnology, the Mexican journey
showed Eisenstein how montage could become a powerful historiographical
tool. Just as Ernst Bloch, in his Heritage of Our Times (1935), had found in montage
the only appropriate writing style in order to analyze the coexistence of various
noncontemporaneous (ungleichzeitig) layers in the German society of the early
1930s,45 Eisenstein found in montage the tool with which one could weave to-
gether the various historical layers of Mexican culture. All the theoretical writings
and all the film projects that Eisenstein worked on after his return to Moscow in
30 antonio somaini
1932 show the awareness that no form of filmic montage can be properly theo-
rized nor put into practice without analyzing its position within a history of the
arts which can be studied through montage itself: a montage which, in Eisen-
steins texts, juxtaposes or organizes in sequences artistic examples taken from
very different cultural and historical contexts in order to discover unexpected
analogies and continuities among what seemed to be at first sight heterogeneous
and disconnected.
The kind of historiographical montage that Eisenstein discovered while working
on Que Viva Mexico! is widely used, as we will see, in the Notes, in which cinema is
presented as the heir of a long history of media and forms of representation
which are deployed in front of the eyes of the historian as if the vertical column
of history had been spread out like a fan.
There is another reason, though, why the Mexican journey can be considered
as particularly important in order to understand the theoretical foundations of
the Notes, and it has to do with the way in which Eisenstein considered his gen-
eral history of cinema to be closely connected to his artistic practice. As we will
see in the next paragraph, Eisenstein believed that all the historical strata that
coexist in the present are accessible in the same way to the historian and to the
artist, because both are capable of moving freely, up and down, across the differ-
ent layers of culture and of consciousness. As Naum Kleiman explains in his
commentary to the article The Five Epochs, the mnogoukladnost Eisenstein dis-
covered in Mexico was not only the coexistence of different socioeconomic forms
and different iconographical traditions in Mexican culture: it was also a mno-
goukladnost of consciousness, the discovery that to the different layers of cul-
ture corresponded different layers of mental activity which were constantly pre-
sent and which could be constantly be reactivated.46
Already in Paris, in the context of his readings connected to the idea of intel-
lectual montage, Eisenstein had begun reading Lucien Lvy-Bruhls Les Fonctions
mentales des socits infrieures (1910), in which he had found not only an analysis of
the forms of prelogical thinking that according to Lvy-Bruhl structured the
mental life of inferior societies, but also some observations on how such
prelogical forms, rather than disappearing, continued to be present and active
even in civilized societies in which the dominant ways of thinking were logical
and rational. As Lvy-Bruhl writes, traces of primitive mentality could be
found, in more or less visible forms, in a series of behaviors such as racial
hatred, the emotional reactions to whatever is perceived as foreign, as well as
in a whole series of beliefs concerning life, death, and the nature of the soul.47
After his return to Moscow in 1932, Eisenstein continued this research on the
nature and on the survival of prelogical forms of thinking within the context of
the project for a book entitled Metod, whose central idea was that every artistic
form in any media could gain emotional force by reactivating lower, earlier
strata of consciousness and culture.48 In the only public presentation of the ideas

contained in Metod, the speech given to the All-Union Creative Conference of
Soviet Filmworkers in January 1935, which is known with the title Film Form:
New Problems,49 Eisenstein tried to show how various examples of sensuous
(chuvstvennoe), prelogical (dologicheskoe), or protological (pralogicheskoe) think-
ing derived from the inner monologues of children and the beliefs of the Bor-
oro Indians, the language of the Bushmen studied by Wundt in his Vlkerpsycholo-
gie (1900-1920) and that of the Klamath studied by Lvy-Bruhl, all the way up to
the cases of mental regression caused by brain damage studied by Vygotsky and
Luria, could provide powerful material for the construction of emotionally enga-
ging artistic forms. The conclusion Eisenstein arrived at a conclusion that
would be harshly criticized by the participants in the conference50 was that
every powerful artistic form had to involve some kind of dialectic polarity be-
tween regression and progress:
The dialectic of a work of art is constructed upon a most interesting dyad.

The effect of a work of art is built upon the fact that two processes are taking
place within it simultaneously. There is a determined progressive ascent
towards ideas at the highest peaks of consciousness and at the same time
there is a penetration through the structure of form into the deepest layer of
emotional thinking [v sloi samogo glubinnogo chuvstvennogo myshleniia]. The
polarity between these two tendencies creates the remarkable tension of the
unity of form and content that distinguishes genuine works. All genuine
works possess it.51
As we will see in the next paragraph, this vision of the creative process as at the
same time a progressive ascent towards ideas at the highest peaks of conscious-
ness and a penetration [] into the deepest layers of emotional thinking also
informs Eisensteins understanding of the nature of history writing. According to
him the historian, just as the artist, had to be capable of living simultaneously
with all the strata (zhit vsemi sloiami odnovremenno), as Eisenstein writes in one of
the chapters of Metod.52
Considered from this perspective, the passage from Montage in which Eisen-
stein explains how the different historical layers of Mexican culture coexisted
with one another and seemed to be like a fan spread across the surface of the
land can be compared with the famous archaeological metaphor that we find in
Freuds Civilization and Its Discontents (1929). This metaphor occurs in a passage
dedicated to the more general problem of preservation in the sphere of the
mind and to the observation that in mental life nothing which has once been
formed can perish that everything is somehow preserved and that in suitable
circumstances (when, for instance, regression goes far back enough) it can once
more be brought to light:
32 antonio somaini
Let us try to grasp what this assumption involves by taking an analogy from
another field. We will choose as an example the history of the Eternal
City. [].
Let us, by a flight of imagination, suppose that Rome is not a human
habitation but a psychical entity with a similarly long and copious past an
entity, that is to say, in which nothing that has once come into existence will
have passed away and all the earlier phases of development continue to exist
alongside the latest one. This would mean that in Rome the palaces of the
Caesars and the Septizonium of Septimius Severus would still be rising to
their old height on the Palatine and that the castle of S. Angelo would still be
carrying on its battlements the beautiful statues which graced it until the siege
by the Goths, and so on. But more than this. In the place occupied by the
Palazzo Caffarelli would once more stand without the Palazzo having to be
removed the Temple of Jupiter Capitolinus; and this not only in its latest
shape, as the Romans of the Empire saw it, but also in its earliest one, when it
still showed Etruscan forms and was ornamented with terracotta antefixes.
Where the Coliseum now stands we could at the same time admire Neros
vanished Golden House. On the Piazza of the Pantheon we should find not
only the Pantheon of today, as it was bequeathed to us by Hadrian, but, on the
same site, the original edifice erected by Agrippa; indeed, the same piece of
ground would be supporting the church of Santa Maria sopra Minerva and the
ancient temple over which it was built. And the observer would perhaps only
have to change the direction of his glance or his position in order to call up
the one view or the other.
There is clearly no point in spinning our phantasy any further, for it leads to
things that are unimaginable and even absurd. If we want to represent
historical sequence in spatial terms we can only do it by juxtaposition in
space; the same space cannot have two different contents. Our attempt seems
to be an idle game. It has only one justification. It shows us how far we are
from mastering the characteristics of mental life by representing them in
pictorial terms.53
Both Freud and Eisenstein believed that in mental life nothing which has once
been formed can perish, and both tried to express this idea through archaeolo-
gical metaphors presenting a spatial vision of history and memory. Freud tried to
compare the past of a city with the past of a mind,54 while Eisenstein used the
metaphor of the vertical column spread out like a fan in order to visualize the
coexistence of the different cultural and historical stratifications that he had dis-
covered while shooting Que Viva Mexico!: a film in which ruins and historical
superimpositions (for example, the Catholic cathedrals built on top of the pre-
vious pre-Columbian religious sites) play a central role.

One of the reasons why the Notes can be considered as an example of media
archaeology ante litteram, so to say, is that the idea of history that lies in the
background of this project conceives of history as the coexistence of different
archaeological layers. With Freud and Benjamin who in the short text Exca-
vation and Memory (1932) had argued that memory can be considered as the
medium [Medium] of that which is experienced, just as the earth is the medium
[Medium] in which ancient cities lie buried, so that he who seeks to approach
his own buried past must conduct himself like a man digging55 Eisenstein
shared an archaeological understanding of history and memory which constitutes an
important element in order to understand the general history he was trying to
establish.56 The two diary entries we will comment on in the next paragraph,
with their insistence on the layers of history and consciousness, confirm this
idea.
2. Theory, History, Creation: A Flash in Slow Motion through

Centuries of Evolution
In the first diary entry, written on June 25, 1947, we read (all terms and phrases
in italics followed by * are written in languages other than Russian):
On Balzac descended the unitary conception of the Comdie Humaine

(according to mile Ludwig).57 On me descends instead the awareness that
I have, for already many years, been writing a history such as* it appears to me.
Almost all of my essays on cinema involve some historical excursus.
Griffith and the history of montage thought. The history of close-up pars
pro toto* is a section derived from it as if by germination. Disney and the
multitude of prelogical influences on him. Stereo and the history of scenic
actions. Chronicle and the Dionysian commemorative actions. Montage and
the Chinese culture of hieroglyphs. Landscape and the history of the Chinese
understanding of nature. Cinema in color and the history of coloristic
perceptions the origin of the notion of complementary colors, etc. And I
have become a historian of the One Thousand and One Nights of the possibilities
of cinema.58
In this diary entry, Eisenstein acknowledges how most of his theoretical writings
from Dickens, Griffith and Ourselves (1942) to the various texts on the his-
tory of close-up as a form of pars pro toto contained in the Memoirs and in Metod,
from the essay on Disney (1940) to the one on stereoscopic cinema (1947), from
the remarks on the musicality of Chinese landscape painting contained in Nonin-
different Nature (1941-1945) to the essays on color, from the essays on Chinese
culture and hieroglyphs all the way up to the genealogical line connecting Dio-
nysian dithyrambs to historical cinema and television which we find in the Notes
34 antonio somaini
had been characterized by a constant intertwining of theory and history.59 Such a
history, though, had for Eisenstein a very peculiar nature: it was a history of
possibilities, the history of the One Thousand and One Nights of the possibilities of
cinema (kinematograficheskikh vozmozhnostei). This expression is probably an im-
plicit reference to the title of the history of cinema published by Terry Ramsaye in
1926, A Million and One Nights: A History of the Motion Picture Through 1925,60 but it
is also a way of underlining the extravagant nature of the history Eisenstein had
been gradually elaborating in his writings, roaming freely through time and
space from the Acropolis to Le Corbusier, from Kabuki theater to Stanislavsky,
from Indian miniatures to El Greco, from Japanese haiku poetry to Joyces Ulysses
in order to find, decipher and compare the most interesting precinemato-
graphic manifestations of the aesthetic principles that Eisenstein was theorizing
in his texts: montage in all its forms in the book Montage, pathos, organi-
city and ecstasy in Nonindifferent Nature, and regression in Metod.
The historical and theoretical analysis of such principles was always conceived
by Eisenstein as inseparable from the possibility of their practical applications.
Theory and history, in other words, could never be considered as separate from
practice, as we read in a second diary entry, written on June 30, 1947, with Eisen-
steins typical multilinguism:
It is as if alea iacta est.* The Presidium of the Academy of Sciences has

confirmed to me that I will be leading the Section dedicated to the history of
cinema of the Institute of Art History of the Soviet Academy of Sciences. In
order to begin this enterprise, determination was never enough. Now the state
of my heart obliges me to do that* independently of my desires.* []
The difference with the creative work in a strict sense lies in the fact that
whereas in the creative work there is a contact with the lowest layers* of
consciousness in a spark* of inspiration, in the work on the history of cinema,
as I planned it,* the whole chain of consecutive phases unfolds from today
backwards,* towards those same phases: and before us there isnt an image
[obraz] in a flash,* but the goose bumps caused by the fact of contemplating
and of living such a flash in slow motion through centuries of evolution.*
The ecstasy in touching (simultaneously) both poles the thrill* is the same.
But whereas many are the ones capable of creating, there is almost nobody
capable of revealing such a historical process as I do see it.* And history*
becomes a third ring of the chain. The practice of creation. The theory of
creation. The history (Belegmaterial und bersicht durch Jahrhunderte*) [doc-
umentary evidence and overview through centuries]. Essentially, almost
everything that I have written during the last years (already since 1929, on
Japanese hieroglyphs) is in a certain basic way* not only the theory, but also the
history of the issues that interest me: theory being history,* compressed in the

conception of the phases, while artistic creation is the phylogenetic,
simultaneous reunification of all these phases of development in an act.61
This second diary entry contains several indications that can help us understand
what idea of history Eisenstein had in mind while working on his general his-
tory of cinema.
To begin with, Eisenstein reminds us that his interest in the connection be-
tween theory and history (theory being history) dates all the way back to 1928-
1929 to the period in which he wrote essays such as An Unexpected Juncture
(1928), Beyond the Shot (1929) and The Dramaturgy of Film Form (1929), in
which the principles of intellectual and audiovisual montage were studied
through a comparison with the forms of precinematographic montage that could
be found in Japanese traditions such as Kabuki theater, haiku and tanka lyrical
epigrams, the portraits of Kabuki actors by the painter Sharaku, as well as in the
Japanese ideograms which Eisenstein considered as hieroglyphs.62 Through
one of those anachronic juxtapositions that can be found throughout his writings
of the 1930s and 1940s as well as in the Notes, Eisenstein draws here a compar-
ison between the future of Soviet audiovisual cinema and the past of the archaic
culture of the Japan of the Edo period, a culture that in his view contained an
infinite multiplicity of cinematic characteristics.63
Furthermore, we may notice how in this diary entry history is conceived of as
the source of a pleasure an ecstasy, a thrill producing goose bumps
comparable to that which accompanies artistic creation. In both cases, the his-
torian and the artist experience a pathos produced by the contact with two tem-
poral poles which are distant from one another: the today, the present to
which they belong, and the past of the lowest layers of consciousness from
which all artistic forms, as we have seen in our discussion of the essay Film
Form: New Problems, could draw their expressive and emotional energy.
If every creative act and every historical reconstruction is for Eisenstein the
moment of a contact between two different temporal dimensions, the duration
of this contact can be very different. Whereas in the creative act the contact
between the present and the lowest layers of consciousness takes place in a
spark of inspiration and therefore in the form of a sudden flash dialectically
uniting present and past, which recalls the fragments of the Arcades Project in
which Benjamin describes the dialectical image, an image in which what has
been comes together in a flash with the now to form a constellation64 in the
work of the historian this contact is contemplated and lived as a flash in
slow motion through centuries of evolution, in order to produce an bersicht
durch Jahrhunderte, an overview across centuries.
The reference to slow motion introduces in this diary entry another crucial
idea that needs to be taken into account in order to fully understand the vision of
history that lies at the basis of the project of a general history of cinema: the
36 antonio somaini
idea that cinema with its capacity for manipulating time by arresting, inverting,
accelerating, slowing down, fragmenting, and recomposing the continuity of the
temporal flow could be considered as a powerful epistemic tool for the con-
struction of history.
Already in The Dramaturgy of Film Form, a text dedicated to the effort of
establishing the foundations of what he called in that period intellectual cine-
ma or intellectual montage a montage based on collisions and inter-
vals65 Eisenstein had underlined how in a shot a conflict in tempo or a
conflict between an event and its temporality [zwischen dem Vorgang und seiner
Zeitlichkeit] (achieved by slowing down [Zeitlupe] and speeding up [Multiplikator])
could produce some kind of intellectual or emotional dynamization of the
spectator.66 According to what we read in this text, a purely intellectual film
capable of activating the spectator and of producing thoughts, systems and con-
cepts without any transition or paraphrases, had to be based on a dialectical,
conflictual montage, and in this perspective the temporal conflicts and the varia-
tions of speed through slowing down or speeding up played a crucial role.
When the time came to work on his general history of cinema, Eisenstein
maintained this idea that cinema, by manipulating time, could produce thought.
The temporal conflicts that in 1929 he considered as a tool of a purely intellec-
tual film became now the temporal shifts and the jumping chronology of a
general history of cinema in which time is treated as a malleable entity. It is
according to this idea of a fundamental plasticity of time that Eisenstein, in the
diary entry we are discussing, assigns to history the task of unfolding, in front
of the eyes of the historian, the whole chain of consecutive phases not only in
slow motion but also from today backwards, that is, by inverting the flow of
time.
Compared with the slow motion and the inversion that characterize the con-
templating overview of the historian, the creative act of the artist produces
what Eisenstein calls a phylogenetic, simultaneous reunification of all these
phases of development in an act. The term phylogenetic introduces yet an-
other element that needs to be considered in order to understand Eisensteins
general history. Such a term refers to a scientific paradigm the parallelism
between ontogeny and phylogeny67 which often appears in Eisensteins writings as
a way of understanding the development of individual forms (social systems,
forms of knowledge, artistic styles) within a wider historical context.
According to such a paradigm, whose origins can be found in Aristotles De
Generatione Animalium, the genesis and the development of the single individual
(the ontogeny) recapitulates in a shorter time those of the entire species (the phylo-
geny). As a model of historical development which combines progress and recursiv-
ity, such a paradigm can be detected in the writings of authors such as Herder
and Goethe,68 and becomes a common reference at the turn between the nine-
teenth and the twentieth century, thanks to Engels, who in the Dialectics of Nature

presents it as one of the most important tenets of Darwins theory of evolution,
and thanks to the German philosopher and biologist Ernst Haeckel, who popu-
larized it in his Weltrtsel (The riddle of the universe) (1899). According to Haeck-
el, such parallelism which he summed up with the statement that ontogeny is
an abbreviated recapitulation of phylogeny69 had the status of a fundamental
biogenetic law (biogenetisches Grundgesetz) that was valid across all natural phe-
nomena. For him, it was like the thread of Ariadne, since only with its aid one
could find any intelligible course through the complicated labyrinth of natural
forms.70
Translated from the field of the natural sciences to that of the history of cultur-
al forms, this paradigm appears in the writings of the art historians Alois Riegl
and Heinrich Wlfflin, who considered the evolution of artistic styles through
history especially the passage from tactile, haptic, linear forms of repre-
sentation to optical and pictorial ones as somehow parallel to the evolution
of the single human being from infancy to adulthood. As Wlfflin writes in the
general observations on the distinction between linearly (draughtsmanly,
plastic) and painterly, tactile and visual picture which open his Principles of Art
History (1915):
The tracing out of a figure with an evenly clear line has still an element of
physical grasping. The operation which the eye performs resembles the
operation of the hand which feels along the body, and the modelling which
repeats reality in the gradation of light also appeals to the sense of touch.
A painterly representation, on the other hand, excludes this analogy. It has its
roots only in the eye and appeals only to the eye, and just as the child ceases to
take hold of things in order to grasp them, so mankind has ceased to test the picture for
its tactile values. A more developed art has learned to surrender itself to mere appearance.
With that, the whole notion of the pictorial has shifted. The tactile picture has
become the visual picture the most decisive revolution which art history
knows.71
Freud refers to the ontogeny-philogeny parallelism in his Beyond the Pleasure Prin-
ciple (1920), in which the theory of the death drive (Todestrieb) is formulated in
reference to an embriology conceived as repeating [] the history of evolu-
tion.72 Benjamin as well mentions this paradigm in the essay On the Mimetic
Faculty (1933), in which we read that the mimetic faculty a gift for seeing
similarity which can be compared with Eisensteins notion of sensuous think-
ing has a history [] in both the phylogenetic and the ontogenetic sense.73
The idea according to which the contemplating overview of the historian
studies phenomena which unfold through centuries of evolution, finally, reveals
the presence of yet another model of historical development in the notes for a
general history of cinema: the model of a biological evolutionism, which we
38 antonio somaini
also find in the essay About Stereoscopic Cinema (1947), written in the same
period as the Notes, in which the history of artistic forms is presented in a way that
recalls the ideas of struggle for existence, extinction, and natural selection:
In my view, the only vital varieties of art are those which, of their very nature,
are an embodiment of the hidden urges existing in the depths of human
nature itself. What matters is not only which subject is incorporated in a work
of art, but also which of the means peculiar to a given art form are employed.
In the problems connected with the extinction of one or another art form, there
probably exists the same law of natural selection as in everything else.
And the forms which survive are those which are composed as to embody the
deep, inner, organic tendencies and needs of both the spectator and the
creator.74
Together with all the references that we have found condensed in the diary entry
mentioned above the references to cinematic slow motion, to the regression
to the lowest layers of consciousness, to the ontogeny-phylogeny parallelism
this idea of interpreting the development of artistic forms in terms of struggle for
existence, natural selection, survival and extinction shows once more how Eisen-
steins approach to history writing in the Notes drew inspiration from different,
often apparently incompatible sources and models, editing together concepts
and ideas stemming from different conceptual traditions. Such a montage ap-
proach to theory has been defined as theory as quotation, referring to a text
written by Eisenstein in 1927 with the title My Art in Life:
The rightfulness of a method that is valid for a whole as well as for a tiny
detail. The first attempt to formulate it in a series of axiomatic propositions,
that can serve as guides (theoretical and practical) for the majority of
questions in our profession. []
Each doctrine coexists in our profession. But in our heads each of them exists
separately [individualno]. To define the moment of their intrusion and by
what part into the theory of our main activity its a second task. I didnt
invent sublimation, the notion of a reflex, an interaction between social order
and creative individuality, the principle of unity in Darwin and James. But to
bring all this together, to put all this in a needed context, one in relation to
another I consider this task to be no less ambitious.
The principle of context is valid here a fragment [Bruchstck] of a scientific
discipline is nothing its similar to a montage fragment, to a verb without
complement, as a primordial element in a decomposed movement.75
In Eisensteins writings of the 1930s and 1940s, this idea of theory as montage of
preexisting conceptual fragments derived from other, previously existing the-

ories continues to be present, and contributes to shape Eisensteins approach to
the construction of a general history of cinema. This history, as we will now
see, can be conceived of as an attempt to answer three key questions:
1. How can we locate the place of cinema within the history of the arts?
2. How can we identify the forerunners of cinema within such a history?
3. How can we define the psychological urges and Triebe to which cinema,
like other art forms and media before its appearance, has responded?
3. Heir and Synthesis: The Place of Cinema in the History

of the Arts
The answer to the first question how to define the place of cinema within the
history of the arts can be found at the beginning of the first text published in
this volume, The Heir, in a series of notes written on October 22, 1946, that
present cinema as both the heir [naslednik] of all artistic cultures and a synth-
esis of the arts [sintez iskusstv]. These two terms, writes Eisenstein, defined the
perspective according to which the history of cinema must be established:
Cinema is the heir of all artistic cultures, as is the nation itself that elevated it
for the first time in all history both in estimation and creatively to the very
heights of art, and it is the heir of all cultures of the preceding ages.
Cinema is the art of the USSR par excellence,* and it is so in a natural and
organic way.
It is according to this perspective that the history of cinema must be
established.
1. The historical place of cinema in the history of the arts
Its origins in the ruins of the second baroque.
Other arts disintegrate to level zero.
-Isms. Each based on one particular feature.
The collapse of bourgeois society.
Cinema begins from level zero.
Technical invention.
The social structure (USSR), seeking a type of mass art, etc.
The social pre-condition and [the] technical [one] coincide.*
As a new totality, social and aesthetic.
2. A synthesis of the arts
A real synthesis in the technique of film, and in our aesthetics.
Taking the place of dreams about synthesis.
Recurrence* of the idea of synthesis form the Greeks (at first morphological in
the dithyramb) liturgies (architecture, organ, stained glass, plain chant,* the
merging of the audience with the action) Diderot Wagner Scriabin
we.76
40 antonio somaini
The heir of all artistic cultures, a synthesis of the arts. These two expressions
on the one hand sum up the view of cinema that Eisenstein had been developing
in his writings of the 1930s and 1940s,77 and on the other are a clear sign of his
decision to inscribe his general history of cinema within the framework of the
official aesthetic discourse that was circulating in the Soviet Union in those dec-
ades. This decision is confirmed by the passages in which Eisenstein presents
cinema as the art of the USSR par excellence*: an art which responds to the
collapse of bourgeois society and to the way in which the other arts, the
-isms of the Western avant-gardes (Futurism, Expressionism, Surrealism,
etc.), disintegrate to level zero, with a technical invention which, in a natur-
al and organic way, produces a new totality, social and aesthetic, a mass art
capable of corresponding to the social structure of the USSR.
Eisenstein had already formulated similar ideas in Montage78 and in Achieve-
ment, an article published in 1940 for the celebrations of twenty years of Soviet
cinema, in which Eisenstein presents cinema as a child of socialism, the high-
est stage of embodiment for the potentialities and aspirations of each of the
arts, and the ultimate synthesis of all artistic manifestations:
For sculpture cinema is a chain of changing plastic forms, bursting, at long

last, ages of immobility.
For painting cinema is not only a solution for the problem of movement in
pictorial images, but is also the achievement of a new and unprecedented
form of graphic art, an art that is a free stream of changing, transforming,
commingling forms, pictures, and compositions, hitherto possible only in
music.
Music has always possessed this possibility, but with the advent of cinema,
the melodious and rhythmic flow of music acquired new potentialities of
imagery visual, palpable, concrete (true, our practice of the new art knows
as yet but few cases of any complete fusion of aural and visual images).
For literature cinema is an expansion of the strict diction achieved by poetry
and prose into a new realm where the desired image is directly materialized in
audio-visual perceptions.
And finally, it is only in cinema that are fused into a real unity all those
separate elements of the spectacle once inseparable in the dawn of culture,
and which the theater for centuries has vainly striven to amalgamate anew.79
Passages like this show how Eisenstein, at least in the texts written to be pub-
lished, was trying to fit his vision of cinema within a wider public discourse
centered on the idea of a synthesis of the arts. After the confrontation, during
the early 1920s, between the partisans of a revolutionary art conceived as a new
beginning after a tabula rasa of all previous artistic traditions, and those who
instead defended the importance of preserving and reevaluating the heritage of

the past, the official aesthetic discourse of the 1930s and 1940s celebrated the
Soviet Union as heir of all preceding cultures, and as a nation in which the intro-
duction of socialism on the social level had to be accompanied, on the aesthetic
level, by a synthesis of the arts. This expression had become, during the 1930s,
the title of a number of cultural initiatives among which we may recall the First
Conference of Soviet Architects, Sculptors and Painters, whose proceedings were
published by OGIZ (Union of the State Book and Magazine Publishers) in 1936 in
a volume entitled Voprosy sinteza iskusstv (Questions on the synthesis of the arts).80
This volume gathered texts by artists and theorists such as the sculptor Vera Mu-
khina (who created the notorious Worker and Kolkhoz Woman for the 1937 World
Exhibition in Paris), David Arkin (author in 1935 of a book entitled The Problem of
Synthesis in Soviet Architecture) and Bela Uits, who considered the notion of a synth-
esis of the arts as a weapon81 in the hands of socialist art.
Just as the notion of socialist realism, which became state policy in 1934
with the First Congress of Soviet Writers, the idea of a synthesis of the arts
likewise became the object of several competing interpretations. David Arkin, for
example, interpreted it in the sense of a cooperation [sotrudnichestvo] founded on
a common idea and a common theme,82 while one of the other authors of the
texts published in the proceedings of the 1936 conference, Mikhail Alpatov, un-
derstood it as the way in which a dialectical set of contradictions could lead to
a new unity.83
Eisensteins idea of cinema as heir of all artistic cultures and a synthesis of
the arts fits straight into this context and aligns itself to some of the slogans
that were circulating in the public discourse. We find further traces of such an
alignment in the passages of the Notes in which Eisenstein mentions the idea of
the Soviet Union as a friendly cooperation [sodruzhestvo] of nations which be-
comes the basis for a friendly cooperation of the arts,84 or in the passages in
which the synthesis of the arts is presented as dialectical removal [sniatie, the
equivalent of the German Aufhebung] of contradictions.85
This said, the idea of cinema as heir of all artistic cultures and as a synth-
esis of the arts that we find in the Notes cannot in any way be reduced to an
attempt to conform to the slogans of the official, Soviet aesthetics. As Naum
Kleiman underlines in his foreword to this volume, the transnational, transcul-
tural character of the general history Eisenstein had in mind was in sharp con-
trast with the strong nationalism of the public discourse in the second half of the
1940s, and the idea of history as the survival and coexistence of various temporal
layers that he had developed during the Mexican journey was not in line with
the progressive, teleologically oriented ideology of Stalinism. Furthermore, Ei-
sensteins use of the term synthesis in the passage in which cinema is defined
as a synthesis of the arts has to be considered within the framework of all the
meanings that he had assigned to such a term in his previous writings, since the
end of the 1920s.86 A flashback through some of these texts is therefore necessary.
42 antonio somaini
To begin with, Eisenstein was convinced that one could find fully accom-
plished forms of artistic synthesis outside the realm of cinema. In the two texts dedi-
cated at the end of the 1920s to the analogies between the future of sound cinema
and the past of Japanese culture Beyond the Shot (1928) and An Unexpected
Juncture (1929) for example, Eisenstein praises the monism of the ensemble
of Kabuki theater, which is capable of editing together various expressive means
(scenes, costumes, voices, gestures, music) in order to stimulate the audience
with a maximum of precision and effectiveness.
During the months spent in Mexico, the notion of synthesis takes on an-
other meaning. Now it is the result of the montage of different cultural iconogra-
phies that Eisenstein was exploring in his drawings, as we can see in the drawing
entitled Synthse (Eve, Europe, Jsus, Torero) (1931) (Ill. 2), which weaves together, in
one image, a series of iconographic motifs extracted from heterogeneous cultural
traditions: the rape of Europa, the birth of Eve from Adams rib, Christs crucifix-
ion, and the popular and pagan tradition of the bullfight.87
Ill. 2 Synthse (Eve, Europe, Jsus, Torero), 12 May 1931

In Montage, synthesis becomes the process through which a series of separate,
distinct representations (izobrazhenie) are united into a general, meaningful,
emotionally powerful image (obraz).88 The principle of filmic and artistic mon-
tage is here considered as corresponding to a tendency toward synthesis which
can be found in every form of mental activity: sensorial perception, imagination,
memory, all the way to inductive and deductive reasoning.
A different interpretation of the idea of synthesis can finally be found in the
essays written for Metod. Here, as we have seen, Eisenstein formulates the idea
according to which every emotionally powerful work of art bears in itself, in one
way or another, the traces of early phases of biological, psychological or cultural
history. Different paths of regression (puti regressa)89 are examined in the chap-
ters of Metod, and all of these paths, according to Eisenstein, lead to some kind
of synthetic, unified, undifferentiated state: androgyny, considered as a mythi-
cal unity of masculine and feminine appearing in different ways in the history of
philosophy, literature, and alchemy; prelogical thinking, as a form of diffused
perception characterized by the presence of what Lvy-Bruhl had named loi de
participation, a belief in the magic interconnectedness of all beings; protoplas-
maticity, the state of all primitive organic forms which had not undergone any
process of anatomic differentiation; and finally communism, as a social condi-
tion which preceded, in its primitive form in archaic societies, the division in
classes.90
The importance Eisenstein attributed to all these paths of regression toward
organic, psychological or social conditions characterized by a lack of differentia-
tion, was in sharp contrast with a state ideology which was centered around the
celebration of the conquests of a forward-moving socialism fighting against all
forms of backward-oriented resistance. Eisenstein was well aware of this con-
trast, as he writes in a passage of Metod (not meant for publication) in which he
dares to formulate a criticism against Stalin:
In my studies, I have never accepted the idea of a distinction between strata

that are considered as superior and others that are considered as inferior,
between forward moving or resisting tendencies, at the avant-garde or
reactionary, as comrade Stalin has stated, referring to another area of the
discipline dealing with the residues of the past in the realm of
consciousness.91
Reinterpreting it according to his own perspective, Eisenstein found in the no-

tion of synthesis a way of legitimizing his interest in regression. As he writes
in a text entitled My system, they will never forgive me the idea of art as re-
gression [] let therefore art be synthesis.92 This was a dialectical synthesis of
forward and backward tendencies of which Eisenstein had found a reassuring
44 antonio somaini
definition in Friedrich Engelss Socialism, Utopian and Scientific, in a passage that is
quoted in Film Form: New Problems:
An exact representation of the universe, of its evolution, of the development

of mankind, and of the reflection of this evolution in the minds of men, can
therefore only be obtained by the methods of dialectics, with its constant
regard to the innumerable actions and reactions of life and death, of
progressive and retrogressive changes [mit steter Beachtung der allgemeinen
Wechselwirkungen des Werdens und Vergehens, der fort- oder rckschreitenden
nderungen].93
Considered within the framework of all the various definitions of synthesis

that we find in Eisensteins writings from the end of the 1920s onward, the pas-
sage of The Heir in which cinema is defined as the heir of all artistic cultures
and as a synthesis of the arts should therefore not be taken literally as the
product of a teleological, progressive vision of the history of the arts which finds
in Soviet cinema and in Eisensteins own cinema its final stage and its highest
accomplishment. Following the passage of Engels that we just quoted, Eisenstein
conceived history as a constant unfolding of progressive and retrogressive
changes, as a complex dynamics of transformations, survivals, and recurrences,
and even in a celebratory text like Achievement he states that cinema is a step
ahead of all related fields, while remaining a contemporary of theater, painting, sculp-
ture, and music.94 In the Notes a similar idea is expressed in a passage of The
Heir in which Eisenstein writes that in cinema each art is embedded [zakliuche-
no] in a qualitatively new way, such that it cannot be organically taken out.95
By defining cinema as contemporary with the arts it is supposed to have
overcome, Eisenstein presents us with a view of history that is neither linear nor
progressive,96 and this explains why in the same notes gathered in The Heir he
mentions various forms of recurrence of the idea of synthesis, locating cine-
ma within a genealogy that starts with the the Greeks and continues with li-
turgies, Diderot, Wagner, Scriabin, and finally we a we that Eisen-
stein employs here in order to underline how his own cinema should be
considered within the wider context of Soviet cinema:
Recurrence* of the idea of synthesis from the Greeks (at first morphological in
the dithyramb) liturgies (architecture, organ, stained glass, plain chant,* the
merging of the audience with the action) Diderot Wagner Scriabin
we.97
This genealogical line can be found in several other texts by Eisenstein, for exam-
ple, in Montage, in which Greek tragedy is presented as the common cradle
[kolybel] of future cultures98 and is followed by a series of historical appear-

ances of the idea of a total, synthetic work of art which aligns the opera as it
developed during the Renaissance, music drama in the form in which Diderot
longed to see it, and finally the French Revolution, with its solemn proces-
sions, triumphs or celebrations such as those held on the Champ de Mars, dur-
ing the era that saw the birth of that ultimate form of class society which, after
achieving its final form in 1848, was simultaneously destined to become the
gravedigger of the whole class system.99
Eisenstein was interested in understanding why in certain stages of history
the tendencies towards synthesis arise, and believed that the idea of a syn-
thetic, total work of art was the natural outcome of periods of social unifica-
tion. Among such periods, classical Greece and Greek tragedy are often men-
tioned by Eisenstein as a founding moment, based on an interpretation of Greek
tragedy as a moment of profound collective unification which Eisenstein prob-
ably found in Nietzsche, although The Birth of Tragedy (1872/1886) is often not
mentioned, probably for political reasons.
An implicit reference to Nietzsche can be found in the passage of the Notes in
which Eisenstein writes that the dithyramb is like a chronicle, performed by
everyone (without any distinction between audience and performers), of the ad-
ventures of Dionysus. In it, according to the norms of sensuous thinking (pri-
mary logic), the image of an ancestor is the ancestor, and the reenacted mystery is
the actually reoccurring event. With their primary synthesis [of] movement and
sound, adds Eisenstein, the dithyrambs could be considered as the commem-
orative foundations of the origins of art.100
This idea of Dionysian cults and Dionysian dithyrambs as a moment of pro-
found, synthetic unity not only between expressive forms (singing and dancing,
music and movement) but also between actors and spectators, scene and audi-
ence, can be found in Nietzsches The Birth of Tragedy. According to Nietzsche, the
Dionysian ceremonies which led to the birth of tragedy were a moment in which
at the evangel of cosmic harmony, each one feels himself not only united [verei-
nigt], reconciled, blended with his neighbor, but as one with him, as if the veil of
Maya had been torn and were now merely fluttering in tatters before the myster-
ious Primordial Unity [vor dem geheimnisvollen Ur-Einen]. In song and dance man
exhibits himself as a member of a higher community [als Mitgled einer hheren
Gemeinsamkeit],101 performing a rupture of the principium individuations which
becomes an artistic phenomenon,102 a moment in which every form of separa-
tion is overcome in a profound, synthetic, Primordial Unity (Ur-Eines). The tra-
gic chorus, directly descending from the Dionysian dithyrambs, was composed
according to Nietzsche by individuals whose state of ecstatic rapture led them to
consider as real the actions performed on stage: The chorus of the Oceanides
really believes that it sees before it the Titan Prometheus, and considers itself as
real as the god of the scene.103 The audience, in turn, merged and identified
with such a chorus, thus producing a situation in which all distinctions between
46 antonio somaini
actors and spectators, stage and audience were overcome. This attempt to pass
beyond the bounds of individuation and become the one universal being (das
Zerbrechen des Individuums und sein Einswerden mit dem Ursein),104 this joy in the an-
nihilation of the individual,105 which was at the basis of Dionysian mysteries
produced in the tragedy a situation in which the public of the Attic tragedy re-
discovered itself in the chorus of the orchestra, in such a way that there was in
reality no antithesis of public and chorus.106
In the passage from The Heir that we quoted above, Eisenstein moves from
this interpretation of the Greek dithyrambs to the second form of recurrence of
the idea of synthesis, which is described as liturgies (architecture, organ,
stained glass, plain chant,* the merging of the audience with the action). We
find here an interpretation of rituals and liturgies as an intense, fusional, em-
pathic event which appears in most of Eisensteins films: for example, in the
sequence of the workers demonstrations in Strike, in the pilgrimage of the citi-
zens of Odessa to pay homage to the dead body of the hero Vakulinchuk in Battle-
ship Potmkin, in the Orthodox procession and the public presentation of the milk
separator in The General Line, as well as in the various religious processions which
Eisenstein filmed for the episodes of Que Viva Mexico! One of these in particular
the reenactment of the pilgrimage to the Catholic cathedral of Amecameca, a
former Aztec pyramid, which is portrayed in the rushes that were meant to be
used for the episode entitled Fiesta seems to be behind the passage of the Notes
in which Eisenstein associates the dithyrambs with Christian pilgrimages: if the
chronicle contained in the dithyrambs is performed without any distinction be-
tween audience and performers, pilgrimages are absolutely identical the pas-
sing by the pilgrims themselves through the twelve stations of the passion of
Christ.107 As we read also in the essay About Stereoscopic Cinema, Eisenstein
believed that there was a direct connection between the commemorative repro-
duction of the tragic death of Dionysus, first in the place in which it presumably
took place, and then in all the places in which the Dionysian cult was present,
and the medieval mysteries which reproduced the passion of Christ first in the
cathedral, then in the parvis, and later in the squares of the cities and on the
stages on which Paradise, Hell and the Universe were represented.108
The following example of a recurrence* of the idea of synthesis Diderot
can be explained by referring to this same connection between Dionysian mys-
teries and medieval mysteries, since in the same essay About Stereoscopic Cine-
ma Eisenstein recalls how Diderot had imagined to present his drama The Natur-
al Son (Le Fils naturel) in the actual site in which the events that had profoundly
shocked the family of Dorval, the protagonist, had taken place.109 In other texts,
such as the 1943 essay Diderot Wrote about Cinema, Eisenstein presents Di-
derots ideas on the musical drama in the Entretiens sur Le fils naturel as crucial
references for the theory of sound cinema as a synthetic art form.110 In Vertical
Montage (1940), finally, Diderot appears as part of a sequence of attempts

The Greeks, Diderot, Wagner, Scriabin to demolish the contradictions be-
tween picture and sound, between the visible world and the audible world, in
order to create a unity and a harmonic concordance between them.111
Wagner and his idea of Gesamtkunstwerk may seem an obvious reference in this
context, but once again it is important to underline the specificity of Eisensteins
interpretation of Wagnerian aesthetics, an interpretation which he developed
after the experience of the staging of the Valkyrie at the Bolshoi Theater in
1940.112 Eisenstein had found in Wagner one of the undoubted predecessors
and ancestors of the audiovisual polyphony of contemporary montage,113 a filter
through which one could simultaneously analyze both the social and political
implications of the idea of a synthesis of the arts, and the possibility of reactivat-
ing, in the present, the deep layers of earlier, sensuous, prelogical thinking.
The way in which the young, progressive, and revolutionary Wagner had
called for a revolution both in art and in society, insisting on the curse of
private property and referring explicitly, although with an anarchic bent, to that
same idea of communism that one could find in the Communist Manifesto of
1848,114 was considered by Eisenstein as an important example of how one could
link the idea of a synthesis of the arts with the production of a new, unified
society. What for Wagner was the unified people (Volk) that the Gesamtkunstwerk
was supposed to produce, was for Eisenstein the socialist, classless society that
corresponded to Soviet cinema as a synthesis of the arts.
Wagners musical dramas, furthermore, represented for Eisenstein an example
of a fusional, empathetic spectacle (which explains the reference in this section
of the Notes to the aesthetic of Lipps115), and a model of how one could inter-
pret what he called vertical montage: the arrangement of various expressive
elements into a powerful, polyphonic, vibrating whole. In staging the Valkyrie,
Eisenstein had tried to experiment with some solutions intended to force the
opera beyond its traditional limits, such as the installation of amplifiers through-
out the Bolshoi theater, with the aim of transforming Wagners opera into a truly
synthetic and synesthetic experience. In a passage from the section entitled
Pathos of Nonindifferent Nature he associates the colored lights passing through
the stained glass windows of the Gothic cathedrals which in the Notes are pre-
sented as forerunners of the projected tridimensional images of stereoscopic
cinema with the lightplays that he had designed for the performance of the
Valkyrie:
It is difficult to forget that enjoyment of pathos with which the blue flame grew
to sound of the Magic Fire music in the last act, sometimes repeating it,
then conflicting with it, then isolating it, then absorbing it; the blue flame
grows, devouring the red, red subduing the blue, and both rising out of the
crimson ocean of fire to which the whole bronze wall of the backdrop
returned, which became like this after first having turned its original silver
48 antonio somaini
into heavenly azure at the moment of the culminating scene of Wotan and
Brnnhildes farewell.116
The lightplays experimented by Eisenstein in the staging of the Valkyrie a crucial

reference in order to understand the color sequence in the second part of Ivan the
Terrible117 connect us directly with the fifth station of the genealogical line de-
scribed in the passage of The Heir: Scriabin. Here we find an implicit refer-
ence both to the synesthetic, audiovisual experience that Scriabin had planned
for his symphonic poem Promthe. Pome du feu (1910) in which one of the lines
of the score was called Luce (Light) and indicated a series of color projec-
tions that was intended to accompany the musical performance and to the ri-
tual, mystical, eschatological dimension of his unfinished project entitled Mys-
tre. Scriabin, together with the tradition of Russian symbolism, plays a very
important role in Eisensteins late speculations on vertical and chromatic
montage and on the theme of the synthesis of the arts. Even though he con-
sidered Scriabins experiments with synesthesia as dreams of synthesis that
lacked any attempt to have a concrete social impact, Eisenstein was highly inter-
ested in exploring all the ways in which the correspondences between sounds and
images, colors and words had been historically conceived and put into practice:
in this perspective, the Taoist chart of synesthetic correspondences that we find
in Vertical Montage, the color palette of Pushkin studied by Andrei Bely,
Rimbauds poem Voyelles, iurlioniss pictorial sonatas and fugues, and
Joyces Ulysses could all be considered as forerunners of cinemas synthetic am-
bitions.
The final stage in the genealogical line we are discussing the we that ends
the genealogy begun with the Dionysian dithyrambs was for Eisenstein Soviet
cinema as, once more, the art of the USSR par excellence: a form of mass art in
which the social pre-condition and [the] technical [one] coincide giving place
to a new totality, social and aesthetic. Cinema, therefore, as a profoundly socia-
list medium.
The latest developments of Soviet stereoscopic cinema seemed to confirm this
idea of a coincidence of social and aesthetic totality made possible by a technical
discovery. As we read in the essay About Stereoscopic Cinema written a few
years after the public presentation of the first Soviet stereoscopic film, Kontsert:
Zemlia molodosti (1941) by Semion Ivanov118 Eisenstein considered stereoscopic
cinema as responding to certain of our deeper needs, to some kind of latent
urges [zapros]:119 a striving for unity which found in stereoscopic cinema a
successful way to cover the breach, to throw a bridge across the gulf separat-
ing the spectator and the actor.120
Nevertheless, stereoscopic cinema did not represent for Eisenstein the end-
point of a linear, progressive, teleologically oriented search for unity. To begin
with, he saw in it more a return to the origins than an endpoint. Three-dimen-

sional films, as he writes in About Stereoscopic Cinema, could be considered
as part of a historical dialectics that leads from the unity of primitive spectacles
ignoring the distinction between actors and spectators to forms that introduced
such a distinction, in order to then return to a new union of action and public in
an organic whole in which the spectacle seems to penetrate a mass of spectators
which it simultaneously attracts within itself.121 Furthermore, since the end of
the 1930s Eisenstein was convinced that other artistic forms and other ways of
practicing montage were ready to pursue synthesis beyond the boundaries of the
traditional cinematic dispositif: television, to which we will return in the last section
of this text, but also the massive, environmental, total [] montage specta-
cles which he mentions in the final chapters of Montage:
If painting, sculpture and architecture are now on the way to a fusion of the
visual arts in [the design of] socialist housing and in the overall layout of the
socialist city, then the arts which exist simultaneously in space and time,
being both aural and visual, are with similar completeness and for the first
time in history merging into the total spectacle that is the sound film of the
era of socialism.
Of course, sound film itself as a complete entity may also merge with an even
broader synthesis of all the arts in a unique montage spectacle: this would
unite the natural surroundings of the urban complex with the masses that
have their being in the city and the individual protagonists of the drama
taking place within it; with a sea of colour and light, music and radio; with
theatre and sound film; with steamers on the Moscow-Volga Canal; and with
squadrons of aircraft.122
Eisensteins understanding of cinema as a synthesis of the arts cannot there-

fore be considered a way of presenting cinema as the endpoint of a linear, tele-
ologically oriented history that found in Soviet cinema and in Eisensteins own
films its highest and final achievement. What we find in the Notes is rather the
idea that the effort to reach a synthesis of the arts was a recurring effort that
in the past had been pursued outside the realm of cinema and that in the future
could be pursued also through future developments of the cinematic dispositif
such as stereoscopy and television. Such an idea precisely reflects the open atti-
tude that Eisenstein always had as a film director and as a film theoretician. In
his films and film projects, as well as in his theoretical writings, Eisenstein never
considered cinema a medium that had reached a final and definitive form.
Rather, cinema was for him a constantly evolving set of elements and techniques,
each one of which opened up new possibilities that needed to be explored in
order to produce art forms increasingly capable of exerting a powerful influence
on their spectators. This is why, throughout his entire oeuvre, Eisenstein always
embraced the new means that the development of technology offered him: from
50 antonio somaini
the new 28 mm lenses to the arrival of sound cinema, from the new screen for-
mats to color film, all the way through to stereoscopic projections and television.
As we will now see, such an open approach to the cinematic dispositif can be
found in the vast double genealogy that is contained in the Notes: the genealogy
of cinemas expressive means and that of all the media and all the forms of
representation that have responded, throughout history, to the same urge to
record phenomena to which cinema had responded. Through the meandering
lines of this double genealogy, cinema is presented as a medium whose nature
can be fully understood not so much by emphasizing its medium specificity, the
properties that distinguish it from other media, but rather by revealing all its
intermedial connections with a wide variety of other media, techniques, art
forms, public spectacles, and religious rituals.
4. Cinemas Forerunners: The History of Cinemas Expressive

Means and The Route to the Chronicle
In a passage of the Notes written on January 3, 1948, six months after being ap-
pointed head of the Cinema Section of the Institute of Art History and a few
weeks before his death on February 11, Eisenstein tried to sketch an outline of
the project he was working on, clearly distinguishing between two parts: a gen-
eral history of cinema, whose opening volume was supposed to deal with the
history of cinemas expressive means (istoria vyrasitelnykh sredstv kino), and a
history of Soviet cinema, which was to be dedicated, instead, to what here
Eisenstein names, with a clear reference to Darwin, the origin of the species:
that is, the origins of the typically Soviet film genre of the cine-chronicle (kino-
khronika).
Apparently, the topic is lining up:

The history of cinemas expressive means will go in the opening volume of
The General History of Cinema.
While in the opening volume of The History of Soviet Cinema the origin of
species.
Which is to say in the first:
The history of the close-up
The history of the problem of time
The history of sound in painting
The history of audiovisual combination in painting
The history of the problem of space
The history of the problem of motion
The history of the problem of color up to the cinema*
The history of montage
in painting

in literature
in architecture etc., etc.
While in the second:
The route to the chronicle (panopticons, the history of the newspaper and
illustrated leaflet etc.)
The route to developed photos
The routes of the fixation of images
Commemorative action as nux* [in Latin: nucleus] of all arts
representative of themselves
Vorstufe* [in German: preliminary stage]
to representation
in sound
in synthesis
And the cine-chronicle (reconstruction = an event in pars pro toto),
and playacting
Dionysus mysteries Diderot K.S.123 Gas Masks.124
The notes gathered in the six texts presented in this volume can be read through
the lens of this double outline, which gives us some essential information in
order to understand the structure of Eisensteins project.
According to this plan, the opening volume of the general history of cinema
would have contained a synthesis of all of Eisensteins previous writings con-
cerning the history of the close-up, the history of the sound and audiovisual
combination in painting, the history of the problems of time, space, mo-
tion and color in the arts all the way up to the cinema, as well as the history
of montage in all its forms and in all artistic media: painting, literature, archi-
tecture, etc., etc.
Just as in the chapters of the book Montage, montage is here presented as a
process whose manifestations can be detected in different media and throughout
the history of the arts long before the appearance of cinema, even though such mani-
festations can only be recognized aprs-coup, from the retrospective vantage point
of a cinema which acts as a magnifying glass, through which the method of
each of them is visible.125 Many of the sequences of examples that we find in
the Notes are dedicated to the effort of reconstructing, through the usual jump-
ing chronology that we find in most of Eisensteins texts of 1930s and 1940s, the
different lines of a genealogy that brings together examples taken from the
most heterogeneous historical and cultural contexts. The variety and the sheer
number of the references that one finds in these lines is dazzling and often con-
fusing. Still, a number of primary genealogical lines can be identified, even if
they are often intertwined with one another. Here is a list of some of them, reor-
ganized in order to help the reader navigate the fragmentary texts of the Notes.
52 antonio somaini
Ill. 3 An example of reverse perspective from the film Bezhin Meadow, 1935-37
1. The first history mentioned in Eisensteins outline The history of the

close-up is dealt with only in a few passages of the Notes. In the text entitled
Revelation in Storm and Thunder Eisenstein mentions as an example of how
the close-up may attain a heightened expressive tension* the Father and Son
sequence of Bezhin Meadow, a sequence in which he had tried to revive the old
figurative tradition of reverse perspective. Widely employed in Byzantine and
Orthodox icons (for example, in Andrei Rublevs Trinity), reverse perspective had
been the object of a famous lecture by Pavel Florensky in 1920.126 In it, the van-
ishing point (or points) are located in front of the painting rather than beyond the
picture plane, and therefore the objects that are farther away from the point of
view of the spectator appear larger than the objects that are closer, exactly the
opposite of what happens in conventional linear perspective. In the Notes Eisen-
stein remembers how he had explicitly referred to this tradition in a sequence of
Bezhin Meadow in which the Father had to be in rear-projection, shot in greater
close-up than Stepok, even though he was [placed] further from the viewer.
(Ill.3) Other passages of the Notes present other views on the issue of the close-

up. The text In Praise of the Cine-chronicle discusses the role of the close-up
detail in the film genre of the cine-chronicle and refers to the role of the
close-up in Griffith. The Place of Cinema in the General System of the History
of the Arts, after having stated that cinema is a copy of mans psychological
apparatus, considers the close-up in relationship to attention, interest, and de-
sire: Close-ups as points of insistence of interest (cf. dreams).127
2. Different stages of the second history mentioned in Eisensteins outline
The history of the problem of time can be found in several examples men-
tioned in the Notes: a painting by Memling (c. 1470) in which the different con-
secutive phases of Christs Passion are represented simultaneously in the same
image as taking place in different parts of the city of Jerusalem, Botticellis illus-
trations of Dantes Divina Commedia (1480-1500), Hogarths Marriage -la-mode
(1743-1745) as well as Goyas series of small paintings dedicated to the killing of
the bandit El Maragato by the monk Pedro de Zaldivia (1806-1807). All are exam-
ples of sequential pictorial representations of events unfolding in time.
3. The singing angels in the Ghent Altarpiece by Van Eyck (1430-1432) (which
Eisenstein analyzes at length in the text entitled Dynamic Mummification128),
Munchs Scream (1893), and iurlioniss pictorial Sonatas (1907-1908) are all part
of the history of sound and of audiovisual combination in painting. The notes
of Revelation in Storm and Thunder add to this genealogy of audiovisual com-
binations a series of considerations concerning the history of musical instru-
ments and of sounding objects. Eisenstein lists here different examples of
sounding objects whose outward appearance is mimetically connected to the
type of sound they produce: for example, the Peruvian vessels, whose shape is
that of a stomach, the dwelling place of a fetus, and whose whistling sound,
writes Eisenstein, recalls the howling of the birthing room.129 In all these
cases, the correspondences between the shape of the sounding objects and the
type of sound they produce is considered a form of audiovisual combination.
4. Van Eycks Arnolfini Portrait (1434), Leonardos Last Supper (1494-1498), the
View and Plan of Toledo by El Greco (c. 1610) with its combination of perspectival
and planimetric views, Serovs portrait of the actress Ermolova (1905), and Ro-
bert Delaunays painting of the Eiffel Tower (1911), all belong to the history of
the problem of space, and more precisely to the history of the montage of multi-
ple points of view in one single image.
5. The combination of frontal representations of the body and profile represen-
tations of the faces in the human figures painted by the Egyptians the Picas-
sism of the Ancients, a multi-perspectival (dual-perspectival) perception of a
human being130 is considered by Eisenstein to be similar to the bodies rep-
resented by El Greco, Tintoretto and Daumier,131 who join together in a single
figure, through an anatomically impossible montage, parts of the body that are
represented in different phases of the same movement.132 Together with the sur-
prising figures with multiple hands and multiple heads of the medieval manu-
54 antonio somaini
script of the Sachsenspiegel, (see Ill. 22 and 23 on p. 144) the chronophotography
of tienne-Jules Marey, the chronophotographic paintings of the Italian Futur-
ists (for example, Giacomo Ballas Girl Running on a Balcony [1912]) and the cine-
matographic effects (kinoeffekt)133 in Degass Les Blanchisseuses and Les Repasseuses
(1869-1895) (see Ill. 46 p.185), they belong to the history of the problem of mo-
tion, that is, the history of how montage was used in drawing, painting and
photography to represent human bodily movement.
6. Chinese ink drawings, Eastern monochrome landscapes, the pictorial
genre of the grisaille, Daumiers monochrome lithographs, the use of color in the
popular tradition of the Russian lubok, avant-garde monochrome paintings, and
black-and-white photographs, all belong to the history of the problem of color
up to the cinema. Just as in his late essays on color, in the text Revelation in
Storm and Thunder Eisenstein underlines how chromatic montage should be
based on the same principle of asynchronism that he had already formulated
in 1928 in relation to audiovisual montage, in the Statement on Sound-Film
written together with Pudovkin and Aleksandrov.134 Such a principle of asyn-
chronism, which according to Eisenstein manifests itself in its simplest form in
the time span between a lightning strike and the following thunder (this is the
revelation in storm and thunder) was for him an example of how montage
should be thought of as a way of dismantling the natural order of phenomena
in order to express the will of the author:
The most complex problem, because it is the most fundamentally significant

for the principles of audiovisual aesthetics in cinema, has been (and, alas, still
is) establishing some principles for the dismantling of the natural
synchronism (the way it is in the order of things) and establishing ones
own synchronism between the world of sounds and the world of visual
appearances, expressing the thoughts of the author.
In this sense, sound cinema was a descendent of that very same principle in
ordinary montage: where the will of the author, in pursuit of the expression of
his own creative volition, dismantles the order of events and recreates it
according to his own authorial established laws.
And in this sense, sound cinema was the premise for the understanding of
color. Color becomes understood and familiar in cinema aesthetics only from
the moment when the separation of the objects natural coloring from the
object itself, as well as the authors own new artificial, emotional and
conceptual, unification of the colors with the objects are both acknowl-
edged.135
7. The tradition of mosaic images and the pictorial style of Pointillism are con-
sidered to be forerunners of the way in which montage, as a unity in diver-
sity, produces a single, synthetic image from a multiplicity of separate compo-

nents. They both belong to the history of montage in painting. To this same
history, but in a different way, belong the sequential pictures mentioned above,
the dynamic bodies of Tintoretto and Daumier, as well as other composite fig-
ures such as Zeuxiss legendary portrait of Helen composed by using five differ-
ent female models, or the grotesque hybrid bodies painted by Hieronymus Bosch
and Pieter Brueghel the Elder.
8. Literary passages in which an action or the quality of a feeling are described
through a series of verbs or adjectives in such a way that each one of them seems
to be considering the same phenomenon from a different angle, belong to the
history of montage in literature. In the notes of Dynamic Mummification Ei-
senstein mentions examples taken from Pushkins poem Poltava (1828-1829)
and from Tolstoys The Death of Ivan Ilyich (1886), and distinguishes between ad-
jectival, substantival, and verbal montage.136
9. The disposition of the building on the Acropolis of Athens, Hokusais gi-
gantic contour drawings on mountains, the labyrinth represented on the floor
of the cathedral of Chartres, the design of Michelangelos square on Romes Ca-
pitoline Hill, the landscape views in English parks, Renaissance loggias and the
glass architecture of Le Corbusier with its redefinition of the distinction between
exterior and interior,137 all belong to the history of montage in architecture and
more precisely to an architectural montage conceived of as the articulation of the
different views of a spectator in motion.
Other genealogical lines that can be considered part of the history of cine-
mas expressive means reconstruct the forerunners of several elements of the
cinematic dispositif.
10. The vertical screen, for example, has its forerunners in the whole history of
images painted or hung on a wall in order to be presented vertically in front of
the spectator: paintings, frescoes, hanging rugs, or tapestries.
11. Projection is also the object of a genealogical reconstruction in the Notes.
Eisenstein mentions a series of examples which includes the colored light pro-
jected through the stained glass windows into the space of the nave of Gothic
cathedrals, the projections of magic lanterns,138 the various traditions of shadow
theater and shadow projection (Javanese wayang, Turkish karagz, Lavaters sil-
houettes), the French chambres ardentes, the projected light of the dioramas, Loe
Fullers light shows, the revolving lighthouse on the Palais de lIndustrie in 1889
and the centuries-long tradition of fireworks. Such a genealogy, according to
Eisenstein, culminated with stereoscopic cinema: as we read in Dynamic Mum-
mification, film is also (besides everything in fusion) translucent painting,* planned
for projection. To a certain extent, it is vitraux,* since a stained glass window
can be considered a color form of volume penetrating into the space of the
nave.139
12. The genealogical line of animation, finally, begins with petroglyphic draw-
ings depicting animals and runs all the way through Aesop, La Fontaine, Hans
56 antonio somaini
Christian Andersen and Krylov to the Silly Symphonies of Walt Disney (1929-
1939), never losing its archaic, animistic, and totemistic dimension.
According to the outline quoted above, the opening volume of the history of
Soviet cinema was supposed to present a vast genealogy of the genre of cine-
chronicle: a genre which had found its most accomplished form in the tradition
of Soviet historical films, and to which Eisenstein had made a major
contribution, beginning with Strike and ending with Ivan the Terrible. As we will
now see, the notes for this second opening volume are characterized by the same
jumping chronology and the same anachronic montage that we have found
above. Here is a list of some of the most important genealogical lines:
1. Egyptian mummies and Roman death masks, private tombstones and public
monuments to national heroes, national shrines (Peters cottage, Roosevelts
home140) and the repository of saints relics belong to a genealogical line of
media and forms of representation that were conceived as a way to arrest time
and preserve visible traces of the dead. Eisenstein insists on the importance of
following this genealogical line, which traces the routes of the fixation of
images, from the mummy (preservation of the self*) to photography.141 In other
passages, stereoscopic cinema is mentioned as belonging to this same line: The
stage of factual, physical (relief) casting. Mortuary masks (Egypt, Rome. Conti-
nuation of the tradition even now). Resonance with (stereoscopic) cinema in re-
lief.142
2. To the same routes of the fixation of images belong various instruments
for the precise transferring of three-dimensional bodies onto a two-dimensional
plane (Drers grid, the pantograph, Lavaters instrument for the tracing of sil-
houettes, Gilles-Louis Chrtiens Physionotrace), as well as all the main stages of
the history of photography, from its origins to the 1920s. Eisenstein mentions
the early photographic techniques (calotypes, daguerrotypes, ambrotypes), still
life, landscape and genre photography, the first photographic portraits, the
first snapshots, the first photocollages and photomontages, stereoscopic photo-
graphy, war photography, aerial photography, plein air photography, photo-
journalism and photo documentary, the double exposures in spirit photography,
Atgets views of Paris, avant-garde photography such as Moholy-Nagys Fotogram-
men and Man Rays rayographs, and the photomontages of George Grosz and
John Heartfield, Rodchenko and Stepanova.
3. Another line belonging to the same routes of the fixation of images and to
the route of developed photos lists a series of techniques that are based on the
negative/positive principle:143 handprints in caves, the various forms of brand-
ing and stenciling, Babylonian seals, Mayan seals for decorating the body,
ancient heel-marks on material and preservation of tradition in artisanal textile
of East and West, again the techniques of mask casting, the entire history of the
techniques of book and image printing, all the way up to the paper positive

invented by Fox Talbot and the beginning of the era of modern negative/positive
photographic techniques.
4. Mechanical miniature theaters, wind-up dolls, mechanical pianos and me-
chanical toys, automatons and moving wax figures lead up to the cinema as a
technique for the mechanical reproduction of movement: a genealogical line
which underlines the mechanical nature of cinema and the origins of the process
of montage in the history of mechanics and automatons.144
5. In a series of notes that begin with a repeated quotation from Pushkins
Notes on Popular Drama that says that theater was born on the public
square,145 Eisenstein aligns Kunstkammern and cabinets de curiosits, wax museums
(Muse Grvin, the Hamburg Panoptikum, Madame Tussauds and the copies of
the severed heads of Louis XVI and Marie-Antoinette, the assassinated Marat, the
executed Charlotte Corday, the guillotined Robespierre), scenes of martyrdom
in mystery plays, Grand Guignol theater and Nikolai Evreinovs ideas on the re-
lationships between theater and public executions (formulated in a 1918 lecture
entitled Theater and the Scaffold), panoramas and dioramas, the Negro vil-
lage in the Paris Exposition Universelle of 1900 and the delivery of entire
tribes to the Brussels International Exposition of 1935, the fake wet nurse of
George Washington exhibited by Barnum in his shows, boulevard melodrama
and fairground performances, circus spectacles with funambulists and ventrilo-
quists, rope dancers and weight lifters, in order to establish a genealogy of cine-
ma as a public, popular, sensational, attraction-based spectacle.
6. Homeric poems, the old Slavic poem known as The Tale of Igors Campaign,
Shakespeares historical chronicles, Callots Les Grandes misres de la guerre
(1633), Goyas Desastres de la guerra (1810-1815), the literary genre of the travelogues,
and the wax museums already mentioned above, belong to the genealogical line
that reconstructs the route to the chronicle which leads to the Soviet film genre
of cine-chronicle.
7. In the notes gathered in the text entitled In Praise of the Cine-chronicle,
the origins of this route to the chronicle are found in the history of ornament.
Eisenstein explains here how the cine-chronicle can be considered as a stage
of the artistic film, the initial one, just as petroglyph and ornament are a
stage of a future visual art. The cine-chronicle, in its initial forms (Lumires
Arrival of a Train in the Station of La Ciotat and Workers Leaving the Lumire Factory, the
prerevolutionary Path-journal shot from one point of view, but also Dziga Ver-
tovs Kino-Eye, based on the principle of life caught unawares) is considered
by Eisenstein as fundamentally eidetic with its desire to adhere to reality, just
as petroglyphic drawings adhere to the walls of a cave, and archaic tattooed orna-
ments adhere to the skin. As Eisenstein writes, If this is to go* into the history of
film, then say that the beginning landmark of the new era (in the arts as well
the Soviet art of cinema) began with the same thing as the first threshold of
culture in humanity in general the chronicle [khronika].146
58 antonio somaini
8. The genealogical line of commemorative actions as nux* of all arts has its
Vorstufe, its preliminary stages, in the Dionysian rites reenacting of the life and
death of Dionysus, in the Christian reenactments of the Passion such as the Pas-
sionsspiele taking place each year in the Bavarian town of Oberammergau, in the
large ceremonies commemorating the French Revolution, all the way up to the
mass events organized in Leningrad during the early 1920s in order to commem-
orate the anniversaries of the October Revolution: for example, the famous case
of The Storming of the Winter Palace, directed in 1920 by Nikolai Evreinov. This line,
according to Eisenstein, had to be followed from the Dionysian rites to the Soviet
historical film (Cult spectacles both Dionysia and Mystery plays these are
historical film) and beyond, all the way up to television (The dithyramb
dynastic chronicle reconstruction of an action television147), as we will
further see in the last section of this text.
The last line of the synthetic outline mentioned above Dionysus mysteries
Diderot K.S. Gas Masks shows clearly once more how Eisenstein considered
his own works as being one of the crucial stages of this vast genealogy. The line
begins in fact with Dionysian rites, continues with the Christian mysteries of the
Passion, then with Diderots ideas on theater as union between spectators and
stage, with Konstantin Stanislavskys (K.S.) ideas on acting as a lived
experience (perezhivanie) based on empathy, and ending with Gas Masks, the
theater play Eisenstein had staged in 1924 in a real factory of gas masks. He
considered this play as a turning point in his career, since after that he came to
the conclusion that the limits of theater in the representation of reality had to be
overcome by moving on to cinema.
Throughout the various genealogical lines that we have just tried to summar-
ize, the cinematic dispositif is treated as an assemblage of elements which can
be dismantled and studied separately.148 Each one of these elements the choice
of point of view and the composition of forms within the frame, the recording of
images onto light-sensitive film, the passage from negative to positive, the pro-
jection of light and images onto a vertical screen, as well as all the possible forms
of visual, audiovisual, and chromatic montage becomes the object of a genea-
logical reconstruction that searches for its forerunners in the history of the arts
and of religious rites. The same approach is applied to the study of the functions
of cinema: Eisenstein presents cinema as a way of dismantling and reorganizing
audiovisual phenomena in time and space, of recording and preserving phenomena
which would otherwise be destined to decay and disappear, of narrating, commem-
orating, and reenacting past events, and then tries to find the genealogical fore-
runners of each one of these functions by organizing into nonlinear, jumping
sequences long lists of examples derived from very different historical and cultur-
al contexts.

The only moment in which Eisensteins genealogy follows a linear, chronolo-
gical order is when he mentions, as forerunners of cinema, a list of inven-
tions taken from Lewis Mumfords Technics and Civilisation (1934).149 In his study,
Mumford had presented the history of technology as unfolding in three, partially
overlapping phases: the eotechnic (roughly from 1000 to 1800), the paleotech-
nic (from 1700 to 1900), and the neotechnic (from 1900 to Mumfords pre-
sent, the 1930s). The seven chapters of the book are followed by a list of inven-
tions in which Mumford tries to sum up the family lineage listing names of
technics and inventors organized in chronological order, but avoiding any refer-
ence to the countries to which the inventors belonged, since modern science
and technology are part of the common stock of Western Civilization.150 After
having presented a summary of the existing technics before the tenth century,
Mumford begins a list which begins with 999: Painted glass windows in Eng-
land, a date that appears in Eisensteins Notes in a section dedicated to the gen-
ealogy of projection: Stained glass windows (999). As a transparent image. As a
means to throw colored shadow. Magic lantern.151
Even though by copying into his notes certain sections of Mumfords list of
inventions Eisenstein momentarily follows a linear chronological order, what is
interesting is that in the list of media and technics mentioned by Eisenstein one
finds examples which go way beyond what one would expect in a history of cine-
ma, as general as it may be. Just like Sadoul in his Histoire gnrale du cinma (in
whose first volume we find many of the examples mentioned in the Notes), Eisen-
stein was interested in underlining how cinema had its roots in the longue dure of
a history of technical experimentations, which included both optical media and
other kind of media that were not dedicated to the recording and the presenta-
tion of images.152 Besides optical media such as the camera obscura, the first
lenses, the microscope, the first photographic techniques (calotype, daguerreo-
type, ambrotype), celluloid, chronophotography, Edisons first motion picture
camera, in Eisensteins general history we find also printing media such as the
first movable types (1041-1049), wooden type (1300), metal type (1390) and the
first typewriter (1714), as well as sound media such as the phonautograph invented
by Scott de Martinville (1857), the microphone and the phonograph invented by
Edison (1877) all the way to the first radio broadcasting in 1920 and the first
experiments in radio television in 1927. The presence of these references shows
how Eisenstein did not consider cinema as a primarily optical medium, but rather
as a medium whose technical forerunners could be found in a vast and differ-
entiated history of techniques which included those that had been invented in
order to mechanize printing and writing or to record, manipulate, and transmit
aural phenomena.
The list of examples that Eisenstein gathers in this vast and meandering gen-
ealogy is often disorienting, since it often seems to be drifting away in all possi-
ble directions. Still, several passages in the Notes indicate how all these examples
60 antonio somaini
could be referred to a small number of founding principles. The genealogical
lines dealing with the origin of the species of the cine-chronicle, for exam-
ple, are considered by Eisenstein as aligning all the forms of representation, the
media, and the ritual actions that had been invented and performed in order to
respond to a primary urge to record phenomena: a resistance against tran-
sience, a nostalgia for the imperishable and a search for immortality,153
which according to him had remained the same through history. Once more, as
had already happened in Montage and Nonindifferent Nature, Eisenstein was
searching for ce qui ne passe pas dans ce qui passe, for that which doesnt change
among what changes, as he writes with his usual mix of languages in a passage
of Metod.154
5. The Psychological and Anthropological Foundations of

Eisensteins General History: The Urphnomen of
Cinema, the Formula of Pathos (Eisenstein and Warburg),
and the Urge to Record Phenomena
Since the beginning of the 1920s, since his very first texts on the nature of the
expressive movement and on the montage of attractions in theater and cine-
ma, Eisenstein had always tried to find the psychological and the anthropological
foundations of the aesthetic principles he was elaborating. The urge to record
phenomena mentioned in the Notes as a way of explaining the historical appear-
ance of the media and the art forms belonging to the genealogy of the cine-
chronicle can be compared with the way in which in his texts about theater and
film direction and in books like Metod, Montage, and Nonindifferent Nature Eisen-
stein had tried to untangle the web of conscious and unconscious associations
which lies behind every creative intuition, and to find some solid, psychological
foundations for the aesthetic principles of regression, montage, and
pathos.
A text like Torito, written in 1934 in the context of his courses in film and
theater direction at GIK and conceived as part of the first volume of Direction,
shows well how Eisenstein was interested in unfolding in front of his students
the intricate montage of intuitions, associations, and recollections that lead to a
compositional solution in film and theater. Taking as an example one of the
scenes of the episode Maguey of Que Viva Mexico! the scene of the rebellion of
the peones following the rape of Maria, the young fiance of the peon Sebastian
Eisenstein remembers how behind the image of the arcades of the inner court-
yard of the hacienda where the rebellion takes place, and behind the white sarape
of Sebastian, one could find an intricate web of heterogeneous references such as
the colored photographs of Venice that Eisenstein had seen as a child in Riga, De
Chiricos urban landscapes, the Surrealist montages in Max Ernsts La Femme 100
ttes, the white surcoats of the raskolniki sentenced to death in Mussorgskis opera

Khovanshchina, white as a traditional color of mourning in China, and the white
togas of ancient Roman candidates to the Senate, the candidati (from the Latin
candidus, white). In this same text, Eisenstein recalls the psychological analysis
of the invention of the press by Gutenberg that one could find in Joseph-Marie
Montmassons Le Rle de linconscient dans linvention scientifique (1928),155 a study of
the unconscious drives behind technical inventions, and a possible reference
point for Eisenstein in his search for the urges and the Triebe that lay behind
the media and the art forms dedicated to the recording and the preservation of
phenomena.
A similar search for the psychological foundations of artistic creation and me-
dia invention can be found in Metod. The central idea of the book, as we have
seen quoting the essay Film Form: New Problems, is that artworks can be truly
effective only if they are capable of activating a dialectic movement which com-
bines a determined progressive ascent towards ideas at the highest peaks of
consciousness and at the same time [] a penetration through the structure of
form into the deepest layers of emotional thinking.156 The different texts that
Eisenstein wanted to gather in Metod are all dedicated to the exploration of the
various paths of regression (puti regressa) that could lead to such deepest
layers: not only of emotional thinking but, more in general, of organic, psy-
chological or social life. The protoplasmatic body of simple organisms such as
the amoeba, the prenatal condition of the fetus in the placenta, the initial stages
of individual consciousness and the ways of thinking of archaic societies, the
earliest forms of communal life all these early stages are considered by Ei-
senstein to be the deepest layers which never disappear and are never comple-
tely overcome as organisms, minds, and societies evolve toward higher forms.
As Eisenstein shows at length in the chapters of Metod, traces of these deepest
layers can be found throughout the history of the arts: traces of the floating
condition of the fetus in the mothers womb can be found, for example, in the
gliding, suspended figures of Michelangelos Last Judgement and El Grecos Ascen-
sion of Jesus, or in the drawings and models of flying machines of Leonardo da
Vinci, Arnold Bcklin and Vladimir Tatlin:
Its one impulse [pozyv].

Its one surge [poryv].
And this is why the artists, just as the engineers, have turned to the flight of
wings.
The flight of imagination is not enough for them.
They need a real, concrete flight. Tangible. Be it Leonardo or Bcklin (see the
mass of his notes and his works on the same analysis of the flight of birds
and of the models of flying machines) or even today a paradox in the age of
the flying fortresses and of the radar the Letatlin, the naf apparatus
invented by our friend and contemporary [Vladimir Tatlin].157
62 antonio somaini
In other sections of Metod Eisenstein uses the same term urge which appears in
the Notes in order to indicate the way in which certain artistic forms bear the
traces of the same desire of Mutterleibversenkung, of sinking into the mothers
womb, which he had identified reading Otto Ranks Trauma der Geburt and San-
dor Ferenczis Thalassa: Versuch einer Genitaltheorie, both published in 1924.158 This
urge had according to Eisenstein both a psychological and a social dimension:
it was both the desire to return to a state of indifferentiation between the body of
the fetus and that of the mother, and an urge towards a non-division in classes
(urge k besklassovosti),159 the desire to return to a state of originary communism
which for Eisenstein was both an origin deeply rooted in the past, and a goal to
be pursued in the future. It is according to this perspective that Eisenstein sees in
Disneys Silly Symphonies the regression toward a world of protoplasmatic
forms which is both a Rck-Rck [return-return] to evolutionary prae-history160
and a projection toward a utopian future. In the same way, in the text Surge
towards Gliding (Poryv k pareniiu) Eisenstein sees in the circular forms and
in the floating, flying figures that can be found through the history of the paint-
ing the sign that art tries invariably [] to revive in people this incessant thirst
[zhazhda] for ideal states which precede the division in classes: an Eden-Para-
dise that
In the social biography of nations, is the state that precedes the division in
classes, the state in which there isnt yet any exploitation of man by man, any
servitude.
In the individual and biological biography of man, it is the happiness of the
uterine state of the embryo which is free from the need to fight for its life, and
which exists in a state of serene well-being, of warmth and protection against
any possible discomfort.161
In Montage as well Eisenstein tries to establish the psychological and the anthro-
pological foundations of the aesthetic principle that constitutes the focal center
of the book: the principle of montage. The foreword begins with a quotation
from Gorkys Man (All is in man all is for mans sake!162) with which Eisen-
stein tries to convey immediately the idea that montage is a process that is deeply
rooted into human nature. The following chapters provide both an anthropologi-
cal and psychological foundation for montage.
The first one can be found in a section of the chapter of Montage entitled Lao-
con in the English edition, a section in which the origins of montage here
defined as method of dismemberment and reassembly (metod i raschleneniia i
vossoedineniia)163 are found, through a miraculous voyage deep into the history
of art,164 in the myths and mysteries of Dionysus, in which the crowd of the
participants took part in ceremonies remembering and reenacting the legend of
the dismembered and reconstituted god:

The myths and mysteries of Dionysus, of Dionysus being torn to pieces and
the pieces being reconstituted in the transfigured Dionysus. Here we are at
the very threshold of the art of theater which in time was to become the art of
cinema, that threshold at which religious ritual gradually turned into art, at
which the straightforward cult act gradually turned into symbolic ritual, then to
metamorphose into an artistic image [obraz].165
In the myth of the young god Dionysus dismembered by the Titans and brought
back to life by Zeus, Eisenstein found the primordial example of an act of dis-
memberment which is then followed by a reunification in some superior new
quality, just as in filmic montage the dismantling of a natural order of phe-
nomena is followed by the reunification of these separated phenomena into a
new, meaningful and emotionally charged image (obraz). Dionysus was for Ei-
senstein the first of a series of gods whose bodies had been dismembered and
then reunified into a new whole. In the chapter Dionysus and Osiris he quotes
Alfred Wintersteins Ursprung der Tragdie (The origin of tragedy) (1925), a psy-
choanalytic study in which the author mentions the possibility of reducing the
content of different Attic tragedies to a small number of recurring figures of dy-
ing gods: for example, a pathos of the year-daemon, usually a ritual or sacrificial
death, in which Adonis or Attis is killed by the taboo animal; the Pharmakos is
stoned to death; Osiris, Dionysus, Pentheus or Hippolytus are torn to pieces.166
All these mythological figures represented for Eisenstein different manifesta-
tions of a fundamental need to establish a community on the basis of the dis-
memberment and the reconstitution of a sacrificial body: be it the real chief of a
tribe, a surrogate figure such as the slaves that the Aztec selected to be honored
for a year in order to then be sacrificed as images of the king, a totemic animal,
the sacrifice of the body of Christ being commemorated in the sacrament of the
Holy Communion, or the killing of the bull in the corridas in honour of the Vir-
gin that Eisenstein had witnessed in Mexico.167
What interested Eisenstein in all these rites involving some form of real or
symbolic sacrificial dismembering was, on the one hand, their social and politi-
cal meaning: the fact that through such rites what was achieved was the unity
of a collectivity, its fusion into a single entity,168 showing how montage, since
its origins, could exert a concrete social and political function. On the other
hand, he was also interested in the passage from real sacrificial acts to their repre-
sentation (the real sacrifice being substituted by a ceremony of commemoration
and reenactment and then by a theatrical representation, the tragedy), and, final-
ly, the elevation of the actions of dismembering and recomposing to the status of
a founding artistic principle: the principle of montage. At this stage, writes Ei-
senstein,
64 antonio somaini
we are now no longer dealing with a narrative account of a dismembered damon
undergoing his epiphany, or even with the structure of the consecutive
peripeteias in his story (which form the basis of a different plot-line), but with
a principle, which has absorbed the basic characteristics of the narrative and
reassembled them in a form that gives it a new quality.
This, as a principle, permeates the structure of all possible kinds of artistic
composition.
In the course of its progress, the principle oscillates between being directly
figurative and moving away as far as possible from figurative representation
in the direction of pure principle. This does not only involve a simple forward
development in a straight line; it can also include unexpected reversals and
regressions [Zdes est i neozhidannye vozvraty, retsidivy].169
The second attempt to establish a psychological and anthropological foundation

of the principle of montage can be found in another section of the same chapter
of Montage entitled Laocon. Here Eisenstein presents what he considers as
the most fundamental cinematic phenomenon (samyi osnovnoi kinofenomen):
The most fundamental cinematic phenomenon the fact that the picture
moves is a montage phenomenon. What does this phenomenon of the
moving photographic image consist of?
A series of still photographs of different stages of a single movement are
taken. The result is a succession of what are called frames.
Connecting them up with one another in montage by passing the film at a
certain speed through a projector reduces them to a single process which our
perception interprets as movement.170
According to Eisenstein, this basic form of cinematic montage can be considered

most fundamental for at least two reasons.
On the one hand, it exhibits in a simple form the human minds capacity of
uniting separate phenomena into a generalised image:171 a capacity that the
mind exercises not only in the specific case of viewing a film, but in every cogni-
tive activity. Interpreted in this perspective, perception and memory, imagination
and logical reasoning are all carried out by the mind through some form of mon-
tage in which multiple impressions, memories, images, or concepts, are edited
together in order to produce an image (obraz) imbued with a broader meaning.
To think, writes Eisenstein, is above all to generalise.172 As we read in Lao-
con, when we consider
the unique nature of the cinematic phenomenon the creation of motion out
of the collision of two motionless forms [] we are not dealing with
natural, physical movement but with something that has to do with the way

our perceptions work. This is not only the primary phenomenon of cinematic
technique [pervichnyi fenomen kinematograficheskoi tekhniki]; it is above all a
primary phenomenon of the human minds capacity to create images. For
strictly speaking what occurs in this case is not movement; instead, our
consciousness displays its ability to bring together two separate phenomena
into a generalised image; to merge two motionless phases into an image of
movement.173
Referring to the way in which single perceptions are edited by consciousness

into a continuous and uninterrupted perceptual flow, Eisenstein continues:
The principle of cinema is no more than a reflection, transferred to film-

stock, footage, frame and projection speed, of an inevitable and absolutely
basic psychological process that is common to each individual consciousness
from its first steps in the absorption of reality. I refer to what is called
eidetics. Reality exists for us as a series of foreshortenings and images.
Without eidetics we would never be able to reduce all those split-second
photographs of the separate aspects of phenomena into a single image.174
On the other hand, the most fundamental cinematic phenomenon is consid-

ered by Eisenstein as a paradigmatic example of the unification of several repre-
sentations (izobrazhenie) into a general, meaningful, and emotionally powerful
image (obraz) of which one can find an infinite number of variations through-
out the history of the arts. Here it is important to underline how in several pas-
sages of the chapter entitled Laocon Eisenstein uses the German term Urpho-
men (originary or fundamental phenomenon) in the expression the
Urphnomen of cinema,175 a clear reference to Goethes scientific writings176 and
to his idea that one could consider the infinite, metamorphic variety of natural
phenomena as an endless series of variations of a small number of transcenden-
tal models or types. The different plants could be considered a series of mor-
phological variations of an originary plant (Urpflanze), the variety of animal
bones could be reconducted to an originary vertebra (Urwirbel), while the dif-
ferent colors could be considered as resulting from the interaction of the Urph-
nomene of light and shadow.177
Like several other authors writing during the first decades of the twentieth
century we may recall the names of art historians, philosophers, film theorists
and cultural critics such as Gottfried Semper, Alois Riegl and Heinrich Wlfflin,
Georg Simmel and Bla Balzs, Walter Benjamin and Siegfried Kracauer Eisen-
stein had found in Goethes morphology the model of a tender empiricism
(zarte Empirie)178 capable of finding morphological analogies among phenomena
that at first sight could seem distant and heterogeneous.179 If Goethe conceived
the Urphnomen for the first time during his trip to Italy in 1786, when, aston-
66 antonio somaini
ished by the endless variety of botanical forms he was encountering, dreamed of
the possibility of deriving all of them from a transcendental model that he called
Urpflanze, Eisenstein arrived at the decision to use the term Urphnomen after hav-
ing contemplated the endless variations on the idea of montage that one could
find scattered throughout the history of the arts.
Considered in this perspective, all the texts written for Montage can be read as a
series of analyses and evaluations in terms of their possible reemployment in
cinema of different variations of the same Urphnomen of cinema. In the
chapter entitled Laocon, for example, we find aligned one after the other in a
meandering sequence the Futurist drawing of eight-legged people (likely a
reference to Giacomo Ballas Girl Running on a Balcony [1910]), certain very early
miniatures of the 11th-12th centuries (probably the miniatures of the Sachsenspie-
gel mentioned above), the many armed Hindu gods, the mythical, metamorphic
figure of Proteus, Tolstoys description of a running horse at night by the light
of flashes of lightning, the dynamic figures in the lithographs of Daumier and
in the ceilings of Tintoretto, Watteaus LEmbarquement pour Cythre, Rodins statue
of Balzac, all the way up to the different variants of montage-approach and
montage thinking (raznovidnosti montazhnogo podkhoda y myshleniia) that one
could find in the battle scenes of Shakespeares Macbeth and Richard III.180 As
Eisenstein writes, Shakespeares mastery in introducing a whole series of preci-
nematographic forms of montage in his plays allowed one to understand the
nature of the cinematic Urphnomen [] outside cinema:
It only remains to say one last thing: if Shakespeare has such mastery of all
the forms that derive from the Urphnomen of cinema, i.e., or all those specific
compositional devices that we have enumerated, then is he not equally
inclined towards the very Urphnomen itself?
What can that cinematic Urphnomen be [] outside cinema? For an author
who is not a film-maker, what can its attraction be when he is working within
his own, non-cinematic art form?
The main attraction will, of course, be the essential content of that
phenomenon: movement. And more precisely: not so much movement as
such but the image of movement (in the sense in which we have been discussing
it hitherto). If we were to be utterly pedantic, we could say that perception of
the phenomenon of any movement consists in the continual break-up of
certain static form and the reordering of the fragments of that static form into a
new form.181
The chapters of Nonindifferent Nature can be read in the same way: as a series of
analyses of different historical manifestations of a few fundamental aesthetic
principles. The equivalent of the Urphnomen of cinema mentioned in Montage

is now what Eisenstein calls with a surprising coincidence with Aby Warburgs
notion of Pathosformel a formula of pathos (formula pafosa).182
In his atlas entitled Mnemosyne, Warburg decided to use the montage of differ-
ent photographic reproductions of artworks, diagrams, pages of newspapers,
and images derived from various fields (news, advertising, etc.) within the rec-
tangular space of plates with a back velvet background in order to study and
exhibit the migrations throughout the history of images of a few fundamental
Pathosformeln: a few formulas of bodily gesture which were the expression of a
series of emotions (suffering, grieving, mourning, fury, delirium, Dionysiac
pathos, etc.) deeply impressed, almost engraved, in collective memory.183
In a similar way, in the various chapters of Nonindifferent Nature Eisenstein ana-
lyzes the different historical manifestations of a formula of pathos that mani-
fests itself in the simplest form as a series of nonstatic, ecstatic (from the
Greek ek-stasis) bodily gestures: standing, moving, jumping, screaming, up to the
point of being beside oneself.184 Translated from the realm of bodily gestures
to the realm of artistic form, this formula according to Eisenstein defined a
work of art as properly pathetic if it was characterized by a similar state of
being beside oneself: a state produced by an inner energy which grows,
reaches a climax and explodes producing a series of dialectic, qualitative leaps
from one level to another. As we read in the chapter of Nonindifferent Nature en-
titled Organic Unity and Pathos:
To be beside oneself is unavoidably also a transition to something else, to

something different in quality, to something opposite to what preceded it (no
motion to motion, no sound to sound, etc.).
Thus, just from the most superficial description of the ecstatic effect, which
produces a construction of pathos, we can see what basic feature the
construction must have in a composition of pathos.
In this structure the condition of being beside oneself must be observed in
all of its features, as well as the constant transition to a different quality.
To be beside oneself, to be out of the usual balance and state, to move to a
new state all this, of course, contributes to the conditions necessary for the
effect of any art capable of captivating us.185
For Eisenstein such a formula of pathos was a single universal principle

whose manifestations could be found in the creative works of the most varied
countries, nations, epochs and periods.186 Like Warburgs Pathosformel, it should
not be conceived of statically and mechanically, as a fixed set of formal prere-
quisites which remain unaltered in time, but rather in a dynamic sense, as an
energetic, dialectical principle which migrates through time and space manifest-
ing itself in new configurations across a history which is a history of recur-
68 antonio somaini
rences, unexpected returns and relapses, just as for Warburg the history of
Pathosformeln was a history of survival, Nachleben.
Both for Eisenstein and for Warburg, montage provided the most appropriate
instrument to extract from the course of history, organize and compare various
examples of the formula of pathos. In a series of notes written in Russian as a
complement to the German text of The Dramaturgy of Film Form, Eisenstein
presents montage as a comparing activity (deiatelnost sopostavitelnaia),187 while
Warburg, in his introduction to the Atlas Mnemosyne, defines the type of visual
analysis that the atlas plates allowed as a comparative analysis (vergleichende
Betrachtung) thanks to which one could see how the dancing Salome from the
Bible appears as a Greek maenad, or [] a female servant carrying a basket of
fruit in Ghirlandaio rushes by in quite conscious imitation of the Victory of a
Roman triumphal arch.188
Looking at art history through the lens of such a formula of pathos, and
using montage as a heuristic and hermeneutic principle just as Warburg had
done in the plates of Mnemosyne, Eisenstein conceived the chapters of Nonindiffer-
ent Nature as a series of flowing, ecstatic sequences aligning one after the other
different examples of works of art in which one could find forms that somehow
bore the traces of the dialectic energy of the formula of pathos: for example,
the explosions (intended as accumulation of tension and sudden release) that one
could find in El Grecos Resurrection, in Piranesis Prisons, as well as in the scene of
the milk separator in The General Line.189
The way in which Eisenstein presents the principles of regression, mon-
tage, pathos, and ecstasy in Metod, Montage, and Nonindifferent Nature seems
to qualify them as transhistorical principles capable of cutting across history and of
finding different manifestations in different media. Eisenstein was well aware of
the fact that positing the existence of such principles as the basis of his own
aesthetics could have exposed him to the accusation particularly dangerous in
the Soviet Union of the 1930s and 1940s of denying the progressive nature of
history and the social and historical conditions of all artistic forms. Two chapters
of Nonindifferent Nature entitled Sverkhpredmetnost i sverkhtelesnost (Su-
praobjectivity and supracorporeality) and K voprosy nadystorichsnosti (On the
question of suprahistoricity)190 give a preemptive answer to a criticism Eisenstein
was clearly expecting. Commenting on the extrahistorical, extranational, extra-
social nature of the one and the same formula of pathos, Eisenstein writes:
We discovered a certain formula according to which works of pathos are

constructed.
We found an extremely clearcut condition for that state, in which all elements
and features of a given work must be or appear, in order that the pathos effect
of the whole be achieved (this condition was the ecstatic state of all its

elements a state that presumes the continuous spasmodic transition from
quantity to quality as well as a series of other features).
We tried to verify the generality and universality of this condition of a certain
state, and following this, the characteristics of the compositional structure in
the most varied areas and branches of art. We selected our examples so that
they are as colorful and varied as possible, without taking into account time,
place, nationality, or theme of the works chosen. []
And we discovered everywhere that one and the same formula by which,
without regard to person, epoch, or field, the fundamental ecstatic explosion
is achieved, which lies at the basis of the pathos effect of the whole.
The question naturally arises what is this extrahistorical, extranational,
extrasocial panacea with certain immanent features outside of time and
space?
And how can it be that with the greatly varied and incompatible contents in
these most diverse examples of the principle of pathosization, the principle of
their pathos exposition, the conditions of the pathos quality of their sound
they suddenly turn out to be exactly the same?
If I did not think I had an answer to this question, I would hardly emphasize it
so much, but, on the contrary, like a circus juggler performing his tricks,
would detract attention in every way possible from posing such a question.
But I really think that it is perfectly possible to reply to such a perplexing
question.191
The answer to this perplexing question, according to what we read in the fol-
lowing pages of this chapter of Nonindifferent Nature, has to be found in the con-
nection between the psychic conditions in which the work has been created by
the inspired author, the way in which they are translated into the pathos con-
struction of the artistic form, and the way in which this artistic form can in turn
produce some specific psychic conditions in the spectator. What Eisenstein
imagines, in other words, is an ecstatic flow192 that circulates between the ar-
tist, the work, and the spectator: a flow which becomes possible if all three of
them participate in the stream of dialectic, ecstatic energy which runs across
all natural phenomena, across a matter which Eisenstein conceived as a con-
tinuous process of becoming:193
This psychic state was characterized by us [] as the sense of participation in

the laws governing the course of natural phenomena (from which also comes
the scheme of the composition of works of pathos as a copy of the dialectic
laws, according to which the continuous process of the formation and
development of the universe occurs, second by second). []
The norms of this state, as we have already said, are known to us.
They are single and unchanging.
70 antonio somaini
These are those basic laws according to which the formation of everything
that exists flows.
The obsession relates to them.
The structure of its psychic state is tuned in unison to it.
And through it this system becomes the basic structure of the work and the
formation of its material.
And in a vivid experience, those perceiving this structure, through the system
of images of the work, participate in the operating of the norms of motion of
the whole existing order of things and, experiencing it in dizzy ecstasy,
participate in the state of being possessed by pathos.
Now it is clear why, independent of the material and the figurative execution
of the content, all examples of art of genuine pathos of different periods and
nations by the mark of concreteness by the mark of the structure of itself
unavoidably and inevitably correspond and must correspond.
For this structure is a copy of the structure of those norms of general
movement and development, according to which, changing geological eras
and historical epochs and succeeding social systems, the cosmos and history
and the development of human society move.194
The universality of the formula of pathos, with its foundations in the sub-
jective experience of the dialectical laws of nature,195 could be compared accord-
ing to Eisenstein with other universal forms such as rhetorical figures or musical
rhythms.196 Just as one could detect the presence of the principle of the meta-
phor in authors as distant as Homer and Mayakovsky, the presence of the
waltz form in Johann Strauss and Prokofiev, or, even more generally, the pres-
ence of rhythm in Gregorian chants and Gershwin,197 one could detect the
presence of the same formula of pathos through different cultures and ages,
even though each time incarnated in different media and different techniques.
History, according to what we read in these passages, is a process through
which a small number of recurring psychic states manifest themselves in differ-
ent ways and find different responses through different media:
Alexander Borgia and Shakespeare, Count Benckendorff or Hafiz, all burn

with an identical feeling of hunger in exactly the same way.
But one satisfies it with Eastern fruits, another with Renaissance viands, a
third with the substantial food of the time of Queen Elizabeth, a fourth with
the refinements of French cooking.
Dante, Pushkin, Simonov or Mayakovsky in the final analysis, all burn with
lust in exactly the same way [].
And in the same way, I love is similar to [Simonovs] Wait for Me and
stanzas of Dante to [Pushkins] I Remember the Wonderful Moment. []

Such a dynamic generality of the formula of ecstasy also passes through
ecstatic works of pathos, which are both extremely different in subject, aim,
idea, theme, time, and place, and are from different countries and peoples
appearing at times as a quite unexpected echo.198
In the Notes, as we will now see, the suprahistorical, supraobjective, and su-
pracorporeal principle capable of explaining the wide variety of media that Ei-
senstein mentions as part of the genealogical line leading to the Soviet cine-
chronicles, is what he calls an urge or, in German, a Trieb to record phe-
nomena. We find a very clear presentation of the different manifestations of this
urge or Trieb in a passage from The Heir:
PHOTOGRAPHY
Photography and the urge* to record a phenomenon [fiksirovat' iavlenie].
Primrer* [in German: primary] eideticism lost paradise* of the eideticism
with the awakening of consciousness the urge* towards substitution for the
loss through a mechanical device (great!!!).*
The camera and the retina of the eye: the camera a portrait of the eye (The
Clansman!).
Photography as a craft* begins with the mummy Egypt.
The death mask Rome (the naturalism of the death mask).
The pyramid and the idea of resistance against transience immortality.
Nostalgia for the imper[ishable]. In this photo is nec plus ultra* [in Latin:
that which cannot be surpassed].
To research from the mummy (preservation of the self*) to photography. The
photographs of the relatives and of the dead.
CINEMA
Cinema and the urge* to record a process [fiksirovat' protsess].
All cine-toys.
The reason behind doll-automatons (the immortalized actor), mechanical
miniature theatres etc., wind-up dolls.
SOUND CINEMA
Sound cinema and the urge* to record sound processes [fiksirovat' zvukoprot-
sessy].
Balloons* in comic drawings.
The same in the middle ages. Justicia* [sic; in Latin: Justitia, justice].
The same with the ancient Maya.
Hieroglyphs, but also graphically deformed for the transmission of intonation
(my interpretation from observations).
Photo-element as nux* [in Latin: nucleus] of aesthetics.
CHRONICLE
72 antonio somaini
If we follow along the line of the urge* to secure phenomena (chronicle,
photography, document), impressions (travelog[ue]).*
Objectively: Homer
Later: tendentiously (par exemple,* the figures of pharaohs and ordinary
mortals already in disproportion).
Later: emotionally.
The Tale of Igors Campaign.
Les dsastres de la guerre, Callot
(as a sequential cine-chronicle).
Later: patheticized.
Los desastres de la guerra, Goya
(as non-sequential patheticized impressions).
Later: dramatized, i.e., by the means of staged delivery, being true to the
essential facts.
Mysteries
poeticized the chronicles of Shakespeare.
(Garbling for ex., The Horrors of Kalish, shot in the courtyard of the Nirnsee
Building, 1914).199
In this passage, photography, cinema, sound cinema, and the tradition of the
cine-chronicle with all their various forerunners are presented as differ-
ent media responding to the same urge of recording phenomena. Each medium
responds to this urge according to its own possibilities: photography records sta-
tic phenomena, silent cinema records processes which in sound cinema become
audiovisual processes, while the cine-chronicle, here represented by the film
The Horrors of Kalish based on a script by Vladimir Gardin, records entire historical
events.
Photography, in particular, is presented as the technical response to a trau-
matic loss: the loss of that paradise which Eisenstein calls primary eideticism
[eidetizm]. What is this eideticism which is lost with the awakening of con-
sciousness and substituted through a mechanical device, an idea that Eisen-
stein found so appealing that he underlined it with great!!!?
We find an answer in the essay entitled Rodin and Rilke (1945), in which
Eisenstein explains how in the works of the French sculptor and in those of the
German poet one could find the examples of two different artistic methods, op-
posite but dialectically connected: one method that produces the artistic form
moving from the inside outward, and another that instead produces the form
moving from the outside inward. Eisenstein had found a similar distinction read-
ing one of Rilkes letters to Rodin, dated December 29, 1908, in which Rilke
writes:

In writing poetry one is always aided and even carried away by the rhythm of
external things; for the lyric cadence is that of Nature; of the waters, of the
wind, of the night. But to make prose rhythmic one must go deep into oneself
and find the anonymous and multiple rhythm of the blood. Prose wants to be
built like a cathedral; there, one is truly without name, without ambition,
without help: among scaffoldings, with only one's conscience.
And just think, in that prose I now know how to make men and women,
children and old men. I have evoked women in particular by carefully making
all the things about them, leaving a blank which might be only a void, but
which, fashioned amply and with tenderness, becomes vibrant and luminous,
almost like one of your marbles.200
Referring to this letter, in Rodin and Rilke Eisenstein distinguishes the two,
opposite but symmetrical methods of the sculptor and the poet: Rilkes prose
juxtaposes all the elements surrounding the image in nature and, through a mys-
terious spell, generates an image which seems to have come to life by itself.
Rodin, instead, sculpts the image in stone, but the image is conceived in order
to radiate into its surrounding environment.201
These two artistic methods corresponded, according to Eisenstein, to two dif-
ferent ways of experiencing the world, which could be referred to two different
stages of development of man: the experience of the fetus inside the mothers
womb feeling the objects in the outside world through the imprints that they
eventually create on the inside wall of the womb (and this is the primary eideti-
cism mentioned above, the primary experience of form, eidos),202 and the experi-
ence of the child after birth as she touches the objects surrounding her. In the
first case, the fetus feels the form as a sort of counterform (kontr-forma) or
counterrelief (kontr-relef), as a negative, while in the second case the child
feels the positive volume of a form (forma) or relief (relef).203
As he does in several other passages of the texts written in the 1930s and
1940s, Eisenstein refers to the ontogeny-philogeny parallelism in order to derive
from the development of the individual some conclusions concerning the de-
velopment of the species.204 The ontogenetic passage from the experience of
the negative volumes or counterreliefs felt from inside the womb to the ex-
perience of the positive volumes touched with the hands in the outside world
becomes therefore the equivalent of the phylogenetic historical development of
artistic forms, which move from the negative to the positive, from the tactile to the
optical: from the imprints of the hands and the casts of the faces in the death
masks (negative images which are produced by contact) to the various positive
volumes of sculptures that are supposed to be viewed from a distance. A vision of
the history of the arts that recalls Alois Riegls ideas on the historical develop-
ment from the haptic to the optical.205
74 antonio somaini
This said, the historical development described by Eisenstein is neither linear
nor progressive, but rather characterized by continual shifts forwards and back-
wards, since the latest phase of the history of the arts sees the appearance of
two art forms, two media, which are entirely based on the production of a nega-
tive image: photography and cinema.
The appearance of these two media is described by Eisenstein in Rodin and
Rilke as the response to a need, a thirst (zhazhda) that humans have always felt
to transpose their physical actions and psychological processes into me-
chanical devices (apparaty), as it happened with the hammer that replaced the
punch given with the fist, or the mechanical loom that replaced the weaving done
by hand.206 The most advanced art form, cinema, rejoins therefore the earliest
ones: the technique of the detaching of the mask (technika sniatiia maski) used
for the production of death masks reappears in the technique of the super
mask (technika supermaski), the technique of the photographic negative that lies
at the basis of cinema.207
The passage of The Heir that we quoted above returns to the ideas presented
in Rodin and Rilke in 1945, and makes the connection between photography
and death masks explicit. To this connection it adds another one to which we
will return later, that with Egyptian mummies: Photography as a craft* begins
with the mummy Egypt. The death mask Rome (the naturalism of the death
mask).208
The following line (The pyramid and the idea of resistance against transience
immortality. Nostalgia for the imper[ishable]. In this photo is nec plus ultra)
further develops the interpretation of photography and cinema contained in the
Notes: after having been presented as a technique developed in order to respond
to the lost paradise of the intrauterine state a loss which, as we have seen,
Eisenstein interpreted as generating a never-satisfied desire to return in the
mothers womb, indicated in Metod with the acronym MLB (Mutterleibversenkung)
photography is now presented as the nec plus ultra of a resistance against transi-
ence, a longing for immortality.209
Such a longing is presented in another passage of the Notes through a refer-
ence to one of the most famous verses from Goethes Faust, the verse in which
Faust expresses his desire to arrest the flow of time with the exclamation Verweile
doch, du bist so schn!, Stay, you are so beautiful!:
Verweile doch, du bist so schn!210

One can view all artistic activity als Auswuchs dieses Triebes [as development from
this urge].
Beginning even beyond the bounds of art itself. Woher dieser Urtrieb? [Where
does this primary urge come from?]
Man is eternally subject to the power of creation and destruction, just as
nature, history, and society are.

His aspiration is toujours inassouvie [never satisfied] stability eternity.
It is all the same whether it is physical immortality (VIEM211) immortality
through children eternal life through metempsychosis by going to
paradise through the creation of enduring things of value in the hearts of
the people, etc. (The Americans longing for security).212
According to this passage, all artistic activity can be considered as Auswuchs, as

some form of growth or development, of a primary Trieb, an Urtrieb toward
stability and eternity. Just as it happened with the Urphnomen of cinema
in Montage, Eisenstein searches for an originary dimension capable of explain-
ing a series of historical manifestations: the Urtrieb replaces here the Urphnomen.
The German term Trieb, an equivalent of the previous urge, is clearly an implicit
reference to Freud and to psychoanalysis, and defines the urge as an unconscious
drive or impulse which runs through history searching for a response along very
different routes: in works of art but also in giving birth to children, the creation
of enduring things of value, the belief in paradise or in metempsychosis, or the
scientific studies on illnesses and the possibility of physical immortality con-
ducted at the Soviet Institute for Experimental Medicine (VIEM).
In a series of notes dated December 2, 1946, Eisenstein tries to summarize the
main forms of recording [fiksirovat] or securing [zakreplyat] phenomena,
and distinguishes three main forms:
1. the reproduction of an event or person (dynamically)

or
2. the mummification of a person or event
or, if you like, a third way:
3. the recording by the means of a sign (from a pyramid to a gravestone, or
the inscription on a cross in a cemetery).213
The second form, the mummification of a person or event, summarizes a gen-

ealogical line which includes Egyptians mummies, the Roman portraits of the
ancestors, derived from death masks, that Pliny the Elder in his Naturalis Historia
calls imagines,214 the gigantic Buddhas in the cave temples and niches of cliffs in
Tibet, the portraits of the American presidents sculpted on Mount Rushmore.
As in the passages we quoted above, Eisenstein once again connects photographs
to death masks, referring to Balzacs ideas on the photograph as a spectral layer
effectively removed from the body and captured by the emulsion Removal
(from the corpse) of the mask [] A photo is a take (Balzac) and ends with
a definition of cinema as dynamic mummification (dinamicheskaia mumifikat-
siia).215 A form of mummification which in other passages from the Notes is con-
nected to the relic in all its various historical manifestations the Christian re-
76 antonio somaini
positories of relics, Tsar Peters cottage, Roosevelts home, souvenirs, the col-
lections of signatures of famous people, etc.
This idea of dynamic mummification constitutes another one of the unex-
pected junctures that we find in the Notes. We have already underlined the simi-
larities between Eisensteins formula of pathos and Warburgs Pathosformel,
and in section 7 of this text we will discuss the analogies between Eisensteins
obraz and Benjamin dialectical image. Now it is the time to analyze the un-
expected convergence between, on the one hand, what Eisenstein writes about
the urge to record phenomena and the way that Kracauer, in the preparatory
materials to his Theory of Film (1960), describes the instincts and the primor-
dial impulses to which cinema was responding; and on the other hand, between
Eisensteins idea of cinema as dynamic mummification and Bazins idea, in
The Ontology of the Photographic Image (1945), of cinema as momie du chan-
gement, change mummified.
6. Urge and Instinkt, Dynamic Mummification and

Momie du changement: Eisenstein, Bazin, Kracauer
Kracauer worked on a book on the theory and the aesthetics of film for more
than twenty years before publishing Theory of Film in 1960, and in one of the first
stages of elaboration of this project the so-called Marseiller Entwurf, written
in Marseille between 1940 and 1941, while he was anxiously awaiting a visa to
leave France with his wife and escape the Nazi occupation we find a number of
elements that can be compared to Eisensteins project for a general history of
cinema.
Written in the form of fragmentary notes arranged in six vertical columns
(From where?, Observations, Examples, Keywords, Composition, To
be developed), the Marseiller Entwurf presents the same attempt to identify
some of the fundamental causes that have lead to the historical appearance of
cinema. Just like Eisenstein, who had written that his general history was not
supposed to be a portrait hall of characters, Kracauer did not want to write a
book based on a factual history of films and directors: he was interested instead
in understanding the phenomenon of film (das Phnomen des Films), an expres-
sion that reminds us of Eisensteins Urphnomen of cinema:
Here we need to understand the phenomenon of film [Phnomen des Films].

How can we explain its appearance around 1885, its development, and its
present hegemony? What are its specific characteristics? What meaning do
they have?216
If Eisenstein was trying to identify the urges and the Triebe to which cinema
had responded, Kracauer was trying to identify the instinct (Instinkt) and the

primordial impulse (ursprngliches Impuls)217 that had led to the appearance of
cinema by penetrating films fundamental layer (Grundschicht). At this level
which is once more conceived in archaeological terms as a layer that can be
reached through some form of penetration (durchdringen)218 films responds
to a number of instincts and impulses whose nature remains in the Marseiller
Entwurf quite undetermined: on the one hand they seem to be human and psy-
chological, a drive [Drang] towards a widening of our knowledge of the material
dimension of reality,219 while on the other they seem to be instincts and im-
pulses that belong to cinema itself as a nonanthropocentric220 medium that turns
away from man, records what the eye cannot perceive,221 and penetrates the
dynamic, material world,222 as happens at the beginning of films history in what
Kracauer calls archaic films:
Archaic films (see the chapter entitled Archaic Panorama) respond only to a
still indomitable instinct when they record material phenomena and
processes, without pursuing any intention other than that of representing
beings in movement. These films cut across the fundamental layer of film
[Grundschicht des Filmes]. Film is in its fundamental layer whenever it focuses on
the representation of material reality.
But: The fundamental layer becomes accessible only when no meaning is
sought in the presentation of material reality, when the play of being [das Spiel
des Seiendes] is not subjected to intentional constructions. In the fundamental
layer, beings in movement stand out in themselves.223
The unintentional, indifferent recording of the fast movements that characterize

material reality finds its paradigmatic expression in what Kracauer names Pferde-
galopp, galloping horses: an implicit reference to Eadweard Muybridges first
chronophotographs, which defines the recording of fast movements as cine-
mas originary motif (Urmotiv des Filmes).224 Rather than striving upward toward
intentional meanings and elaborate narratives, such as the ones that can be
found in theater, cinema penetrates downward, toward the residues (zum
Bodensatz) and the scum (Abhub) of factual, contingent, fragmentary matter,
where the mere being (das Bloseiende)225 captured by an indifferent cam-
era226 is still devoid of intention.227 At its fundamental layer (Grundschicht),
in the dark depth of the material dimension,228 cinema is therefore driven by
an impulse,229 but this impulse turns out to be something very close to
Freuds Todestrieb, and Kracauer significantly writes the words Danse macabre. Ker-
messe funbre230 next to Pferdegalopp.231
The expression Kermesse funbre refers to the French title of the short film Death
Day (1934) which Sol Lesser, following an invitation from Upton Sinclair, had
edited using the sequences that Eisenstein had filmed for the epilogue of Que
Viva Mexico! The impressions derived from Death Day, which Kracauer saw in Paris
78 antonio somaini
in the spring of 1940, are recorded in his diaries in a series of notes and draw-
ings, and become in the Marseiller Entwurf the starting point for a series of
remarks about the possible conclusion of the book on film theory and film aes-
thetics that he was planning. The impulse towards the widening of our knowl-
edge of material reality that gives rise, at the origins of cinema, to Muybridges
chronophotography, turns into the disquieting discovery that the realm of unin-
tentional matter is the realm of death: The face has no value for film unless it
includes the skull beneath: Danse macabre. To what end? We will see.232
It is interesting to compare what Kracauer writes in the Marseiller Entwurf
about the role that Eisensteins Death Day would have had in his book, with the
meaning that Eisenstein himself had assigned to the epilogue of Que Viva Mexico!
and with the aspiration toujours inassouvie toward stability and eternity that
we find in the Notes.
Shot in Mexico City during the Da de los Muertos the Day of the Dead that
the Mexicans celebrated as a frenzied, ecstatic response to the inevitability of
death taking the form of a carnival of dancing skeletons and sugar skulls the
epilogue was conceived by Eisenstein as the end of a spiral-like movement which
was supposed to lead the film back to its beginning, but on a different plane.
Both the prologue and the epilogue of Que Viva Mexico! are centered on the theme
of death, but whereas in the prologue death is presented through the images of a
somber and grievous funerary ceremony, in the epilogue death becomes the ob-
ject of the mocking joy of the Da de los Muertos, as we read in Eisensteins first
outline of Que Viva Mexico!:
Death. Skulls of people. And skulls of stone. The horrible Aztec gods and the
terrifying Yucatan deities. Huge ruins. Pyramids. A world that was and is no
more. Endless rows of stones and columns. And faces. Faces of stone. And
faces and flesh. The man of Yucatan today. The same man who lived
thousands of years ago. Unmovable. Unchanging. Eternal. And the great
wisdom of Mexico about death. The unity of death and life. The passing of
one and the birth of the next one. The eternal circle. And the still greater
wisdom of Mexico: the enjoying of this eternal circle. Death Day in Mexico.
Day of the greatest fun and merriment. The day when Mexico provokes death
and makes fun of it death is but a step to another cycle of life why then
fear it! Hat stores display skulls wearing top and straw hats. Candy takes the
shape of skulls in sugar and coffins of confectionery. Parties go to the
cemetery, taking food to the dead. Parties play and sing on the graves. And
the food of the dead is eaten by the living. The drinking and the singing grow
louder. And night covers Death Day. Death Day that is becoming birth day of
new lives, for new arrivals. And from beneath the terrifying skull of the
grotesque death masquerade and fiesta peeps the smiling face of a new baby

establishing the unmovable law of death following life and life following
death.233
Behind the Trieb toward stability and eternity described in the Notes, there is
also the eternity that Mexican culture was affirming through this joyful celebra-
tion of life that turned death upside down. The carnival of the Da de los Muertos,
which Posada had represented so well in his etchings, can be considered one of
the collective, socially unifying rituals of reenactment that Eisenstein considered
to be part of the genealogy of cinema. It was an ecstatic, exhilarating moment,
characterized by an urge to laugh at death that Eisenstein, in a chapter of Metod,
considered to be one of the defining traits of the comic.234 An urge to laugh
which was something very different from the uncanny vanitas of the Danse macabre
that Kracauer was imagining for the conclusion of his book, with its disquieting,
alienating discovery of films proximity to the most intentionless, fragmentary,
dead side of material reality.
The second unexpected juncture we are dealing with in this section is the
one between Eisensteins idea of cinema as dynamic mummification (dinami-
cheskaia mumifikatsiia) and Bazins famous statements about cinema as change
mummified (momie du changement) in his Ontology of the Photographic Image
(1945).235 The similarity between these two expressions invites us to reconsider
the relationship between the Soviet film director and theorist who spent his life
trying to understand the nature and the power of montage, and the French film
critic who came to the conclusion that the ethics of realism which he was pro-
moting in cinema could lead to the famous principle of montage interdit.236
Published for the first time in a volume edited by the French art historian and
critic Gaston Diehl with the title Les Problmes de la peinture,237 The Ontology of
the Photographic Image was later selected by Bazin to be the opening essay of
the first volume of the anthology What Is Cinema? (Quest-ce que le cinma?), the only
volume that Bazin personally edited before his death in 1958. The text could have
been read by Eisenstein, who was in close contact with Georges Sadoul, but no
evidence of such a reading has been found so far. Just as with Warburg and
Benjamin, what we have here is a convergence of ideas that needs to be explored,
but that cannot be explained in terms of documentary evidence of mutual read-
ings.
From the very beginning of his essay, Bazin presents his reflections on the
ontology of the photographic image as part of a psychoanalysis of the plastic
arts which finds in the ancient Egyptian practices of embalming and mummify-
ing the same response to a basic psychological need in man, the defense
against the passage of time (un besoin fondamental de la psychologie humaine: la
dfense contre le temps):
80 antonio somaini
If the plastic arts were put under psychoanalysis, the practice of embalming
the dead might turn out to be a fundamental factor in their creation. The
process might reveal that at the origin of painting and sculpture there lies a
mummy complex [le complexe de la momie]. The religion of ancient Egypt,
aimed against death, saw survival as depending on the continued existence of
the corporeal body. Thus, by providing a defense against the passage of time
it satisfied a basic psychological need in man, for death is but the victory of
time. To preserve, artificially, his bodily appearance is to snatch it from the
flow of time, to stow it away neatly, so to speak, in the hold of life. It was
natural, therefore, to keep up appearances in the face of the reality of death by
preserving flesh and bone.238
Such fundamental need which Bazin in another passage describes as mans

primitive need to have the last word in the argument with death by means of the
form that endures239 runs through history and plays here the role that the
urge and the Trieb to record phenomena play in Eisensteins Notes, con-
necting photography and cinema to a whole genealogy of forms that includes
the practice of embalming the dead,240 the molding of death masks []
which likewise involves a certain automatic process,241 and the psychology of
relics and souvenirs which likewise enjoy the advantages of a transfer of reality
stemming from the mummy complex.242 With their impassive lens,243 their
mechanical reproduction244 and their direct, immediate transference of reality
[transfert de ralit] from the thing to its reproduction, photographs have to be
interpreted, according to Bazin, on the one hand in relationship to Christian
theological notions such as incarnation and transubstantiation,245 and on the
other hand in relationship to psychoanalysis, since photography is able to dfou-
ler the opposite of refouler, to repress from the depth of our unconscious a
need that reason tends to sublimate: Only a photographic lens can give us the
kind of image of the object that is capable of satisfying the deep need man has to
substitute for it something more than a mere approximation, a kind of decal or
transfer.246
Cinema, like photography, is considered by Bazin to be strictly connected to
the same mummy complex, since they both embalm time, rescuing it simply
from its proper corruption.247 Referring to the historical connection between
baroque art and cinema that Andr Malraux had argued in 1940 in his Esquisse
dune psychologie du cinma, later developed in the three volumes of the Psychologie
de lart (1949),248 Bazin presents cinema as change mummified:
Viewed in this perspective, the cinema is objectivity in time. The film is no

longer content to preserve the object, enshrouded as it were in an instant, as
the bodies of insects are preserved intact, out of the distant past, in amber.
The film delivers baroque art from its convulsive catalepsy. Now, for the first

time, the image of things is likewise the image of their duration, change
mummified [la momie du changement] as it were.249
With their definitions of cinema as dinamicheskaia mumifikatsiia and momie du

changement, Eisenstein and Bazin were not the first to associate photography and
cinema with embalming. In his Bonjour cinma, back in 1921, Jean Epstein had
already defined cinema as a form of embaumement mobile, a mobile embalm-
ing.250 Even before, the art historian Julius Schlosser, in his History of Portraiture
in Wax (1911), had reconstructed a long genealogy of this often neglected figura-
tive practice which had its starting point in Roman portraiture and funerary tradi-
tions. Further developing the ideas that Aby Warburg had formulated in a text
written in 1902 The Art of Portraiture and the Florentine Bourgeoisie, which
underlined the importance of studying the tradition of the wax ex-votos such as
the boti which had been hanging for decades in the church of the Santissima
Annunziata in Florence251 Schlosser came to the conclusion that wax portrai-
ture had survived through centuries and had found its latest reincarnation in
the wax sculptures hosted in wax museums such as the Hamburg Panoptikum
(the same museum that is mentioned by Eisenstein in the Notes) and in the
photographic image. This was considered by Schlosser to be a form of modern
survival252 of the peculiar realism and naturalism of wax portraits:
In the light of the whole historical development that took place, there can be
no doubt that portraiture in wax, with its permanent, inherent tendency to
naturalism, served the function that in due course was likewise served by the
truly middle-class art of modern times, namely photography though with
the difference that photography worked in a more readily understood way,
less sensuously, with greater scientific objectivity as it were, more abstractly
and above all much more economically: the function of delivering up a
maximally faithful, living, true image of the person portrayed.253
In Warburg and Schlosser, the study of the tradition of wax portraiture and of the
variety of beliefs surrounding it, had marked a decisive turn from an art history
conceived as a history of artworks and artistic styles, to an anthropology of images
focusing on the phenomena of anachronic survival and Nachleben of often
anonymous practices that had been previously relegated to outside the margins
of art history. A similar anthropological approach to the study of images is pre-
sent in both Bazin and Eisenstein, even though they arrived at different conclu-
sions concerning the issue of how cinemas mummifying nature could deter-
mine cinemas relation to history.
According to Bazin, the idea of a total and complete representation of reality
that Nipce, Muybridge, Demen, and Louis Lumire had been pursuing with
their experiments,254 had found a logical consequence in the idea that cinema
82 antonio somaini
would be capable of recording a total history: a continuous, uninterrupted re-
cording of historical phenomena made by cameras which, during the 1940s, had
reached a state of omnipresence in space and time. This is what we read in the
essay On Why We Fight: History, Documentation, and the Newsreel, written in
1946 as a commentary to the seven propaganda films that had been produced
between 1942 and 1945 under the supervision of Frank Capra, and which edited
together documentary footage from the war:255 an example of cine-chronicle
similar to the ones mentioned by Eisenstein in the Notes. Commenting on the way
in which World War II had seen the deployment of a vast media apparatus, Bazin
assigns to cinema the capacity of capturing and recording on film a world whose
skin peels off daily in front of thousand of countless Bell-and-Howell lenses
placed all over the world where important events take place:
The taste for such documentary news, combined with that for the cinema,
reflects nothing if not modern mans will to be there, his need to observe
history-in-the-making, not only because of political evolution, but also
because of the evolution as well as irremediable intermingling of the
technological means of communication and destruction. The days of total war
are fatally matched by those of total history. []
We live more and more in a world stripped bare by film, a world that tends to
peel off its own image. Hundreds of thousands of screens make us watch,
during the news broadcasts, the extraordinary shedding performed each day
by tens of thousands of cameras. As soon as it forms, historys skin peels off
again. []
Up to the discovery of photography, the historical fact was reconstituted
from written documents; the mind and human language came into play twice
in such reconstitutions: in the reconstruction of the event and in the historical
thesis it was adduced to support. With film, we can refer to the facts in flesh
and blood, so to speak.256
The anachronic comparison between photography and cinema on one side, and
mummies and death masks on the other, is therefore interpreted by Bazin as a
way to reinforce the idea of cinema as total and complete representation of rea-
lity that has as a consequence the possibility of recording a total history with-
out any gaps or lacunas.
In his notes for a general history of cinema, Eisenstein presents us with a
very different vision of the relationship between cinema and history. If Bazin
conceived cinema as a medium through which historical events are immediately
embalmed, mummified and preserved, Eisenstein studies the general history of
cinema through another one of cinemas defining traits, montage, intended as a
tool for disassembling and reassembling the sequences of historical phenomena.
Cinema, in other words, is not a historiographical tool thanks to its embalming

possibilities, but rather thanks to that capacity of dismantling any given order
of events in order to replace it with other orders and other established laws,
as Eisenstein writes in Revelation in Storm and Thunder.
As we will now see, this belief in montage as a powerful epistemic and histor-
iographical tool is something Eisenstein shared with Walter Benjamin: the rela-
tion between the Notes and the Arcades Project is another unexpected juncture we
need to examine.
7. Rckblick and Ausblick, Fore-history and After-history:

Eisenstein and Benjamin
As we have repeatedly seen so far, Eisensteins general history of cinema is
entirely constructed in the Notes as a series of sequences of examples that do not
respect, except for the list of inventions taken from Mumfords Technics and
Civilization, any linear chronological order. These genealogical lines are instead
constructed according to a jumping chronology that connects Dionysian
dithyrambs with live television, Egyptian mummies and Roman death masks
with photography and cinema, petroglyphic drawings and tattooed ornaments
with the adhering realism of the early examples of cine-chronicles.
Eisenstein was well aware of the difficulties raised by such an unconventional
approach to history writing, and in Dynamic Mummification he writes: His-
torical evaluations. How to look at discrete phenomena of history [Kak smotret otdel-
nye iavleniia istorii].257 The question touches one of the fundamental problems
raised by the Notes: how can anachronism have a real heuristic and hermeneutic
value, and when is it instead misleading? When does an anachronic montage that
joins together art forms extracted from very different cultural and historical con-
texts reveal meaningful morphological similarities, and when does it only show
superficial, extrinsic analogies? What are the criteria for making such distinc-
tions?258
These questions are raised not only by the Notes, but also by all the other vast
and unfinished book projects that Eisenstein worked on during the 1930s and
1940s: Montage, Metod, and Nonindifferent Nature. In all these books, Eisenstein
keeps on comparing examples that seem at first to be distant and different from
one another, in order to reveal deeper morphological affinities, and he finds the
criteria to establish such connections and comparisons in the present, in his own
practice as a film director. It is from the point of view of cinema that every previous
art form has to be considered. This means that the gaze of the film director and
film theorist who turns to history has to be constantly oriented toward different
directions at the same time: the present in which previous art forms are examined,
the past from which they are extracted, and the future in which they could be
reinterpreted and reactivated. Eisenstein summarizes this idea in the Draft of
Introduction to Montage when he writes that every form of precinematographic
84 antonio somaini
montage that can been found in art history has to be contemplated with a gaze
that is at the same a retrospect (Rckblick) and a prospect (Ausblick), in the
good German tradition.259 Another passage from Montage presents the same
idea in other words:
I like to regard every phenomenon as some kind of intermediate stage, as a

sort of today, with its yesterday and its tomorrow; as something within
a sequence, having its before and its after, i.e. its preceding and
subsequent stages. Certain throwback features lead to a leap backwards
into the preceding stage, while the line of maximal forward deployment leads
to a leap into the following stage: modified, the general laws proceed
dialectically from stage to stage, acquiring new readings and new meanings,
but retaining their common, fundamental premises.260
As has been rightly pointed out, the idea that every single historical phenomenon
is involved in a wider and virtually endless process of development which can
produce a limitless dynamic genealogy is a direct consequence of Eisensteins
adoption of dialectics as a historiographical method.261 With his usual theoretical
eclecticism, though, Eisenstein combines in the Notes the rhythmic flow of dia-
lectics with a vision of history as made of continuous shifts forward and back-
wards, which can only be reconstructed and exposed through anachronic mon-
tage. This vision of history, and of the relationships between cinema and history,
separates Eisenstein from Bazin and Kracauer, and brings him closer to authors
such as Bloch and Benjamin.
Bazin, as we have seen, believed that cinema could provide history with a tool
for capturing and recording on film the historical events of a world whose skin
was peeling off in front of the lenses of ubiquitous cameras. The myth of total
cinema, which according to Bazin explained the invention of cinema, had found
its fulfillment in a total history.
We find similar ideas, although in a different context and with different aims,
in Kracauers 1927 essay Photography. Here Kracauer presents photography
and cinema as two media which could have provided an answer to the dream of
German nineteenth-century historicism (Historismus): the dream of reconstruct-
ing the past as it has been wie es eigentlich gewesen, according to the famous
statement by Leopold Ranke:
Photography presents a spatial continuum; historicism seeks to provide the

temporal continuum. According to historicism, the complete mirroring of an
intratemporal sequence simultaneously contains the meaning of all that
occurred within that time. [] Historicism is concerned with the photography
of time. The equivalent of its temporal photography would be a giant film

[Riesenfilm] depicting the temporally interconnected events from every vantage
point.262
Although in the Notes he insists on cinemas recording and preserving potential,

placing cinemas dynamic mummification in a genealogical line which in-
cludes wax museums and funeral monuments, Eisenstein believed that only ana-
chronic montage could provide the jumping chronology that was necessary in
order to discover and analyze all the recurrences, the throwback features and
the leaps in the following stage of which history was made. As we read in the
text entitled Pioneers and Innovators, in each genealogical line Eisenstein was
looking for the pioneers who had first invented a new technique or a new me-
dium, and for the innovators who had been capable of exploding the evenly
measured flow of evolution into a revolutionary leap of a new quality within the
general process of development.263 Since often these revolutionary leaps were
characterized by continuous shifts forward and backwards, only a process such
as montage could provide the appropriate historiographical tool.
Like other film theorists such as Elie Faure, Dziga Vertov, Lszl Moholy-
Nagy, Ernst Bloch, Walter Benjamin, and Jean Epstein, Eisenstein believed that
cinema could be a tool for manipulating time. In his La Cinplastique (1920), Elie
Faure had described cinema as a medium capable of transforming time into a
dimension of space, allowing the spectator to be contemporary of events which
have taken place ten or a hundred centuries before.264 Four years later, Vertov
presents his Kino-Eye as the microscope and telescope of time introducing
the theory of relativity on the screen,265 while in 1928, in an essay entitled
Accelerating and Slowing Down Time, and Their Relation with Space, Bloch
examines the expressive connotations and the epistemic potential of temporal
acceleration and slowing down on the one hand, spatial magnification and re-
duction on the other.266 In his LIntelligence dune machine (1946), written in the
same years in which Eisenstein was working on his general history, Epstein
presents a philosophical reflection on how cinema could be considered a ma-
chine to think time.267
In Eisensteins case, as we have seen, the idea that cinema and montage could
be considered as tools for the reconstruction and the presentation of history took
shape during the shooting of The General Line and Que Viva Mexico! Two other ele-
ments, though, need to be remembered.
On the one hand, as we have already seen, Eisensteins use of anachronic mon-
tage as a historiographical tool can be considered a direct heir of the intellectual
montage that he had theorized at the end of the 1920s, and especially of the
idea, formulated in The Dramaturgy of Film Form, according to which a con-
flict in tempo and a conflict between an event and its temporality (achieved by
slowing down and speeding up) could produce an emotional and intellectual
dynamization of the spectator.268 In the notes accompanying this text, Eisen-
86 antonio somaini
stein insists on the fact that montage can be considered a comparative activity
(deiatelnost sopostavitelnaia) similar to intellectual thinking, and we have seen how
the books Eisenstein works on in the 1930s and 1940s are constructed as endless
series of morphological comparisons:
Sehr wichtig. Mental activity is a correlating and comparing [activity] [Myslitelnaia

deiatelnost sootnositelnaia sopostavitelnaia]. Montage as well is a comparing
activity [deiatelnost sopostavitelnaia], and the laws of development of filmic
expressivity have to follow the laws of development of intellectual thought.269
On the other hand, anachronic montage can also be considered a direct heir of
the comparative method that Eisenstein had found in Lvy-Bruhls Les Fonctions
mentales dans les socits infrieures, in which a mental function like the law of
participation (loi de participation) was studied through a comparison between its
different manifestations across different cultures.270
Interpreted in this perspective, Eisensteins use of anachronic montage can be
compared with the role played by montage in Benjamins Arcades Project, an at-
tempt to reconstruct a primal history [Urgeschichte] of the 19th century271 which
was based on a radical critique of all linear, progressive, and teleologically or-
iented visions of history. In the fragments gathered in convolute N, entitled On
the Theory of Knowledge, Theory of Progress, we find a whole list of statements
that can be closely compared with Eisensteins approach to history writing in the
Notes.
To begin with, both Eisenstein and Benjamin believed that cinema could be
the medium through which one could interpret all other art forms. If Eisenstein
considered cinema to be a magnifying glass through which the method of each
[art] is visible, Benjamin believed that cinema allowed the unfolding [Auswuchs]
of all the forms of perception, the tempos and rhythms, which lie preformed in
todays machines, such that all problems of contemporary art find their definitive
formulation only in the context of film.272
Furthermore, with its capacity for manipulating the flow of time, cinema pro-
vided for Eisenstein and Benjamin not only a crucial medium in order to interpret
other art forms, but also, more generally, a set of operations that could be ap-
plied to the analysis of history.
In the diary entry we discussed above Eisenstein presented the gaze of the
historian as a gaze contemplating [] in slow motion through centuries of evolution
the sudden spark or flash with which the image (obraz) produced by the
contact between the present and the lowest layers of consciousness appears
before him. Slow motion is here evoked as one of cinemas possibilities and as
a crucial epistemic tool for the construction of a history based on the analysis of
temporally complex images or obraz. As Eisenstein writes in the notes accom-

panying The Dramaturgy of Film Forms, obraznost, imagicity, is the sole
means to understand (to take to have, to own) phenomena.273
In a similar way Benjamin, who believed that history breaks up [zerfllt] into
images, not into stories,274 describes the materialist approach to history he was
applying in the Arcades Project as imagistic (bildhaft),275 and uses a whole series
of optical terms in order to define the way in which the historian turns from the
present to the past: he talks of a telescoping [Telescopage] of the past through the
present276 (where the telescoping is a form of magnification which brings clo-
ser what is far), and, quoting Rudolph Borchardt, explains how the historian
needs to educate the image-making medium [das bildschaffende Medium] within
us, raising it to a stereoscopic and dimensional seeing into the depths of histori-
cal shadows.277 This imagistic approach to history leads Benjamin to the con-
clusion that historical knowledge comes only in lightning flashes,278 and that
the object of such historical knowledge is the dialectical image (dialektisches
Bild), an image that emerges suddenly, in a flash,279 which brings dialectics to
a standstill (Dialektik im Stillstand) by joining together the present and the past:
Its not that what is past casts its light on what is present, or what is present
its light on what is past; rather, image is that wherein what has been comes
together in a flash with the now to form a constellation. In other words,
image is dialectics at a standstill. For while the relation of the present to the
past is a purely temporal, continuous one, the relation of what-has-been to
the now is dialectical: is not progression but image, suddenly emerging [ist
nicht Verlauf sondern Bild, sprunghaft].280
Both for Eisenstein and for Benjamin, the method, the process capable of produ-
cing the sudden imagistic constellations that one finds in the obraz and in the
dialektisches Bild is montage.
In the fragments gathered in convolute N Benjamin is very clear about this. In
order to heighten the perceptibility (Anschaulichkeit) of historical phenomena,
the historian needs to carry over the principle of montage into history. That is,
to assemble large-scale constructions out of the smallest and most precisely cut
components. Indeed, to discover in the analysis of the small individual moment
the crystal of the total event.281 In another fragment of convolute N we read:
Method of this project: literary montage [literarische Montage]. I neednt say any-
thing. Merely show,282 and yet another fragment adds: This work has to devel-
op to the highest degree the art of citing without quotation marks. Its theory is
intimately related to that of montage.283
Eisensteins attitude toward quotations was similar to Benjamins, and in a
chapter of his Memoirs entitled Encounters with Books we find a passage that
echoes very closely Benjamins idea of constructing a book entirely out of a mon-
tage of quotations:
88 antonio somaini
I have quotations.
Not enough of them. I would like to make a montage from the fragments
discovered by others, but for a different purpose mine!
It is like cinema: I dont need to play any part at all. My job is to link all the
pieces up.284
Both in Eisenstein and Benjamin, montage becomes a historiographical tool

thanks to its capacity for interrupting the continuous flow of time in order to
produce sequences of anachronic junctures. Eisenstein, as we have seen, orga-
nizes the Notes according to a montage that connects discrete phenomena of
history, while Benjamin states clearly in the fragments of convolute N that his
approach to history aims at preserving those intervals of reflection285 and
those differentials of time [Differentialen der Zeit] (which for others disturb the
main lines of the enquiry).286 In both authors, anachronic montage allows the
consideration of every historical phenomenon with its before and its after.
Eisenstein turns to the history of the precinematographic forms of montage
with a gaze which is at the same time retrospect (Rckblick) and prospect
(Ausblick). Such a history is entirely considered from the vantage point of cinema,
and the cinematic effects (kinematische Effekte)287 that Eisenstein finds in the art
forms of the past are divided into those that are truly effective and that can be
reactivated within the domain of cinema, and those that instead have to be left
aside. El Greco, Tintoretto, Daumier, and Rodin are models to follow, while the
Italian Futurists and the French Simultaneists are not.
Benjamin too developed his Urgeschichte of the 19th century from the point of
view of the present, and believed that the past attains legibility (Lesbarkeit) only at
a particular time, and that every present is determined by the images that are
synchronic [synchronistisch] with it.288 Such synchronic images, according to
him, could be discovered by blasting out the continuum of historical succes-
sion289 in order to determine the fore-history (Vorgeschichte) and the after-his-
tory (Nachgeschichte) of each historical phenomenon: it is the present, we
read again in one of the fragments of convolute N that polarizes the event
into fore- and after history,290 and just as Benjamins book on German baroque
Trauerspiel had exposed the seventeenth century to the light of the present, in
the Arcades Project something analogous [had to] be done for the nineteenth cen-
tury:291
Historical materialism aspires to neither a homogeneous nor a continuous

exposition of history. [] Since the different epochs of the past are not all
touched in the same degree by the present day of the historian, [] continuity
in the presentation of history is unattainable.292

Both Eisenstein and Benjamin had found inspiring ideas for their approach to
history in one of the key concepts of Goethes morphology, the concept of pri-
mal or originary phenomenon (Urphnomen). In the chapter Laocon in
Montage, as we have seen, Eisenstein presents the Urphnomen of cinema as
that most fundamental cinematic phenomenon in which a series of still
photographs of different stages of a single movement, if projected at a certain
speed, produces in the spectator an impression of movement,293 and then
searches for all the possible precinematographic manifestations of such an Ur-
phnomen in the history of art forms and religious rituals. In the Arcades Project
Benjamin pursues the origin of the forms and mutations of the Paris arcades
from their beginning to their decline, locates these origins in a series of eco-
nomical facts (the development of capitalist economy leading to the spectacular
presentations of commodities), and considers these economical facts as pri-
mal phenomena (Urphnomene) whose unfolding (Auswicklung) gives rise to
the whole series of the arcades concrete historical forms, just as the leaf unfolds
from itself all the riches of the empirical world of plants.294
Finally, both in Benjamins and in Eisensteins cases, as we will now see, the
attempt to elaborate a nonlinear, nonchronological history based on the jumps
and the intervals of anachronic montage, implies a complete rethinking of the
classical format of the book and, in Eisenstein, a discovery of the historiographic
potential of the medium of drawing.
8. The Spherical Book and the Atlas: History as Cartography

Just like Montage, Nonindifferent Nature, and Metod, the Notes published in this vol-
ume can be read keeping in mind the idea of a spherical book that Eisenstein
had formulated during the summer of 1929, after having been invited by El Lis-
sitzky to take part in the Soviet section of the international exhibition organized
that year in Stuttgart with the title Film und Foto.295
During the 1920s, both El Lissitzky and Moholy-Nagy who had been involved
as curator of one of the main sections of the exhibition, known as Raum 1
had developed ideas on how to rethink typography and the traditional book for-
mat in order to adjust them to a new visual culture heavily influenced by cine-
matic montage. Moholy-Nagy had formulated the proposal for a new way of or-
ganizing texts and photographic images on the printed page which he called
Typophoto, an example of which was the project for a film entitled Dynamik der
Grostadt (Dynamic of the great city) published in 1925 as part of his Bauhaus
book Malerei Fotografie Film (Painting photography film).296 El Lissitzky, who had
chosen for the publication of the catalogue of the Soviet section of Film und Foto
the format called at the time a Leporello, a book with sections that could be
unfolded and laid out in front of the reader like a film strip, had formulated the
idea of a bioskopisches Buch,297 a dynamic bioscopic book capable of revolutio-
90 antonio somaini
nizing the traditional rhythms of reading. A few years later Benjamin as well, in a
chapter of his One-Way Street, observed that the book in [its] traditional form
seemed to be nearing its end and praised the primacy of the format of the
card index, with its three-dimensionality and its flexibility:
The card index marks the conquest of three-dimensional writing, and so

presents an astonishing counterpoint to the three dimensionality of script in
its original form as a rune or knot notation. (And today the book is already, as
the present mode of scholarly production demonstrates, an outdated
mediation between two different filing systems. For everything that matters
is to be found in the card box of the researcher who wrote it, and the scholar
studying it assimilates it into his own card index.)298
Joining these widespread discussions on the future of the book format, Eisen-
stein wrote, on August 5, 1929, a note in which he formulated the idea of orga-
nizing the various essays on the theory of montage that he had written during the
1920s in a book having the shape of a rotating sphere. At the center of this
spherical book, the reader would have found the one recurring theme that cut
across all the essays, that is, how to act, through the effectiveness of montage,
upon the mind and body of the spectator:
It is very hard to write a book. Because each book is two-dimensional. I

wanted this book to be characterised by a feature that does not fit under any
circumstances into the two-dimensionality of a printing element. This
demand has two aspects. First, it supposes that the bundle of these essays is
not to be regarded successively. In any case, I wish that one could perceive
them all at the same time, simultaneously, because they finally represent a set
of sectors, which are arranged around a general, determining viewpoint,
aligned to different areas. On the other hand, I want to create a spatial form
that would make it possible to step from each contribution directly into
another and to make apparent their interconnection. [...] Such a synchronic
manner of circulation and mutual penetration of the essays can be carried out
only in the form [...] of a sphere. But unfortunately, books are not written as
spheres. [...] I can only hope that they will be read according to the method of
mutual reversibility, a spherical method in expectation that we will learn to
write books like rotating balls. Now we have only books like soap-bubbles.
Particularly on art.299
This idea of a spherical book is mentioned by Eisenstein again in a diary entry

written in 1947, while he was working on the Notes:

In 1932 [sic] I had tried to organize my theoretical writings in order to publish
them in a book, and fifteen years later I still want to do it. Somewhere I have
written that I would like my book to be spherical, a book in which everything
is connected with everything, and everything can be transformed into
everything. The only form that can allow this is the form of the sphere, since
in a sphere you can move from any meridian to any other meridian. I still feel
a longing for a book with this form, today more than ever.300
Presenting his ideal reader as someone who moves through a book as if he were
moving from any meridian to any other meridian, Eisenstein introduces in
these passages a geographical idea of reading and writing. We find this idea in
other texts as well, for example, in the text published in his Memoirs with the title
Torito, in which he presents his writing style as a sort of journey through time
and space, used in order to highlight, in the highest possible number of hetero-
geneous territories, those structural regularities which concern directly our ob-
ject of study. For Eisenstein, such written travels were nothing else but an ex-
treme variation of the composition of mise en scne,301 and therefore, once more,
a form of montage.
The idea that the arrangement of the sequence of places that one crosses while
traveling can be a form of montage a montage of views offered to a spectator in
motion is explicitly formulated in a chapter of Montage entitled Montage and
Architecture, a text in which the path (put) across the various buildings on the
Acropolis, just as the one across the Stations of the Cross in the processions
commemorating Christs Passion, is presented as a form of precinematic mon-
tage, offering the spectator a moving experience (in terms of both motion and emo-
tion302) that can be compared to that of watching a film. It is according to this
perspective that Eisenstein presents the Acropolis as one of the most ancient
films.303
We find this same idea of a journey through space and time conceived as a
form of spatio-temporal montage in a drawing that can be considered an extra-
ordinary document of the way Eisenstein was approaching his general history of
cinema: a drawing which was made between December 1945 and January 1946,
and which is connected both to the essay Rodin and Rilke (completed in July
1945) and to the Notes, since we find in it many of the same references that appear
in Dynamic Mummification.304
Organized in a way that resembles that of a hand-drawn map indicating differ-
ent meandering paths with a whole series of arrows, this drawing can be com-
pared to a map Eisenstein drew while traveling through Mexico and can be con-
sidered a clear example of how he was using a sort of graphic montage as a way of
thinking about history. In many ways, it can be looked at as the initial plate of a
possible atlas of cinemas forerunners, a plate that can be compared, mutatis
mutandis, with the plates of Aby Warburgs Atlas Mnemosyne: a precise arrange-
92 antonio somaini
Ill. 4 Sergei M. Eisenstein, a drawing connected to the Notes for a General History of
Cinema (1945-46)
ment of artistic references set against a neutral background and organized in

such a way that they form sequences and constellations that visualize connec-
tions and analogies that would remain otherwise invisible. Warburgs photo-

Ill. 5 A map drawn by Eisenstein while traveling through Mexico (1931)
graphic reproductions are here replaced by small drawings referring to specific

artworks or specific forms of representation, the neutral black velvet background
of Warburgs plates is replaced by white paper, and what is at stake is not the
mapping of the historical migrations of certain founding Pathosformeln (even
though a formula of pathos in the Eisensteinian sense is clearly visible at the
center of the drawing), but rather the connections between cinema and certain
specific moments in the history of the arts. Still, even if we keep in mind all these
important differences, what emerges from this drawing is once more the convic-
tion, shared by Eisenstein and Warburg, that the history of images and artistic
forms should be approached through montage. Montage here becomes an in-
strument of orientation, like a map, within a history of artistic forms that would
otherwise remain an intricate labyrinth.305
At the center of the drawing we find two crucial images which stand for Eisen-
stein at the origins not only of cinema but also of any form of artistic representa-
tion: the figure of a pregnant woman with a fetus clearly visible in her womb, and
the figure of a body which bears the signs of the vertical wounds caused by a
piercing knife.
The woman with a fetus in her womb refers to a theme we have already en-
countered in Eisensteins writings. The theme of MLB, Mutterleibversenkung, the act
of sinking into the mothers womb, returning to that prenatal condition of the
94 antonio somaini
fetus that Eisenstein believed to be our first experience of form, as we have seen
in our discussion of the essay Rodin and Rilke, and a lost paradise traces of
which could be found throughout the entire history of the arts, especially in
those images representing figures floating in a space that seemed to be free
from the directionality given by gravity: an antigrav space that Eisenstein had
represented in the drawings for the film Glass House, which was to be set in the
completely transparent, nongravitational space of a house, probably a skyscra-
per, entirely made of glass.306
The pierced body which recalls the pierced body of King Duncan in the Mex-
ican drawings of the series Duncans Death from Shakespeares Macbeth can
be interpreted as representing the idea that the origins of montage as a method
of dismemberment and reunification307 can be found in the reenactment of the
dismemberment of the body of Dionysus, as Eisenstein had written in the pas-
sages of Montage that we have already discussed.
Interpreted in this perspective, the pierced body, whose legs seem to be those of
a dancing figure, can be considered as the body of Dionysus, and the two words
written just beneath the figure Dythiramb Theater seem to confirm this
interpretation. What we are looking at here is Eisensteins founding Pathosformel: a
dancing, ecstatic, sacrificed body like the ones Eisenstein drew in 1932 in Nuevo
Laredo just before leaving Mexico in order to synthesize his idea of ecstasy
Ill. 6 Sergei M. Eisenstein, a drawing from the series Duncans Death (1931)

Ill. 7 Sergei M. Eisenstein, a drawing from the seriesdedicated to the concept of
eXstasis (10 March 1932)
Starting from the figure of the pregnant woman, two different genealogical lines
are indicated with arrows departing from the top of her head. A first line, pre-
sented by Eisenstein as concave line, begins with an arrow right above the
pregnant womans head and then turns to the left, aligning one after the other
the figure of a person whose body seems to be contained within a sack (you
in), the body of a man or an animal lying inside a cave, the body of a man seated
inside a tent, another body inside what seems to be the space of a cathedral
(interior), and, finally, an arrow leading to the term Raum Kunst, art of
space. A second genealogical line, presented as convex line, begins again
with an arrow right on top of the head of the pregnant woman, but this time it
turns to the right, aligning another human figure which seems to be touching a
sphere contained in her own body (in you), the figure of a man whose hand
touches an apple, the cast of a face (a reference to the death mask mentioned
several times in the Notes), a schematic representation of perspective as a geo-
metrical method for the representation of depth, the counter reliefs of Tatlin
(contre relief), the voids inside the sculpted figures of Archipenko, the glass
architecture of two architects explicitly mentioned in the drawing (Frank Lloyd
Wright, Le Corbusier), and stereoscopic cinema (stereokino), ending once more
with the term Raum Kunst..
96 antonio somaini
Ill. 8 and 9 Sergei M. Eisenstein, two drawings on the theme Volume and Space
(October 1945)

The passage from the act of touching a round volume with a hand to the act of
looking at a space represented according to the norms of Renaissance perspec-
tive can be considered an implicit reference to Alois Riegls idea of a historical
development from a tactile and then haptic relation to space, to a condition of
pure optical vision.308 This idea appears in two drawings on the theme Vol-
ume and Space dated October 1945 that are connected with the one we are ana-
lyzing.309 In the first drawing Eisenstein shows a hand wrapped around a round
volume, but at the same time contained in an enclosed round space which is
clearly a reference to the mothers womb. The second drawing presents the hand
in three positions: in the center, the hand is touching a surface at a right angle;
to the right, it touches the interior wall of the womb, while to the left it wraps
again around a round volume. Above, Eisenstein writes gesturally gesehen,
seen through gestures, which points to a form of tactile seeing that takes place
first as the touching of a countervolume or negative volume from the inside,
and then as the touching of a positive volume from the outside
If we return to the larger drawing, we may notice how the two genealogical
lines, the concave line and the convex line, seem to end with the same art
of space (Raum Kunst), which is reached either through the reference to the co-
lored light projected through the stained glass windows inside the space of the
cathedral, or through stereoscopic cinema as a way of producing colored forms
floating in space. The fact that the stage of the Raum Kunst can be reached
either through the left or through the right side of the page, seems to imply that
the drawing could be folded, giving it the shape of a cylinder: another example of
that need to go beyond the linearity of writing and the bidimensionality of the
page that we have found in the notes on the spherical book.
To the right of the sacrificial body of the god begins yet another genealogical
sequence, which could be considered another convex line. It begins with a
hand leaving its imprint in the ground, then the same hand leaving deeper im-
prints by pressing its fingers (a reference to the origins of writings?) and then, in
another drawing, the same hand again grasping a round object (round): a
wrapping gesture compared by Eisenstein with the way in which a tridimesional
sculpture can be observed from different viewpoints (polipoint statue), as if it
were surrounded by them. Different ways of producing a sculpture are then
listed: incision (eingeritzt), low relief (en relief), a sculpture conceived to be
seen frontally (frontal statue), and then again the same polipoint statue that
leads to the reference to Benvenuto Cellinis statements about the paragone be-
tween painting and sculpture: Malerei [painting] daprs Cellini as one of 40 pos-
sible projections of sculpture. From here we move to a diagram that shows the
projection of a polipoint statue onto a bidimensional plane, and to the idea of
film as a development of the multiple views offered by sculpture: film as multi
project. plates, next to which Eisenstein shows how the different views of the
98 antonio somaini
same polipoint statue may give place to different shots aligned in a montage
sequence: (a+b+c+d).310
In the lower left corner, another sequence seems to be referring directly to the
ideas contained in the text Montage and Architecture discussed above: we see a
reference to childrens drawings in which trees and buildings are drawn using
the four different margins of the page as four different grounds on which the
vertical figures can be elevated, then a reference to the multiple points of view in
Egyptian drawings, followed by the drawing of a little figure which seems to be
tracing a large human profile in space: a form of deambulatory art, as we read
on the page, that reminds us of what Eisenstein writes in the Notes about Hoku-
sais gigantic contour drawings and the running around an object (Hokusai)
with the hand.311 From deambulatory art we move vertically toward the phrase
successif [sic] impressions in art and then to a schematic representation of the
position of three temples (a, b, c) on the Acropolis, next to which we see a
film strip (film) with three photograms (again a, b, c) and an arrow leading
to Raum Kunst in the upper right corner of the page.
A final genealogical line leads instead from deambulatory art to a dancing
figure, then to the pregnant woman with a fetus in her womb, and then, as a
final step which is also the first one, to the formula of pathos of the sacrificial
body of the god. The words written below these figures are, in a sequence, ge-
station, danse, song, music, dithyramb, theater: a sequence with
which we return to the center of the drawing and to the origins of theater of
art, of cinema in the Dionysian dithyrambs.
The kind of montage Eisenstein uses in this drawing is the same that we find
in the Notes: it is a montage that proceeds through nonlinear sequences made of
sudden anachronic, morphological juxtapositions (think of the sequence align-
ing childrens drawings, Egyptian figures, Hokusai contour drawings traced in
the landscape, the Acropolis, and finally a film strip) that place cinema within an
intricate web of possible genealogies. By linking the originary state of the fetus
inside the mothers womb and the Pathosformel of the dancing, sacrificial god,
Eisenstein shows within the space of the page that flash in slow motion through
centuries of evolution that connects the future of cinema with the lowest
layers mentioned in the diary entries discussed in section 2 of this text. What
we see is an bersicht connecting Vorgeschichte and Nachgeschichte which only a free,
graphic montage seems to allow.
Within this bersicht, both the origins and the future of cinema appear here to
be located well outside the cinemas boundaries. The origins are situated in pre-
natal experience and in the Dionysian dithyrambs, while the future seems to be
pointing toward an art of space, a Raum Kunst, which Eisenstein conceived of
as direct development of stereoscopic cinema, a way of experimenting with mon-
tage beyond the bidimensional surface of the screen and perhaps beyond cinema
altogether, in order to produce as we read in Montage a new generation of

total, environmental works of art capable of uniting the natural surroundings of
the urban complex with the masses that have their being in the city and the indi-
vidual protagonists of the drama taking place within it; with a sea of color and
light, music and radio; with theatre and sound film; with steamers on the Mos-
cow-Volga Canal; and with squadrons of aircraft.312
This tendency to imagine the future of montage beyond the present state of
cinema at the end of the 1940s also appears in all the sections of the Notes dedi-
cated to television, a development of the cinematic dispositif that Eisenstein clearly
wanted to include in his general history.
9. An Excursion into the Future: From Dionysus to Television

As we have seen in the opening section of this text, Eisensteins Notes may be read
with a whole series of issues that are currently debated in film and media theory
in mind. The status of cinema as a medium and as a dispositif in a rapidly evolving
media landscape; cinemas intermedial relations with other arts and other media;
its anachronic nature and its plural temporality as a medium suspended be-
tween its past genealogies and its future developments; its historical appearance
within the context of several different, intertwining cultural series: the way we
approach all these issues in contemporary film and media theory may find a new
reference point in a general history of cinema that seemed to be engaged, dur-
ing the second half of the 1940s, with many of the same problems we are dealing
with.
Media archaeology, in particular, seems to me to be an appropriate perspective
from which to approach the Notes. The archaeological understanding of the his-
tory of culture that Eisenstein developed in Mexico and that informed his vision
of history as the overlapping of several coexisting layers, and the way the Notes
appear to have been written, just like the book Montage, from a double vantage
point that is at once a retrospect (Rckblick) turned toward the past and a pro-
spect (Ausblick) turned toward the future, present significant analogies with a
research field, media archaeology, that has developed in recent years with the
objective of reminding us how new and old media should never be studied
separately, but rather through a constant search for the old in the new and the
new in the old.313
One of the goals of this research field, as we have already seen, is to show how
the history of cinema and of media in general should be conceived not so much
as a linear, chronological, teleologically oriented one, but rather as an archaeol-
ogy of possible futures and of the perpetual presence of several pasts.314 The
different genealogical lines that we find in the Notes seem to point exactly to-
ward these two directions. Each of them whether one of the histories of cine-
mas expressive means or one of the routes to the chronicle produces a
100 antonio somaini

different past and a different future, and opens up different fore-histories and
after-histories of cinema.315
Television, as we will now see, was considered by Eisenstein to be part of this
general history of cinema written from the vantage point of a double Rckblick
and Ausblick. In the Notes, television is mentioned both in the list of inventions
taken from Mumfords Technics and Civilization (with a reference to Arthur Korn,
the inventor of the Bildtelegraph, a device meant to transmit photographs through
the telegraph), and in a series of passages in Dynamic Mummification and in
In Praise of the Cine-chronicle. Here, television is presented as part of a genea-
logical line that runs from Dionysus to television, insisting on the fact that live
televisual transmission could allow the same kind of direct, empathic participa-
tion that one could find in the reenactments of Dionysuss birth, death, and re-
birth in Dionysian mysteries. The dithyramb dynastic chronicle reconstruc-
tion of an action television writes Eisenstein in a passage of Dynamic
Mummification that follows one of the several quotations of the famous verse
from Goethes Faust that says: Verweile doch, du bist so schn!316 Other passages
mention television and the joining with Dionysia,317 underlining how televi-
sion belonged to the same genealogical line leading from the origins of the
chronicle to the cine-chronicle. Considered in this perspective, television
was according to Eisenstein the extreme embodiment of an urge toward a
real communion with historical events (realnoe soprichastie c sobytiem):318 events
that the Dionysian mysteries remembered through performed reenactments, that
cinema could record, preserve and re-present as a form of dynamic mummifica-
tion, and that television could instead transmit in real time, allowing the high-
est form of direct participation.
A number of texts written by Eisenstein during the same period he was work-
ing on the Notes show how he considered television one of the stages of cinemas
general history. In the very last text he wrote, a letter on color film addressed
to Lev Kuleshov which he was completing when he fell victim of a second, lethal
heart attack on February 11, 1948, Eisenstein presents television as a technical
development of cinema that opens up new expressive possibilities in terms of
montage, just like color film and stereoscopy:
We regard colour as an element of the films dramaturgy. []

There is a difference between the process of the development of colour
expressiveness and the status of colour in nature and in phenomena where it
exists despite the will of the one who creates something that never existed
from something that exists, something that serves to express the ideas and
feelings of the creator.
As soon as we approach colour from this standpoint we recognize a familiar
situation. We see that the problem facing us as we strive to master colour
creatively is very much like the one we encountered when we had to master

montage, and later, audio-visual combinations and, we may presume, like the
problem which will arise when we pass to stereoscopic films and television.319
When we pass to stereoscopic films and television. Although the heart attack
that Eisenstein suffered while writing this letter left these ideas forever unrea-
lized, we can see how he was already projecting himself toward these two new
developments of the cinematic dispositif: developments which, like all previous
ones, needed to be explored in order to see how they could further enhance the
power and the possibilities of montage.
Another text, written in 1946, presents the miracle of television as one of the
potentialities of cinema that film directors should master, and as one of the
forms that cinema as synthesis of the art might take in the era in which radar
brings us echoes from the moon and aeroplanes leave the blue vault of the atmo-
sphere at the speed of sound:
The problem of the synthesis of arts, a synthesis realizable in the cinema, has
not yet found its full solution.
And in the meantime new problems are arising in increasing numbers.
No sooner have we mastered the colour technique than we have to deal with
the problems of volume and space, set to us by the stereoscopic cinema that is
hardly out of its diapers.
Then there is the miracle of television a living reality staring us in the face,
ready to nullify the experience of the silent and sound cinema, which itself has
not yet been fully assimilated.
There, montage, for instance, was a mere sequence (more or less perfect) of
the real course of events as seen and creatively reflected through the
consciousness and emotions of an artist.
Here, it will be the course of events itself, presented the moment they occur.
This will be an astonishing meeting of two extremes.
The first link in the chain of the developing forms of histrionics is the actor,
the mime. Conveying to his audiences the ideas and emotions he experiences
at that moment, he will hold his hand out to the exponent of the highest form
of future histrionics the TV magician who quick as a flash will expertly use
camera eyes and angles to enthral the millions-strong TV audiences with his
artistic interpretation of an event taking place at that very moment.
Isn't this probable?
Isn't this possible?
Can this not be done in the era in which radar brings us echoes from the
moon and aeroplanes leave the blue vault of the atmosphere at the speed of
sound?320
102 antonio somaini

Similar ideas can be found in a text written in 1947 and entitled Ever Onwards!
Here the reflections on television take on a utopian tone. Presenting the won-
ders of television technology as the natural development of a stereoscopic cine-
ma which had already led to the dissolution of the bidimensional screen, and
comparing the view of cinemas new possibilities that one could have in 1947,
fifty years or so after cinemas appearance, with the way in which Michelangelos
immortal frescoes in the Sistine Chapel revealed the infinity of the sky,
Eisenstein writes:
Let us raise [our] eyes to the ceilings, the result of half a centurys work. Look
at the vaults overhead. What can we see?
Just as, then, immortal frescoes revealed the infinity of the sky, where so
recently there had been vaulting and masonry, so now we can see the
endlessly unfolding horizons of the new perspectives and possibilities.
Just as, then, the new Adam Renaissance Man was woken by the image of
ancient Adam, so here, as we approach the completion of its first half-
century, a vision of cinemas new possibilities stands before us, waiting to be
realised.
It is breathtaking to tilt your head back and look at the future. We seem to
stand at the apex of a half-century pyramid of our arts existence.
Its achievements are colossal and numerous.
The foundations are broad and capacious.
Its steep sides soar upwards.
Its summit proudly pierces the sky.
But, as you gaze up, the summit seems a new starting point, from which a
new giant will grow outwards into the four corners of the heavenly vault, its
sides and edges ready to take captive the unfettered expanses of the
imagination as they sail upwards.
The appearance of the new consciousness and new world advancing towards
us, which the future screen has been called upon to reflect, is just as new and
immense.
Will it still be a screen?
Surely the screen will dissolve before our eyes, in the latest achievements of
stereoscopic cinema, its three-dimensional representations taking over the
entire interior and space of the theatre building not just the rear wall of the
auditorium which it hurries along into the limitless expanse of the
surrounding world, in the wonders of television technology?
And surely this implosion of the very nature and essence of visual spectacles is
nothing unexpected, since it has been called into being by technology at the
very moment when it is to provide a new structure of aesthetic requirements,
born out of the intersection of new stages of social development and the
mastery of new equipment for managing nature; equipment that promises the

same shift in awareness now as occurred at the dawn of culture, when man
made his first ever tool.
A new type of art blazes across the sky as the forerunner of these new forms
of consciousness, born of mankind, in the process of capturing nature, with
these new tools of unprecedented and unforeseen power.
I should be very surprised if the sum of traditional arts satisfied the new
humanity!
If the eye, aided by infra-red night-vision goggles, can see in the dark;
and the hand, guided by radio, can guide shells and planes to the furthest
reaches of other skies;
and the brain, aided by electronic calculators, can in a few seconds do sums
that previously took armies of ledger clerks months of work;
and consciousness, which in the tireless (now post-war) struggle is now
forging an increasingly precise and specific image of a genuinely democratic
international ideal;
and the presence of the giant Land of the Soviets, which has forever destroyed
the enslavement of man by his fellow
surely all these demand of art completely new and unprecedented forms and
dimensions, far beyond the limits of the palliatives traditional theatre,
traditional sculpture and traditional cinema?
Broadening consciousness, so that it perceives these new tasks. Whetting the
cutting edge of thought, so that it can resolve these tasks. Mobilising past
experience in the interests of what is to come.
Tirelessly creating.
Recklessly researching.
Bravely looking ahead into the new era of the arts, which we can only guess
at.
That is what the challenge should be, in these days, weeks and post-war years.
Work, work, and work.
In the name of the great art born of the greatest ideas of the twentieth century
Lenins teaching in the name of this art, which has, in its turn, been
created so that these greatest of ideas could be brought to the millions.321
Written in 1947, in the context of a triumphant ideological climate that was still
celebrating the victory of the Soviet Union in the Second World War, this public
text shows how Eisenstein, in the same period in which he was writing the Notes,
was reflecting on the future of cinema in an age in which a fast-evolving techno-
logical development was producing new equipment for managing nature
which in turn demanded a broadening of consciousness: a perspective that is
not far from the idea of expanded cinema that would later circulate in the
1960s and 1970s. Faced with a scenario which seemed to announce the same
shift in awareness [that] occurred at the dawn of culture, when man made his
104 antonio somaini

first ever tool, the task of the artist-theoretician-historian that Eisenstein wanted
to be was both that of mobilising past experience in the interest of what is to
come, and to work, work, work in order to produce completely new and
unprecedented art forms corresponding to new forms of consciousness.
What we find in this utopian text, is the same double orientation, Rckblick and
Ausblick, that animates Eisensteins general history of cinema. A general his-
tory which did not consider cinema as having a single origin nor a definite end,
but rather as a medium whose many different genealogical lines of development
could run from Dionysus to television and beyond.

Part One
Notes for a General
History of Cinema
Ill. A, B, and C Photograms from Ivan the Terrible, part 1: the siege of Kazan
1
THE HEIR1
Date: 22-26.X.1946
[RGALI 1923-2-993, pp. 19-29]
Cinema is the heir of all artistic cultures, as is the nation itself that elevated it for
the first time in all history both in estimation and creatively to the very
Cinema is the art of the USSR par excellence*, and it is so in a natural and organic
way.
It is according to this perspective that the history of cinema must be established.
1. The historical place of cinema in the history of the arts.

Its origin in the ruins of the second baroque.2
-Isms. Each based on one particular feature.3
The social structure (USSR), seeking a type of mass art etc.
The social pre-condition and [the] technical [one] coincide*.
2. A synthesis of the arts

A real synthesis in the technique of film, and in our aesthetics.
Taking the place of dreams about synthesis.
109
Recurrence* of the idea of synthesis from the Greeks (at first morphological in the
dithyramb) liturgies (architecture, organ, stained glass, plain chant*, the merg-
ing of the audience with the action) Diderot Wagner Scriabin we.
In which stages do the tendencies towards synthesis arise?
In the periods of social unification.
Unity (par exemple*, the unity of Catholicism and the liturgy).
Or in the discord of unity, as a protest-dream (par exemple*, Scriabin).
Vrifier* [in French: verify]: the unity of Bismarckism and Wagner (who starts with
the revolutionary unity of 1848* and ends with Parsifal).
The aesthetics of Lipps.
La Nuance Diderot* and the French Revolution.4
The removal of contradictions

Where has it ever been more so than in our case?
Universal unity.
Workers of the world
Annihilation of exploitation (17th Congress)5
Annihilation of national enslavement:
a friendly cooperation of nations as basis for* a friendly cooperation of the arts
The idea of synthesis as a revival* of syncretism.
Hostility towards synthesis in periods of social breakdown Nordau against*
Wagner.6
A synthesis not of the mechanical copresence in pure form (that was the limit of
the synthetic possibilities of the theatre).
But each [art] is embedded in a qualitatively new way, such that it cannot be
organically taken out.
A further paragraph-by-paragraph analysis of the fate of each art and of its new
quality within the synthesis.
110 sergei m. eisenstein

The Phenomenon of Cinema
(History of the phenomenon)*
Frames and the method of cinema.7
From the mosaic to pointillism.
A dynamic juxtaposition instead of mixing together.
Daumier and Tintoretto in micro*.
Goya, El Maragato in macro*.
Hogarth, Mariage -la-mode* in scenes.8
Cockerels9
Ill. 1 From Eisensteins manuscript of The Heir: drawing showing two fighting
cockerels
Egyptians (according to Gregor).10
Ill. 2 Illustration from Joseph Gregor, Weltgeschichte des Theaters, Wien: Phaidon, 1933,
p. 85
the heir 111

Busch and comic strip*. Auswuchs* [in German: growth] in montage.11
Ill. 3 Sequential drawings composing an action (from Wilhelm Busch, Plisch und Plum,
1882)
3. The Method of Cinema

Montage and counterpoint.
The ultimate exposure of the fundamental patterns of being.
Montage as a unity in diversity.
The universality of method:
Through art.
Through sociology (the national question and federalism).
Through science (the truth according to Marx).

Through all phenomena of nature (biology: worms)12.
Through pre-science: Osiris, Bacchus, Phoenix deconstruction and reconstitu-
tion on a new level*.
Montage as a purposeful (tendentious), socially conditioned, ideologically ten-
dentious reconstruction of reality in images.
(To be shown in the history of oscillation between poles: the pole of reconstruc-
tion and the pole of reflection. The strengthening and the weakening of [the two
tendencies]: the clearness of montage and the bareness [of reality]).
PHOTOGRAPHY
Photography and the urge* to record a phenomenon.

Primrer* [in German: primary] eideticism lost paradise* of the eideticism with
the awakening of consciousness the urge* towards substitution for the loss
through a mechanical device (great!!!)*.
The camera and the retina of the eye: the camera a portrait of the eye (The Clans-
man!)13.
Photography as a craft* begins with the mummy Egypt.

The death mask Rome (the naturalism of the death mask),
Ill. 4 Pushkins death mask hanging in Eisensteins apartment in Moscow, 1930s
the heir 113

The pyramid and the idea of resistance against transience immortality. Nostal-
gia for the imper[ishable]. In this photo is nec plus ultra* [in Latin: that which
cannot be surpassed].
To research from the mummy (preservation of the self*) to photography. The photo-
graphs of the relatives and of the dead14
CINEMA
Cinema and the urge* to record a process.

All cine-toys.
The reason behind doll-automatons (the immortalized actor), mechanical minia-
ture theatres etc., wind-up dolls.
SOUND CINEMA
Sound cinema and the urge* to record sound processes.

Balloons* in comic draw-
ings.
The same in the middle
ages. Justicia* [sic. In Latin:
Justitia, justice]
The same with the ancient
Maya.
Hieroglyphs, but also gra-
phically deformed for the
transmission of intonation
(my interpretation from
observations).
Photo-element as nux* [in
Latin: nucleus] of aesthetics.
Ill. 5 Drawing with balloon of comic strip the

little face saying O Yeah Justitia giving a speech,
and Maya hieroglyphs

CHRONICLE
If we follow along the line of the urge* to secure phenomena (chronicle,

photography, document), impressions (travelog[ue])*.
Objectively: Homer
Later: tendentiously (par exemple*, the figures of pharaohs and ordinary mortals
already in disproportion).
Later: emotionally.
The Tale of Igors Campaign15.
Les dsastres de la guerre, Callot16
(as a sequential cine-chronicle).
Later: patheticized.
Los desastres de la guerra, Goya
(as non-sequential patheticized impressions)
Later: dramatized, i.e., by the means of staged delivery, being true to the essen-
tial facts.
Mysteries
poeticized the chronicles of Shakespeare.
(Garbling for ex., The Horrors of Kalish, shot in the courtyard of the Nirnsee
Building, 1914)17.
ANIMATION
I. As nec plus ultra* [in Latin] of the graphic-stroke tendency

II. as Auslauf* [in German: development] of the tendency of the animal epos:
I. Petroglyphic [drawings].
Linear woodcuts of the early Renaissance.
Linear engravings of the Japanese.
Tolstoy (19th c.)18
the heir 115

Graphics der Jahrhundertwende* [in German: of the turn of the century]:
Olaf Gulbransson
Beardsley
Das Geheimnis der Umrisszeichnung* [in German: The Secret of the Contour] my analy-
sis19
Ill. 6 A small drawing illustrating the secret of contour
All types of line drawing as derivatives from this [secret] with a weakening des
primren dynamischen Effektes* [in German: of the primary dynamic effect] and
with an increase of new attendant circumstances (as with eideticism the more
photographism declines, the more an identifiable Gestalt-ship increases)20.
An ossification in the rectilinear elements. Breaks of contour, ruptures, etc.
New ways of dynamic effect.
Eug[enio] DOrs on Rembrandt and Watteau21 a flickering fabric of small
strokes, etc.
II. The animal epos.

Disney
Andersen
La Fontaine
Reynard the Fox
Aesop
Totemism*
(daprs ce que jai fait au sujet de Disney 1940-1941)22* [in French: according to what
I have done on Disney]
NB. We duly put him in the beginning, for this kind of drawing is primr* [in English
and German: primary] in the visual arts. And drawn cinema precedes other types
(on all these apparatuses, booklets, etc.)

Ill. 7 Drawing showing an example of a pre-cinematographic apparatus, probably a
zootrope, and of a booklet with illustrations producing an impression of movement
when the pages are turned quickly
Then here and in the remnants of the thematics in the animal epos and so on
basic laws* of visual impact, of mythological remnants etc.
the heir 117

Ill. D, E and F Photograms from Ivan the Terrible, part 1: Ivan receiving the last rites on
what is thought to be his deathbed
2
DYNAMIC MUMMIFICATION
NOTES FOR A GENERAL HISTORY OF CINEMA1
Date: 2.XII.46
[Muzei kino 40-1-12/4, pp. 3-8]
Verweile doch, du bist so schn!* [in German: Stay, you are so beautiful!]2
One can view all artistic activity als Auswuchs dieses Triebes* [in German: as
development from this urge].
Beginning even beyond the bounds of art itself. Woher dieser Urtrieb?* [in German:
Where does this primary urge come from?]
Man is eternally subject to the power of creation and destruction, just as nature,
history, and society are.
His aspiration is toujours inassouvie* [in French: never satisfied] stability eter-
nity.
It is all the same whether it is physical immortality (VIEM3) immortality
through children eternal life through metempsychosis by going to paradise
through the creation of enduring things of value in the hearts of the people,
etc. (The Americans longing for security*)
In the grimace [this aspiration] is trauma, which is built on endlessly reprodu-
cing the situation that caused the trauma that is, the very strongest impression
so strong, that it suffuses the fundamental elements of the psyche.
But trauma is only the pathological grimace of what demands enduring rein-
forcement in relation to yourself (as the most valuable!), or in relation to the
most valuable in your own experience, or in relation to the history of your society.
This can happen in two ways:
1. the reproduction of an event or person (dynamically)
or
119
2. the mummification of a person or event
or, if you like, a third way:
3. the recording by the means of a sign (from a pyramid to a gravestone, or the
inscription on a cross in a cemetery).
According to the norms of sensuous thinking (primary logic), the image of an
ancestor is the ancestor and the reenacted mystery is the actually reoccurring
event.
This first is the cradle4 of theater.
The dithyramb is like a chronicle, performed by everyone (without any distinction
between audience and performers), of the adventures of Dionysus.5
Pilgrimages are absolutely identical the passing by the pilgrims themselves
through the twelve stations of the passion of Christ.6
Both cases in accordance with primary logic are of magically, newly recurred
events that is, existing again in reality.
Next, falling on the heels of this, come the theaters, in the first stages... chron-
ological: the re-enactment of (mythological) history.
Prometheus, Oedipus, etc.
The same thing with Christians: the mysteries, that is, the history of Christ.
In Shakespeare: the historical chronicles.
And in Soviet cinema we have: cine-chronicle and subsequently epic (my own)
film with the re-creation of Potmkin on the Odessa steps, or of October on the
actual square of the Winter Palace. For the connection of this with the mysteries,
see The Theatre Arts.7
In the second category we find:
The mummification of the hero for the eternal preservation of his physical
being (that is, again in accordance with primary logic of the hero himself)
from Egypt to this day.
The posthumous publication of works as memory belongs to the same cate-
gory.
The heros death-mask as foundation of the naturalism of Egyptian sculpture
(if the shell is out of proportion, the spirit will not go into it!) and the images
of ancestors in Rome would become the Roman portraits of the first centuries
of our era, striking for their realism.

Ill. 1 A page from Eisensteins Notes for a General History of Cinema containing a
drawing showing a diagram of the pilgrimage to a Catholic church built on top of an
Aztec pyramid in the town of Amecameca, Mexico
dynamic mumification 121

Auslauf* [in German: consequence] of this is the sculptural portrait that is no longer
that of a family member, but a general monument to a hero (the gigantic profiles
of the presidents carved into the mountainsides of America find out precisely
where8). The gigantic Buddhas in the cave temples and niches of cliffs in Tibet.
The Buddhas of China and Ceylon.
(NB. It is appropriate to say here, this is a staging [mizanstsena] in relief of
three-dimensional scope, suited on a representational block in the same way
as a two-dimensional staging [mizanstsena] unfolds through a representational
path (Hokusai and his gigantic contour drawings on mountains. And in the same
vein, it interlocks somewhere with the problem of Stereo9).
Reelaborate this in relation to the walkable pictures.10
1. Removal (from the corpse) of the mask.
2. Abklatsch* [in German: copy] from Chinese images engraved on cliffs.
3. A photo is a take (Balzac).11
Ill. 2 Newspaper clipping from Vecherniaia Moskva, 30 XI 46
And another column leading up to the cine-chronicle (photo anime* [in French:
animated photography) where both columns bereinanderstimmen* [in German:
correspond to one another].
Dynamic mummification, as one of the cinemas activities12
It is surprising to find all these ideas in Diderots The Natural Son.13 Here we have
a full picture of the repetition of sources, resolved in imagination, but
completely in accordance with the tradition of genuine historical patterns.
It is interesting that even theater here is built as a round structure (without an
address portal, but rather as in circle dance), that is, a theater where the audi-

ence and the actors are one and the same (without an audience: for themselves,
like pilgrims14).
noter* [in French: to be noted]:
Theater for oneself as a theory extremely interesting in that sense (on the
threshold of Revolution and the end of class society) here the circle dance
(with no audience) is projected wholly into oneself, into the individual. The
very earliest collective form reduced to a single entity.15
Date: Kratovo, 20.VI. 47

[RGALI 1923-2-1017, pp. 1-4]
NB. Probably, for the history of cinema.

Chronicle as cradle.
Verbleibe doch, du bist schn!*16

On the question of commemorative foundations of the origins of art
(The dithyramb dynastic chronicle reconstruction of an action television17)
N.B. Put this next to the extract about souvenirs and Queen Victorias equally
unbelievable cult of same (daprs* [in French: according to] Lytton Stracheys
biography of her18).
(Into the section on the universality and fundamentality of this urge*, shown by
curious examples19).
Date: 17.VIII.47
Verbleibe doch*20
Chronicle Television*
Next to Queen Victoria daprs* Lytton Strachey goes ... Miss Havisham (by
the way, also Victorian* she is simply the image of conservatism, as is the
queen). (Great Expectations, 1860-6121)
Conservatism as the scowling face des Prinzips Verbleibe doch * [in German: of
the principle Stay, moment].
(Here also the book [by Florence Becker Lennon] on Lewis Carroll Victoria
Through the Looking Glass.22

Ill. 3 Clipping from the magazine Newsweek, May 12, 1947

Date: Moscow, 10.VI.47
[RGALI 1923-2-1016, p.1]
FORERUNNERS23
The History of Cinema Color

Stained-glass windows {
Stro Color
For example, about vitraux24* [in French: stained glass windows].

For film is also (besides everything in fusion) translucent painting*, planned for projec-
tion.
To a certain extent, it is vitraux*!
But stereoscopic cinema has even more in common with vitraux.
After all, a stained-glass window is not only translucency* (on screen: a color-field,
cast onto the blinding whiteness of the background), but even more for the
12th and 13th centuries a color form of volume penetrating into the space of
the nave!
Date: not dated second half of 1947

[RGALI 1923-2-1015, pp. 5-6]
From the mechanical copy of reality to the conscious photographic creation and
the art of photography, and from the photographic camera to the film camera
The high art of early photography.

Photographic art accompanies the development of bourgeois society, responding
to its object/merchandise orientation (Balzacs statistics), unimitable individuali-
zation (unimitable copy) and commercialized broad distribution.
These tendencies in the realist trend in literature and art come to replace the era
of revolutionary romanticism.
The sharply negative attitude of decadents of the era of [late] romanticism to-
wards photography. The ideological inadmissability of photographism for them
(Baudelaire on photography in 185925).
Photographys connection with realistic graphic art of its time.
The photography of the era of high realism of the 1840s. The 1850s and 1860s.
And the 1870s.

The stage of monochrome photography.
The culture and traditions of the monochrome principle in painting.
Chinese ink drawing.
Eastern monochrome landscape.
Graphic arts.
Photo-graphy [sveto-pis] grisaille versus color-graphy [tsveto-pis]*26
Chiaroscuro in Italian painting.
Photo-graphy in Rembrandts etchings.
Engraving in mezzo-tinto.
Daumiers monochrome lithography.
Masters of photography of the 19th century
Documentary nature of early calotype, daguerrotype, and ambrotype.27 The

utilitarian commemorative tendency versus photo-interpretation.
Compositional organization of the model itself.
Tonal consideration of the elements of the object itself.
Early artistic photography.
The transfer of the creative organizing principle to the means of photographic
expressivity.
Emphasis on the image, photo-graphy, interpretive treatment and composition
of a frame.
Specialization in genres (photo portrait, still life, landscape, genre,28 photo-
journalism and documentary, the special-effects photo, photo-curiosities).
Artistic effect in the result of early technical limitations.
(Analogy with other areas of the arts. The poisonous consequences of too-malle-
able material on style)
Properties of early lenses, the negative, the graininess of the paper, the chemical
processes of photography.
Special plastic effect due to the necessity of long exposure (especially in the work
of David Octavius Hill29). The effect of relief and the necessity for painstaking
composition of the pose.

Lost secrets of painterly effects of early photography in connection with technical
development.
In a separate section
Shot of the hands of Victor Hugo (Charles-Victor Hugo, 1853-55). Nadars self-
portrait the photographer in the pupil of the separately-shot eyes of Gounod,30
1871 (compare Arnolfinis portrait31). Combined photos. All of this in special-
effects film.
Double exposures in falsified spirit photography. The proliferation of this.
History of Montage
Date: 17.VII.47
[Muzei kino 40-1-12/4, pp. 9-11, 13]
Zeuxis (he came from Heracleia to Athens in 424 B.C.) most famous painter of antiquity
(painted grapes which birds tried to pick):
At Crotone he agreed to paint a Helen for the temple of Lacinia Hera, on condition that the
five loveliest women of the city would pose in the nude for him, so that he might select from
each her fairest features and combine them all in a second goddess of beauty*
(Cicero and Pliny, p. 318, The Life of Greece by Will Durant32)
See famous passage in Kuleshov on montage33
Date: 11.X.47
Montage: substantival, adjectival, verbal

As composed of parts continuous, generalized in order to reach general per-
fection from particular features of value.
Zeuxis (see quote from Will Durant).
Agaf'ia Tikhonovnain a comical way (if he could have Xs nose and Ys walk,
etc.).34
Montage as the creation of a sense of the volume/relief of the whole through the
combination of the pictorial/two-dimensional the motto of Benvenuto Cellini
(about the multiple views of sculpture) carried out.35
Montage as the combination of not only physical aspects of appearance from
various sides and points (Delaunay and the Cubists).36

(Montage of characteristic features of a hero)
But montage as agglomeration of qualitative aspects nuances of inner sound.
For example, in Tolstoy.
It is he who is the master of combining the features of appearances in the de-
scription and choice of details. This is substantive montage: 4 details of the
portrait of Katyusha Maslova.37
He is equally the master of adjectival montage: not the views of an object from
different sides, but the various qualitative sides within one phenomenon.
For example, the sensation of pain felt by Ivan Ilich:
Suddenly he felt
the familiar,
old,
dull,
aching pain,
unremitting,
quiet,
serious....38
Of course, the spontaneously arising understanding of substantive and ad-
jectival montage cries out for the addition of verbal montage.39
Montage, where movement-action is seized par excellence.
Technically this is a smeared single-action shot:
...The Swedes and Russians - chop, hack, cut....40
Visually to the tone of what Gauguin writes (ecstatically) about the British (Turn-
er?): not a train, but the movement of the train41 (vrifier daprs le journal de
Gauguin* [in French: check in Gauguin's diary]).
One could put here, from Mauthner (Philosophisches Wrterbuch* [in German: Phi-
losophical Dictionary]), his view on verbale, adjektivische, substantivische Welten* [in
German: verbal, adjectival, substantival worlds].42
For it is these very Welten* [in German: worlds] that are, as it were, reflected in the
structure of theatrical performance as well.
The verbale Welt* [in German: verbal world] in the world of the actors I want in
Konstantin Stanislavskys system.
The adjektivische Welt* [in German: adjectival world] in the image structure of a
work (the image of mise-en-scne* [in French: staging], the image of a shot, the

image of an episode, the image of the work as a whole) of my system as a
director.
The substantivische Welt* [in German: substantival world] of final conclusions of
the conception: a theme that runs through (a step further even beyond the
bounds of the super-objective and the through-going action 43).
For example, unity as the theme throughout Sergei Mikhailovich Eisensteins
[work], or the themes throughout Gogol, or Pushkin.44
The through-going theme in detective stories as such*, etc.45
Date: 12 X 1947
Ill. 4 Eisensteins scheme about the Picassism of the ancients
Why are we obliged to read this as simply uneducated the notorious

inability to draw the chest and eye in profile?

For aside from this it is a multi-perspectival (dual-perspectival) perception of a
human being.
Picasso repeats this [first step] in an arbitrary and wilful way, not because of
limitation*, which is, of course, evident here.
Date 12.X.194746
[Muzei kino 40-1-12/9, p. 5]
The separation of phonogram and image in the early forms of the theatre.
Their synchronization.47
History of audiovisual montage
Ill. 5

Ill. 6 Both Ill. 5 and 6 are taken from the article of Johan Fabricius in The Listener
(London, 3 January 1946) on the theater in Java
Date: 23 XII. 47
[Muzei kino 40-1-12/9, pp.1-6]
On Audiovisual Combinations
The line of the images and the line of the phonogram
After the Easter scrolls

the line of notes becomes a line of images, on which are singing
(the beings portrayed on them).
Such is the Ghent Altarpiece of Hubert and Jan Van Eyck: angels in the upper part of
the exposed altar sing and play music for the processions in the lower part.
Natalia Mikhailovna Chegodaeva48 drew attention to this, and I heard it from her
opponent, harshly criticizing her for this during the discussion of her disserta-
tion on December 23rd, 1947, at the Institute of Art History of the Academy of
Sciences of the Soviet Union.
I believe she is right: for me this is the phase that would typically follow Easter
hymns.
Whats interesting in this sense is the interweaving of both lines: the line of
sounds and the line of images

Ill. 7 Drawing containg a scheme for the analysis of Hubert and Jan Van Eycks Ghent
Altarpiece
Ill. 8 Detail of the scheme
1, and 2-3 are connected like bricks.49

1 is laid on top of 2 and 3. [see Ill. 8]
Moreover, it is not simply banally equal,
it is even more curious: it is arbitrary!
For the articulation of m-n [see Ill.13b] is even constructively unnecessary:
2, 3, 4, 5, 6 are one picture! And if p-q [see Ill.13b] is necessary for the lengthen-
ing of o-p to the buttress of the ground floor, then m-n is even independent of it.
The same wing panel is laid out elegantly brick fashion:

3:2 (top to bottom), moreover the top is not laid out 1:1:1 and not in three parts
but in two with the relation 1:2 (of left and right), while the bottom is laid out 1:1

Ill. 9 Another drawing containg a scheme for the analysis of Hubert and Jan Van Eycks
Ghent Altarpiece
Refinement, worthy of Pushkin:

N
| The Swede | the Russian || stabs | chops | cuts |
| The drum beat || cries | clashes |
M
(See Ill. 14 upper part)
Where in the same way the interweaving (in brick fashion) combines
the line of sound and the line of image.
One time coinciding in M-N,
as the Eycks do in o-p-q and o1-p1-q1
(See Ill. 14 central part)
The way of the line of sound

(See Ill. 14, scheme on the left)

One could suppose that this part of the picture (Lamb of God)
is the same kind of sound structure in relation to the upper 1:3
Evidently, angels around the Lamb of God sing, as does the group of saints on
the left they have open books and raised heads.
So the sound structure in the center changes []50
Angels are singing

Angels around the Lamb
Angels and the organ
The line of sound, and the line of images

(See Ill. 16)
Ill. 10 Drawing containing a scheme for the analysis of the structure of the Ghent
Altarpiece

Ill. 11 Hubert and Jan Van Eyck, Ghent Altarpiece (open view)
Ill. 12 Hubert and Jan Van Eyck, Ghent Altarpiece (closed view)

Ill. 13 Hubert and Jan Van Eyck, Ghent Altarpiece (angels singing)
Ill. 14 Hubert and Jan Van Eyck, Ghent Altarpiece (angels playing the organ and singing)
Ill. 15 Hubert and Jan Van Eyck, Ghent Altarpiece (the adoration of the Holy Lamb)

Date: 24.XII.47
[Muzei kino 40-1-12/11, p.20 reverse]
Music (two frames) in the upper row of the Ghent Altarpiece,

can be understood as the accompaniment to the processions of the lower
(the tradition of the 11th century Easter service)
Ill. 16 Drawing showing an analogy between Easter processions as a montage

sequence and the sequence of photograms on a film strip
Quote that
We can effort [sic, try] to do that*
Organ.
Eve.
Procession.
Brick interweaving
(See Ill. 18)
Ill. 17 Drawing containing another scheme

for the analysis of the Ghent Altarpiece

Date: 24.XII.47
[Muzei kino 40-1-12/10, pp.1-6]
History of the Problems

Space and time in painting
Time, which grows out* into a montage succession!

On the problem of multipointness, not only in space but also in time
Multipointness51
Do not forget Van Eycks The Arnolfini Couple

with its multi-point perspective.52
Ill. 18 Diagram of Jan van Eyck's Giovanni Arnolfini and His Wife showing the three
vanishing points (S, F', F'') that can be located in the picture. The diagram was
published by Eisenstein in The Film Sense, p.102.

Ermolova53 is more realistic: the mirrors in it give the possibility not to break up
the surroundings.
In Van Eyck the surroundings are broken up by various vanishing points!
(Cleverly hidden as well as* in Leonardos Last Supper54).
Delaunay a complete break (not hidden).
El Greco elasticity of the figures55
Ill. 19 Drawing showing the elasticity of the figures in El Grecos paintings
Compare with Van Goghs Zouave56
Anyhow*, the whole series strives towards a change of viewpoints and multi-point
perspective.
24.XII.1947
Space and Sound
The Easter cycle, the singing pottery of Peru, Siamese processions*, Van Eyck and the
image of music-making [personages], but interrelated* by their positions in the
Ghent Altarpiece like the connection of two lines.
iurlionis and the distortion* of the picture, according to music*.

Compare the distortion* in the tone of intonation of hieroglyphs, flying from the
mouths of personages of the Maya bas-reliefs.

Date: 25.XII.4757
Sound in Painting
Ill. 20 The title of the section Sound in painting flanked by the drawing of a little
Christmas tree
Munch The Scream is not only an image of a screaming man, as, for example, is
[Frans] Halss image of a singing man, but an effort to express in the pictures
structure the feeling of a scream. (See Ill. 21, the drawing of the ondulated lines
surrounding the face in Munchs Scream). Or Orozcos The Explosion graphic
landscape and the splash* with the spots of India ink.58 (See Ill. 21, the spot of
ink on a painting showing a landscape)
Ill. 21 The drawing of the ondulated lines surrounding the face in Munchs Scream
The parallel rows in Van Eycks Ghent Altarpiece.

iurlionis and the dissolution of painting into synchretic pictures of sound imi-
tation.59
All of this applies in precisely the same way in poetry (and prose).
Parallel rows without imitation, but by way of the representation of sound (de-
scription).
| The Swede | the Russian || stabs | chops | cuts |
| The drum beat || cries | clashes |
The rhythm (of the battle) unifies the rows as a general foundation and a pacing
beat.

The pure reproduction of sound, as in Prince Andreys delirium (War and Peace):
pitty pitty pitty etc..60 going along with the description of representation, weav-
ing itself together (alternating) with it.
The example of synchronisation with superimposition* of both one and the other
(sound and object) in Verlaine:
Les violons
Longs
De lautomne
Mon cur
Dune langueur
Monotone* [in French: see note below]61
Naturally, the primacy on the side of music is much more easily realized in
literature than it is in the picture: for the phenomenon of sound in literature is
felt objectively, while in pictorial representation suggestively.
Just as in painting representation is objective, but sound is suggestive!
But visuality in music is completely contingent and abstract (not concrete and not
objective).
For this reason Verlaines verses are much more grounded in literature:
De la musique avant toute chose,
Et pour cela prfre lImpair
Plus vague et plus soluble dans lair,
Sans rien en lui qui pse ou qui pose
[]
De la musique encore et toujours!
Que ton vers soit la chose envole
Quon sent qui fuit dune me en alle
Vers dautres cieux dautres amours.

Que ton vers soit la bonne aventure
parse au vent crisp du matin
Qui va fleurant la menthe et le thym
Et tout le reste est littrature62.
Writing here, of course, is of the narrative-representational kind, rather than

of the musical-sound kind.
The inclination towards the musical/melodious (sound) principle to the detri-
ment of the pictorial is characteristic of Verlaine himself.
Pushkin succeeded in harmonizing both ways.
For, lets say, Boborykins63 writings, on the other hand, are pure* literature (in
a bad only objectively-descriptive sense).
Tremendously important*
A forerunner* [in the line] of multi-point perspective, of [Robert] Delaunay,

regarding objective phenomena of the world of architecture (the Eiffel Tower,
etc.), was Honor Daumier: both in time! and in the organic development of
sequence: breaking the human figure into various successive phases of one
movement.64
Various (in terms of time) phases of human movement in Daumiers work grow
into various (in terms of space) points of seeing an object in Delaunays work.
This connection is repeated in cinema technique (in the broadest sense: mechanical
technics and creative technics)* the system of shots (frames) successive phases of
movement broken into pieces and the system of edited shots repeating as if
in a magnifying glass this very same principle in a sequence of breaking into a
multiplicity of vision.
Multi-point perspective and multiple-temporality!

HISTORICAL EVALUATIONS
How to look at discrete phenomena of history
Date: XII.1947 / I.1948

[RGALI 1923-2-1021, pp. 14-56, 58-59]
Cinema in the System of the Arts

A short overview of the history of expressive means.
Art of the [age] of imperialism.
From the photo camera to the cinema apparatus
#3
The problem of the moving image in the visual arts.
Wayang shadow theater.65
Simultaneous pictures. Stringing together various phases of an event (Memling,
Botticellis illustrations for the Divina Commedia66).
Simultaneous sets in Middle-Age and Renaissance theater.
Chain of pictures (Hogarth, Goyas Robber Maragato67).
The problem of a compositions dynamics.
Various phases of the position of a figure (Tintoretto, Daumier68).
Simultaneity of various positions of a figure (multi-handedness and multi-leg-
gedness).
(Heidelberg manuscript of the Sachsenspiegel, Futurism69) (See Ill. 22-23).
Muybridge's experiments with composite photographic depiction.70

Ill. 22 and 23 Two illustrations from the Heidelberg manuscript of the Sachsenspiegel,
showing figures with multiple heads and arms
#4.
The invention of the film camera
The highest form is cinema [kinematograf]. Montage and motion (mobility)
Cinemas predecessors in the history of related arts.
Re-montage [peremontazh] of a phenomenon.
Painting. The Merovingian ornament.71
View of Toledo by El Greco.72
A view with multipoint view.

Multi-point perspective. The Last Supper.73
From Arnolfini through Serov to Delaunay.
Ill. 24 A dcoupage in different shots of Leonardo Da Vinci's Last Supper executed in

1933-34 by Konstantin Pipinashvili, a student of Eisenstein at the film school VGIK

#5
Audio-visual composition
The unity of intonation and gesture in ordinary behaviour as a cradle74 of audio-
visual counterpoint (both as tendency and as methodology)75
The primary synthesis in dithyramb (movement and sound).
Exultant* [in Latin: they rejoice] XII-XIIIth century.76
Objective-suggestive procession in Siam.77
Cult examples.
Holidays connected with specific music.
Life events [connected] with song (weddings) and cult (funereal) [music].
Social and national [holidays and life events connected] with colors.
Relativity [of the meanings of color]:
white wedding,
white mourning for the Chinese, black and lilac mourning [for the Europeans].
Purple [of the mantle] of a cardinal.
Gold, silver, light blue, white robes [of Orthodox priests].
Color frescoes in eastern theaters (pars pro toto* [in Latin: the part for the whole]).78
The rhythmic organization of the procession and sequence of sounds in city cer-
emonies.
Entrances.
Guild in emblem, color, sound (hymn).
National colors and hymns.
Visual parallelism (van Eyck's Ghent altarpiece).
Excessive fusion*: Munch, iurlionis.
(Analogy with the problem of musicality and objectiveness in poetry. Pushkin
as opposed to* Mallarm).
Theater and theater of musical drama par excellence* [in French].
Leitmotiv and its connection with the objects (the sword, the oak, the chalice) and
with the themes of the objects (the Father, the Fate, the Welsungs).79

#6.
Color stereo television
Brief survey of preceding problems.
(From cine-chronicle and filmed theater [kinospektakl] to cinema)
#2
[Development of photography]
Daguerrotype and the invention of photography
Daguerre, Nadar, Talbot.
Masters of the psychological portrait:
David Octavius Hill, Julia Margaret Cameron.
Masters of documentary photography:
photographs from the time of the Sebastopol campaign,
Matthew Brady and the civil war in NAUS,80 the Siege of Paris (1871) in Nadars
photographs.
Masters of photographic still life.
Masters of photographic image of the surroundings.
Atget. Nadar. Stieglitz: the beginning of urbanism and of rigorous plein air* [in
French: open air] (notes on cloudscapes [?]81).
Ill. 25 Alfred Stieglitz, a cloudscape from the series of the Equivalents (1925-34)

Connection with painting traditions of the era.
Independent contribution. Degradation of photographic art at the turn of the
XXth century, social [roots] of the phenomenon.
Russian school of photography.
Masters of the document. Ptr Otsup.82
Masters of the portrait. Nappelbaum, Sternberg.83
#7
Art of the era of imperialism and the appearance of cinmatographe [kinemato-
graph].
Aesthetic tendencies become initial technical possibilities.
The tendency towards divisionism and analysis as a reflection of the disintegra-
tion of art.
Closure with stage zero (Dada, Surrealism, etc.).
The rise of cinema.
Preconditions for the new era of reunification.
Absence of these possibilities in the pre-socialist period.
Genre
Georg-Wilhelm Timm (1820-1895).
Pictures of Russian manners.
Our types, drawn from life.
The Physiology of Petersburg.84
And views.
Masters of genre.
Genre photography.
Snapshot* and eidetic petroglyphic drawings.
Snapshot* and the predecessor of journalistic candid camera (unstaged, reportage
photos) the future aesthetic of life caught unawares [zhizn vrasplokh]85 in
cinema.

The role of the development of the press and illustrated newspapers as a stimu-
lus.
Shots of the Crystal Palace of 1854 while being inaugurated86 (See Ill. 24)
Ill. 26 The opening of the re-built Crystal Palace at Seydenham, London, by Queen
Victoria and the Prince Consort, June 10 1854. From the book Victorian Snapshot owned
by Eisenstein and preserved at the Eisenstein Center, Moscow
See-saw of 1857 (See Ill. 25). Instant photograph.
Ill. 27 Photograph (dated 1857) from the book Victorian Snapshot

Pioneer of the snapshot Paul Martin, born 1864.87
[He] begins as a master of wood engraving for newspapers. Goes on to photo-
graphy in 1883.
From the multi-camera set-up of Muybridge to the hand-held camera of 1890
through the motionless camera (invented [by] Eastman in 1886).
Move to the pure photo, in journalism and photo-documentary. Matthew Brady
etc.
Famous instant photographs and photo-reportages.
Documentary utilitarian prerequisites to David Octavius Hill, the Scotsman.
1. Jacques-Mand Daguerre (1787-1851) and Nicphore Nipce (1765-1833) as

masters of art photography.
2. Henry Fox Talbot (1800-1877) as photographer. Landscape. Still life (Pencil of
Nature 184488).
3. Still lives of Henri Le Secq (Fantaisies 1855).
Masters of the psychological portrait.

4. David Octavius Hill (1802-1870). Master in lighting; in the distinctive character
of angle placement (but not the camera yet); in reframing the shot [obrez fotoka-
dra]; in the choice of details of the surroundings; in the general atmosphere.
Genre (sailors, fishermen).
5. Julia Margaret Cameron (1815-1879). Master of light and shade.
6. Nadar (Gaspard-Flix Tournachon, 1820-1910). Master of the individualization
in portraiture.
7. tienne Carjat (1828-1906). Master of the documentary portrait.
Analysis of the leading portrait photographers of historical personages. Photo
portraits of Karl Marx in the 1860s and 70s.
Masters of genre

Date: 28.XII.47
One more device*:

Mechanization of motion
Moving silhouettes, shadows

Play of hands
Two-dimensional Wayang and Chinese transparent colorful [figures].
Lanterne magique* [in French: magic lantern] with moving parts (I remember it from
my childhood).
Moving mechanism outside

Three-dimensional marionettes. Puppeteers technique.
Guignol and Petrushka.
Animated threedimensional doll (by handmovement)
Synchronized by changing voice of manipulator*.
Moving mechanism inside

Automated figures.
Moving toys (cages with birds of the 18th century). Mechanical toys. Moving wax
figures (Cleopatra and asp).
Moving mechanism in projection

Directly from these cartoon figures (three-dimensional). Starevich. (Ptushko).89
Mechanical sound
Musical boxes.
Mechanical pianos.
Rolls with perforations.
1807 Kymographmoving cylinder for recording continuous movement (Thomas Young)
1857 Phonautograph. Voice vibrations recorded on revolving cylinder (Edouard-Lon Scott de
Martinville)
1877 Microphone, Phonograph (Edison)

1870 Celluloid (John Wesley and Isaiah Hyatt)90
Artistic organization of moving phenomena in time
Movement of the viewer

Architectural ensemble and the taking into consideration of the duration of the
shift in the audiences impressions.
Problem of rhythm.
Acropolis (Choisy).91
English park.
Michelangelos square92 .
Intrieur* [in French: Interior] St. Sophia
Chartres.93
Procession (Gregor)94 (See The Heir, Ill.2)
Movement of an object
Dithyramb of chorus and entrances pageant*
Collective dance, divided into...
Lessons of music and organization of sound into scales
Moving photography
Marionettes (movement from outside) puppeteer

Automated things (movement from inside) mechanism
Shadow theater (movement, the reflection of the object;
first [it was] the silhouette-shadow) puppetteer
Movable photography
Forerunners*
Before them: in painting, etc.

Animat[ion] and the history of graphics
Comic strip*
Animation in the series of devices responding to the problem of creating the

moving picture
The problem of the dynamic representation of the moving phenomena repre-
sentation through static means
petroglyphic drawing
- line drawing born of the petroglyphic silhouette;
- connection with Chinese calligraphy;
- Renaissance book illustration, wood and metal engraving;
- German and French line engraving;
- empire line drawing (Schinkel, [Fdor Tolstoys]
Dushenka)95
- Olaf Gulbransson96
Problem of capturing the dynamic phenomena

Problem of dynamic representation of a moving phenomenon
Zoetropes, etc.
Animal epos.97
Totemism and animism.
Cult of the domestic animal.
Satirical [play].
Batrachomyomachia.98
Aesop La Fontaine Krylov.99
Connection with childhood ideas.
Andersen Lewis Carroll.
Early cinematographic views.

Real journeys at the end of the 18th cent.

Chinese scroll pictures*
Lubok100 Image dpinal
Mythological genre
dividing myth into three parts, according to the three main elements of which
myth is composed:
the religious/cult element
the fairy-tale/fantastic
the historical/prerequisite.
From this:
series of religious luboks (Serafim Sarovskii),
series of fairytale luboks (Bova),
series of historical luboks (the siege of Sebastopol) .101
Epic and and heroic genre102

glorification of generals, commanders, tsars (Aunt Pasha weeps over the lives
of generals).103
Connection of this with Saints lives and Hagiographies.
Platov. Kuzma Kriuchkov. Etc.104
Instructive / morally didactic genre

growing out of homilies and sermons.
Genre dealing with recent news

actualit[s]* [in French: news] with emphasis on news about crime and news in
general (as in later papers such as Birzhovka and Vecherka).105
Freaks (Posada).106
Satyrical and pamphlet-like genre

Mexican vasilada.107
How the mice [buried] the cat, etc.108

Ill. 28 One of the most popular lubok of the 18th century, showing a cat being buried by
a procession of mice, and considered to be a caricature of Peter the Great. From a book
owned by Eisenstein at preserved at the Eisenstein Center, Moscow.
Montage (?)109
1) Automatic stage
2) Conscious stage:
a. stage of acknowledgement, disintegration, and reassembling
b. stage of reinterpretation of the phenomena, purposeful montage
Static stage
Dynamic stage
Roots of reproduction as reproduction of ones own copy
Reflections and reproduction.

The very first dynamic wing: commemorative action; it is also audio-visual;
the reflection happens into itself in impersonization*110 (the actor plays
becomes Dionysus). Reproduction only for the duration of the action.

Further:
the first stage is not reflection, rather it preserves the object itself (mummifica-
tion), but for eternity;
the second stage is the factual physical mold (the commemorative death mask is
the proper beginning. Egypt, Rome).
The problem of projection

(on-the-wall-ness)
The problem of projection of a fixed image

Opaque stationary image: painting on the wall, fresco, spatial illusion of perspec-
tive (Pompei, trompe l'oeil* on the wall)
Changing draping.
Re-dressing locations.
Chambre ardente* [in French: Mourning room].111
Decoration of temples with branches according [to the principle of] pars pro
toto*112 transforming them into a forest (mechanization of Daguerres diora-
mas).
Exchangeable fresco
the hanging of figurative rugs p[ars] p[ro] toto*.
Gobelins.
Removal of the contradiction between intrieur and extrieur* [in French] in Le
Corbusiers works.
Glass wall and landscape inside the home.113
(Trees growing [through a house], overlaying of pools of water, etc.)
The same in the East.
Hanging Gardens of Semiramis.
Renaissance loggia and system of terraces: the entrance of architecture into land-
scape and of landscape into architecture.
Versailles. Tsarskoe Selo. Pavlovsk.114
Disintegration into bosquets.

Stained glass windows (999)115
As a transparent image.
As the means to throw a colored shadow.
Magic lantern.
The Dynamic of projection.

The moving silhouette.
Shadow theater.
Right on the wall.
Through a screen.
Theater of moving shadows.
Javanese Wayang.
Coloured shadows in China.
Turkish Karagz.116
The dynamic of reflected light.
Consideration of projection of stained glass windows according to the hour.
The reverse combination.
Palais de lIndustrie of 1889 and the revolving lighthouse.
Fireworks as dynamic color-graphy.117
[List of inventions]
(daprs*: [Lewis] Mumford, [Technics and Civilization, 1936, 4th printing])118
1558 Camera with lens and stop for diaphragm

Daniello [sic] Barbaro119
1590 Compound microscope (Jansen120)
1714 Typewriter
1719 Three-color printing from copper plate
1796 Lithography (!)

Dynamic Image and sound
1807 Kymograph moving cylinder for recording continuous movement (Young)
1839 Electrotype (Jacobi) (?)
1839 Callotype (Talbot)
1839 Daguerrotype (Nipce and Daguerre)
1840 Micro-photography (Donn)
1841 Paper positives in photography (Talbot)
1855 Television (Caselle)
1856 Color photography (Zenker121)
1858 Phonautograph. Voice vibrations, recorded on revolving cylinder (Scott122)
1864 Motion picture (Ducos123)
1870 Celluloid (J.W. and I.S. Hyatt124)
1877 Microphone (Edison)
1877 Phonograph (Edison)
1882 Motion picture camera (Marey)
1886 Hand camera (Eastman)
1889 Modern motion picture camera (Edison)
1893 Moving picture (Edison)
1894 Jenkinss Phantoscope first moving picture of modern type
1895 Motion picture projection (Edison)
1907 Television-photograph (Korn125)
1920 Radio broadcasting
1927 Radio television*
[History of photography]
Combined photo and imprint

Sky + clouds
First: Gustave Le Gray (1856)126

C[amille] Silvy,127 pupil of Paul Delaroche (1860)
Painter Rejlander (1813-1875)
O. G. Rejlander, The Two Ways of Life from 30 negatives (the first combined from
3, 1851). The first nude is ascribed to him. But there are daguerrotypes in 1841
on the same theme. At the same time he was the one who made the photo for
Darwins The Expression of the Emotions of 1872.
Ill. 29 O. G. Rejlander, The Two Ways of Life, 1857
1862: Photographs of G.-B.-A. Duchenne de Boulogne for the book Mcanisme de

la Physionomie Humaine, ou Analyse lectro-physiologique de l'expression des passions.128
Phonotyp
Photo-graphy of sound. Experiments of 1841.
Towards degradation129
Children as cupids (1881)
Photographs with titles:
Dolce far niente* [in Italian: Sweet doing nothing] Innocence Contemplation
Rverie, etc.
Retouche. [Franz] Hanfstngl of Munich at the Paris exhibition of 1855.

[Antoine Samuel] Adam-Salomon (1818-1881) is the most famous.130
Scenery for photography (backgrounds)

Catalogues of American firm L. W. Seavey 1870

(cliffs made of papier-mch, country fences and so on)
1888: more than 800 drawings trees, bridges, chimneys, pilasters, streams,
rivers, the ocean.
Interiors: boudoir, library
Illustrated newspapers
Arise from 1840-1850
Illustrated London News 1841 1842
159 photographs by Roger Fenton of the Crimean campaign
[Felice] Beato photos of a revolt in India, 1855
[Matthew] Brady (1822-1896) 7000 photographs of the Civil War
Aerial photography
[Samuel A.] King and [James Wallace] Black aerial views of Boston (1861)131
London [Henry] Negretti (1863)132
The first photo in the fog ([cf.] Chinese and Japanese [paintings] with mist).
Whistler. Impressionists*).
Durham Cathedral on a misty morning* Misty Morning on the Wear* by William
McLeish of Darlington. Sensation of 1882.133
Among the first photos

with lighting shots by
Nadar in the Parisian
catacombs (1860).
Ill. 30 Self-portrait by Nadar in the Parisian Catacombs, 1860

1870 America, the announcement of studios with electrical lighting (A
Revolution in Photography), shots by electric light.
Kodak camera invented [in] 1888 (in 1896 100,000 are sold).
Eugne Atget (1857-1927), former actor134

Paul Martin (1864-[1942]).
Stereophotography is known since 1841.

David Brewster (1781-1868)135
Stereoscopic epidemic:
London Industrial Exhibition 1851
and International [Exhibition] in Paris, 1855
The fashion lasts until 1860.
Neue Sachlichkeit* [in German: New Objectivity]
Photoportraits of Balzac, Hugo, Andersen, etc.
First photo exhibition

In Paris, 1844
In London, 1852
Photomontage
Montage by the means of the combination of pictorial reproduction of photo-
graphs
(Assembly of Scottish ministers by David Octavius Hill).
Montage by the means of combined printing.
O.G. Rejlander and H.P.Robinson exploited the montage picture, and the former used thirty
negatives to produce his famous Two Ways of Life in 1857 (Victorian snapshots, p. XIV)*.
Montage by the means of combined shots.

Albums of narratively arranged photographs in the first decade of the 1900s.
Of the type Le Rve (the working woman's dream) 20 sequentially arranged
phases of the narrative.136
Ill. 31 The cover of the booklet Le Rve and the first page with Eisenstein's signature
and the date 12 February 1935. Eisenstein Center, Moscow
Ill. 32 Next pages: The 20 images contained in the booklet Le Rve [The Dream], owned
by Eisenstein and preserved at the Eisenstein Center, Moscow

Catalogue of the Nilsson Collection 1897.137
Klebebilder* [in German, collages]138 of the same period (Panorama). Ladies duel.139
Photomontage
George Grosz and [John] Heartfield. First experiments and the term 1915.
Abstract photomontage.
Politically aimed photomontage.
Heyday of propagandistic photomontage: the newspaper AIZ [Arbeiter Illustrierte
Zeitung] in Germany.140
Ill. 33 John Heartfield, photomontage for the cover of the Arbeiter Illustrierte Zeitung
(AIZ), 1933
Direct connection in the form of metaphorical phenomenon with the princi-

ples of Soviet cinema
Photograms
Moholy[-Nagy]
Man Ray141
Color engravings of the 1400s.

Ill. 34 The page from Eisensteins notes for a General History of Cinema containing the
text transcribed in the following pages

Photomontage
Photomontage
Composite pictorial images.
Centaur. Composite portrait by Zeuxis.
Grotesques.
La truie qui file* [in French: The spinning sow]142 (See Ill. 29).
Ill. 35 A drawing showing the motif of the spinning sow
Composite figures.
Bosch and Bruegel.
Callot.
Transition to real scissors and pasting.
Collage from engravings of the XVIII century.
(Screens, Byrons screen).143
The Cubists collage (pasting wood, newspaper, letters, etc. deciphered accord-
ing to pars pro toto: simultaneous centaur)
Photomontage itself.
Photomontage in the West. Bauhaus montage of materials (Bauhaus in Dessau).
Political photomontage (Heartfield).
Special-effect photography (double exposure* etc.).

Conceptual photomontage. Photomontage in the USSR. Rodchenko, Stepanova
OST144 and montage.
Towards stereo
Primitive-dynamic and conceptual-dynamic in photomontage.
Re-montage [peremontazh] of a real landscape in painting.
Engravings of the 16th, 17th, and 18th centuries of professions [composed] from
the attributes of professions.145
(Regressive psychological character. Kantianism: a phenomenon is the sum of
its attributes essence is unknown).
[El] Greco View of Toledo
Ill. 36 El Greco, View and Plan of Toledo, c.1610
Separating phenomena into pieces and the new willful assemblage of elements.
Ornament of the Merovingians.
Variation of proportions as the origin of shots
Japanese XVIII cent. wood engraving. Utamaro, Sharaku.146
Greek cockerels and Japanese geese147

to Daumier and Tintoretto148

Ill. 37 Detail of Ill. 29 showing drawings of the Greek cockerels and the Japanese
geese
Ill. 38 The Hundred Geese, Chinese handscroll (detail) attributed to Ma Fen, probably
late 13th or early 14th century
Ill. 39 Flying pelican captured by tienne-Jules Marey through chronophotography

around 1882
Problem of actualits* [in French: news] and the recording of events (chronicle).
From Dionysus to television
The montage pamphlet on columns Baldachin of St. Peters Basilica by Berni-
ni.149

Photomontage as means [sredstvo].
Means of visually expressing what is inexpressible in the realm of meanings.
Connection with systems of combined pictographic signs.
Montage in the newspapers of 1905.150
Our early montaged words in October.151
Painting and photography
Constantin Guys152
Cinematographism [kinematografism]. The everchanging flow of scenery* (Flow.)
Dynamism.
Coloristic features.
Daumier
Name of lithographic series Actualits*.
The eye directed at life.
Satyrical distortion.
Momentariness of instant photography in behavior.
Chiaroscuro* [in Italian].
Goya
Los desastres de la guerra and La tauromaquia (naturalistic side of his series of etch-
ings).
Menzel153
Menzels painting as a surrogate for photography ([he could paint] indiscrimi-
nately factories and high society receptions).
Principal difference between Menzels pictures and vignettes in books.154
Instantaneousness of movement and the point of view not typical of easel
painting. Connection with Hokusai.
Close-up and visual metaphors.
Tradition of Chodowiecki (1726-1801).155

Callot
Misres de la guerre
Edgar Degas
Effect of instantaneousness in behavior. But also the shot.
Momentariness of instantaneous photography in cropping the shot (for the first
time).
For the first time the shots. Les Baigneuses156.
Fiery sermon of going out on the street and into bourgeois interiors.
To paint as you see (buildings from below).
Lautrec
Continuation of Edgar Degas in that direction as well.
Manets attempt. Exploding bomb.
Tradition in this from lithography of actualits.
Intensification of the tendency and approach to photo-eye.
Degas and the sermon on entering into life, into the thematic of the city (daprs*
[in French: according to] Slocombe and letters157).
Degas cuts as reconstruction of the snapshot* of the eye.
Degas on the angle of buildings, which for some reason are never drawn from
below. (Towards the angle and natural point of view).
Degas and photography.

Lautrec and photography.
Degas and photography

1894 poque de la grande passion de la photographie* [in French: the age of the great
passion for photography].
Degas took photographs!
Lettre de Paul Poujaud Marcel Guerin* [in French], 1931
Lettres de Degas, 104: Mme Howland, from letters to whom Fromentin did old
masters.158

Towards special effects
Double exposures and superimpositions.
Light shows of Loe Fuller159 and transformations in the small theatres LEn-
fer and Le Paradis in Paris, Le Palais de Mirages (1907) with 45 effects of chang-
ing light (in the Muse Grevin)
Ill. 40 Eugne Atget, photograph of the faade of the theater LEnfer, 1898
Theatre [was born] on the public square160

Curiosits* [in French: curiosities]: Washingtons wet nurse,161 the sea devil.
Negro village at the exhibition of 1900.
The import of savages as the cradle of the travelogue*!
The reconstruction of their everyday life and environment (I remember how it
was in Riga!).
The connection between the animal epos [and] the animated film
(Krazy Kat, Mickey Mouse, Donald Duck notez* [in French: note]: K.K., M.M.,
D.D.)
With the display of wild animals and with zoos?
And with the trained animals. Barnum.
Once again, the lower forms.
Barnum as circus and as curiosity*. Cf. Kunstkammern of the 17th and 18th century.
And Barnum as the origin of the popular scientific film. (At first fakes*. Then
[real])

NB. The typical passion of progressive filmmakers for all these forms (Chaplin in
Santa Monica. Us. The Left Theatre and the street theater, Commedia dellarte, etc.)
Anyhow* interest in this, of course, goes back to archaic cultures: the

agricultural connection with wild animals (hunting and domesticating) and with
the totemic-cultic [animal].
Animals in cinema.
Lion pictures. Tarzan. (Comedies with lions and leopards.)
Rin-Tin-Tin and Lassie dogs.

Flicka a horse.
Animism anthropomorphism in them.
The tradition of Jack London, Sutton-Thompson, Strider.162 And under all this
the tradition of parables and fables. A reformist tendency.
The New Centaur of the American film-epic (according to Sound and Sight163). The
cowboy and his horse: the totem of the steed.
Buffalo Bill in actions against Indians B.B. as show.
Rodeo Shows Cowboy films*
Theatre was born on the public square164
1. The boulevard melodrama and Griffith.

(Holdovers and degeneration in the Grand Guignol).
Ill. 41 Poster presenting a tourne of the Thtre du Grand Guignol in Paris

The Grand Guignol itself is a holdover from the theatre as scaffolding (Evrei-
novs term for the connection between the theatre and execution).165 The first
surrogate of real executions were the scenes of martyrdom of saints in mystery
plays. The naturalism of these scenes. The naturalism of the Grand Guignol.
Grand Guignol and tough style*, the newest kind of pictures from America and
England, as opposed* to the melodramatic romanticism and the sentimentality of
the pictures of the Griffith era.
2. Funambules and Deburau.166

Farce and fairy-tale play.
Mlis (directly)
From Deburau {
Charlie Chaplin (in principle).
Elevation of the lower genres (low-brow*).
Jules Janin and Deburau (Le Thtre Quatre Sous).
This is repeated in [cinema]: Gilbert Seldes and the early Chaplin (The Seven Lively
Arts, 1924. The books meaning and the protest of popular arts* against gentile
art. The Great God Bogus a manifesto167).
Mlis had only [quatre sous] in his old age, but on the whole his post-mortem
ascension came through the agents of the Cinemathque Francaise. [Georges]
Sadoul, the author of a monograph on Mlis.168
3. Boulevard attractions.
Nickelodeon, Ventriloquists, Panoptikums.169
By the way, also the photographers [in the streets] (Cannoneers170).
Theatre was born on the public square (Pushkin)
0. The meaning for the development of the theater of folk performances and
games on the fair grounds.
Commedia dellarte.
The renewal of the theatre, coming out of the lowest popular entertainments.
The democratic fair ground theatre versus official theatre. Their battle.

3. Nickelodeon, Ventriloquy, Panoptikum [all come] from the same
background: the fair ground forerunners* of cinema in battle with higher forms
of spectacle.
The non-recognition of cinema [is similar] to the non-recognition of the theaters
of Napoli, Faenza, Bidet [?], Deburau.171
Boulevard du Crime172 and bioscope.
Traditional connection identity of the initial repertoires: melodrama, farce,
diorama.
The Dynamic Panoptikum connection with Dionysia and Mystery plays
Oberammergau173 as an excessive penultimate step of commemorative theatre.
Ill. 42 Jesus Christ and John at the Oberammergau Passion Play in 1900
The growing of real beards and the professional fulfillment of non-actors work
(inhabitants carpenters, tillers, etc.). Not only the continuation of the traditions
of the guild plays of antiquity (professionally restricted to the performing of cer-
tain mystery figures and patron saints: why, for example, do miners and electri-
cians* [pray] to Saint Barbara [because] lightning killed her persecutors*; and to
Saint Luke painters, clerks in Mexico etc.), but the roots of this occurrence, still
surviving in a (relatively) untouched form (like axolotl ambystoma a phenom-
enon that lived into our own time, having preserved in one creatures biography
the transformation from the stage of branchia to the stage of lungs, i.e. to [the
era] of its emergence from water).

1050 First real lenses (Alhazen)
1270 Treatise on lenses (Vitellio)
Compound lenses (Roger Bacon)
1285 1299 Spectacles
1041 49 Movable type (Bi Sheng)174
1147 Use of wood cuts for Capital letters (Benedictine monastery at Engelberg)
1300 Wooden type (Turkestan)
1390 Metal types (Korea)
1409 First book in movable type (Korea)
(1418 Authentic wood engraving?)
1423 First European Woodcut
1446 Copperplate engraving
1440-1460: Modern printing (Gutenberg and Schffer)
1483 Copper etching
1508 Multicolored woodcut*175
Chroniclers-lithographers of the Napoleonic epope and the revolutions of 1830

and 1848 [Nicolas-Toussaint] Charlet (1792[-1845]) and [Auguste] Raffet (1804
[-1860]).176
Social document Mayhew London Labour and London Poor (1861)* and London [:
A Pilgrimage] by Gustave Dor, 1872.177
Ill. 43 The London Scavenger,

engraving from Henry Mayhew,
London Labour and London Poor, 1861

American shots of strikes 1902, 1912, (1915)
Klondike, Gold Rush 1897
The Stock Market 1863
Chronicle
The predecessors of illustrated newspapers. Handouts and pamphlets. (Now in

Mexico lamentos* [in Spanish: lamentations]178).
Chronicles by means of displays of wax figures moulds.
The connection with death masks and the art of Roman sculptural portraits. Nat-
uralism in chronicles.
The connection with Christmas crches in cathedrals. Berceau* [in French: Cradle].
Like a display of actualits*. M. Tussaud delivers wax copies of the heads of Louis
XVI and Marie-Antoinette a few days after their execution.
The exhibition of genuine masques mortuaires* [in French: death masks], copies of
hands. Marie-Antoinettes breasts in glass.
Muse Tussaud, London.
Muse Grevin, Paris.
The Hamburg Wachsfigurenkabinett.
Figures of public personae.
Of criminals (up to Gorgulov179 and Mussolini).
Staging of historical events in scenery (Guy Fawkes).
The execution of Mary Stuart.
Suites: the Catacombs, the French Revolution, Napolon in Malmaison.180 The
triumphal exit of the Pope: The Assassination of the Duke of Guise181 comes directly
from this tradition.
Dioramas of Sainte Thrse of Lisieuxs life.
Panoramas. (Golgotha and Neros Circus by Jan Styka; Siege of Sebastopol182).
Dynamic, but at the same time transient reconstructions of events through mass
performances: Dionysus, mysteries of the French Revolution, the mass Lenin-
grad spectacles of the beginning of the Revolution!183
The way towards the cine-chronicle [kinokhronika].

Eden Museum on Twenty-Third Street in New-York. There were wax works and all sorts of
horrors. President Garfield being shot, and the Chicago anarchists making bombs. (daprs*
[Upton] Sinclair [Presents William] Fox, p. 32).
M-me Tussauds
Lubok
Religious
Criminal
Heroic
Servile (tsars)
Panoptikum
The same line
Early Cinema
The same line
Barnum
It was democratic Kunstkammern and cabinets of rarities, set up in the market and
in the square.
Popular (for the people) museums in the style of museums opened by the state
(The Louvre was opened after the French Revolution, the National Gallery in
London in 1824).
Museums of wax figures and cabinets
The Museum of wax figures of Curtius in Paris before and after the Revolution.184
Madame Tussaud, his niece, makes copies of the severed heads of Louis XVI and
Marie-Antoinette, the assassinated Marat and the executed Charlotte Corday, the
guillotined Robespierre, the Princesse de Lamballe etc. Before, she made por-
traits of the living. They send their own authentic dress. The First Consul (Napo-
leon) poses for her. From Sansons son they acquire a guillotine blade and Napo-
leons carriage for the museum. Madame Tussaud is in Paris since 1802. The
Chamber of Horrors with portraits of criminals (Fieschi and others). The bell
from Newgate Prison is acquired in 1903.

Documentary claims
The Muse Grvin of wax figures (1827-1892) in Paris.
Historical suites. Catacombs. The French Revolution of 1789. Marats authen-
tic bath and surrounding objects from that era (knives of The Friend of the
People, a knife and so on). An evening gathering in Malmaison (Napoleon I
and guests).
Criminals and public figures.
The Panoptikum in Hamburg was set up in 1879 by Friedrich Hermann Faerber
(1849 1908). Among other objects, a death mask (an original) of Goethe and
the father of phrenology Gall. Copies of other masks. A room of criminals.
An educational anatomical museum as part of the Panoptikum.
Panoptikum
The popular science film

Kunstkammern and cabinets of curiosities of legitimate princes and aristocrats in
the 17th and 18th centuries.
Peter the Greats Kunstkamera.
The cradle of future museums.
Democratic component the marketplace Schaubude* [in German: theater booth].
Charlatans.
Europe.
The early Barnum, and Barnums museum.
In lubok (the freaks of Posada).
Anatomical museums exist to this day on fairgrounds in Paris.
The anatomical section of the Hamburg Panoptikum.
The Panoptikum connects:
1) travelogue* [in French], delivering and removing savages. En grand* [in
French: greatly]: the delivery of entire tribes* to exhibitions in 1854 (England),
1889 (Paris), 1900 (Paris). I remember how it was in Riga. The colonial exhibition
of 1935. Reservations in the USA*.

2) Actualits* wax portraits of prominent people* and criminals par excellence*, and
entire scenes (Muse Grvin). A newspaper in wax sculpture. The tradition of
lubok.
3) The line of the scaffolding is continued Chamber of Horrors*
4) The panorama of history with a patriotic-propagandistic touch: historical re-
enactments, Madame Tussauds Magna Charta and Henry the Vth.
5) Popular science information. Instructional-educational.
6) Sometimes even religious (Grvin the catacombs).
Travelogue*
Eidetic narration [skaz] while the event occurs (a camel is walking).

A tale of the Voguls185 (not a dramatic one, but flat a documentary one).
The emotional effect of such tales.
Hunters tales and hunters tale in quotation marks. Tall tale* as a turn to artis-
tic form. A willful change of form. Exaggeration.
Travelogues
Journeys.186
The travels of Daniil Mnikh.187
Pilgrims.
Reports-poems and first chronicles.
Books about travels, their immense number.
Tales from the sea (from all ages).
Bestiaries
and the transition to bringing in freaks of nature. Faking them (Barnum)*.
XVIII century. The beginning of Romanticism. Rousseau and Drang* [in German,
a reference to the literary movement Sturm und Drang]188 to journeys. Karamzins
Letters of a Russian Traveller. Pushkins Arzrum.189
Travelogue Ersatz* [in German: substitute] for the desire to change places.190
Places being brought to you.
Oriental taverns and Nachtlokale* [in German: night bars].

The Spanish and Moorish cottages of Hollywood.
Prince Bonapartes Pompei home (and Roman togas) of ([travelogue] into history
as well).191
Fairground shows [brought] by train.
Panoramas.
Gewitter am Rhein* [in German: Storm on the Rhine] Kempinsky192
The direct import of local samples (by pars pro toto that is the participation in
those countries).
Elephants and lions at the time of Ivan the Terrible.
Jenny Lind and Barnums monsters* (essentially one and the same!).193
Negro villages at the 1900 Exhibition (and earlier).
Ill. 44 Negro village at the Paris 1900 World Exhibition
Chalet Suisse*.194
The Chinese scroll picture*. Travelogue* of rivers the transition from document to
impression.
Daguerre and Nipce as masters of artistic photography.

Hill (1802-1870)
Cameron (1815-1879).
tienne Carjat (1828-1906).195

Nadar (Gaspar-Flix Tournachon) (1820-1910).
Talbot in general the landscape and still life (par excellence*). Pencil of Nature
1844.
Henry Le Secq, Fantaisies (Nature morte) 1855.
Charles-Victor Hugo (1826-1871).
Atget and genre.
The expanded genre and Paul Martin in snapshot* and into chronicle
(The pre-chronicle and Wachsfigurenkabinett* [in German: wax figures cabinet]).
Bradys and Gardners chronicle and the American Civil War.
Sebastopol.
The siege of Paris and Nadar.
Photo-chronicle of the 1914 war.
The cine-chronicle.
Special effects photography.
The degradation of artistic photography.

The ruinous influence of the Preraphaelites on Cameron.
The renaissance of photography.

The enthusiasm of Degas. Lewis Carroll. Lautrec. The Impressionists and photo-
graphy.
Left (abstract) photography.

Photograms (Man Ray, Moholy[-Nagy]).196
Photomontage.
The transition to moveable photography.
The degradation of photography.

Two tendencies:
1) The naturalistic photo (Zola).

2) The neglecting of the organic means of photographic expression: of composi-
tion and of photo-graphy.197
Embellissement* [in French: embellishment] by means of composition in front of the
camera props and theatricalization.
Retouching of the negative and positive. Similarity to salon portraits and [sal-
on] painting.
The social roots of this phenomenon: the blush of the departing class and the
petite bourgeoisie.
Literary-narrative anecdotal tendency in photography. The connection with
tendencies in painting (the 1860s daprs [Aus der] Frhzeit [der Photographie]198).
Early Griffith.
Meissonier et* [in French: and] staged photo-illustration as the ultimate vulgari-
zation of the art of photography (1900s).
The renaissance of photography in the 20s and 30s of the 20th century. Urban-
ism and industrialism. The cult of the thing in close contact with imperialism.
The birth of sharp photo angles [fotorakurs]. The history of the angle shot. The
potential cinematic effect in the angles of painting and photography. Doppelbild*
[in German: double image] with a huge break between the usual perception, hence
the dynamics. In addition to this, the viewer consciously takes the position from
which the sharp angle [rakurs] is possible.
Left photography.
Abstract (objectless199) photography. The photograms of Man Ray and Moholy
Nagy.
The intense formal nature of photography like the depersonalization in imperial-
ism, de-nationalization.
The erotic and semi-erotic photo and the traditions of image galante* [in French].
Bourgeois photography in the service of pornography.
Left Photography.
The concurrence of image and fact during the period of overcoming the
devastation [of the country].
Hence the false conclusion of the negation of the image [obraz] in the name of
fact.200

The mistaken aestheticization of the fact. Documentalism.
The theory of material being experienced aesthetically.201
Factographic literature.202
A positive contribution: the mastery of the possibilities of photographic techni-
ques and of the photographic apparatus.
The discovery of the expressive possibilities not only of untouched nature, but
also of objects and products of technology and industry.
Too much fetishization of this is a reflection of s[ocialism].203
Thingism204 takes the place of expressionism.
The social meaning behind this.
31.XII [47] 1.I/48
Degas and cinema
The enthusiasm for an element of crudit* [in French: crudity] in bathing women
a direct transition towards the aesthetics of typage in all its unattractive-
ness, in all its quality detre mal lch* [in French]205 (next to him, Goncourt,
Zola, Huysmans).
Aestheticization of this is lowered to a sickening degree in Renoirs (the son)
Toni and La Bte humaine!206
Lamour de lart (1931) there are photographs made by Degas!
31 XII 47 / 1 I 48
Les blanchisseuses xx [p.] 30

Les repasseuses xxx [p.] 36207
The two stages of movement, divided between two figures, within one painting:
cinematographic effect.

Ill. 45 and 46 Edgar Dgas, Les blanchisseuses, 1876-78 and Les repasseuses, 1884
Mme Jeantaud and her reflection in the mirror208 [play] the same role p. 43
Ill. 47 Edgar Dgas, Mme Jeantaud in the

Mirror, 1875
Ill. 48 Edgar Dgas, Dancers in Green

and Yellow, 1903
Danseuses vertes 3 stages p. 52

The page numbers are given [in the edi-
tion]: Georges Rivire, Mr Degas, Bour-
geois de Paris209
Foregrounds
In full height Callot, Chodowiecki210
Half-figures do not dominate.
Detail dominates.

3.I.48
Vasari on Leonardo
Quoting Petrarch*
E lamor del saper che mha s acceso

Che lopra ritardata dal desio * [in Italian]
My love of knowledge so inflamed me

That my work was retarded by my very desire211*
(Yo tambien!)* [in Spanish: Me too!]
3.I.48
On the tradition of drawings done in

one stroke.
Cf. Picasso, Claude Mellan (the spiral
and Christ), lacemakers in France in the
XVII century, the portrait of a horseman
(XVIII c.) in Mexico etc., etc.
Ill. 49 Claude Mellan, The Sudarium or

Veil of Saint Veronica, engraving, 1649
Introductory volume to The General History of Cinema
Apparently, the topic is lining up:

The history of films expressive means will go in the opening volume of The
General History of Cinema.
While in the opening volume of The History of Soviet Cinema the origin of
species.212
Which is to say in the first:

The history of the close-up

The history of the problem of time
The history of sound in painting
The history of audiovisual combination in painting
The history of the problem of space
The history of the problem of motion
The history of the problem of color up to the cinema*
The history of montage
in painting
in literature
in architecture etc., etc.
While in the second:

The route to the chronicle (Panoptikums, the history of the newspaper and illu-
strated leaflet etc.)
The route to developed photos
The routes of the fixation of images
Commemorative action as nux* [in Latin: nucleus] of all arts
representative of themselves
Vorstufe* [in German: Preliminary stage]
to representation
in sound
in synthesis
And the cine-chronicle (reconstruction = an event in pars pro toto),
and playacting
Dionysus mysteries Diderot K.S.213 Gas-masks214

Date: 3.I.48
[RGALI 1923-2-1039, pp. 1-5]
Facts about
The Origins of the Newspaper
cf. A. de Chambure, travers la Presse, Paris 1914
A very good collection of material.
Eugne Atget
The Boulogne Woods and Versailles:
A master of psychological atmosphere.
Mastery of composition
Painter/photographers (Hill, Rejlander, Degas, Lautrec)
Hill a master of lighting, of the characteristics of set-up and the angle of

figures (not yet the angle of the device)
Accentuer* [in French: accentuate] the historical stages of general social and te
[chnical] development
3.I.48
Dissolves215
Transformations, Metamorphoses
Paris, Montmarte
LEnfer (Hell)
Cabaret unique au Monde
Tous les soirs de 8h 2h du matin
Attractions Diaboliques
Supplice des Damns
Rondes de Sorcires
La Chaudire, Les Mtamorphoses des Damns, etc. etc.* [in French]216

Le Ciel. Illusions, Visions
Le Cabaret du Ciel (Heaven)
53, Boulevard de Clichy.
Cration unique au Monde
Art and Fun.
Tous les Soirs de 8h 1h du matin
Prche Humoristique.
Les Dickinsons Sisters, les Femmes Camlons
Rve de Moine (scnes paradisiaques)
Le Mimoscope (cration unique), Le Printemps, la Confession.
Visions ariennes, Acrobatie Cleste
Transformation en Ange
dun Spectateur de bonne volont* [in French]217
on the programme of 1929!

And generally, it seems, from the exhibition of 1900
Ill. 50 and 51 Postcards of Le Cabaret de lEnfer and of Le Cabaret du Ciel, Paris,

Boulevard de Clichy

Date: 4.I.48
[RGALI 1923-2-1021, pp. 62-64]
Actualits reconstruites au studio* [in French : Recent news reconstructed in studio]
(for example, Potmkin of 1905, [cf.] G. Sadoul; or the exact same in Mlis).218
It corresponds to the re-telling of a tale of a participant or a traveller, set in

pictures.
Cf. Mlis, pp. 199-200: the story with Couronnement dEdouard VII.219
And later not the delivery of the tale to the studio, but rather the intervention of
the device of prise de vues* [in French: capturing of views] into the events.
Plein air* [in French: open air] of Potmkin does this for the reconstruction of
history.
Strike as well*.
Date: 4.I.48
[Archive reference: 1923-2-1021, pp. 63-64]
Moralit220 Faits divers* [in French: News in brief ]
Cult spectacles both Dionysia and Mystery plays these are historical films.
Their present time is burned into them.
Aristophanes grows out of Aeschylus.
The same process is clearer in the way moralits* [in French: moralities] come out
of the mystery plays.
In the mystery plays there are already devils and an everyday life (genre) wherever
possible.
As in spiritual painting everyday life, for example, in the pictures of Marys
birth (a bed, crockery, medicine, etc.).
Do not forget that spiritual abstraction was not yet possible at that time. When
does the suppression of everyday life begin? Mosaics have gold and blue as
background, but not everyday life: dont they?
Contemporary clothing, except for Christ [who is represented] in symbolic tu-
nics.

Moralit its a diary of events usually a kind of sensational crime like Jack
the Rippers type robed in moral-instructional clothing,, i.e., literally a theatri-
cal corrido (lamento)* [In Spanish: lamentations]:221 a report of a sensational crime
with all the moralizing flourishes.
Its interesting, that illustrated newspapers arise with the extinction of moralits*
[in French], or the other way around, by the moment when illustrated sensa-
tions develop, moralits becomes obsolete and grows into plays of a complex
nature. Fait divers* [in French: News in brief] and its role in drama doesnt stop.
A living corpse, the dramas of Dostoevsky (in his novels), a whole phase of
French theatre (borrow that French book on this from Abram Efros).222
Date: 4.I.48
[Archive reference: RGALI 1923-2-1039, pp. 6-16]
Pars pro toto
In the era of pars pro toto* in the 19th century arises also the miracle of deducing
an animal from a jaw-bone. The idea of it had to come exactly at this time*
Multi-point perspective
Leonardo (Cena)* [in Italian: The Last Supper].223
Arnolfini.
Benvenuto Cellini on sculpture and its poly-projection in paintings, of which
each is one projection.224
The Beginning of Lithography in Russia
Daprs A.F. Korostin, The Beginning of Lithography in Russia,1816-1818. Moscow,

1943
The first album of lithographs:

Engravings in stone, executed in St. Petersburg in 1816.
The principle participant Orlovskii.
Of him, the poet Viazemskii writes:
You are passing bygone, bold Rus
To posterity,

You captured her alive
With the peoples pencil.225
The fundamental part of the task is stated here:

Capture her (Rus) alive and pass to the posterity (p. 60).
To reflect to save to pass on
The first Russian lithographed book.

Aziatskii muzikalny jurnal [Asian Musical Journal], October 1816, is published in As-
trakhan by a music teacher Ivan Dobrovolskii (p. 73)
A.G. Venetsianov (1780-1847). Portraits of historical people (1818-1819) (p. 93)
Holidays and outings

N. Serra-Capriola, Hills above the Neva, from an original by K. Hampeln, 1817
Russian National Holiday, Outings at Ekatherinhof (also by Hampeln) (p. 99, XIX)
Date: 5. I. 48
Montage titles
Types of various sizes.

Titles getting bigger and bigger
Titles approaching (as step from them*)226
A direct connection with screaming lettering in newspapers.

107
isaient un pas en
ns et raction
ous tirer ?!314
est apparu seule-
dpendance de
oduits. La guerre
d. M. Lebas :
ruption dexcs
es dans lEvening
ning World suivit
tait plus quune
Manille, le 2 mai
rage atteignit le
la violence typo-
es de lartel utilisant
le Potemkine, etc. etc. de
d-
Ill. 52 Frames of The General Line (The Old and The New), 1926-29, showing the
growing number of peasants joining the kolkhoz after the successful demonstration of
the functioning of the milk separator. To follow the frames as they appear in the
sequence, follow the columns from left to right, from top to bottom.

Strangely enough, this style of type-setting (for papers) begins only in the spring
of 1898!
With the start of the Spanish-American War (over the independence of Cuba).
Arthur Brisbane, Hearsts assistant, introduces them. The war was created by
Hearst and his rabid campaign.
Cf. John K. Winkler, William Randolph Hearst, NRF, transl. by M. Lebas:

p. 165 : ... la guerre fut dclare. Vint alors une nouvelle eruption dexcs typo-
graphiques. Brisbane introduisit les titres en majuscules dans lEvening Journal.
Quelques-uns avaient quatre pouces de haut. LEvening World suivit lexemple.
Parfoit toute la premire page de deux journaux netait plus quune salade de
titres...
p. 169 : ...Le jour o fut annonce la victoire de Dewey Manille, le 2 mai 1898
le Journal publia un fleuve de supplments... le tirage atteignit le nouveau record
de 1.600.000 exemplaires. ...Linfluence de la violence typographique apporte
par usage que le Journal fit des caractres gants pendant la guerre est visible
dans presque chaque journal amricain prsent... 227
Cf. also Some Newspapers and Newspapermen by Oswald Garrison Villard, N.Y.,
Knopf, 1923, 1926.
Illustrations:
Opposite p. 20: The Tribunes First Page before Hearst Invaded the New York Field*
(a modest grey page a completely grey field).
Opposite p. 36: A Spanish War First Page of Hearsts Evening Journal April 28 1898.
BOMBARDED! 2a
OUR FLEET ATTACKS a [the titles occupy]
Matanzas } 2/3 of the whole page
*
CITY MAY BE IN RUINS 1 a
(a frenzied wail of blaring headlines)
The (New York) Tribune as It Is Today, Showing the Hearst Influence upon its headlines and
make-up.*
(Typical newspaper of today with screaming headlines, but not too much)
NB. Try to make certain, when in cinema.

NB. NB. In posters blaring titles appear even earlier: for example, A War Depart-
ment Poster*:
$ 100 000 REWARD!
THE MURDERER
of our late beloved President ABRAHAM LINCOLN
is still at large*
At the same time, in the very same New York Tribune: Highly Important! and The
President Shot* absolutely nothing in comparison with Hearsts Bombarded!* .
See Stefan Lorant, Lincoln. His Life in Photographs. Duel Sloan, NY, 1941.228
The problem of time in painting
The problem of space229
Date: 5.I.48
Audiovisual Combinations
A stage of text, written into a picture.

Maya. Middle Ages. Comic Strip.*
Ill. 53 Page containing the drawings about Krazy Kat and the he ans she joke period

Ill. 54 A detail of Ill. 53
Cf. e.g. Krazy Kat

Later this toto* [in Latin: whole] is divided into two (in American caricature)
Ill. 55 A detail of Ill. 53
He and She joke period*.

He:. In the picture HE and SHE.
She:. His text and her text in captions.
(theyre usually inactive or active
in no relation to the text: riding on a train, walking, sitting).
Then comes the one-line joke*, when the picture and the caption are inseparable:
without the picture, the text makes no sense. The picture without the text is the
same. The meaning and the content are allotted between image and text (as a
phonogram): from their interrelation* the meaning is formed.
For example:
girls are sitting on a tree branch

safe from a furious bull } the image
the bull races past the tree
one girl: If this were a dream,

itd be really dangerous } the text
(reference to Freud)

Here the authorship both of the text and of the drawing usually belongs to one
person.
Such as Gavarni in the past. Our Fedotov.230
Daumier less so (Philipon thought up texts and subjects for him).
In the NAUS231 the New Yorker claims to have discovered this style.
But the priority is disputed in favor of Judge by its former contributor (1920-1923)
and editor (1923) Norman Anthony (famous for publishing Ballyhoo in 1931).
Cf. How to Grow Old Disgracefully, or Anthonys Adversities. A Hilarious Autobiography by
Norman Anthony. 1946, Eagle Books Inc.
(By the way also: Illustrated by the Author*).
P. 67:
Theres only one objection I have to The New Yorker. In their introductions to New
Yorker Albums (reprints of their best cartoons), they go to great lengths to take credit for
creating modern type of humor. Which is professionally known as the one-line joke. The
old-fashioned humor was the Pat and Mike Style of caption which used two lines. It was
also known as the He and She joke period.
They are not only in error; theyre nuts.
Judge introduced the one-line joke long before The New Yorker was in existence. In fact, I
can remember a time just before Christmas in 1923 (The New Yorker started in 25) when
Teddy Roosevelt Jr., called me up and asked me if he could buy the original of a drawing hed
admired in a recent Judge. He wanted to give it to a friend as a present so I sent it over to
him as a gift from us.
It was a picture by Dr. Seuss (Ted Geisel) and showed a drunk looking with disdain at a
nightmarish pink elephant, and saying: Ill take an aspirin and then where will you be?
Its very noteworthy that this construction of a synthesis of opposing levels (word
and image) is a reconstruction (by way of spirals) of the synchretic stage.
Small children (2, 3, 4 years old) draw the same way: they make spots and
strokes and they comment interpretatively on a part of them. (cf. the examples in
Alschuler and Hattwick, Painting and Personality, Chicago Univ. Press, 1947).
And herein lies the attraction*.

Date: 6.I.48
[RGALI 1923-2-1021, pp. 70-80]
Photomontage the past
I.e., a picture is seen as a unit*.

A unified whole is formed from such pictures by means of being combined.
Ill. 56 The page of Eisensteins notes for a General History of Cinema containing the text
here below
In El Greco there are two variants of Christ praying in the orchard of Gethseman232
A B and B A
(drw.) and (drw.)
Ill. 57 The two schemes concerning the variants of El Grecos Christ praying in the
orchard of Gethseman

Ill. 58 El Greco, The Agony in the Garden, 1590
Ill. 59 El Greco, The Agony in the Garden, 1590-1600
During Elizabeths reign an illustration in the text of the ballad The Norfolke
Gentleman.233 It takes the same kind of signs and figures and, changing their
position from vertical to horizontal or on their side, presents them as the
fallen or killed.
Cf. Shakespeares England, vol. II: Ballads and Broadsides, p. 530234
The placement of figures in the scene of destruction (in the background a fire
and gallows)
J. Phoenix does this trick ironically
Cf. my article on Griffith.235

Ill. 60 The scheme concerning the illustration in the text of the ballad The Norfolke
Gentleman
Date: 11. I. 48
Counter-relief236
as the initial stage of sculpture.
And its classification: relief texture colour.
On the counter-relief stage (pre-stage) of sculpture.

Rodin knetet* [in German: sculpts] having felt Isadora (Memoirs).237 The eroticism
of that and the general prevalence of this manipulations erotic nature disprove
nothing: it is that undifferentiated pre-stage of creation which can in the same
measure lead to the creation of a sculptural form, or to the creation of your
own likeness in the form of a child (through coitus*)!
Here also is the cradle of tangible texture. Probably texture is pre-paint: paint is
texture raffine [in French: refined] for the eye, like a drawing the running
around an object (Hokusai) with the hand.
NB. Very important!*
Colour, of course, grows out of touch (for even vision grows out of touch!). Just
take the division into hot and cold tones this is the very transferral of concrete
sensations of temperature onto the color of both shadow and illumination, based
on their reflexive co-presence.
We even (from this point of view) read colour from that aspect of touch which is
sensitive to warmth!
And the depth of tones? This is a spatial touch, i.e., already ausgewachsen* [in
German: grown] out of textural touch a microscopic gesture of touching with
nerve-endings on the fingertips towards a gesture of touching spatially (with
the fingers themselves, which are for the overall body the same endings, as the

endings of the tactile nerves are for the hand): but here already we have an ber-
gang* [in German: transition] also towards a real Raumkunst* [in German: art of
space] in the visual arts (in the sense of sculpture), i.e., precisely the sought-for
stadial process.238
Whats more: a drawing on a flat plane it is a dreidimensionaler* [in German:
three-dimensional] gesture, leaning on the plane.
In handwriting it is an unsuccessful puncture of the flat plane, expressing
ones own answering pressure (action = reaction) by a spreading of the head of
the pen.
With an exertion of pressure of the pen and the answering (equal to it) pressure
of the plane on the pen the line of ink traces of the pen expands.
Ill. 61 two drawings from Eisensteins notes showing the effect of drawing or writing on
a flat plane exerting some pressure on the head of the pen: the mark becomes wider
Its interesting that the thickening of lines is read as relief (cf. the engravings
of Count Tolstoy for Sweetheart strokes with thickening239) true, it seems that
in the first place here there is an illusion of shadow, but not only that!
Date: 21.I.48
The art of animation, i.e., the sequential disposition of drawn phases of

drawings of separate moments into the continuity of motion, has its forerunner*
in ballet (by the way, in the highest form of animation: audiovisual!).
At least in Diaghilev in the time of Fokine.
The reading of poses from vases.
The arrangement of these poses in phases of motion through their union by
means of a moving human dancer.
Cf. Lifar (Diaghilev)240 on his understanding of Nijinskys rehearsals of Laprs-
midi dun faune.
Great*

Date: 21. I. 48
The phenomenon of experiencing the impression of motion from the sequential

disposition of different phases has been known for a very long time. The
conjuring trick of a bush growing from a seed is based on this phenomenon.
Bushes of various sizes are presented to the viewer in succession even with the
use of a shutter (covering each phase with a magicians cape). In the viewers
perception they come together as the image of one growing bush!
Ill. 62 Drawing showing various phases of the growth of a bush
(Verify with Houdini, The Unmasking of Robert Houdini)241

Great!
Date: 30.I.48
Multi-point montage (projection)

Its history, beginning with the ornament
A quotation from Benvenuto Cellini:

I say that the art of sculpture is eight times as great as any other art based on drawing,
because a statue has eight views and they must be equally good
A painting is nothing more than one of the eight principal views required of a statue*
January 28, 1547
Letter to Benedetto Varchi242
Delaunay and Picasso

eight views of a statue combined into one in space (deformed)
pointilliste technique extended upon subjects
Montage: eight views patched to each other and combining themselves in time.*

And the most curious thing is that the origin of the drawing is exactly such his-
torically:
enclosing contour silhouette projection on a plane.
But its even more apparent in an ornament.
Cf. the analysis: The Bear in the Art of the Peoples of Asia, S.V. Ivanov, in the collec-
tion from the Academy of Sciences, USSR, In Memory of V.G. Bogoraz, 1937, pp. 1-
46.
View from above.
Ill. 63 Drawing showing a view from the side and a view from above referring to an
image derived from the book The Bear in the Art of the Peoples of Asia
Date: 30.I.48
On the history of Positive Negative
The ornament, as photography, has a positive and a negative. Until it

becomes clear to the researcher exactly which elements are positive (i.e., actually
the patterns, the figurative images) and form, so to speak, the goal of the artist,
and which are negative (i.e., residual, initially deprived of any meaning), until
then no analysis of the ornament from the point of view of its thematics (its
topic) is possible.
Concerning the Amur243 carvings on wood, it is known that the pattern (the po-
sitive) is not the hollowed part of the wood, but, on the contrary, its raised sur-
face
(pp. [30]-31, In Memory of V.G. Bogoraz, 1937. Article by S.V. Ivanov The Bear in the
Art of the Peoples of Asia)
All variations are interesting:

The transition from the reading of the positive to the reading of the negative as a
positive (cf. Van Scheltema, Altnordische Kunst244).

A double simultaneous reading in Chinese bronze as the contour of a flat figure
and as the contour of an opening inside it or on its edge (Ritual Bronzes of Chi-
na245).
The reading by a schizophrenic of a blank (Rorschach) and the letter of Rilke to
Rodin about the same.246
(Dahin herumwhlen* [in German: search further in this]!)

Ill. G, H, and I Photograms from Ivan the Terrible, part 1: Prince Kurbsky reflecting on
his loyalty to Ivan
3
REVELATION IN STORM AND THUNDER1
Notes for a History of Audiovisual Counterpoint
Date: end of June, beginning of July 1947

[RGALI 1923-2-1017 pp.9-32]
I
[29? June 1947]
Audiovisual combination as the highest stage of development of the sounding

object.
Here in the form of visual representation, to whose content and form an internal
sonic correspondence was found.
In the early stages sounds accompanying the object.
The corresponding sound is also like a copy from a certain natural phenomenon,
just as the object itself is a reproduction of the outward appearance of such a
phenomenon.
The ritualized aim of each of the copies, i.e., not the narrowly material aim of
reproduction, but the magical one.
What is magical in the work of art as well is not the naturalism of the repro-
duction, but the way it impacts the viewer.
Through the inner image the work of art is magical and distinct from the natural
phenomenon as such.
Sometimes the depicted object is made to acquire a sound inseparable from it (in
the prototype of the object).
207
A Peruvian vessel with the sound of the howling of the birthing room. The
vessel originally a stomach: both as the belly as a reservoir of nutrition, and as
the belly as the dwelling place of a fetus.
Or the famous metal cow in which a person was burned alive, and his cries,
emanating from her mouth, took on the timbre... of mooing.2
Sometimes a corresponding outward appearance for the sound was sought for
and found, and from it was formed a sound-emitting apparatus.
The shaping of the original hollow wooden drum in the likeness of a sound-
emitting beast.
Here the history of musical instruments and original musical images is relevant
(the first as a means of embodying the second. The images themselves are copies
from the surrounding natural world).
Tradition* of the very earliest origins prevails* in its purest form in its funda-
mental traits through the entire history of music, right up to the most recent
times.
Here are facts about the cradle3 of Chinese music (daprs Phyllis Ackerman, Ri-
tual Bronzes of Ancient China, Dryden Press, New York 1945, p.74):
...Two deep pots found in the Sha Kuo Tun cave approximating in proportion a Shang
bronze ritual food container... were probably used in the ritual androphagy...
...These vessels simulate drums. The fluted rim-band represents the edge of the stretched
drum-top, the criss-crossed strings held the hide taut. In the other design the hide top had
been bound with cord or thong below the edge and from this hung six rattles to enrich the
percussive choir.
Just such globular pottery rattles occur at Indus sites and the drums explain hitherto myster-
ious objects shown on Indus seals standing before the cultic ox: they are drums, and some
appear to have rattles hung on them in the same way.
Moreover rattles have been found in the Kansu painted pottery in the form of a tortoise and of
a bird, almost certainly a pheasant, both earth symbols in the early dynastic period.
The very first ritual as described by Chinese legendary prehistory required a drum, and an-
other text tells of two drums an earthen whistle and a starter and stopper.
Clay whistles are found at Chinese neolithic sites.
The starter in the early dynastic period is a clapperless bronze bell (to be struck with a
baton) with a handle (potsong), and a number of these have been found made of red pottery
approximately contemporary with the remains at Sha Kuo Tun.
Drum beating represents thunder.

In later mythology, Lei Kung, the Duke of Thunder, held a cluster of drums, while another
spirit of thunder stood on five drums.
In the Dionysos cult the bullroarer or konos was used to make this sound, a pointed
ovoid of wood or bone, whirled at the end of a long cord which had been invented by the
ancestors 10.000 years before, in the Kybele cult drums were important.
Tigers or similar great felines, were an animal attribute because their roars were equivalent to
the thunder, also bears with their thunderous growls, and elephants (a common figure on
Indus valley seals) with their trumpeting. An Indus valley amulet shows a man playing a
drum standing before a tiger as if making explicit the animals significance. Thunder ex-
presses the Yin earth-energy, and the rattle would have made the sound of the other Yin
agency, the wind as would the whistle
Thus:
The very first ritual* in sounds consists of two sonic elements representing in
sounds the element of the roaring of thunder (drums*) and the element of
whistling of wind (whistle*).
These are expressed by the drum and the whistle (as does the rattle*).
Here we have the antecedent for the long-established groups of instruments:
percussion and wind from the point of view of orchestration.
But here we also have the long-established division of musical structure into ac-
companiment (percussion par excellence* [in French]) and melody (wind instru-
ments par excellence*) from the point of view of musical structure.4
noter* [in French: To be noted] that both the structure of the orchestra and the
structure of music itself, come from the very same antecedent of reflecting reality
in its most impressive sonic manifestations in natural phenomena.
And the most distinct immediate sounds of nature itself are really the howling
and whistling of the wind and the roaring of thunder.
The babbling brook, the rustling leaves and so on are less fundamental in
their power to provoke imitation.5
But not to forget that the babbling brook is the most beloved music... of the
Uzbek.6
And it is beloved as the aestheticization of the vital, essential, strength of
water, which ensures growth.
Therefore, the aesthetic pleasure of the babbling of the irrigation canal is a
conditioned reflex to the securing of life for the canal possessor.
revelation in storm and thunder 209

The Uzbeks need for incessant babbling makes them always build miniature
waterfalls. So they can always hear that the water is running especially when
waking in the night.
(This by itself* is a charming example of the way in which practical and vital ne-
cessities for existence become aesthetical decorations).
Cf. the need of Chinese garden designers as well for always having waterfalls.
In the less arid areas of China the immediate utility is not so keenly needed for
this tradition to have been born there.
Its likely that here, its already according to tradition as Phyllis Ackerman for
example thinks that the cradle of Chinese culture emerges from the Anatolian-
Azerbaijanian centers, where, of course, the water souci * [in French: preoccupa-
tion] of the Uzbek must have no less troubled those who later elevated this con-
cern into the incredible hydrological structures of ancient Central Asia.
The sounds of wild animals can be grouped in these categories.
Phyllis Ackerman places these in the category of thunderous animals: the tiger,
the bear, the elephant.
Surely one could with equal success place a similar series of birds songs into a
whistling category.
These voices, probably, allowed for differentiation and various Abstufung* [in
German: gradation] within the continuous, elemental whistling of the wind.
But not to forget, that the image of The Robber-Nightingale7 preserves the
memory of the imitation of birds whistles in the earliest instrument, most likely,
as not yet separate from its bearer lips put together to whistle!
The technology of whistling instruments, i.e., those instruments that are being
separated from man these are in the earliest stages the whistling of arrows,
which Batu Khans Mongols intensified by attaching clay whistles to them.8
Schwirrholz* [in German: bullroarer] when its not how far it carries, but how
broadly.
The exact same thing [happens] with a wind instrument later: from a long pole
(in the Uzbek karnay,9 for example) to the moment when they learn to twist a
pipe into a spiral into a circular horn.
The bellows of organs, changing from the earliest construction to todays in
that the instrument itself is stationary, while air moves through it (the opposite of
the arrow and the Schwirrholz).

And the bellows itself, as a separation of the passage of air to the instrument
from the mouth.
And the instrument itself, as an extension of the process by which a man makes
an articulated sound: a column of air being sent by the bellows of the diaphragm,
as conflicting* with resistance of the larynx, teeth, lips, tongue, passing by way of
the nose (from which nasal sounds, glottal sounds, labials etc.)
The string group is, evidently, of younger provenance. For it demands more
refined ideas and technical subtlety in the use of real objects.
That it is not at the cradle, is apparent if only from the examples of regress*.
It is obvious that the regressive tendency of the goal will inevitably, for its fuller
expression, turn toward the most basic varieties.
The savage at origin cult of human destruction militarism naturally tends
towards the most basic [instruments] which arouse the lowest levels of con-
sciousness, which in turn are of the same age as these forms of music, and we
see that the pearl of creation of military music is even now the military wind
orchestra with drumbeat.
In the era of Friedrich II (and after him Paul10) shrillness... of the flute (fiffres*
[in French]) and the patter of drums (i.e., the combination of both drum and
rattle*!). For by its very rhythm, martial music is precisely the most basically pri-
mitive: drum-marching, two-part rhythm!
It is just the same in jazz in this especially sensual, i.e., regressive* orchestra:
drums in the first place and saxophone and trombone alongside!
A bowed-string group needs, for its invention, an entire range of refined ideas
and the bringing together of a great deal of observations concerning the mutual
influence of separate elements of nature.
Not to mention the necessity to be in a stage of production... of strings from the
sinews and intestines of dead animals (as Bierce writes11) or enough fine ropes;
what is needed here is the knowledge of the attributes of the vibration of the
sound board and the capabilities of a quantity of closed-in air to produce that
vibration.
(Here, using the analogy of how the vibration from the vibrating parts of the
tongue and throat is transformed into the rattling parts of wind instruments, as
was the case there, does not work).
We need to define:
1) What a bowed-string group reproduces from the realm of nature.

2) How the inventors thought stumbles on it.
It must be at the stage of the production of tools, when, after a striking hammer
there already exists the stage of a cutting knife: the culmination of this a single-
edged knife blade already occurs simultaneously, after the stone-age hammer,
with the bronze age.
Striking on a drum as a stage is younger than the cutting movement of the bow,
analogous to the movement of a knife after the early double-edged stone knife,
which became the single-edged metal blade (forged or cast).
I.e., at the level of thought from a different stage.
Where else would the prototype of the very sound of bowed instruments come
from if not from the screeching of prey being cut again and again by a blunt
knife?
Or from the screech of a sawblade? There are two things that lead to this con-
clusion: the screech of a buzz saw a few dacha lots away from me and... of
course, childhood recollections of a once-seen long-ago cartoon drawing in the
childrens magazine St. Nicolas, which I used to get in childhood.
In it a blind cellist is given a saw... instead of his bow.
He saws on and on, and as he saws up his cello, he doesnt notice the differ-
ence.
And is it not as so often* funny, not only in the superficial resemblances be-
tween a bow for the strings and a saw for wood, but it also has... the genetic
connection of one coming from the other?
The saw is, incidentally, a very ancient instrument in a German book about
prehistorical culture, it is dated []12 and existed at first as a system of sharp-
edged flat stones, planted and fastened in the fashion of the wooden jaws of a
shark and a pike, in which they sit like... teeth (could this not be its animal pro-
totype?)
(Verify in accordance with references and notes).
The stage of the saw which must be a very elevated stage already after the
discovery of the cutting abilities of the knife and the elevation of this capability
to a much more advanced level.
The saw itself is a means for making boards etc.
I saw one of the most rudimentary types of the bowed kind of instruments
from the depths of the earth in Haiti.
(It seems, in the book by Wirkus, The White King of La Gonave13).

Its interesting in its physically unseparated connection with nature itself: with a
pit of earth, with the air filling it up, with the tension taken from the trunk of a
young tree and by the interplay of a bow within this system.
Moreover, there is even a sinew or a rope and (it seems) a board here the
wooden covering of the pit (i.e., the occurrence in this milieu of tools of the saw
type? Dieses fraglich??? [in German: This is questionable???])
A pantheistic-ritualistic connection with an earth-mother ancestress is more than

apparent here.
To make it hum and sing is in itself amazing.
As a complex of a combination of the vital tension of the wood, nothingness (the
emptiness of the pit), the vibrating speech of the board, the interplay of man
and this natural-earth structure etc. etc. This is simply amazing.
Here is the instrument that seems to still exist at Haiti (see below). Unbelievable,
but true!
Ill. 1 A drawing showing the Haitian instrument described above

Ill. 2 Drawing dated 7.VII.47 on the history of musical instruments, in this case a jews
harp (also known as jaw harp or mouth harp) played by a man belonging to the
Ngangela African tribe.

Ill. 3 Two Ngangela boys playing a variety of Jews Harp in Muleke (?), Angola
(Photograph by Alfred Schachzabel, 1930)
Date: 2.VII.47
Audiovisual counterpoint
The most complex problem, because it is the most fundamentally significant for
the principles of audiovisual aesthetics in cinema, has been (and, alas, still is)
establishing some principles for the dismantling of the natural synchronism (the
way it is in the order of things) and establishing ones own synchronism
between the world of sounds and the world of visual appearances, expressing the
thoughts of the author.
In this sense, sound cinema was a descendent of that very same principle in ordi-
nary montage: where the will of the author, in pursuit of the expression of his
own creative volition, dismantles the order of events and recreates it according
to his own authorial established laws.
And in this sense, sound cinema was the premise for the understanding of color.
Color becomes understood and familiar in cinema aesthetics only from the mo-
ment when the separation of the objects natural coloring from the object itself,
as well as the authors own new artificial, emotional and conceptual, unification
of the colors with the objects are both acknowledged.14

One can read the principle of synchronism (even on the everyday level) only
after having understood, having seen, after having encountered occurrences of a-
synchronism.
(Engels considers that the idea of equality is not primary, but [is understood] as
the result of the perception of the presence of inequality15).
To be more precise: the stage of primary equality is, of course, factually evident,
but for this reason is not taken into account, for it is not contrasted with inequal-
ity.
The equality of all sensory organs is equally primarily poly-sensorial. We do
not see light without the absence of light-darkness.
And what is more: the presence of a phenomenon in both its synchronous and a-
synchronous form [is needed].
It is interesting that in the conscious practice of cinematography, a-synchronism
of sound (music) and image is present earlier than synchronism.
The banquet of the Motion Pictures Engineering Society, New York, October
1930.
Ive heard a story (from whom exactly?) about how the first rudimentary cinema-
tographic synchronism of music and image took place: in the form of a piano
and a film in the silent era.
It turns out a whole chunk of film history was needed in order for someone to
consciously do such an obvious and, it would seem, self-evident thing as have a
piano playing to a film!
However, thats exactly the case!
Earlier the piano played between pictures and before them.
NB. I myself remember films without music and without titles, when a special
usher stood next to the screen, calling out explanations; I still remember, from
the age of eight, the phrase: Die Damen werden aus dem Kaffee gehoben* [in Ger-
man: The ladies are being sent out of the caf] ...
The film was a comedy about an uprising of women against their husbands.
Suffragettes were a popular topic at the time.
Men were turned into housekeepers.
They do the cooking. They rock children in their cradles etc.
Women smoke in cafs and clubs. They go into politics etc.
The men start a counter-uprising.

They burst into the caf.
And... Die Damen werden aus dem Kaffee gehoben.
I probably remembered this because at that moment, my governess admitted that
the film was not for someone my age, and I myself was aus dem Kino gehoben*
[in German: sent out of the cinema] (The Royal Bio),16 and, in spite of my furious
cries, was taken home.
And I remember the Banquet of Engineers because there, with Bill Hayes (!) pre-
siding, I, guest of honor, did break the news* that I was leaving Paramount.17
One way or another, [someone] turned up who decided to bring together simul-
taneously what beforehand [had always been] presented and perceived one at a
time.
He started playing piano not between pictures, but... during pictures.
I hesitate to specify when they started to bring in noise accompaniment, i.e., in
distinction from imaginative synchronism (a selection of music fitting to the
mood and storyline) to give a mimetic (objective) synchronism (the noise of a
train, breaking glass, breaking dishes, clattering hooves, gun shots, etc.).
I think that it probably happened earlier, before the piano. It would be natural to
assume that the mimetic sound is older than the imaginative.
But its even more likely that in various places on the cinematographic globe,
there arose moments of musical and noise accompaniment, each in its own way,
and in combinations that were different and probably mixed together.
(America was after all discovered by its own Chinese Columbus from the side
of Asia not across the Atlantic, but across the Pacific Ocean?!).
Its even probable that music swallowed up primitive mimeticism in the name of
higher forms forms of emotional illustrativeness.
At the very least, noise accompaniment disappears before its rebirth in the prin-
ciples of mechanical synchronism, which shines so brightly, especially in the
area of dialogue early, and alas, not only early, but in general, in bad sound
films! (Sound film not with audiovisual counterpoint).
One way or another it is interesting to note that at the stage of pre-conscious
practice and even pre-musical practice, the representation of a-synchronism and
synchronism and their crossover from one to the other wait upon the earliest
prototype of the earliest musical instrument.
That instrument, as set forth, is the drum.
The prototype of the instrument is thunder.

But thunder in connection with absolutely the strongest effect of light in nature
blinding lightning, flashing through the darkness of the night or of a storm!
These days even a child knows that the burst of thunder and the flash of light-
ning do not occur simultaneously (synchronously) as an audio and visual embo-
diment of one and the same natural phenomenon (the collision of clouds, as
nice as that sounds, reveals nothing of the complex picture of the true nature of
this occurrence).
But everyone also knows that in reality in our apprehension they almost never
occur simultaneously.
I.e., to be precise they do come together once in what is for us the culminat-
ing moment of the storm, producing in us a fear unequaled by any other natural
phenomena.
Up to this synchronized strike and after it there are phases of a-synchronized
strikes and flashes growing gradually closer and closer together to the point of
culmination, after which it grows gradually distant from one another.
The basis of this phenomenon is just as well known.
The coincidence takes place only when the storm is above us. The non-coinci-
dence when it moves in or moves away, i.e., when it is located at a certain
distance from us.
Then by virtue of the difference between the speed of light and that of sound
the perception of lightning outpaces the perception of the factually simultaneous
blow of thunder.
Thats truly where the revelation in storm and thunder is in relation to audio-
visual counterpoint!
(Look at old man Morozov just for fun!).18
Date: 2. VII. 47
Music
What about thunder. Its no longer at all that funny and not so far away, this
(primitive) mimeticism. What is done concerning thunder and wind, from then
on is always done in music, always reproducing, even if not always imitating.

From the banal copying from nature to the reconstruction of the principle of
the structure of phenomena.19
Thunder and lightning as the first synchronization and the feeling of indepen-
dence in time, even though they are organically inseparable. The definition of the
distance of a storm is according to the degree of non-coincidence of the clap of
thunder and the flash of lightning.
In the earliest conception, not knowing about their factual simultaneity, [there is
no] taking distance into account breaking this simultaneity. The approach of
a storm is the approach of synchronism.
In the highest models, the embellishment through structure (Wagner, Rimsky-
Korsakov, Prokofiev). And further, searches for a musical equivalent not only to
the sonic prototype, but also to its plastic one (Prok[ofiev] par excellence* [in
French]), or to the emotional, objectless one (Tchaikovsky).
In regressive dances [such as] the jazz stage of the orchestra its always the
same mimetic (and, incidentally, primitive) thing, even simply of savages or of
astounding phenomena.
Rhythmic prototypes of the tap dance: the lash of the whip.
Black bottom* the black mans sticky legs.
Fox trot* an Indian on the war path*.
Lindy hop* the flight of Lindbergh.
Turkey trot* the turkeys walk.
The role of the primitive, the black man, in this. Degenerate, i.e. returning to
the lowest stages of consciousness, the white is fascinated by it, as in art (primiti-
vism in the Middle Ages Art)*
Here in music, distinct and palpable like nowhere else, both the copy of the sub-
jective apparatus and the copy of the objective environment cohere in a unified
structure.
(NB. This resonates on a higher level* with the perception of [dialectics] of the self
and of nature: the mystics sense things experientially before they are objectively
present in social reality).
The soundmaking apparatus of the voice:
of the lowest (deep-chested-diaphragm ones) and of the highest (whistling ones)
and
thunder-wind

(the English term is wind instruments*).
It seems to me that this thunder-wind * is the basis for a double development:
melody and accompaniment through the stage of musical structure could be con-
sidered to be at the foundation of the principle of audiovisual counterpoint as
well.
In it, after all, the entire field of music sets itself up completely in the position of
one of the component branches leaving the second branch to the field of pic-
torial representation.
In my searches and explorations I have personally gone through the heightened
apparently instinctively musical opposition within the plastic representation,
breaking it into the same two planes as melody and accompaniment in music.
1. A normal correlation of the foreground and background.
2. Hyperbolicization of the foreground in the manner of El Greco Degas
Lautrec (The General Line par excellence* [in French], camera lens 2820). Here there
already is a bifurcation of the foreground and the background by means of the
abnormal presentation of their correlation.
3. A double exposure as arbitrary combination the convergence of two indepen-
dently prevailing and existing planes.
Characteristically, during the period of exploration of my first designs in the area
of audiovisual combinations while preparing for Bezhin Meadow I looked for
the reflection of the correlation of two areas sound and image through the
implementation of the same thing into each one of these same areas: for the
music, this wasnt necessary music is basically bi-planar but in the composi-
tion of the image, I painfully sought a musical analogue.
So, for example, the principle, taken to outrance* [in French: to the extreme]:
the background image, upon which the foreground would be laid, had to be of
a larger scale (as reverse perspective) than the foreground. The Father had to
be in rear-projection, shot in greater close-up than Stepok, even though he
was [placed] further from the viewer.21

Ill. 4 An example of reverse perspective from the film Bezhin Meadow, 1935-37
Its the same with the cart with the background of singing peasant women in
close-up.22
Aside from the independently interesting heightened expressive tension* (in the
sequence Father and Son, for example), this is interesting as the implementa-
tion of this principle of musical structure in the visual arts, and through this the
exploration of musical structure and the principle of audiovisual counterpoint.
The depth of the immediate effect of musical structure (and of music) is based on
the fact that the mutual play of the roar of thunder and the whistling of the wind
(and all further derivatives of the interaction of this pair the first emotional
shocks of primitive peoples), lies at the foundation of music as we have seen,
throughout history.
This is, incidentally, much closer within the layers of our own sensuous con-
sciousness than we might think.
Do not forget that a large percentage of sufficiently cultured people are really
panicked in a savage way, unable to bear thunder: for example, the late Gran-
ovskii!23 (hiding their heads). The panicked fear of beasts and birds before a
storm. (Our late Zholtik24 and his panicked crawling under the bed during
storms).

(NB. Both here and there there is a flight Intra-uterin[e]*!25)
Both thunder and the howling of wind, as (almost) inevitable and necessary (al-
most always) attributes in those circumstances where the audience must be sub-
merged in melodramatic horror. The atmosphere of the stormy night is a clas-
sic here: in the background the howling of the wind, and for emphasis the
roars of thunder. As a result an audience bound by fear!
Cf. In the collection: Cartwell and Cerf, Famous Plays of Crime and Detection this
indispensable attribute in the atmosphere of such classic, melodramatically
scary things as The Bat (Mary Roberts Rinehart and Avery Hopwood, 1908-
1920), The Cat and the Canary (1921, Bayard Veiller), Seven Keys to the Baldpate
(George M. Cohan, 1913). And metonymically closely related rains (Payment
Deferred, Jeffrey Dell, 1934), dark nights (Sherlock Holmes, W. Gillette, 1899), the
culminations (in Under Cover, Roi C. Megrue, 1914, and in The Thirteenth Chair,
Bayard Veiller, 1916), the spiritual sance in darkness etc. etc.
(In all cases when horror cannot be transferred to a purely psychological envir-
onment, one without extraneous effects).
Do not forget such things as Wuthering Heights, where the classic horror of the
beginning is connected to a storm26 etc. etc.
Name the drum and the whistle as the very first means of reflecting the sonic
phenomena of nature.
As the origins of reflection of objects in reality, before learning how to reflect,
objectivizing whistling.
An object of reality objective reality.27

Ill. J, K, and L Photograms from Ivan the Terrible, part 2: the miracle play showing
Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego in the fiery furnace (from the Book of Daniel,
chapter 3)
4
IN PRAISE OF THE CINE-CHRONICLE1
Date: 7. XI. 1947

[RGALI 1923-2-1030]
This is a work on the chronicle as the forerunner* of the artistic film.

As a field of cinema, occupying the same place as the ornament does in the his-
tory of the visual arts.
Herein a detailed analysis of the psychological foundations of the ornament.
This is how film has historically evolved.
The beginnings: Potmkin
This tendency will not die off.
In which we serve by Noel Coward2 and English eclecticism.
Jean Renoir and naturalism (La Bte humaine, Tony) as compensation for the
super-aestheticism of Nana.3
Roma, citt aperta4 as an attempt at synthesis.
The Vow The Young Guard5 as a formal synthesis.
Herein an excursion into the future: Television and the joining with Dionysia.
(Daprs* [in French: Following] that set forth in On Stereoscopic Cinema No. 16)
The chronicle is a stage of the artistic film. The initial one.

Just as petroglyph and ornament are a stage of a future visual art.
The chronicle is the stage of petroglyph and ornament in the history of the artis-
tic film.
The two same phases in the chronicle: 1) petroglyph and 2) ornament.
The first is the eidetic stage: automatic fixation.
225
Such is the old chronicle: the pre-revolutionary Path-journal kind, shot
from one point of view.
The intuitively eidetic kind.
The chronicle is fundamentally eidetic in the slogan Life Caught Unawares and
the experiments of Gan (Aleksei),7 e.g., Morning in the Courtyard. (What happened
on a certain morning in the courtyard: A peasant woman with buckets passed by.
A chicken walked around. Children played etc.). Entirely along the lines of sub-
jects such as Workers Leaving the Lumire Factory, The Arrival of a Train
etc.
And the eidetic petroglyph is (in spiral fashion!) just such a stage that is, a pre-
artistic one of graphic art.
This is the stage of the outline of a contour.
It can be divided according to different means of outlining.
I. The contour of an image traced over by the artist not just by his hand or
eye, but by the artist himself.
a) Gigantic petroglyphic figures.
b) A vestige in the tale about Hokusai, who drew with a broom in a square, and
the only way to see the drawing was from the roof of the pagoda.
c) In Saul Steinbergs8 work a large profile on the sidewalk and puzzled people
walking over it.
Ill. 1 Detail of a drawing by Saul Steinberg with, as Eisenstein writes, a large profile on
the sidewalk and puzzled people walking over it

Incidentally, the prototype for this kind of drawing is a fact: children, crawling
along the tarmac, outline enormous profiles, crawling over their contour.
(Children repeat the stage of tracing-over).
II. The tracing-over body is reduced to an outlining hand.
The petroglyphs of the Norwegians (cf. Propylen) are, in the majority of cases,
equal in size to the original beast!
I.e. essentially the outline of a silhouette (in terms of contour).
A vestige of this in the making of silhouettes (e.g., in the 18th century cf. Lava-
ters schemata of this mechanics): the early outline of a wild beast is here in-
dustrialized manufactured (the Japanese, too, know silhouettes).
Schattenspiel* [in German: Shadow play] Wayang in Java; in Turkey Karagz etc.
Kinderspiele* [in German: Children games] shadow rabbits made with hands etc.
Lotte Reiniger9 and the cult of the silhouette in general. Right up to the present.
(e.g., in Kislovodsk).
Schreckenknstler* [in German: artist specialized in the cutting of silhouettes] cuts
a smaller scale silhouette out of black paper directly daprs nature* [in French:
according to nature].
Mechanisms for scaling down actually traced silhouettes repeat shift from II to III.
The outline of an objects contour, no longer by the artist himself, no longer
outlined by hand in life size, but by the eye: in any scale. Hokusai again: he could
draw a landscape on a grain of rice!
Ill. 2 Caption by Eisenstein: There is an even more ancient mechanism of shrinking*

from a natural size to a reduced one: the Peruvian shrunken heads of their enemies. Bones
and brains are removed from them. They sprinkle them with hot sand and let them shrink
in the sun until they are the size of an apple, then wear them on a trophy belt
The second stage is the stage of the ornament.

This is already the stage of the profound chronicle, rather than the automatic
one.
in praise of the cine-chronicle 227

This is the stage of Kino-Truth [Kinopravda] and Kino-Eye [Kinoglaz].10
Firstly, we need to work out the question of the ornament as decoration*.
Its nux* [in Latin: nucleus] is once again the outline.
The simplest kind: the line encompasses the form. The line traces over the con-
nection. And the articulation of forms. This is a transfer from oneself onto the
object Self-portrait.
And the line here is a trace of a necklace or a belt around oneself (neck, waist).
Ill. 3 Drawing showing ornamental necklaces with lines conceived as an extension of

ones own neck
And the necklace itself is connected with the tattoo.

A tattoo is, first of all, apparently, an automatic outline of the form of ones own
body with a drawing of this outline on this same body.
I.e., the outline of a form is both reflection and fact, still indivisible.
The contoured outline is not removed, is not separated from the subject by being
transferred onto something else a smooth rock-face, a wall, sand, canvas, pa-
per! And the tattoo is a trace (already traced over) of an outline a tracing by feel
of the forms of ones own body, from a physical perception of it as a system of
articulations.
(Later this is in dress this is a tattoo laid on a body: for the articulations of
dress imitate the patterns of a tattooed assimilation of the body: a collar with
outlines around the neck, a belt etc.).
Ill. 4 Drawing showing again ornamental necklaces with lines conceived as extensions
of the neck

Recollections of this phase (of the indivisibility of the outline from the object of
the outline) have been preserved, e.g., in the japery of Tabarin11 (Tabarin XVI-
XVII c.).
Who is the best artist? The ass. Because it discharges paint and makes a pic-
ture at the same time.
Who is the best printer? The ass. Because it discharges paint and makes a print
at the same time.
Otherwise where could these images [have come from]?
The chronicle the early kind is absolutely the same: an outline of an event is
also at the very same time a product of art (of the chronicle).
In the second stage of the chronicle we have everything in complete conformity
with the ornament.
1) At its base the very same palpation of the event (as was self-palpation in orna-
ment). Palpation in the process of outlining the event in the attempt to articulate
for cognition (as in ornament the mastery of the body through examination by
hands by outlining the form). noter* [in French: to be noted]: Children and
people of little culture or contact with books look at paintings by outlining
objects with their fingers. To an even greater extent the blind. And by process
of elimination the outline strives towards definitive articulations and connec-
tions.
(The articulation and establishment of connections and transitions from one to
the next are the basis of cognition in general).
But these are precisely the very elements of the formation of ornament.
Pictorialism, i.e., remaking the phenomenon into a representation of the phe-
nomenon is still at the pre-figurative stage.
An undistorted piece of reality.
The connection with the petroglyphic.
The 1st function of the ornament is that the outline of the self is transformed into
an outline of a phenomenon. ([Similarly] the petroglyph).

NB. Probably the diagram should be this:
self-palpation

self-outline

(tattoo): investigation of the self with an outline
and a tracing of the contour

onto the self

outlining phenomena (wild beast) the magical-drawing of
and simultaneously differentiating (masculine elements to
the outline and the surface: feminine and feminine to
transfer of the outline to a wall masculine)
(rock face)
This can be seen in more detail in the following stages:

The necklace of the Tehuanas is a clear extension of oneself with a real, mate-
rial treasure (this remains all the way down to millionaires wives in dia-
monds).
Or scalps on a belt (in terms of pars pro toto* a scalp = a head. noter* [in French]:
also the Peruvian reduced heads*). But the bearer of the trophies embodies in him-
self as many men as much human strength as he has heads. The victorious
Mexican adorned himself in the skin of his enemy the same motif.
Even earlier heads*, having for the savage just the same meaning as jewels later.
In all of these things the motif is preservation, accumulation.
But after all, even the chronicle is avant tout* [in French: first and foremost] preser-
vation and accumulation of that which might have vanished: a means for holding
on. For even now an adornment of diamonds is above all a capital invest-
ment.
Drawing on the body and tattooing is just the same, but only in a magical aspect.
Power is drawn on by way of painting.

The second sex* is drawn on for irresistibility.
And according to pars pro toto* they suppose that by this operation the aim has
been achieved.
And that is precisely where the futility* of magic lies: the painting gets trans-
ferred into a real hanging object, and then authentic power occurs material
avant tout* [in French].
A bears claw around the neck this is the magical stage is imaginary power. A
piece of gold hung in the same fashion is already real power in the hands of its
owner. Between them is the shift from a magical, undifferentiated collective
thinking to the stage of private ownership.
Tattooing in the second stage is embellissement* [in French: adornment] in the
sense of the desired traits drawn onto oneself the adornment is in this. Its not
that the system of drawn lines makes one more attractive, but that that these
lines according to pars pro toto* give the person new attributes (a little line next to
a womans eye raises her to a divine bisexual being):
phallos
Is this not also the basis of the device of eyeliner?
In general?
phallos
Ill. 5 A drawing that shows how the lines around a womans eye can be interpreted as
having a phallic dimension
At first it is to the person himself to his very nature, his virtues. Later, to his
property, and from this moment it is no longer magical but practical and
factual.
Apparently, this is also the cradle of beauty.
What is beautiful is whatever is most perfectly adapted to daily life in given cir-
cumstances. (The tiger, the beautiful savage).
Further for a given function
(hunting horse race horse Percheron)
Further, as the expression of an idea

(a Gothic cathedral or a streamlined automobile, but also everything
that came before, only read in an elevated category due to the rise of
intellectualism of the reader).
Thus, everything that makes the category of beauty possible goes itself into
that category.
A healthy, ruddy living being is beautiful.
Rouge is a palliative for paleness.
The tanned body. The palliative: easy to tan* and similar colorations of the
body. Mens perfume with shades of the smell of horses, the car, etc. (I read
such an advertisement!).
But for us this already has to do with function, and is unworthy. In the early
stages fiction = fact, and no distinction is made.
The valuable items authenticity still contributes to its beauty and this is already
associated with the idea of the aesthetically beautiful (develop fully).
Anyhow*. At this stage of the documentary in full conformity with the stage of
the ornament the first intellectualization comes into play as well comes differ-
entiation.
Pars pro toto* arises.
But still as pre-synecdoche, that is, as any one of all the possible details, but not
yet synecdoche, that is, not the typical one as the only one substituting for the
whole.
The principal difference
of the close-up detail in chronicle
of Griffiths close-up (in the same line with potential possibility of further tran-
sition)
our close-up (the doctors pince-nez* [in French] in Potmkin).
Finally, at the same stage the uneasiness over the montage rhythm arises as well.
This is [similar to rhythmical] repetitiveness in ornament, which is the nux* [in
Latin: nucleus] of rhythmical repetition in future art.
Not to forget, the ornament is repeated not only in the simplest aspect:

Ill. 6
But in any:
Ill. 7
Also [the weaving ornament in ceramics]: (basket-vessel)
The proto-image of weaving in ornament (as one of the lines of its formation):
The line of the experience of unification of the separate pars pro toto* [in Latin]).
(Abgesehen* [in German: independently of] the simple inertia into the next stage
as a system of wooden constructions in the architectural forms of the Parthenon.
This also has its Gegenstck* [in German: correspondence] in documentary: inter-
weaving connection through montage.
The stage of proto-montage: a view is spliced to a view, so that they will be to-
gether in one film. bergang* [in German: transition] the necessity of showing
alternatingly the pursued and the pursuer. Here we even have full correspon-
dence with the weaving of two threads!!!
(interchange of close-ups
plans of speakers
cf. I have something about this somewhere)

Ill. 8
If you like proto-montage is nothing but [a likeness] of the reproduction of the

very phenomenon of filming.
There the phases of the act of movement.
Here the phases of the event, similarly spliced one to another with similar
gaps, as for movement between frames.
Ill. 9
Transfer of the pattern* of weaving into the pattern of ornament is

repeated here in that the principle of unification of phases of move-
ment (for the effect of movement on the screen) also grows into the
principle of connecting sequences together.
So that the chronicle of the intermediary type Kinoglaz has precisely the same
place as ornament has between cave drawing and conventional graphic art.
noter* [in French]: even in its excesses [Kinoglaz] descends into genuine orna-
mentalism, like playing jackstraws the degeneration and decadence of an
aesthetic toy.

The aestheticized game with levels of reality and arbitrariness of juxtapositions
without searching for actual perceptual juxtaposition of elements of reality
through the re-creation of its image, which has already fallen to the third phase
Potmkin: where all these elements become the means of creation of the
image.
We have seen [ornament]:
1. According to the method of the outlining of events (in accordance with the
outline via ornament of the articulations of the body, on an object, on
architecture, where an ornamental frieze runs around the cornice of a
building, etc.).
2. As a means of preservation and accumulation.
3. According to the appearance of pars pro toto* in the form of proto-synecdoche
of the informational close-up on the way to a close-up that replaces the
object (synecdoche).
4. According to the nux* of rhythm ([likeness] repetition and rhythm in
ornament).
5. According to its pre-imagicity [do-obraznost], for which it prepares as proto-
imagicity [pra-obraznost] all the data.
To trace throughout art the phenomenon of re-ornamentation as regression,
that is, return of developed forms of art back into ornamentalism (carpet-
patterning like that same tendency, but not on film, rather inside a square
or circle. Matisse, for example, is such a one).
1. In the case of psychopaths (see, for ex., Prinzhorn, Bildnerei der
Geisteskranken* [in German: The Art of the Mentally Ill]; No. Art et Styles*
[in French: Art and styles]; Kretschmer, Medizinische Psychologie* [in
German: Medical Psychology]12) a clear tendency toward ornamental
geometricization.
(In the case of over-exhaustion, and automatic kritzeln* [in German:
doodling], too. I know from my own experience. I know from Maks
Shtraukh.)
2. In certain phases of deterioration of bourgeois art.
Jugend-Stil [from] Jugend [in German: youth]. Preraphaelites. Munch.
(Der Schrei* [in German: The Scream]) etc. On this in Primitivism
and Modern Painting13.

Typical
Yo
Makss
blurring
by filling-in
(Your Maks)14
Ill. 10 and 11
1. This is already along other lines.

Par exemple* [in French: for instance], ornamental repetitiveness: Hermanns
Three-Seven-Ace in the stage of madness.15
On the point of view of Worringer (Abstraktion und Einfhlung16) on ornament as

support against the chaos of the Universe.
One might justly quip:
Having noted that ornament is often woven along a railing, Worringer saw in
this same case the very role of ornament in history of art as .a railing for the
frightened human soul facing the Universe.

7.XI.47
[RGALI 1923-2-1031]
BERGANG ZUM TELEVISION* [in German: Transition to Television]17
From Virtas Great Days18 to television is one step in performance only

scenes in a peephole survive they are a sort of palliative of what TV is
capable of.
Everything else there is hogwash and tomfoolery.
Thus they sidle into television through documentalization the dramatized
document of the modern age (palliative).
(Potmkin dramatized document (what a Racine!19) of the past).
The Vow and Young Guard.
From chronicle to TV.
The approach to TV also through stereoscopic cinema: reality crowds its way in
as the next stage of the crowding-in of the screen in general.
( noter* [in French: To be noted] my approach to this in my article on stereo-
scopic cinema).20
If this is to go* into the history of film, then say that the beginning landmark of
the new era (in the arts as well) the Soviet art of cinema began with the same
thing as the first threshold of culture of humanity in general the chronicle.
The chronicle in its role in the creation of Soviet film.
NB. Stylization to make it appear as chronicle post-war motto of todays
aesthetic mannerism: Roma, citt aperta and Noel Cowards as well.
They recapitulate the development of the theater in general, as earlier in all com-
memorative productions notably in early stages of consciousness the repro-
duction of an action especially on the place where it had occurred was a real
participation in the action.
Were You there when they nailed Him to the tree black people sing in Spirituals, pre-
cisely describing what divine worship strives for.
What about communion? as real comm-union with the event?
And television* is the extreme embodiment of a similar urge*, realized for the pre-
sent moment still only in spatial real participation.

Participation in time through reflection and reproduction all pre-television cul-
ture was deflected into this vein. The spatial is the television-al [televisionnoe]. It
is a landmark in chronicle as the highest form of fixating what happened in the
past. Time and space interrelations again*
INTO TELEVISION
On Electra, Green Pastures and News of the Nation.

(daprs* [in French: according to] what is written about imagicity [obraznost'] in
Gogol).
Als Frderung und Aktualisierung des Verflossenen* [in German: As promotion and actua-
lization of what has passed]
To dress in contemporary fashion to make contemporary.
But the other way around as well: to make the past contemporary to become
familiar with the past is to become a contemporary and participant of past
events.

Ill. M, N, and O Photograms from Ivan the Terrible, part 1: Ivan, Nepeya, and their
shadows in Ivans stateroom
5
THE PLACE OF CINEMA
IN THE GENERAL SYSTEM OF THE HISTORY OF THE ARTS1
Date: 3.I.1948
[RGALI 1923-2-1020]
Connection and Synthesis, etc. (as per the beginning of my GIK2 program)
Why the film is top*.
Mass dissemination.
The spectator shapes the film*, voting with his feet (not to be quoted!)*.
In the West in the name of the spectator pandering to the worst.
In our case with direct participation both spiritual and material (by the state
and by means of education).
Cinema as the most perfect instrument not only of making impact on, but also of
reproduction and reconstruction of man in all the variety of his backgrounds*, en-
vironment etc.
But theres more to cinemas method the most complete reflection of man.
Cinema as a copy of mans psychological apparatus.
Continuity of flow of images* (K. Stanislavsky uses none other than film when he
needs to clarify!).
Close-ups as points of insistence of interest (cf. dreams)*
Fading in and out* and the fading of consciousness (sleep or almost conscious-
ness). Dissolves. The multidimensionality of simultaneous flows of thought.
Recollections.
Flash backs. Soft*.
241
And more complex: metaphorical structure, evident in devices and hidden in the
depths of composition. A lesser degree of possibility in other arts: a column of
the limits of their possibilities (Hegel). Nowhere in all the arts [].3
Cinema as the most comprehensive technical automatoscope of the phenomenon
of the reflection of reality that lies at the root of the formation and establishment
of human consciousness.
The history of cinema from the point of view of the mechanization by technical
means of the process of reflection itself and of the fixating of the results of such
a reflection.
The stage of static reflection.
From the eidetic phenomenon to the photographic camera.
The automatic immediacy of the reflection of phenomena of reality in the so-
called eidetic phenomenon.
The fixating of the reflection of the image of phenomena in memory.
The problem of reproduction by technical means of processes: the getting the
copy of phenomena of reality in a mechanical way, and fixating it by technical
means.
Getting the copy:

Nux* [in Latin: nucleus] for everybody. Everything keeping its imprint*. Costumes,
house. National shrines*: Peters cottage, Roosevelts home, repositories of relics
(the same + pars pro toto*. Souvenirs*. Signatures etc. (Mrs. Havisham. Queen Vic-
toria). The kissing of footprints.
Preservation by means of efficient reproduction (embodiment):
commemorative ritual. Reflection in the sense of episodes of a ritual play. Reflec-
tion through the embodiment in the chorus of dithyramb. Simulation (image) =
event (at this stage of undifferentiated thinking). Chorus = Dionysus.
Reproduction only for the duration of the performance.
Preservation of the object itself instead of its reflection (mummification).
The stage of factual, physical (relief) casting. Morturary masks (Egypt, Rome.
Continuation of the tradition even now). Resonance with (stereoscopic) cinema
in relief.
Cradle4 stage of the negative/positive principle. Foundation of the ability to pro-
duce multiple copies.

Problem of getting a flat depiction.
Reflection in water.
Substitution of mirror surface of water with the surface of a polished mirror.
Self-reflection in a mirror.
Silhouette and contour drawing of another.
Hand-traced contour of a real object or silhouette of a shadow as the first attempt
to mechanize the reflection of a real profile. The larger portion is of the unme-
chanized part of this process, as in all manufacturing (handicraft) stages of tech-
nology. (Petroglyphic depictions. Profile portraits of the 15th [century], such as
those of Domenico Veneziano. Silhouettes. Portrait at the end of the 18th and
beginning of the 19th century).
Phototechnical primitivism of mechanical capture of a silhouette outline. (Sil-
houettes on ripening fruit by means of adhesive material that preserves the un-
touched surface beneath. The reproduction of this in photograms of Man Ray
and Moholy-Nagy on the surface of light-sensitive paper). (Relate this to the
technique of fixating.)
The development of technical accessories.
Drers and Holbeins gridded frame with a viewfinder for the translation of the
spatial angle of a figure into a spatial distortion of the outlines of the figure on a
flat surface.
Lavaters (1741-1801) instruments for the transfer and reduction of a silhouette.
Physionotrace5 Chrtien and Quenedys instrument like a pantograph for the di-
rect transfer of a profile. The first exhibition of 1793.
Rebirth of the eidetic tendency and proto-photographism in the painting style
called trompe loeil. (Chinese legends about Wang Wei, who, before death, went
away into another world through a cave he had drawn).6 Stories about Zeuxis,
16th century, self-portrait in a convex mirror. The ceilings of Tiepolo; 17th and
18th century (the sort of paintings called verre cass broken glass). From the
description of President de Brosses. American artist of the second half of the
19th century. Rembrandts painting The Night Watch decorated as trompe l'oeil by
means of a museum exhibition in the Hague? Dioramas. Moving dioramas as
precursors of the cinema of views.
Appearance of the lens and the concomitant ability to directly project phenomena
onto a flat surface.
the place of cinema 243

The year 1050. Lenses in antiquity. The first lenses of Alhazen. 1270. Witelos
and Roger Bacons treatises on lenses. (1285-1299 invention of eyeglasses).
Camera obscura*. Data showing that the Camera obscura* was known to Aristotle.
16th century. With the dimensions of a room (Leonardo da Vinci). Booth. In
Daniele Barbaros 1558 description, Giambattista della Porta 1540-1615 and in
Oculus hoc est: Fundamentum opticum of Christoph Scheiner (1619). Abb Nalvets
(18th century) box. From here the origin of the names photo- and movie- cam-
eras.
Searches for photosensitive surfaces capable of automatically catching a pro-
jected image.
Phototechnical primitives the Newtons Apple of photo-apparatuses.
Vitruvius and Fabricius (1565) on the abilities of silver oxide to reproduce an
image caught through a lens in grey and black tones.
Getting nonfixable photo-images.
Schulze (1727) in Germany; Priestley (1733-1804) in England; Charles in France.
Results of 1770-1780.
Wedgwood (1802). James Watt and Humphrey Davy. Failures with fixating
images.
The search for chemical means for more permanent fixating of the projected im-
age. The stage of the single image.
Nicphore Nipce (1765-1833) and [Louis-Jacques]-Mand Daguerre (1787-1851).
Heliography (1824). Talbots calotype (1834-1839). Daguerrotype of Nipce and
Daguerre (1839). Ambrotype, etc.
The problem of fixating a reflected phenomenon and the capacity to produce
many copies of a print.
History of the negative/positive principle.
Branding and stenciling. Siegelring* [in German: seal ring]. Babylonian seals. Ma-
yan seals for decorating the body. Ancient heel-mark on material and preserva-
tion of tradition in artisanal textile of East and West. Nux* [in Latin: nucleus] in
the technique of mask casting. (I) Mechanized. (Application of the image). Print
on paper from an engraved image. (2) Mechanized. (Transferring of the image).
Abklatschbilder [in German: copy] of pilgrims from petroglyphic engraved image
of Confucius in ancient China.
Connection of visual reproduction with the history of techniques of book print-
ing.

1041-49 the first moveable type (Bi Sheng, China); 1147 wooden upper-case
letters (Benedictine monastery in Engelberg); 1300 wooden type (Turkestan);
1325 Japanese clergyman (Priester* [in German: priest]) Riskin gives pilgrims
holy pictures off tin plates (their technique is tentatively known Julius Kurth).
Closely connected also, in Kurths opinion, is the Zgeldruck* [in German:
prints of drawings engraved on tiles]; 1390 metallic type (Korea); 1409 the
first book printed with moveable type (Korea); 1423 the first European wooden
engraving; 1440-1460 the beginning of modern bookprinting (Gutenberg and
Schffer); 1446 engraving on copper; 1483 the beginning of etching; 1508
European multicolored engraving; 1709 three-color printing from copper
plates; 1796 the beginning of lithography.
The stage of single prints (see above) of early types of precursors of modern
photography.
1841. Paper positive is invented by Fox Talbot (1800-1877) and the beginning of
the era of modern negative/positive photographic techniques and photography
itself.
Direct print.
The handprint in caves.
The imprint from a carved plank in the Russian printed gingercake.
The renaissance of direct printing. The signature and its nec plus ultra.
Sid Graumans Chinese theater in Hollywood and handprints and footprints of
famous people.
Boards for tattooing.
Stencils.
the place of cinema 245

Ill. P, Q, and R Photograms from Ivan the terrible, part 2: the young Ivan standing in
front of his throne in the reception room flanked by the two Boyars Shiusky and Byelsky
6
PIONEERS AND INNOVATORS1
Date: 1.I.48
[RGALI 1923-2-1022, pp.13-19]
YO2
Not only [the connection of my film] with the chronicle (the phases of the
chronicle of Strike, and even more so of Battleship Potmkin a calendar of se-
quence), but also the connection with scientific film and technical film (and
from there with the predecessors of both the chronicle and those types of film)3.
Strike (the whole cycle Towards Dictatorship), after all, was done in the how to
make a revolution mode, like a scientific-technical film.
It was preceded by the theory of the montage of attractions, done as a how to
make a work of art for the transformation of consciousness.
Roots in engineering: [lessons on] How to make bridges
And [roots] in mathematics: in search of a unit [of measure]4.
When Strike was being made, the theme went deeper:

from a descriptive exposition of symptoms of the phenomenon (a type of English
scientific investigation) it passed into the human and emotional foundation of
the revolution
it is from here that Potmkin [arises], characterized by its spontaneity, uprising,
revolt, rather than a party-planned construction of revolution, which should have
been in October and likewise in Old and New the post-October revolutionization
of what exists (the agricultural policy and the rebuilding [of the countryside])5.
From this, however, there was a change of direction.

October didnt turn out to be a party-historical film.
This was picked up by Ermler.
247
Old and New didnt turn out to be a Party contemporary (post-October [Revolu-
tion]) picture.
This was picked up by Counterplan6.
Strike in intention: how revolutions occur in general, but it turned out to be
grounded in specifics.
Potmkin in intention: how the specific revolt in 1905 occurred, but it turned out
to be a generalization of revolutionary pathos.
The structural analysis of a work (montage of attractions) is preceded in my work

by the structural analysis of expressive movement (Auswuchs* [in German:
development] from the empiricism of Meyerhold to my own theory of expressive
movement).
The roots of chronicle-ness and documentarism as forms of concreteness are in

my staking on the circus. The real physical work of the circus, both as process
and product (the content of the act = its work) without the actors figurative
meaning and depiction of something, is, of course, documentalism in the
sphere of acting!!!
The interim stage a compromise symbolic theater: spectacle without preten-
sions to being true to life, but a stake on presentation: we are not the living
people of the play, but actors, playing them.
The other extreme also a compromise is MKhAT7: before you is the veritable
truth of experiences factual experience, corresponding to the situations of the
drama8 (next step* [in English] after the naturalistic reconstruction of appearance
of a phenomenon in the first stage of MKhAT).
Circus in its pure form. You see before you an act on a trapeze, which in fact
is an act on a trapeze.
Durchbruch* [in German: breakthrough] to this in my work on my very first inde-
pendent step: the boxing in The Mexican from the metrorhythmical dance
overleaping into a real fight (in which the most real is usually not only the
predeterminedness of the finale, but very often the scripts as well: the number
of the round when the finale has to occur, and even the sketch of the twists of the
story line!).
Again the sources on the town square at the market: in rope dancers and
weightlifters as factographic spectacles of real agility and strength. (Even with
some percentage of fakery*, as in slightly staged it is unavoidable! chroni-
cle. The weights are un peu truqu* [in French: a little fake], etc).

An innovator is one who explodes the evenly measured flow of evolution into a
revolutionary leap of a new quality within the general process of development.
The process of casting a deadly object remains, but within it is the innovative
explosion, from the bowstring that propels the arrow to the powder that shoots
out the shell.
From the solid bullet let fly to the exploding shell (shrapnel, etc.).
The pioneer is another matter.
The first to figure out how to make a plate for engraving was a pioneer.
The one who recognized the possibility of making moveable type from this was
an innovator.
The inventor of the press was a pioneer (although in relation to the transition
from feet that were and still are to this day used somewhere in France to
squeeze juice from grapes to a machine: he was doubtless an innovator). While
the man who saw the press in a qualitatively new function as a means of
automatic printing, and who, by doing this, exploded the tradition of the roller
or the smoothing hand as the only means of getting a print was an innovator.
Thus I exploded from within the convention (tradition) of the chronicle and
document (and the popular-science educational film) in Strike having taken
that convention, I reconceived it from within with a new qualitative expression.
In the same way, I exploded from within the convention of the editing principles
of Griffith (via Kuleshov) with an editing trope and image [obraz].
In the same way, in the following phase Pudovkin exploded the revolutionary
abstraction of Death Ray (Ray is a contemporary of Strike) through his hatred to-
wards it and his repudiation of it (under the influence of Strike) in the real revolu-
tionary concrete past of Mother9.
In the same way, putting Gorky in the place of Pushkin and Tolstoy in the tradi-
tion of dramatization of literary works, he made a leap from progressive to
revolutionary-Bolshevik and he himself made a jump from Protazanov from
revolution as material for film to film in the service of revolution, to the direc-
tor as revolutionary agent using the tools of cinema.
In the same way, contradicting (overcoming) the primacy of the masses (Strike-
Potmkin) within the revolutionary theme, Pudovkin proceeds to reveal the images
of the individualities of revolutionaries and [people] moving towards revolution
in Mother.
Sharply accentuate the idea of the progressive input of each and how the baton is
passed to the next members of the general movement.
pioneers and innovators 249

Trace here the general genealogy of the progressive development.
Note the dying off of the artist along the process of these progressive inputs.
Limits. And, of course, the concurrent determining factors. Par exemple* [in
French: for example], [to bring in] Griffiths method into my documentalism;
[to bring in] that + my Strike into Pudovkins Khanzhonkovism10; Whitmans
I see into Vertov: the potential narrating voice (with text from the author) in
silent film.
In the same way, for instance, Pudovkins filmmaking is limited by the literary
sources.
(Failures in the case of the non-literary script).
And growth beyond Sprech* [in German: spoken] cinema granted of a highly
developed tradition! was impossible for Pudovkin.
Kuleshov ended with the arrival of Strike.
As did Vertov.
My limit is intellectual film.
Progressive in a linear and art-historical way: growing emphasis on the

character of the protagonist (Lapkina and Ivan the Terrible are dubiously
progressive: more likely a relapse).
Progressive: material the audio-visual, the musical-color film [construction].
The newest, Battle of Stalingrad11, closes the circle stylistically with a return to
original sources (in a new quality): replacement of the image with figures
according to the principle of the Panoptikum (that is, a total return to original
sources!!!), rather than with interpretation.
Characteristic in this respect is how characters are quotationally pasted from one
picture to another, abgesehen* [in German: not taking into account] the manner,
style, etc. Even entire episodes! Gelovani or Shtraukh12 start wandering around
various pictures, like identical landscapes in the best case photographed
differently, but far from differently interpreted.
And in technical matters, [the jump] from film to television.
From the 30th year [of Soviet cinema] new starting point.
Rebirth13
Bursts of light, like Lenins Kino-Pravda.

Alexander Nevsky and audio-visual film.
Alexander Nevsky and historical film.
And then: development

From Revolution to the Party theme.
To the hero and from the generalized hero to the Party hero and to portrait.
Film-portrait.
And here all the rest of the problem of portrait.
And as a digression the self-portrait: direct.
Autobiography and self-participation:
Chaplin from Dog life to Verdoux and Stroheim.
Self-portrait of the Storm over Toledo type Yo.
Lyrical self-portrait Dovzhenko.
pioneers and innovators 251

Part Two
Essays
1. What Renders Daumiers
Art So Cinematic for
Eisenstein?1
Ada Ackerman
In his Notes for a General History of Cinema, Eisenstein seeks to demonstrate that
cinema is the artistic medium most capable of satisfying essential, immemorial
human impulses or urges [Triebe]. The anthropological agenda which lies at
the basis of this historical project leads him to define cinema as a phenomenon
that extends beyond the mere technological apparatus. His definition claims for
cinema a variety of cultural ancestors that extend backward through history,
reaching beyond the nineteenth-century devices typically considered as precine-
matic to remote periods such as Antiquity.
It is in this context that Eisenstein quotes several times the name of Honor
Daumier, the French painter and lithographer. For Eisenstein, Daumier's art re-
sponds to two anthropologically rooted urges: first, the will to manipulate
light (Daumiers monochrome lithography is first evoked in an undated section
of the Notes for a General History of Cinema entitled Dynamic Mummification, in a
paragraph entitled From the Mechanical Copy of Reality to the Conscious
Photographic Creation and the Art of Photography, and from the Photographic
Camera to the Film Camera2) and then the desire to capture and represent the
effects of space and time. This essay is concerned primarily with the latter.
In the section of the Notes for a General History of Cinema dated December 25,
1947, and dedicated to the theme Sound in Painting, Eisenstein refers to Hon-
or Daumiers work as a forerunner to both Robert Delaunays Cubism and the
cinematographic technique of montage:
A forerunner, [in the line] of multiple perspectiveness, of Robert Delaunay,

regarding objective phenomena of the world, of architecture (the Eiffel Tower,
etc.), was Honor Daumier: both in time! and in the organic development of
sequence: breaking the human figure into various successive phases of one
movement.
255
Various (in terms of time) phases of human movement in Daumiers work grow into
various (in terms of space) points of seeing an object in Delaunays work.
This connection is repeated in cinema technique (in the broadest sense:
mechanical technics and creative technics*).3
In the section of the Notes dated December 1947/January 1948 and dedicated to
The problem of the moving image in the visual arts, Eisenstein alludes to the
same feature of Daumiers work:
Wayang shadow theater.

Simultaneous pictures. Stringing together various phases of an event
(Memling, Botticelli, illustrations for the Divina Commedia).
Simultaneous sets in Middle-Age and Renaissance theater.
Chain of pictures (Hogarth, Goyas Robber Maragato).
The problem of a compositions dynamics.
Various phases of the position of a figure (Tintoretto, Daumier).
Simultaneity of various positions of a figure (multi-handedness and multi-
leggedness).
(Heidelberg manuscript of the Sachsenspiegel, Futurism).4
Finally, in the section The Phenomenon of Cinema. (History of the Phenomenon)

of the text symptomatically titled Naslednik [The Heir], Eisenstein again
evokes Daumier in the context of these references: Tintoretto, Goya, and Ho-
garth.5
In all these passages, Eisenstein refers to his own peculiar interpretation of
Daumiers figures. According to him, Daumiers compositions violate anatomical
laws by assembling images of different parts of the same body, derived from
different moments of the same continuous action. The positions of these figures
are therefore anomalies, precluded by basic physiological limitations. By synthe-
sizing several phases of the same gesture in a single image, Daumier suggests
powerfully an unbroken movement that the viewer recreates in his or her own
imagination. In this respect, his compositions function as ancestors of cinema-
tographical montage. Eisenstein expresses this point of view about Daumier in
several texts, including A Dialectic Approach to Film Form, The Most Essen-
tial Phenomenon of Cinema, and The Short Fiction Scenario.6 In this excerpt,
taken from the third text, Eisenstein provides to his State Institute of Cinemato-
graphy (GIK) students an analysis of Daumiers cinematographic method:
Now lets recall Daumier's drawings: They belong to the most dynamic and
lively examples of world art. Daumier's trick is very simple. In drawing the
figure of a man, he depicts the position of the feet so perfectly that the entire
figure's movement is clearly imagined. You mentally construct the figure
256 ada ackerman

expected from these feet (this is done subconsciously), but Daumier shows
you the central portion of the body, from the knees to the shoulders in a
different phase of movement, and the position of the head is given in yet a
third phase. As a result, you have the impression that the figure moved, jerked
from phase to phase as in cinema. []
This same principle of interrupting the inertia of perception is used by
Tintoretto, but with more restraint than Daumier, with a less severe
deformation of the body. His flying figures are literally depicted as a spiral.7
It is possible that Eisensteins interpretation here was inspired by Gotthold

Ephraim Lessings conception of the pregnant moment, which he indicates as
paradigmatically epitomized in the Laocon, the sculpture from antiquity Eisen-
stein himself presents as a perfect instance of montage. Indeed, it is possible to
translate Eisensteins description of Daumiers figures using the notion of the
pregnant moment, the one most suggestive of what has gone before and what
is to follow.8
It appears that Eisenstein borrowed this interpretative model from Auguste
Rodin, whom he quotes in his writings on montage.9 In his conversations with
Paul Gsell on art, Rodin elucidated the means by which a sculptor can produce
an impression of movement in language that is echoed rather strikingly Eisen-
steins prose on Daumier:
In that is all the secret of movement as interpreted by art. The sculptor

compels, so to speak, the spectator to follow the development of an act in an
individual. In the example that we have chosen, the eyes are forced to travel
upward from the lower limbs to the raised arm, and, as in so doing they find
the different parts of the figure represented at successive instants, they have
the illusion of beholding the movement performed.10
To achieve a firmer understanding of Daumiers place in Eisensteins Notes for a

General History of Cinema, I propose an investigation of the following points. First,
I would like to demonstrate that Eisensteins perception of a cinematic Dau-
mier, rather than originating in the 1940s, is grounded in his writings of the
1920s, specifically in relation to the question of the expressive movement. Then,
drawing on the references to Daumier in the Notes for a General History of Cinema, I
will seek to highlight the specificity of this text in relation to other texts written
by Eisenstein on the same subject.
what renders daumiers art so cinematic for eisenstein? 257

From Expressive Movement to Cinematism11
A Lifelong Passion for Daumier

To find Daumiers name in the Notes is hardly surprising. It is a name one fre-
quently encounters when reading Eisensteins prose, as frequently as the name of
Joyce. As he explains across a variety of texts, Eisenstein discovered Daumiers
caricatures at a young age and felt an immediate affinity for them that he would
sustain and nourish throughout his career:
I discovered Daumier myself quite accidentally. Browsing through my fathers

books when I was quite young, I came across an album dealing with the
Franco-Prussian War of 1870 and the Paris Commune. [...] My admiration for
Daumier was boundless. I was so captivated by him that the very, very first
book I ever bought of my own choice was a modest monograph on Daumier.
[...] I was ten at the time.12
Over the course of his life, Eisenstein purchased countless books on Daumiers
work and, according to his mentor Vsevolod Meyerkhold, developed a collection
of over a thousand lithographs by the artist. In a discussion of the staging of
Krechinskys Wedding, Meyerhold told his students:
Next time, I will bring you some Daumier, we will be able to choose which of
these engravings suits us. We may ask Eisenstein to show us the engravings
he owns. As far as I am concerned, I have about two hundred of them, but he,
he must have at least one thousand of them.13
Eisensteins immense admiration for Daumier was one of the qualities that most
struck the art historian Alfred Barr during his visit to Eisensteins apartment in
the 1920s. In Barrs Russian Diary, in the entry from February 15, 1928, he writes
of Eisenstein: And Daumier is his great hobby.14
Eisensteins Interest in Daumiers Gestures

One might be inclined to speculate that Eisenstein appreciated Daumier for his
comical aspects; that is, for the artists capacity to capture ones physiognomy
and to highlight its humorous qualities. But, even if Eisenstein admired and
took delight in Daumier the caricaturist, it was not this side of the artist that
impressed him most. His main interest in Daumiers art was related to its plastic
treatment of movement. Eisenstein himself acknowledges this directly in the fol-
lowing statement:
258 ada ackerman

I once had to write somewhere, but perhaps not about the fact that
everything I once thought absolutely necessary to examine in separate areas of
art I always first encountered as an object of direct passionate enthusiasm.
I became intoxicated with Daumier much earlier than I was able to realize the
significance he later had for the development of the principles of expressive
human movement.15
Actually, Eisensteins interest in Daumiers representation of movement is evi-

dent rather early in his career, already in the 1920s. This interest may have been
fostered by the lithographs Eisenstein had already in his possession at that time.
I found in the Russian State Archive of Literature and Art (RGALI) a bill dated the
year 1918, which provides an account of Eisensteins acquisitions that year in
terms of books and engravings16 (Ill.1). The items listed include some pieces by
Daumier, all of which are remarkable for their display of expressive and theatrical
gestures (Ill. 2). It is not surprising, then, that in January 1923 Eisenstein wrote a
thirteen-page study dedicated to this question, entitled Biomechanics in the Re-
presentational Aspects of Honor Daumier's Lithographs. I learned of this
study, which has never been published, from a footnote in the book Meyerhold,
Eisenstein and Biomechanics.17 I managed to obtain from Mel Gordon an English
translation of the study, produced by the late Alma Law.
Ill. 1 S.M. Eisenstein, Handwritten list of the books purchased in 1918. China ink on
paper, 341 x 203 mm. Source: RGALI, 1923-1-881, p. 7.

Ill. 2 Honor Daumier, Robert Macaire devant ses juges [Robert Macaire in front of the
judges], 1837, lithograph. Source: Bibliothque municipale de Lyon, F19DAU008790.
Photo credit: Bibliothque municipale de Lyon, Didier Nicole.
This study constitutes a preparatory material for the essay Expressive Move-
ment, written by Eisenstein with Sergei Tretyakov in the final months of 1923.18
Indeed, here we already find mention of Rudolf Bodes principles derived from
his Ausdrucksgymnastik, which are central to the conception of expressive movement.
Rudolf Bode, who created a specific physical training program in Munich at the
beginning of the twentieth century known as Expressive Gymnastics, high-
lighted the distinction, borrowed from German vitalist philosophy, between the
movements produced by the Soul [Seele] and the movements produced by the
Spirit [Geist]. For Bode, the movements derived from the Spirit that is, intellect
and will always refrain and constrain those originating from the Soul that is,
nature and body. This perpetual conflict between Soul and Spirit is expressed in
that the movement of the aggregate body contradicts the localized movements of
its extremities, which are driven only by the Will.
Though this tension was problematic for Bode, Eisenstein, who sought to ap-
ply Bodes theories in the theatrical sphere, believed it had the potential be used
to great effect. For him, this conflict had the capacity to be visually attractive to
the spectator; it could even excite him or her. Using this as a theoretical start-
ing point, Eisenstein wrote that the actor must elaborate broken gestures so as to
emphasize this tension between Soul and Spirit. Eisenstein looked to the ges-
tures of Daumiers figures in particular as models for this new kind of acting, as
he would recall many years later:
260 ada ackerman

Ill. 3 Honor Daumier, Oedipe et le Sphynx [Oedipus meeting the Sphinx], 1842,
lithograph, 201 x 233 mm. Source: Noack Collection, www.daumier-register.org.
About this time, several years earlier, I dreamt of composing the consecutive
phases of the gestures of the immortal French actor Frdrick Lematre from
the hundred and one poses on the hundred and one pages of the adventures
of Robert Macaire. He played Macaire on the stage in the famous play
LAuberge des Adrets, and the inimitable nature of his performance was
imprinted on the hundred and one lithographs of Honor Daumier the
series Caricaturana (Les Robert Macaire) (1836).19
The first four pages of the study describe a number of Daumiers lithographs in
terms of the conflict between Soul and Will. For example, of Oedipus Meeting the
Sphinx (Ill. 3), Eisenstein notes that the dynamics of the figures left arm are
independent of the bodys general orientation, as they are meant to express Oe-
dipuss psychic state. In his consideration of the lithograph I Dont Rent to People
with Children! (Ill. 4), Eisenstein highlights the disjunction between the head and
body of the owner figure, whose face is crystallized in a grimace sourced in the
excessive power the Will exerts on this part of the body. Eisenstein relates this

disjunction as producing a motor impression: because the viewer perceives a
discrepancy between the general movement of the aggregate body and that of the
head specifically, he or she mentally fulfills the dynamics relating the two. Here we
have the germination of Eisensteins future conception of Daumiers cinma-
tisme. In the 1920s, he has already identified the conflict between the different
parts of a body as a source for motor impressions, just as he would go on in
the 1940s to describe the impossible postures of Daumiers figures as a type of
montage production of movement. In both cases, abnormalities in plastic com-
position foster a break in perception that, through the viewers engagement with
a given piece, is converted into a feeling of movement.
Ill. 4 Honor Daumier, Je ne lous pas aux gens qui ont des enfants [I dont rent to people
with children], 1847, lithograph, 217 x 260 mm. Source: Noack Collection, www.daumier-
register.org.
It is because Eisenstein has such a deeply rooted interest in the gestures of Dau-
miers figures that he invests the paintings and lithographs with such great sig-
nification when he elaborates his own model of cinmatisme. The value Eisen-
stein attributes to Daumier in this respect can help us to understand the
intellectual project underlying the Notes for a General History of Cinema.
262 ada ackerman

Daumiers Cinematism in the Notes for a General History of
Cinema
If we return to the excerpts of the Notes for a General History of Cinema quoted
above, it becomes apparent that Eisenstein perceives significant similarities
among Daumiers lithographs, wayang shadow theater, Goyas and Hogarths
series, Futurist works (multilegedness and multihandedness), and so on. I would
like to focus on the comparison he draws between Daumier, the Futurists, and
Delaunay. To do so, I will compare Eisensteins Notes with the chapter from To-
wards a Theory of Montage entitled Laocon (in the Russian edition, the chapter
is entitled Osnovnoy fenomen kino [The most essential phenomenon in cine-
ma]).20 These two texts share a common objective: that of establishing a geneal-
ogy of ancestors of the cinematic medium that span the different artistic and
cultural fields that existed prior to the apparition of cinema itself. The logic and
organization of the texts, however, is quite different. Written ten years before the
Notes, the chapter Laocon establishes a hierarchy between several artistic ac-
complishments, employing the concept of montage as a guiding principle. Ei-
senstein is particularly critical of the Futurist works of art, which he claims share
only shallow similarities with cinematographic montage:
It may be asked whether the basic cinematic phenomenon has its ancestors
in the stages which precede it, i.e. whether other art forms contain the
unusual situation where two objects, motionless in appearance, when caught
by the artist in two successive phases of movement and juxtaposed, produce a
qualitatively new phenomenon, namely that they merge into an apparent
perception of the process of movements?
Undoubtedly, yes. Naturally the first examples that come to mind are Futurist
drawings of eight-legged people with the legs drawn in eight different
phases of movement, but it is worth remarking that in such instances no
perception of movement arises from them: this purely experimental, logical
game is intended simply to reveal the method, thereby destroying the
flimsy deception which might create an illusion if it were executed more
subtly (for examples of this, see below [Daumier and Tintoretto]). Apart from
that, the method, like the majority of isms, is no more than a regression to
certain stages of the past, when art went through similar stages in its
progressive striving to master reality and not run away from it. Thus in certain
very early miniatures (11th-12th centuries) we can find exactly the same
phenomenon. The artist is not yet able to catch the dynamic of movement in
the dynamic of his drawing. So what does he do? He divides the movement
into two phases, sometimes into three, and endows one figure with the
succession of attitudes through which the movement passes. 21

For Eisenstein, Futurism is little more than a kind of glorified primitivism. The
movement conveyed in its art has nothing in common with the dynamism of
works by such figures as Daumier and Tintoretto. Eisenstein praised these artists
for their refusal to destroy the unity of representation in their works. As he ex-
plains in the same text:
The masterly skill of both artists lies in the fact that despite the difference
between the stages of movement in the various limbs, they contrive to retain
an overall impression of the wholeness of the total figure.22 []
The method itself of depicting sequential phases for conveying a sense of
movement is firmly entrenched in those paintings which particularly
surprise us by showing apparent movement while simultaneously retaining
the integrity of the object, person or phenomenon depicted.23
At this point in Eisensteins career, in 1937, the preservation of representational

integrity was fundamental to his art, and to all effective forms of montage. He
similarly disqualified Delaunays work for violating this principle in Laocon:
What way out was there for an Impressionist who wanted, nevertheless, to
give a total image of a phenomenon and not simply a representation of a
single impression of it? Obviously there could only be one way: to record a
series of impressions of the subject. And the forerunners of Impressionism
the Japanese adopted just such a practice: to mention the most popular
examples we need only recall Hokusais One Hundred Views of Fuji and the
Thirty-six Views of Fuji by [] the same artist. The overall impression derived
from these gives a complete mental image of Mount Fuji.
If the Impressionists made a mistake in their relentless insistence on
uniqueness, then the Cubists who criticised them were equally mistaken in
their stress on the quality of summation existing within a single canvas.
Delaunays famous Eiffel Tower is really One hundred views of the Eiffel
Tower crammed into a single picture of it! As we shall see, when engaged in
revealing this problem no one single trend in painting was capable of solving
it. (I stress when engaged in revealing this problem, because hundreds of
instances of an integrated synthesis of generalising typicality, mobility of
figures or graphic depiction are to be found in classic works of art prior to the
19th century which were quite unconcerned with revealing these particular
problems, while isolating and detaching other separate problems from the
integrated expressive, and above all ideational, content of the totality of the
picture.) A way out and a solution for both of them would have been to create
a dynamic fusion of a series, moving past the spectator, of those hundred
views of the Eiffel Tower or Fujiyama.24
264 ada ackerman

As with the Futurists, Eisenstein found the Cubist accomplishments of the early
twentieth century to be less powerful than many works of the nineteenth century,
such as those by Daumier. For Eisenstein, Cubist works similarly destroyed the
integrity of representation preserved in Daumiers work. In his critiques of both
Futurism and Cubism, Eisenstein uses Shklovskian expressions such as to ex-
pose the problem and to unveil the device. These expressions hold the key to
the understanding of Eisensteins critical stance toward these styles. In cinema,
the impression of movement the mediums most essential phenomenon, ac-
cording to Eisenstein is produced by a succession of stills shown at a speed of
twenty-four images per second. This compels the viewer to perceive these succes-
sive images not as individual frames, but rather as an unbroken flow. If the speed
of projection were decreased, the viewer would see this succession for what it is
that is to say, a mere succession. This would destroy the optical illusion and, by
the same token, the impression of continuous movement.
Similarly, pictorial montage could be operative for Eisenstein only if it was not
perceived as such. Futurists and Cubists exhibit too obviously their assembling
devices in their compositions and, in doing so, they fail to convey a visceral sen-
sation of movement their compositions instead constitute a type of intellectual
game. Daumiers power, for Eisenstein, lay in that the viewer registered his mon-
tage at an unconscious level. In 1937, then, in his exploration of cinemas ances-
tors, Eisenstein formed an artistic hierarchy grounded in formal and cognitive
appreciations, with focus on a works capacity to arouse efficient motor impres-
sions.
Ten years later, by the time he wrote the Notes, Eisensteins agenda had chang-
ed. Delaunays work, for instance, is not presented in the text as incongruous
with Daumiers, but rather as its logical continuation. An epistemological shift,
then, occurred: Eisenstein grew concerned with constructing an ancestry for ci-
nematographic montage based not simply in a works capacity to create continu-
ity from discontinuity, but in its capacity to respond to fundamental anthropolo-
gical urges. In this respect, Eisensteins array of references became much larger
than they were previously. He was no longer concerned primarily with whether
Daumiers works were more valuable than the ones by Delaunay or the Futurists,
as all responded to the same drive: the desire to play with time and space.

2. The Heritage We
Renounce: Eisenstein in
Historio-graphy1
Franois Albera
Eisensteins Notes for a General History of Cinema, as they reach us today2 incom-
plete, disparate, condensed, cryptic, but written within a specific timeframe,
chronologically speaking (1946-1948), and assigning themselves a specific object
show an Eisensteinian approach that is both familiar and new concerning the
history of cinema. Indeed, while historical developments abound in Eisensteins
writings on films along with the cultural and social phenomena he deals with
no project for a history of cinema as a medium proper may be found in them. Up
to the point of the writing of the Notes, Eisenstein only projected cinema (and
only Soviet cinema) forward, rather than considering it in its past or genesis,
and its history took place within a political framework.3 Only other arts had a
past, and served as the past of cinema, since cinema inherited them and trans-
formed them on its own ground (synthesis).4 So, had this cinema which Eisen-
stein, feeling a bit cramped by,5 wanted to outgrow by the late 1920s become,
to paraphrase Hegel, a thing of the past for the Eisenstein of 1946, turned into an
object of history within the Academy of Sciences?6
The Filmmaker and His Shadow

Like any text considered at a distance, the Notes offer to us today a reserve of
suggestions and insights that were perhaps not apparent at the time of their
writing: something forgotten (impens) (to use the term of Maurice Merleau-
Ponty applies to Husserl in The Philosopher and His Shadow) that, through a
book, comes to us as never before thought.7
I.
How should this project for a general history of cinema be approached? The
adjective clearly serves to differentiate it from a particular history, that of Soviet
267
cinema, but its scope is also wider. Indeed, these Notes involve a genuine histor-
io-graphic project,8 which is set in a place, an institution, has a purpose, as-
signs itself an object, and raises issues of methodology and writing, so as to
establish this history on the basis of socio-aesthetic-anthropological beliefs
about art in general and, more specifically, about cinema. This historical as well
as theoretical model not only outlines the place of cinema, but also the definition
of it that may be given. At stake in this historiographic operation is a renewal
of the understanding of cinema as an object (of knowledge) to construct, not
as an (empirical) object to describe. This explains why this history is not that of
films and authors, classified according to geographical areas and stylistic schools
as most film histories are, starting as they do from a fatal distinction between
cinema as an invention and technical device, and films as works of art.9 Rather, it
is clearly a history of cinema in the more general sense of the term (an expanded
sense), of which Eisensteins aesthetic thought had provided a structural ver-
sion of sorts with the notion and instrument of cinematographism [kinemato-
grafizm] or cinmatisme.10 The program remained embryonic and Eisensteins
death brought it to an end, yet its echo may be heard to this day, in a delayed
manner, within historical research on cinema as it has developed over the past
thirty years.
Let us not dwell on the institutional dimension, about which we still know too
little at this time: Eisenstein, who had taught at the State Institute of Cinemato-
graphy (GIK) since 1928 and had put a lot of effort into this task in the 1930s and
the 1940s, was also appointed head of the Cinema Section of the Institute of Art
History of the USSR Academy of Science in June 1947, after being awarded the
title of Doctor in Art Science in 1939 based on his personal works. The Institute,
founded in 1944, was directed by the painter, art historian, and museum curator
Igor Grabar (formerly director of the National Institute of Fine Arts, of the Acad-
emy of Fine Arts and of the workshop for the restoration of works of art). The
Cinema Section opened in October, and in November Eisenstein was developing
the plans for a course in the psychology of art for the University of Moscow, after
including the issue of the creative process in his curriculum at GIK.11 This strong
contribution to teaching should be analyzed with regard to Eisensteins situation
in the field of Soviet cinema after World War II; the condemnation of the second
part of Ivan the Terrible and the state of his health were to keep him away from the
studios for a long time. Was it a social strategy on his part? Furthermore, what
should be made of the entry of cinema into the institution in question? As early
as 1925, the Leningrad Institute of Art History had created a cinematographic
committee, then a faculty of cinema, offering a four-year course of studies under
the direction of Yuri Tynyanov. Yet its missions were tightly related to needs for
professional training (scriptwriters, critics, film club organizers, technicians)
and its framework was that of a poetics of film.12 Eisensteins project was of a
different nature, its object being cinema, as I already pointed out. The short-term
268 franois albera

goal was to encourage research and provide an orientation for courses taught in
the Institutes Section on the History and Theory of the Cinema, but also to un-
dertake the publication of a universal history of cinema in seven volumes,13
whose foundations would be laid out in these Notes.
His object, his method, and his writing are obviously the most interesting di-
mensions to examine for our purposes. They provide the frameworks through
which the undertaking should be understood, as well as the modes of its imple-
mentation; they are also part of Eisensteins great theoretical efforts of the time
(Metod, in particular), a foretaste of which is given by the 1944 article Dickens,
Griffith and the Film Today.
II.
What conception of history is put forth, and more specifically, what conception
of film history?
Three concentric circles with different temporalities organize the historical ap-
proach, defining three objects and three temporalities. The first defines a general
framework which belongs to the Marxist vulgate and is implicit, or sometimes
bluntly explicit, in all Eisensteins writings: in short, it relates cultural and artistic
phenomena as well as the evolution of techniques of expression to class strug-
gle.14 It is a long-term history, that of means of production and social forma-
tions, with particular emphases that depend on more event-based political con-
figurations (as in the Bismarck/Wagner relationship). The second concerns the
evolution of the medium from its origins to its advent and its development, un-
derstood in a general sense: the magic lantern, optical toys, photography, etc. It
pertains to a more detailed, more compact temporality (causality). It includes
what is usually called precinema, which it expands to encompass painting,
architecture, sculpture, stained glass, engraving, typography, etc., on the one
hand, and spectacles as a whole on the other (shadow shows, theater, music
hall, conjuring tricks, wax museums, etc.). The third involves yet another tem-
porality, that of human psychology and its basic components (fear of death, need
to freeze time, desire to preserve the appearance of what was, etc.) as expressed
by beliefs, mythologies, or rituals in which practices such as embalming, mum-
mification, death masks, funerary monuments are privileged. This belongs in a
historical anthropology.
III.
The issue in reading these notes may be one of determining which of these three
levels (and their sublevels) is most prominent in the exposition chosen, in the
writing of history involved, and accordingly which one considers the other two
as auxiliaries. That is, what object did Eisenstein give himself, and what form of
the heritage we renounce: eisenstein in historioraphy 269

intelligibility did he construct under the title of General History of Cinema? Is it
the advent of a mass art coinciding with the socialist regime and the new social
totality founded upon equality? Is it the gestation, the process of trial and error,
and the advent of a Seventh Art that would supplant all others and occupy the
place of art par excellence in the twentieth century, due to its technical and in-
dustrial nature? Is it the pursuit of the same drives, the same desires inherent
to humans for as long as one can remember whether drawing on walls, making
pottery, painting at the court or writing Romantic poetry? What importance
should be given to the assertion according to which cinema surpasses and
encompasses other arts because of its coincidence with the times, with indus-
trial, technical, social, and political modernity? This theme of the 1920s,15 whose
appearance here may be unexpected, constitutes the premise of the general his-
torical framework: the collapse of bourgeois society, the disintegration of the
arts in a second baroque, the loss of unity, of synthesis, and the possibility of
retrieving them in a cinema that starts from scratch, is only a technique but
inherits everything and, within a socialist society invested with social unity
(Proletarians of all countries, unite!), may promote this everything as a mass
art, harking back to the idea of synthesis of the Greeks (dithyrambs, liturgies,
etc.).16 This synthesis would be achieved within a new social and aesthetic total-
ity, whereas due to social divisions, only dreams of synthesis (the Symbolists), a
failure to achieve it (Picasso), or some hostility toward it (Dada)17 existed in the
early twentieth century.
Clearly, to these three conceptual frameworks correspond three Eisensteins,
which are those constructed by his commentators: Marxist, Structuralist, and
now intermedial, to which correspond efforts to find his proximity to various
thinkers (Hegel, Lvi-Strauss, Bakhtin, Warburg), an effort authorized or even
fostered by the encyclopedic and incomplete, totalizing and unfinished char-
acter of the Eisensteinian corpus.
These three circles, distinguished here in an apparent hierarchy, in fact never
cease to cross and interact with one another. The syncretism of cinema that de-
fines level 2 (expanded cinema) is the product of level 1 (the state of productive
forces and social relations) and proceeds from level 3 (anthropology), which it
gave its fullest expression. If the painting of movement may appear in the sec-
ond circle, it is on the basis of the grounds of the third (relation to time), while
the first explains its social function (institutions, addressees). Here there is not
some simple correspondence: the state of society, the development of productive
forces, of technical means, allow artistic evolutions, but feedback effects can be
observed: Aesthetic tendencies become initial technical possibilities,18 writes
Eisenstein. Here there is no such thing as autonomous history of forms or of
media: the history of the medium does not follow the logic of autonomy, of spe-
cificity, but originates in a comparative history. To understand cinema, other
media should be examined, as well as cultural series with which it develops
270 franois albera

relations of intersection, belonging, coincidence or difference, and hybridiza-
tion. Conversely, cinema is a reader, an analyzer of other artistic and specta-
cular forms; it is, in Lev Manovichs words, the key cultural form of the twenti-
eth century.19
At this point it is necessary to return to the adjective general which describes
this projected cinema history. It echoes what Michel Foucault said at the begin-
ning of The Archaeology of Knowledge: a general history challenges the assump-
tions of a global history based on causation, analogy, and consistency, where
all phenomena are drawn around a single center a principle, a meaning, a
spirit, a world-view, an overall shape. On the contrary, a general history would
deploy the space of a dispersion: neither a plurality of histories juxtaposed and
independent of one another (economy, institutions, sciences, religions, litera-
tures, etc.), nor coincidences of dates, or analogies of form and meaning be-
tween these different histories. The task of a general history is
to determine what form of relation may be legitimately described between

these different series; what vertical system they are capable of forming; what
interplay of correlation and dominance exists between them; what may be the
effect of shifts, different temporalities, and various rehandlings; in what
distinct totalities certain elements may figure simultaneously.20
It is probably in this space that the historio-graphy of Eisenstein can be important

to us today: the state of knowledge with regard to the cinema in the narrow sense
was what it was in 1946-1948 (see below), but the way Eisenstein apprehends this
area and especially the unusual way he divides up chronologies and disciplinary
fields opens an approach that is both more accurate (commitment to technical
processes, details) and broader, placing the cinema in ductile mobile epis-
temes through which we can relate representational traditions (linear perspec-
tive), social orders (with their hierarchies), and methods of communication (mo-
bile typeface) without giving these anachronistic conceptual connections the
coherence of an explanatory system. In this respect the new history and espe-
cially its efforts to connect cinema to a context and a set of cultural, intellectual,
symbolic, and technological factors (a path opened by Crary),21 is not only in
proximity to Eisensteins approach, but can also find in it a far bolder example
of how to draw relations between areas that maps drawn by individual disciplines
leave uncharted.
The theoretical discourse elaborated by Eisenstein (with its generalizing ten-
dency and, one might say, its superego attitude) takes the form of a vectorized
historic speech (origin, evolution, chronology), but his theoretical practice, his
historio-graphy, continues to create new tentative timelines, and links disjointed
moments or phenomena with no obvious relationship between them. Consider

the trivial example of the lists he creates, especially the ones of technical inven-
tions: it seems as if he is copying them from the book by Lewis Mumford, Tech-
nology and Civilization (1934), while in reality he reorganizes them according to
new arrangements; for the falsely neutral initial chronological list, he substitutes
other meaningful relationships.
IV.
Eisenstein developed a program that the New History of cinema partly set out
to realize, unknowingly, after 1978. This program includes not only experiences
of vision, optical machines and toys, visual apparatuses (panoramas, dioramas,
stereoscopes), the photographic snapshot, and chronophotography, but also vi-
sual spectacles (phantasmagorias, Grand Guignol, wax museums, automatons,
shadow shows of the Chat Noir), spectacles of light and fountains, pyrotech-
nics, and even rarely considered examples (the model of stained glass, a trans-
parent image requiring the projection of light and suggesting developments on
the side of color processes). It is a program whose examination of exchanges
between media echoes some aspects of the current theory of remediation. The
New Historians had already built bridges between Eisenstein and early cinema,22
but here the approach of this history itself is involved, to the point that this effect
of anticipation leads one to wonder not only what is similar and what is differ-
ent in the two methods, but also to what extent Eisensteins may have a present
value in the continuation of these works, beyond their delayed encounter.
Such anteriority also brings up the question of the intellectual context in which
Eisenstein found himself while formulating this type of program. What were his
sources, the contemporary works he used? This concerns the history of cinema
as well as a certain number of analytical positions the question of movement in
painting, for example, which was present at the same time in the films on art by
Emmer, Ragghianti, and others, in Auriols articles,23 and was introduced earlier
by Vachel Lindsay and Lon Moussinac. Which histories of cinema were available
to Eisenstein as he set out on his own? Or, more simply, what were the contem-
porary historiographical tendencies concerning the history of cinema? In the
USSR, there were none. Nikolai Lebedev (whose book came out in 1947) devoted
himself only to (silent) Russian and Soviet cinemas and began with the first Lu-
mire screening in Russia in 1896. Internationally,24 there was Bardche and Bra-
sillachs Histoire du cinma, which he had read,25 and in Dickens, Griffith and the
Film Today, he cited a number of books on American cinema.26 All these his-
tories of cinema had their historical narrative start in 1895 or 1896, except Cois-
sacs Histoire du cinmatographe (1925), which focused on technical evolution and,
in Germany, that of Liesegang (1926), who published a history of the magic lan-
tern; it is not certain, however, that Eisenstein consulted them.27
272 franois albera

The case of Terry Ramsayes A Million and One Nights: A History of the Motion
Picture, is different. The author taught courses at New Yorks New School for
Social Research in 1926, the same year that his book appeared.28 Eisenstein had
read this work, whose long preface, The Prehistory of the Screen, examines the
nature of art, and whose first chapter is devoted to Aristotle, Leonardo da Vinci,
Athanasius Kircher, Peter Mark Roget, Joseph Plateau, and the like. Most impor-
tantly, Ramsaye hits in advance upon several Eisensteinian themes in his pre-
face, examining the question of the evolution of writing and the image, through
hieroglyphs, ideograms, and early alphabets (which Vachel Lindsay had already
considered). The progression from the concrete picture to the abstract thought
is nearly identical in every form of expression. This places the motion picture in a
most significant light.29 We might also inquire as to whether some of Eisen-
steins sources came from this book, to which Georges Sadoul pays homage in
the first volumes of his history of cinema.
Sadouls Histoire gnrale du cinma

The first two volumes of Sadouls Histoire gnrale du cinma came out as Eisenstein
was writing his Notes.30 The text bears the same title as the Notes, that of a gen-
eral history, implying that there is no particular history either of the medium or,
worse, of cinematic art.31 This position leads Sadoul, like Eisenstein, to take a
look at a whole array of spectacles and media other than cinema and to put for-
ward a series of connections between economy, technology, society, and culture,
going back to 1832.
While it is indeed true that cinema was at the outset linked to antecedents by
commentators, usually scientists or popularizers of science, in journals like La
Nature or La Science illustre and in scholarly and other manuals,32 the division
between technical history and artistic history that occurs later on in order to
legitimize the new medium dispels this preoccupation, or at least confines it to
the early age of cinema.33 Sadoul thus combines a reflection on the evolution
of cinematic language (as he writes in regard to Mlis)34 with one on cinemas
technical evolution. This research leads him to take a stand against the partisans
of specificity to which he opposes an intermediality constitutive of cinema
and to endlessly bring up practices from stage shows, photography, graphic
design, and so forth, in order to support his historical conclusions. Cinema is
not only a specific art, he writes several years later in a debate with Claude
Mauriac. The art of film was not born in a test tube, and did not grow up in a
laboratory. It is not the artificial fabrication of alchemists, but rather bor-
rowed almost all of its means from different forms of universal culture, and
carried out a synthesis of the other arts, and this synthesis was instrumental in
creating a new art, a specificity.35 Cinemas specificity, in other words, was to

be a synthesis, an explicitly Eisensteinian notion developed particularly in the
Notes for a General History.
Eisenstein knew of Sadoul through Moussinac; he read him and corresponded
with him until the eve of his death.36 One hypothesis is that his reading of Sadoul
served as a trigger changing his perspective toward cinema, which differed from
the perspective he had developed under the aegis of All-Union Society for Cultur-
al Relations with Foreign Countries (VOKS). On September 1, 1946, he wrote to
Sadoul: I enjoyed very much reading the first volume of Histoire [gnrale] du
cinma, and I hope to see the subsequent volumes soon. Did he read the next
volume? Two clues point to a positive answer. First, a note within the main text
written for the English and French editions of Dickens, Griffith and the Film
Today on the close-up in Mlis and the English Brighton School refers to
Sadouls second volume.37 In addition, a passage from the Notes dated January 4,
1948,38 alludes to Lucien Nonguets 1905 Potmkin (a reconstructed actualit),
referring to Sadoul39 as well as erroneously to a book on Mlis.40 Sadoul,
who wrote for Communist newspapers and periodicals (or those of allies of the
Communists), could be accessed in the USSR without a problem. Between 1937
and 1947, a whole series of periodical articles developed his historical undertak-
ing before it took on its final form, touching on invention, animated films,
sound, Edison, mile Reynaud, Mlis, and the Brighton School.41
Reading these articles and then going back to Sadouls first couple of volumes
reveals historiographic strategies completely different from those of his prede-
cessors (Coissac, Bardche and Brasillach, Vincent), his contemporaries (Jeanne
and Ford, Toeplitz), and even his successors (Mitry, Robinson). This difference
notably has to do with his constant attention not only to the technical and eco-
nomic dimensions of the context, but also to cultural series, visual and audio-
visual spectacles that belonged in the realm of the emergence of cinema or her-
alded it. His first chapter, The Precursors of Cinema, is thus devoted to
shadow shows and magic lanterns; it touches on Java, the wayang, the karagz,
and the development of shadow shows in Europe in the late eighteenth century,
paying close attention to the links these media always maintained with the events
of their time (during the Revolution, for example, with songs), how they evolved
and intersected with others (the print workshops in Metz and Nancy, which
worked in the style of images dEpinal, published cutout shadows, for instance),
how their audience changed and how they fed into the first films (Mliss tricks
and their characters growing or shrinking, their noses getting longer, etc.), and
how these media coexisted with cinema (Saliss Chat Noir, Caran dAches and
Rivires friezes with their perspective effects, crowd effects, a musical or sung
accompaniment, a lecturer), just as cinema was interested in conjuring, panto-
mimes, and optical theatre. Zglinicki42 was to adopt this approach a few years
later. As his subtitle indicates, he included the precursors in the history of
cinema, which was far from obvious since, shortly afterward, archaeologist
274 franois albera

Kurt-Wilhelm Marek (who signed his texts as C.W. Ceram) postulated that it was
proper to have cinema begin with film and projection, everything else (optical
toys, shadow shows, lanterns, etc.) being beside the point:
Knowledge of automatons, or of clockwork toys, played no part in the story of

cinematography, nor is there any link between it and the production of
animated scenes. We can therefore omit plays, the baroque automatons,
and the marionette theatre. Even the deviltries of Porta, produced with the
camera obscura, the phantasmagorias of Robertson, the dissolving views of
Child, are not to the point. All these discoveries did not lead to the first
genuine moving picture sequence.43
While Cerams first argument, which distinguishes the cinmatographe (the

technical equipment of film) and the cinma (something more than a tech-
nique), is quite common, he makes two other interesting distinctions that allow
him to define what is admissible and inadmissible into a history of cinema. First,
there is the distinction between the mechanical and the technical: the first is
static, while the second is dynamic, and the cinema is a product (an invention)
of dynamic sciences. Here there is not an evolution from one to the other,
but a mutation of mechanical thought into technical thought, writes Ceram,
allowing him to exclude, as we have seen, numerous practices used in spectacles
and representations. He also distinguishes between the cinematic image, which
presents a true movement, on the one hand, and the change of position of
magic lantern images or the transformation of two separate images into one, via
the illusory identification of the thaumatrope, on the other. Eisenstein takes an
opposite position on all these points, in particular concerning the Urphnomen des
Films, which for him is rooted precisely in the fact that film produces the idea of
movement (inside the spectators head) from two immobile images that follow
each other and are superimposed. Art historian Pierre Francastel will also take up
this aspect of cinema in his courses.44
New History doubtlessly caused the historiography of cinema to shift from
the issue of origin to that of genesis to use Canguilhems distinction from the
linear, gradual narrative to archaeology and genealogy to speak like Foucault
but the scope of the epistemological shift of 1978 can be qualified. While Sa-
douls discourse generally follows an evolutionary vector founded on causal se-
quences essentially because of a preoccupation with the evolution of cinema-
tographic language its analytical foci across historical strata show another
approach, particularly when it comes to intermedial exchanges. His thoughts on
the dialectics of invention, the state of techniques, and social demand are little
known.45 After Georges Friedmann, Bazin pointed to their novelty in his account
of the first volume of the Histoire gnrale du cinma, before claiming this no-
velty as his own and casting Sadoul as a Stalinist Marxist in the final version of

the text.46 What distinguishes Sadoul from Bazin and brings him closer to Eisen-
stein is precisely this interest for material objects, practices, and experimenta-
tion. This position brought both to ceaselessly consider the expansion of cinema
to include other technological possibilities. In a little book of scientific popular-
ization published in 1957, Sadoul thus dealt with magnetic recording and the
immaterial transmission of images, their transformation in modulated electric
currents (just as Moussinac had touched on the remote transmission of film in
1926).47 Far from subscribing to the struggle of the Platonic idea against the
weightiness of matter evoked by Bazin,48 Eisenstein, Moussinac, and Sadoul are
situated instead in what Althusser called the underground current of the materi-
alism of the encounter.49
Eisensteins position as a historian, which he shared with Sadoul, drove him to
consider new developments in engraving, photography, stained glass, and ty-
pography, for instance. To take the case of photography alone, the place of the
photographic in his writings the capture of profilmic data, the record had
resulted in photography being written off. The same type of disappearance may
be observed with the Formalists. The point was to develop constructive pro-
cesses, montage first among them, and photographic capture was seen solely as
the raw material for the operation.50 In the Notes, however, photography is ap-
proached with a historical depth that goes back to mummies and death masks,
followed by a return to the art of photography. This art is mentioned more
specifically in reference to Hill,51 who was associated with an elaboration of the
image through exposure times, composite images, editing in time (light) and
space (thirty negatives for one image), just as Le Gray (also cited) was in the
practice of editing together two negatives (sky and sea): both run counter to the
prejudice of photography as the capturer of what is, the unaltered, automatic
print. This is why the passage dated December 2, 1946, on the eternal preserva-
tion of the physical being through the mummification of the hero or the death
mask in the prelogical mentality, may plausibly be compared to Bazins On-
tology of the Photographic Image, which situates the mummy complex at the
origin of painting and sculpture, and adds to it the Holy Shroud, a synthesis of
the relic and photography. Eisenstein may have had access to this text given its
date of writing;52 he had himself already established the link between Veronicas
veil, the Holy Shroud, and photography in his Mexican drawings of the corrida,
combining the crucifixion of the bull and the crucifixion of the toreador, Veroni-
ca and muleta.53 But what distinguishes these two approaches, pointing us to-
ward the path to historical construction according to Eisenstein? A text by Sadoul
responding to Bazin54 may set us on the right track.55 In it, Sadoul proposes a
History of Photography whose starting point challenges the Bazinian postu-
late: for Sadoul, to say that photography has freed painting from the servitude
of likeness is a commonplace which, in various forms and for a quarter cen-
tury, a hundred men of letters and critics have repeated [], someone offering
276 franois albera

painters to raise a monument to their liberators, Nipce and Daguerre. Bazin
had written, Nipce and Lumire redeemed it [painting].56 Photography,
achieving the aims of baroque art, had freed visual arts from their obsession
with likeness and led painting to its autonomy. Previously, according to Bazin,
painting basically strove in vain to delude us. Our satisfaction only came from
the lack of more perfect processes, whereas photography and cinema are discov-
eries which solve once and for all, and in its very essence, the problem of real-
ism. Sadoul responds: photography transcribes reality much more imperfectly
than moulding, as it obeys a set of conventions (the savage who does not
know these will see nothing on the piece of paper held out to him).
Bazins thought falls within the framework of the paradox of the indexical
conception of photography, a conception which brings together imprint and
presence through a contact between the photographed object and its photosensi-
tive trace on the chemical medium. Contrary to Bazin, Eisenstein privileges the
material reality of the medium and the technical apparatuses making representa-
tion possible: capture, inscription, encoding, projection, etc. The moulding
and the impression are archai, but one cannot leave it at that! The medium has
a materiality that reacts to said impression; to end up on the medium, an optical
apparatus (lenses) for capturing and transformation was necessary, the light
emitted by the subject had to be transported onto the medium (that the process
comes close to being instantaneous the speed of light does not cancel the fact
that there is indeed an operation taking place) and, in the cinema, the screening
of single frames running in the projector adds another transcription to the opera-
tion, even though the iconic link (likeness, figuration) is maintained. Now that
the encoding of the image captured by the electronic camera and its rendition
on the screen no longer require the conservation of traces, but rather a calcula-
tion, the ambiguities of perception (Do we see the image reflected on the retina?
Is it the eye, or the soul, which sees?)57 and even more so the camera obscura as
model for perception, are fading away: our eye converts electromagnetic waves
into images.58 Furthermore, the distance between the capture of images and
that of sounds is relativized: Wittgenstein observed the shift from score to musi-
cal performance to the recording of music in the grooves of a record, referring to
the process as a whole through the law of projection and translation.59
A text in his memoirs, The Works of Daguerre,60 precisely situates Eisen-
steins concern. He writes of his visit to a small museum in California in which
daguerreotypes are exhibited in a display window. His whole attention goes to
the material reality of these metal plates that reflect (as a mirror) the image of
the person looking at it as much as they bear (as an impression) the printed
image, depending on the angle adopted;61 and to the layers of historicity, which
Eisenstein peels off one by one:

It was the first time I had seen and understood daguerreotypes.
They were small, in parts almost black, and dated back to the time when zinc
was used; or they had a smooth surface that winked at me archly it had to be
held at a certain angle for the glass surface to allow you to see the image kept
inside the small lockets. They were framed by a ridged border of brass discs
as fine as foil.
And there was a decoration stamped on the outside a bouquet.
And a piece of the living image, like a living fragment of the era, a small
picture of the living national character, lay within. []
The past, if not actual antiquity, then another world, another century, looked
at me with living eyes from those tiny, opened lockets. One half was slightly
shabby with a faded velvet padding, orange, cherry or chocolate in colour; the
others contained the portraits: eyes, partings of the hair, caps, and beards in
the Uncle Sam style of countless people [].
Once they were famous, distinguished: the first inhabitants of their
settlements; the agile, business-like and efficient Americans of the forties,
fifties and sixties! []
Like the throat specialists small mirror, the surface of another, earlier
daguerreotype, reflected a ray of light. Between the flashes on its surface I
could catch the fleeting outlines of a pale checked pattern. []
The poses in the daguerreotypes were almost as traditional [as in the old
painted portraits]. But heavens, what a variety of faces, what traces of an
exciting past, could be discerned in the folds of those faces; the double chins
and crows feet []
Young, sorrowful faces looked up from under their Confederate caps, as if
expecting an imminent death in the field hospitals. These have been so
ruthlessly and touchingly described in the pages of notes and diaries of the
great grizzled poet, Whitman62
This text, which exemplifies Eisensteins historical method, stands compari-

son with some passages in Walter Benjamins A Short History of Photography.
It simultaneously grasps the material reality of the daguerreotype not only a
photograph, but also a decorative object, an object defined socially by the added
value of its decorum and the doubly imprisoned life (traces engraved on metal
and displayed in showcases) of those who were captured, whose looks actua-
lized in the present reach us across the temporal gap of several decades like the
light of dead stars. Lastly, the text also registers the historical documentation
through the image of a society soon struck by the tragic events which were to
reap many of these carefree models in the slaughter of the American Civil War.
278 franois albera

The Cradle of Cinema
One of the most striking and difficult-to-understand chapters that we owe to this
methodology of a general history is perhaps that entitled In Praise of the
Cine-chronicle, since, upon first glance, it seems to be dedicated to a particu-
larly Soviet problem in which, furthermore, Eisenstein was personally impli-
cated. Here he defends his own earlier artistic position (in question here are only
the 1920s and not the later films, particularly not Ivan). But the approach of the
essay derives from the historio-graphic logic of that general history and further-
more offers a case study. Its object, still insufficiently evaluated today due to its
status and the outcomes it faced or could face, is that of documentary or actu-
ality cinema, in Russian referred to by the single expression cine-chronicle
(kino-khronika or khronika). More specifically, what the essay recalls are the viru-
lent debates of the 1920s concerning factography, documents, and archives. The
stakes of Eisensteins inquiry are nothing less than the correctness (or incorrect-
ness) of his position against the partisans of cine-fact, of nonfiction, and that
whole current that grew over the course of the decade around Gan, Vertov, Arva-
tov, Brik, Tretyakov, and a few others, in the promotion of the material above the
subject or story (both of which deform the material in the shape that they impose
upon it). Eisenstein early on made the choice of a cinema of re-creation, or re-
mise-en-scne of factual material (in Strike or Potmkin) with revolutionary pathos
(what he here calls epic cinema).63 Vertov vehemently reproached him for this
dtournement of Kino-Eye in favor of played cinema, and in The Fall of Romanov
Dynasty, Esfir Shub craftily introduced documentary shots of Russian warships
and life on board (for example, those of sailors washing the bridge while the
officers celebrated in their dining room with a dog on the table) that aimed to
show the uselessness of mise-en-scne as far as the montage of factual elements
was concerned. Eisenstein then advanced the radical hypothesis of intellectual
cinema with October, The General Line, and the unfinished projects Capital and Glass
House.64
The factographic movement, which included artistic practices other than cine-
ma (photography and literature, in particular), carried out that movement of art
into the social world that Constructivist painting and sculpture had engaged in
on their Productivist side,65 following through on all the consequences of the
Cubist revolution of papiers colls and the end of representation, a revolution
whose repeated attempts at the abolition of the figure of the artist, arts auton-
omy, and the construction of life will become familiar over the course of the
twentieth century (from Dada to Objectivism or Situationism, and, within the
history of cinema, from the films of the Kinoks to Morin and Rouchs cinma-
vrit and the Godard of the years 1966-1976.)
Eisenstein, criticized even by those close to him, like Tretyakov and Arvatov,
with whom he had worked in the theater, had not participated in the debate with-

in the avant-garde journal LEF. He does it here in his own way articulated in
Metod as a problem of the psychology of art: How does an event become a
work, how does one move from a fact of life to an artistic fact?66 giving it
a historical depth and a general impact. He begins by situating documentary or
cine-chronicle at the basis of Soviet cinema, doing so by separating out a first
phase of capturing facts that he calls eidetic, and a second that he inscribes
within a history of ornamentation. This recognition, of course, does not lack
its dialectical overcoming, an Aufhebung realized by Eisensteins own cinema, the
negation of the negation. (Kuleshov ended with the arrival of Strike. As did
Vertov, he writes in the text entitled Pioneers and Innovators.67) It brings
with it, however, the consciousness of the permanence of this origin in the
ulterior development of the form (survival or regression), up to the documentary
mannerism that he locates in Italian neorealism and several films imitating
postwar newsreels.
This praise is situated at a vantage point from which it examines the urge*
to secure phenomena68 (previously evoked through drives and desires such as
the desire to stop time, for immortality, and for conservation, which take differ-
ent forms in different periods and societies) through the means that allow for
them to take form (technical modalities).
This genealogy of the fixing of phenomena lists the chronicle (which de-
scribes and recounts them), photography (which fixes them in an image), the
document (that carries their trace), and impressions (which keep their lived ap-
pearance). The modalities through which these procedures are deployed are then
specified, and to each one corresponds an artistic or literary example, sometimes
paradoxical: Homer is objective, Egyptian art tendentious, the Tale of Igors Cam-
paign and Les Grandes misres de la guerre (Callot) emotional, the Disasters of War
(Goya) pathetic, the Mysteries dramatic, and Shakespearean Chronicles poetic.
This is a random chronology that could be developed just as well in the direc-
tion of history as in reverse; the works belong to different domains based on
their distinctive traits, which do not allow one to envision a linear evolution
from one to the other, but rather construct a genealogy.
A more limited dimension is then evoked, that of commemoration, exempli-
fied by the dithyramb, the dynastic chronicle, the reconstruction of an action
and, eventually, television. This is a rather heterogeneous list from which one
needs to pick out the relevant aspects that subtextually make an argument re-
garding the Soviet situation, and the place that celebrations of founding events
and great men occupy within it. From the beginning of the 1920s, the documen-
tary cinema that counted among its practitioners Vertov, Tiss, and Kuleshov
plays an important part in this celebration (constructing a legitimizing memory),
as do other collective or smaller-scale artistic and spectacular activities. Fiction
will move in the same direction, not only with the revolutionary anniversary films
(of 1905 and then 1917) in which Eisenstein will play a notable role, but with a
280 franois albera

whole series of films dealing with the past and meant to guarantee the ideologi-
cal bases of the socialist regime (the evocation of the situation under the ancient
regimes, repressed social and political struggles, etc.). Afterward, what Khrush-
chev called the cult of personality69 gives works answering to this political
demand their familiar hypertrophic forms. From this list, then, we learn that the
dithyramb is an excessive, improvisational, and chaotic poem addressed to Dio-
nysus, a dynastic chronicle evokes the reign of a monarch. As for the reconstruc-
tion of an action, the list alludes to the mass theater as developed by Evreinov in
1919, following in the footsteps of the open-air theater that followed the French
Revolution,70 reconstituting the events of 1917 (Eisenstein speaks of it on multi-
ple occasions elsewhere). Television, meanwhile, captures and retransmits offi-
cial events, like the Lumire brothers vues, but here is identified with the Diony-
sia (festivals in honor of Dionysius, already implicated in the dithyramb),
established around 535 BC by the tyrant Peisistratos to rally citizens to the sup-
port of the new tyrannical political system.
Cinema is omitted from this series (which leaps from theater to television). It
is then considered in two forms: the originary form of the actualities or cine-
chronicle, which captures events as they are, and the epic film (that of Eisen-
stein) that succeeds them, and recreates events through mise-en-scne, much
like the medieval Mysteries that marked the exit from the church and inaugu-
rated mass spectacle.
To understand the proposition according to which the cine-chronicle, cradle
of Soviet cinema (its condition of possibility and its first form), originated from
ornamental form, one must pass through Alois Riegl and his history of the orna-
ment.71 It is not that Eisenstein inscribes himself narrowly into Riegls perspec-
tive although a whole series of ideas brings them close together,72 as does a
refusal to create a hierarchy of periods and types of art but he clearly read and
took it into account, even in his transgressions and bypassing of Rieglian princi-
ples. Arguing that the chronicle is a stage of the artistic film. The initial one.
Just as petroglyph and ornament are a stage of the future visual art and that the
chronicle is the stage of petroglyph and ornament in the history of the artistic
film, with the two same phases in the chronicle: 1) petroglyph and 2) orna-
ment,73 Eisenstein takes the opposite position from Riegl. The latter refuses
precisely this relation of succession, these stages through which the privilege
accorded to mimetic representation stigmatized later by Wilhelm Worringer in
his thesis Abstraktion und Eifhlung (1907) relegates ornamentation to a primi-
tive, preartistic stage, deriving from artisanal practices (weaving), linked to mate-
rial and utilitarian functions. For Riegl, the will to art (Kunstwollen) inspires
ornamental work from the outset; ornamental work will even come to include
figuration, as the latter enters into its field, and transforms it in accordance with
its own properties. Yet, Eisensteins chronicle of the ornament does not give it an
extra-artistic status either, since it is differentiated from the first stage, the eide-

tic, which corresponds to automatic fixation.74 The formulation is puzzling:
Why eidetic? In the Eisensteinian lexicon, particularly in the essay El Greco
and the Cinema,75 eidetic was opposed to iconic, as obraz is to izobrazhenie. It was
on the side of the concept, the nonvisible (of the essence) as opposed to the
representation, the visible (of appearance).76
Eidetic Images
The meaning that Eisenstein assigns to eidetic as far as the cine-chronicle is
concerned must be further specified in reference to what has just been said
which it will perhaps clarify retroactively.77 We find its first usage in Vertical
Montage, referring to Comrade S., a patient of the psychologists Vygotsky
and Luria.78 S. is now famous under his real name, Solomon Veniaminovich
Shereshevskii, since Lurias 1965 The Mind of a Mnemonist made the case of hyper-
memory well-known.79 Comrade S. joined an unlimited capacity to remember
with the gift of synesthesia, writes Eisenstein, and he also had the eidetic
gift i.e. the ability, not analytically but automatically and precisely, to reproduce
any drawing, however complicated.80 The term eidetic may thus come from
Luria, who uses it in his book, but the term and its particular accepted usage can
be traced back to the German psychologist Erich Rudolph Jaensch of Marburg,
who studied the phenomena of direct perception, memory, and thought trans-
mission after 1920,81 and represented an anti-Gestalt school of thought.
For Luria, eidetic images are the mental images into which S. transformed
everything that he saw, read, or heard, for the purpose of memorization. How-
ever, Luria insists on the techniques of eidetic images: according to him, S.
carried out a series of operations and employed a certain number of procedures
to recall the words and images that were presented to him. He began by putting
them into order in his head and lining them up alongside a street of his home-
town or a place from his childhood, taking care to place them in well-lit spots
and to make them as large as they needed to be. In a second stage which took
on greater importance when the laboratory experiments were continued on the
stage82 he extracted a metonymic detail from these images (for a knight, a foot
and a spur), and abridged them to put them together in a whole. In a third
stage, he decomposed the words into syllables to only keep one part of them
(usually with meaningless words that were given to him to test his capacity). The
proximity of these visual techniques with a certain number of cinematic proce-
dures (or more generally, iconic ones: one could include image lexicons, em-
blems, blazons, and symbols, such as those of Cesare Ripa)83 was not lost on
Eisenstein, particularly in the case of the close-up and the pars pro toto, as well as
the mental cinematism evoked here, in the movement and walking.84 The ei-
detic, recorded, fixed images thus are not at all photographs (unless of
282 franois albera

course one considers the hypermemory to be photographic); Luria even speaks
of thought-vision.
But what strikes Eisenstein in these accounts of S.s case is that the treatment
of exterior (phenomenal) sources capture, transmission, treatment, classifica-
tion, and transformation into mental images that can then be pulled out, re-
produced takes place mechanically in the machine-brain of this Soviet Mr.
Memory. He writes, not analytically but automatically and precisely. Here
there is an analogy with the camera (including the habituation to codes that gov-
ern the cameras functioning)85 and the films chain of reproduction. S.s case,
not cited in the Notes but underlying their argument, with its machine-memory
(cf. The fixating of the reflection of the image of phenomena in memory86)
verifies the isomorphism of the cinematic apparatus and human consciousness,
a conviction Eisenstein voices multiple times during this period.87 An automa-
toscope (the name of Edisons little-used machine, chosen because it connotes
the automatic character of the vision), the cinema technically expresses the phe-
nomenon of the reflection of reality that lies at the root of the formation and
establishment of human consciousness.88
Therefore, through S., one can take up the historical tale the history of cine-
ma from the point of view of the mechanization by technical means of the
process of reflection itself, and of the fixating of the results of such a reflection:
From the eidetic phenomenon to the photographic camera. The automatic

immediacy of the reflection of phenomena of reality in so-called eidetic
phenomenon. The fixating of the reflection of the image of phenomena in
memory. The problem of the reproduction by technical means of processes:
the getting the copy of phenomena of reality in a mechanical way, and fixating
it by technical means.89
The Ornament
This psycho-physiological genealogy, however, underwent a rupture with auto-
maticity in its first intellectualization, leading to its differentiation.90 This was
the moment of Vertovian Kinopravda and Kinoglaz, which introduced the
pars pro toto, repetition, analogies, and rhythm, and which correspond to the or-
nament in the history of art. To make this point, Eisenstein takes from Riegl the
notion of contour. This is a distinctive element for the historian because to repro-
duce an animal in clay does not require, he writes, a great ingeniousness; the
instinct for imitation suffices. Drawing a characteristic and deriving a silhouette,
however, result from a creative act: they assign a given surface the image of a
being of nature. But where the Viennese art historian praises areas of solid color
and linearity, detachment from the prejudice of imitation or servitude to material
and customs, Eisenstein develops a whole different approach, considering con-

tour as bodily movement: it revolves around the self, taking it as support (as in
tattoo art), then revolves around a motif, before grasping it from a distance as
part of the representational order. Here we find one of the main dimensions of
Eisensteins aesthetic reflection, one dealing with the line, which his own draw-
ing practice puts to work: the continuous line, taken not as prowess but as cor-
poreal movement. The ornament plays with the repetition of motifs, an uninter-
rupted linking together, drawing close to the frieze or the linking of figures on
the film strip, or the drawings on the drum of a phenakistiscope. In this sense,
Eisenstein proposes that the departure point for the new era (in the arts as well)
of Soviet film art, as well as human culture in general was the chronicle, but
that he made it explode, seizing hold of it and giving it a new expressive quality
in Strike and Potmkin. Vertovs charges that Strike plagiarized Kino-Eye are here
recognized and reclaimed by Eisenstein.91
The limits and the risks of the ornament are those of ornamentalism (Vertov),
reornamentation, regression toward repetition, and the association of images
through assonance and analogy. The cinema of mise-en-scne, however, can
likewise fall back to the restaging of the chronicle through fictional means
and degenerate into documentary stylization, an aesthetic mannerism (as with
Rossellini and neorealism, Nol Coward, and certain war films), as with televi-
sion, which is subject to a chronicle-ization, or the mise-en-scne of the con-
temporary document.
Baroque and Decadence

Eisensteins agility as a comparatist, these provisory constructions, these pro-
posed lineages, and these unconventional connections create a centrifugal his-
tory of cinema, to say the least, one that distinguishes itself from those enter-
prises that call themselves such but in actuality end up proving centripetal. The
mobilization of psychology, ethnology, art history, philosophy, and a whole ser-
ies of other kinds of knowledge, however, poses the problem of the relevance of
these resources, many of which have become obsolete, and the effect that they
might have on Eisensteins argument, running the risk of constructing a poetic
of origins, as Rmy Labrusses writes of Josef Stryzgowski.92
Contrary to this centrifugal character, one must note the socio-historical fra-
mework of the texts, which sometimes has effects of a surprising rigidity. As
soon as one situates the Notes within the whole of Eisensteins theoretical reflec-
tion, one notices that the articulation between the three levels identified earlier
which one sees here in a single phase of work that unites the collection, the
accumulation of facts, and a certain number of perspectives sketched in pro-
grammatic fashion, often gathered in formulas was not always as flexible and
subtle as what we admire here. In Metod, a text written around the same time, as
well as in many earlier works (including Nonindifferent Nature), historical analysis
284 franois albera

of a socio-political type often dominates the approach and clearly leads to a ser-
ies of contradictions. One such contradiction can be located on the level of dis-
cord between the vision as a whole a long-term social history and the precise,
documented examination of the history of media, spectacles, and symbolic prac-
tices of all orders. The interest that Eisenstein shows toward expressive proce-
dures is developed under the sign of an assessment of the whole, always de-
ferred, postponed until later, and sometimes brutally articulated: all plastic and
literary effervescence unfolds against the backdrop of decadence, of the social
disintegration of bourgeois society and capitalism,93 and a baroque drifting of
the arts (the neobaroque that he alleges at the outset).94 Eugenio dOrs, whom
he references here and who develops a transhistorical conception of the baroque,
gives this preliminary definition of it:
Everywhere where we find multiple contradictory intentions united in a single

gesture, the stylistic result belongs to the category of the baroque. The
baroque spirit to express ourselves in a vulgar manner does not know
what it wants. It wants, at the same time, the for and the against. It wants []
to linger and to flee. [] It flouts the demands of the contradiction
principle.95
One might relativize the importance of these statements by seeing in them a

tribute paid to the reigning Zhdanovism, a doxa that it was hardly wise to contra-
dict. Thus in Nonindifferent Nature Eisenstein opposes the healthy and physical
polyphonic synesthesia of the beginning of the century to its degeneration at
the end of the century and during the era of decadence, a formalism (the word
carries a great deal of meaning) that leads him to recognize his own excesses
concerning attractions when he admitted to considering them outside of a
unified plot.96
This argument (of a tacked-on Zhdanovism), however, fails to take account of
two factors: for one, Eisenstein dared to show his heterodoxy in the field of art
theory more than once, even in public (recall his intervention at the All-Soviet
Congress of Film Workers in 1935 Film Form: New Problems and the re-
sponse that he made to the numerous individuals who disagreed with him as well
as to certain friends who spoke against him at the podium). Second, these
Notes and most of the texts in Metod and the Memoirs remained private texts, in
any case not published during their authors lifetime, not submitted for publica-
tion, and doubtlessly not conceived with immediate publication in mind. Most of
all, this argument ignores the connection between Eisensteins exposition of his
aesthetic method and his sociologizing statements.
In Eisenstein studies, some pointed out several years ago how on both the
diachronic axis (an evolution of thought marked by an epistemological
break97) and synchronic axis (a double regime of a wide-shot and a close-

up), contradiction extends across all of Eisensteins theoretical writings on the
questions of unity, synthesis, continuity, and totality. By entitling his last major
theoretical project Metod, he places himself on a level that bypasses plastic and
formal questions, a level of artistic method that is inscribed within a theory of
realism.
It seems a vain effort to get around this contradiction, which appears at all
levels: between 1929s Dramaturgy of Film Form and 1937s Montage, the basic
concepts remain the same but their dominant changes: the Urphnomen that
saw the conflict of two immobilities producing, by superimposition, a concept
of movement in the spectators head, becomes the fusion of a single image, sub-
suming its elements.
The question of the fragment and of fragmentation correlate of the demand
for unity and the global image gathers within itself several problems: the alle-
gorical vignettes of Adolph Menzel, analyzed in the 1940s, meet the ideal of the
pars pro toto and presuppose an off-screen a totality, an obraz (the global, non-
visible image). On the other hand the fragmentation of modern art Cubism and
Dadaism is a dislocation, a sign of the individualism caused by bourgeois so-
ciety. The reference to the baroque and the neobaroque enters into this socio-
aesthetic typology. DOrs gives a precise characterization of the classical/baroque
opposition, supported by psychological considerations (borrowed from Janet)
from which he does not draw the same negative conclusions as Nordau but
which retain the opposition between unity, center, defined contours and con-
sciousness on one hand vs. multipolarity, continuity, unconsciousness and exter-
ior attraction on the other:
When humanity is in a state of good health, the on of classicism is

established; if this weakens, the baroque on takes its place. The first
produces in morphology a kind of cnesthsie [that is to say, the consciousness
of unity]; the second abandons itself to its multipolarity, which allows the
rich and troubled springs of the subconscious to overflow. The object that
results has, in the first case, a contour and a center; in the second, it is
continuous and multipolar, lacking true contours and obeying an attraction
situated outside of itself.98
Eisenstein himself encouraged an attractional fragmentation in the 1920s, his

praise of Japanese framing in 1928-1929 stressing the practice of the cut, of ex-
traction; he made multipolar films and practiced a montage based on hetero-
geneity. Furthermore, this practice led to him being seen as connected to the
baroque. Viktor Shklovsky, criticizing October, saw each object disintegrate,
metamorphosize and the film create a Soviet Baroque style,99 and also called
for a new simplicity among filmmakers and writers.100
286 franois albera

From then on Eisenstein connects good fragmentation and good montage to
socialist society, whereas bad fragmentation is a symptom of decadence. The
characterization that he makes in socio-political terms is not at all perfunctory
a mere sign of conformity with the Stalinist doxa. Commenting an art book pub-
lished in 1938, 100 Details from Pictures in the National Gallery,101 he asks: Are we
right to try and see in this anodyne enterprise, at times closer to a jeu de gages or
hide-and-seek, an ideological tendency and the sign of an era?102 Along with
several others, like Luc and Paul Haesaertss Flandres,103 this book by Kenneth
Clark attests to a current of thought and iconographic practices that we have
nowadays reduced to that imaginary museum of Malraux which was their
heir and inspired by them that made new usage of the photography of works
of art, and of details, in particular. Eisenstein, who was greatly inspired by the
works of Legendre, Hartmann, and Willumsen on El Greco in writing his essay
on the painter,104 recognized the interest in this valorization of elements that
remained unperceived while seeing the whole image, and the marvel that carried
away the spectator who has his vision of a painting thus renewed. Even if he was
not inspired by it, he recognized himself in it. But at the same time, his practice
of using detail is different: it responds to the need to understand the whole from
a fragment that expresses everything this is theory of the obraz, the global
image. In Clark, he laments, the details are regrouped independently from the
paintings from which they come, and only on the basis of their individual charm
or their renewing value,105 before going on to broaden his critique to the maga-
zines of the 1920s and 1930s (Querschnitt, Varits, Promthe) and their usage of
photo montage.106
In the case of the detail, one can take examples from fragmentation in Eisen-
stein himself to see the difference. Thus, in his analysis of El Grecos Martyrdom
of St. Maurice, he isolates an element that might be missed at first glance: a small
part of the painting in the left corner that shows the essential details concerning
the Saints decapitation, while in the foreground, the saint is speaking with cap-
tains from the Roman army. It is a composition [that] seems to be devoid of a
subject, but takes on meaning through its arrangement of different frames, a
cine-composition, or through far-off or secondary details, through an action
without importance or secondary characters, and with a theme occupying the
background, one draws closer little by little, from one frame to the next, to the
thematic center placed at the center of the composition.107 Here it is not a case
of choosing an unusual, appealing, or simply beautiful detail, nor of reducing
the paintings unity to pieces in order to find other constructive logics, nor to
consider the detail as Daniel Arasse has in our time as a kind of lapsus
that gives a key to a hidden reading. The link here is a semantic one, the part
reflects the whole that is condensed within it and refracted in it, either narratively
(a distinct moment of the paintings story, anterior or posterior) or intellectually
(metaphorical function: in Metod, Eisenstein says that every synecdoche and me-

tonymy is inscribed, in fine, at the level of the metaphor an anticipatory inver-
sion, in a way, of Marie-Claire Roparss claim that in October, metaphor is pro-
duced by metonymy108 which puts us on the trail of the difference between
Eisensteins situation and a certain modernity).109
288 franois albera

3. The Notes for a General
History of Cinema and
the Dialectic of the
Eisensteinian Image
Luka Arsenjuk
The difficulty of Sergei Eisensteins Notes for a General History of Cinema lies not so
much in their fragmentary and unfinished nature as it does in the fact that they
present us with a text in which the history of cinema is itself achieved by cine-
matic means. Cinema appears in Eisensteins note-taking as both an object of
historical analysis and as the set of operations or means by which this analysis is
composed. By submitting his historical account to the work and the form of
montage,1 Eisenstein aims at something other than merely the production of
knowledge claims or judgments about cinemas historical status: he also wants
to produce an image (obraz) of cinemas history. The history of cinema can, for
Eisenstein, be put in relief only if it itself becomes the subject of what he called
imaginicity (obraznost); only if time as something historical is made to pass
through and lets itself be affected by the temporal experience of the image. The
texts of the Notes are, therefore, characterized by a certain tension, a split between
two rival temporalities, of which one rests on the tasks of a film historian to
stabilize time in chronologies and periodizations, to establish causal links in the
form of interpretation and narrative organization while the other takes the
shape of a demand made on the historical material of astonishing breadth by the
filmmaker in search of an image. We might therefore orient ourselves with res-
pect to Eisensteins Notes by saying that image and history do not necessarily
make sense of time in the same way. This is perhaps a strange claim to make in
relation to Eisenstein, but he was not alone among the great filmmakers with his
belief that the appearance of cinema meant that from now on history (including
cinemas own) must make a necessary detour through the heterogeneous terrain
of the (cinematic) image.
What, then, is an image in its specifically Eisensteinian conception?
289
The Drawing of a Barricade: Depiction and Defamiliarization
I propose to approach the question of the Eisensteinan image by way of a single
example: Eisensteins drawing of a barricade in the essay Montage 1937.2 The
drawing appears a few pages into the essay, after Eisenstein has already dis-
cussed the biography of the shot in his own work; reminded us once again of
the fundamental relation between montage and conflict; announced the metho-
dological task of analyzing the progressional links between single shot compo-
sition, montage of shot sequences, and audiovisual montage; and begun his ap-
proach to the question of mise-en-scne by way of a pedagogical analysis of a
scene from Pre Goriot. By the time we get to the barricade, the stakes of the proj-
ect of Montage have been sketched out in nearly their entire scope.3
Eisensteins choice of a barricade as the crucial demonstrative example of
Montage 1937 is hardly coincidental. It is not difficult to see how a barricade
(surpassed in Eisensteins own imagination only by the guillotine) could serve as
a particularly effective figure for all the essential preoccupations of Eisensteins
cinema: violent historical conflict, revolution, the masses in movement. It would
indeed be possible to insert the barricade into a series of objects-become-attrac-
tions that in Eisensteins work function as literalized metaphors of a sudden re-
versal of historical fortune: the famous raising of the lions head in Potmkin, the
illogical bullet that suddenly assembles itself into a machine gun in October, or the
village co-ops ecstatic milk separator in The General Line. Yet it is primarily a dif-
ferent sort of reversal, or leap, that the barricade is meant to demonstrate to us in
the text of Montage 1937. It is, namely, supposed to show us precisely how one
constructs an image rather than merely a picture or a scene (kartinka); how a
drawing can suddenly lead us to an experience of imaginicity (obraznost) in place
of mere figuration or portrayal (izobrazhenie). These are the two sides of the fun-
damental Eisensteinian opposition image vs. mere picture, imaginicity vs. fig-
uration which Eisensteins text will have to animate in a dialectical way.
Because of the existence of this basic opposition, a drawing of a barricade
can mean two very different things, which Eisenstein stages by including in his
text not one, but two drawings. In the first drawing (Ill. 1, p. 291), we have,
according to Eisenstein, a representation of a barricade in terms of purely natur-
alistic, everyday detail (bytovaia detal). The first is a drawing in the sense of a
mere picturing of a scene. We might say a drawing of in the objective sense
of the genitive form and in the absence of any subjective determination in the
static and balanced composition of the represented elements. We are dealing
here with a depiction in which the form of the drawing traces the contours or the
limits of its object, which it thereby contains within the disposition of its lines.
The depiction of the scene appears here as indifferent to time. It could be taken
as a representation of a barricade awaiting battle, were it not for the fact that a
tension of some violent future occurrence seems absent from the picture. It could
290 luka arsenjuk

Ill. 1 The first drawing: the barricade in naturalistic, everyday detail (Montage 1937, p. 24)
likewise be taken for a scene in which the battle has already ended, but for the
fact that the barricade and its surroundings seem rather unperturbed.
The second drawing (Ill. 2, p. 292), which Eisenstein juxtaposes against this
first one, offers, however, something completely different. The elements in the
second drawing the disarticulated pieces of the barricade, the almost demater-
ialized surface of the street, the sidewalk which seems to have metamorphosed
into a railway track have all become agitated. This restlessness is nowhere as
visible as in the convulsion of the perspective with which the pretzel sign, which
in the first drawing towered over the barricade, now suddenly appears below it,
giving us a literal metaphor of an overthrow achieved, as Eisenstein says, by
purely compositional means.4 Something is happening in the second drawing;
and the entire scene, taking the shape of an event, now plunges into time. The
change in the second drawing corresponds to Eisensteins interest in showing
things in their becoming: I like to regard every phenomenon as a some sort of
today, with its yesterday and its tomorrow; as something within a sequence,
having its before and its after, i.e. its preceding and subsequent stages.5
Deformed and at first almost unrecognizable, the barricade finds itself in a
swirl of movement that undoes the calm of the space of its representation. The
breaking of this space appears perhaps most clearly in the pair of lines that, like
a pair of tense wires, stretch from the barricade (an object set within the repre-
sentational space) and wrap themselves around the upper-right-hand corner of
the drawings frame, with which the limit of representation is suddenly drawn
into the space it was supposed to delimit, while the object previously nested in
this space is expelled, or even exploded, from its position. The sense of represen-
the dialectic of the eisensteinian image 291

Ill. 2 The second drawing: the barricade as an image of struggle (Montage 1937, p. 24)
tational objectivity and naturalistic depiction, which characterized the first draw-
ing, appears in the second to be taken over by a veritable subjective disordering.
One is able to comprehend this second drawing of a barricade as though in it the
barricade itself, instead of being contained by the drawing, suddenly took pos-
session of it. As though no longer simply borne by the act of drawing, the barri-
cade subjectively reorganized the form, following a logic that can no longer sim-
ply be called depictive, since the role the barricade plays in this new situation is
also no longer simply that of a mere object or a passive thing.
One, then, produces an image of a barricade (for only the second drawing,
says Eisenstein, is also an image, an obraz) by constructing the barricade not as
an object of depiction but rather as a set of forceful effects that on the surface of
the drawing register the barricades becoming. Yet the element of depiction (the
first drawing) is not simply absent from the second drawing; Eisenstein insists
one should never completely abolish the depictive function. Instead, in the sec-
ond drawing that is, in an image of a barricade depiction is submitted to a
sudden dynamization, whose purpose is to give us, as movement and as a series
of expressive gestures, what the former can only render statically, emptied of
time. In the second drawing,
the plane of the barricade cuts into the wall of the houses. [] [T]he line of the
base of the barricade [] cuts into the roadway. [] T]he line of the upper
edge of the barricade [] is shown as a jagged line, which seems to evoke the
phases of a struggle: each peak in the spiky contour is a point of conflict in
the changing fortunes of two opposing sides.6
292 luka arsenjuk

An image of a barricade appears in the drawing precisely as a new type of dy-
namic unity into which these fragmented and rapid movements are composed.
Dynamization, which in the example of the second drawing takes the form of a
set of forceful cutting movements a veritable montage of lines constitutes a
tense rivalry with the operation of depiction against which it is superimposed.
We can perhaps compare it to the operation of ostranenie, or the making
strange, in the Russian Formalists idea of artistic technique as defamiliarization.
The comparison is justified to the extent that the dynamization of a barricade in
Eisensteins drawing shares some of the essential characteristics with the Form-
alists desire to disorganize the automated and habitual we would say merely
depictive or naturalistic mode of perceiving phenomena that surround us. Ac-
cording to Viktor Shklovsky, the purpose of an artistic image is not to make us
perceive meaning but to create a special perception of the object [an image]
creates a vision of the object instead of serving as a means for knowing it.7 A vision, a
becoming rather than an already constituted and knowable result, matters in Ei-
sensteins example as well. Without this fully realized perception of the barricade, a
Barricade with a capital B will not come into being.8 As even this short sentence
indicates, however, the dynamization of perception or estrangement is, for Ei-
senstein, only the first step. When compared with the Shklovskian definition,
the operation of defamiliarization plays a much more limited role in Eisensteins
conception of the image. To put it somewhat schematically, in Eisensteins case,
the purpose of art is not exhausted in the idea of estrangement. The estranging
dynamization of perception functions not as an aim in itself, but rather as a
means for bringing about something else, which I will attempt to describe in the
following section of this essay.9
Let us for now simply identify, starting from the two drawings presented by
Eisenstein, depiction and defamiliarization (understood as the dynamization of per-
ception) as the first operations of the Eisensteinian image. While it never fully
negates its function as a figurative depiction of objects, it is crucial to see how
the Eisensteinian image always performs the operation of raising or transfigur-
ing the objects it depicts into a new kind of existence, in which the relation of
depiction is shaken and its objective sense, without disappearing completely,
gives way to the dynamic interrelationship of an immanent play of forces.10
Drawing Lines: Generalization and Pathetization

The double operation of depiction and defamiliarization described above lets
call it an operation of dynamic figuration is, however, only half of the story. The
achievement of a fully realized perception in an image of a barricade cannot be
separated from the simultaneous appearance of something of the barricade that
this dynamic perception supports, but which nevertheless does not itself belong
to perception. Eisenstein will call this other dimension the essential signifi-

cance of the barricade.11 So that a Barricade with a capital B has to be under-
stood as referring not only to the heightened perception (a vision) of a barri-
cade, but also to the appearance of the barricades intelligible meaning in the
drawing. Dynamic figuration plays the role of something like a crutch for to
use Eisensteins formulation the materialization of the idea of a barricade in
the sensible fabric of the image.
But how can we see this intelligible element, the essential significance? In
what form does essence appear? The question is not difficult to answer. For the
terms with which Eisenstein names the appearance of essential meaning in the
image proliferate throughout the text of Montage 1937: a graphic projection of
the character of the action,12 the imprint of action or the line of character,13
psychological and dramatic outline of the action,14 graphic representation of the
most generalized conception of a phenomenon,15 compositional handwriting of
the shot,16 and so on. Meaning projects itself in the image graphically, as design
or a schematic outline of movement.
We can see why the dynamic figuration of a barricade, which allowed us to
perceive it as a play of forces (a series of cutting movements), is necessary for
the appearance of a Barricade with a capital B. The movement of the forces at
play in the dynamic cut-up of the figure of the barricade reveals the outline
through which the essence of a barricade schematizes itself in the image. The
dynamic movement of perception, now captured in the snapshot of its graphic
trace, makes appear in the image what Mikhail Iampolski called the phenomen-
ons essential bone structure. Iampolski provides a remarkably concise de-
scription of Eisensteins graphic obsession:
The line, for Eisenstein, has a special significance. In drawing a line, or even
retracing it with our eyes, we miraculously gain access to the essence of
things, to their meaning. [] Eisenstein arrives at a kind of pangraphism: the
world, for all its diversity, is, under the phenomenal surface of things,
governed by the semantically charged line. [] This line or scheme Eisenstein
calls the generalizing agent of meaning (obobshchaiushchii osmyslitel).17
A Barricade (with a capital B) will therefore simultaneously imply two things: (1)
a dynamic figuration of a barricade (depiction + defamiliarization), which gives
us a perception of the object as transfigured into a play of forces; and (2) that this
transfigured object will at the same time support the rendering of a graphic de-
sign,18 a schematic outline, of the barricades essential meaning.
Does the above, however, mean that the question of essential significance in
the Eisensteinian image should be conceived exclusively as an elevated mode of
mimetic representation? Does Eisenstein do all the work to dynamize our percep-
tion and defamiliarize the logic of representation at the level of depiction (what
he would call imitation at the level of form) only to reintroduce it at the level of
294 luka arsenjuk

the essential interpretation of phenomena (what he would call an imitation of
the principle)?19 Does he introduce all the violent dynamism and movement de-
stroying the sense of any simple pictorial representation of a barricade only to all
the more forcefully return to a stasis of representation when it comes to the ab-
stract graphic appearance of the barricades essential meaning in the image? Is it,
finally, true that Eisensteins thinking operates entirely within the framework of
these Platonic ideas20 and that the image, once it has led us to a thing in its
essential outline, must fall in line with meaning?
Ill. 3 The zigzag: it can be read as... anything you like. (Montage 1937, p. 27)
Not exactly. For, the movement of graphic, outlining, abstraction that is sup-
posed to represent the essential meaning of a phenomenon in the image runs
into a profound contradiction. As Eisenstein notes, describing the third drawing
(Ill. 3, p. 295), from which everything but the most general outline of the barri-
cade has been left out,
a generalization from which the purely figurative element has been removed
would be a bare, non-objective abstraction dangling in mid-air. [] So
generalized as to be deprived not of the compositional outline, [] but of the
actual picture, and retaining only the image-expressing zigzag line of its
contour. All imaginicity and expressivity would instantly evaporate from
the sketch, while the zigzag itself might not be read as a barricade but as []
anything you like: as a graph of the rise and fall of prices, or as a seismographic
trace of subterranean tremors, and so on and so forth.21
Following the Platonic path of graphic schematization to its limit completely

destabilizes all signification. Mimesis of a phenomenons essential meaning in
the form of a pure graphic outline (its bone structure) brings about a threat of
a sheer proliferation of meanings, which is at the same time experienced as a
loss, a dissolution, and a complete relativization of the very essence it attempted

to represent (it can be read as anything you like.) It is crucial to note how in
the quoted passage (in a rather non-Platonic manner) it is not the sensible parti-
cularity of the image that relativizes the abstract essential meaning of a thing, but
rather the essential movements progressive evacuation of all sensible particular-
ity that itself causes meaning to multiply and thereby evaporate.
Eisenstein will, on the one hand, use this point to insist on the necessity of
keeping the element of the figurative, of depiction, in the image. The essential
meaning of the Barricade (visible in its schematic outline) must be realized
through the particular object (the depicted barricade) and not at the latters abso-
lute cost. The bone structure must be seen leaping out of the dynamized body,
but the figure of this body must still in some way or other remain visible so as to
fix the skeletal articulation of meaning lest it turn into meaninglessness. In all of
his images, Eisenstein maintains a certain tension between the particular (the
object, depiction) and the general or generalizing (the schematic outline of
movement, essence): The characteristics of the barricade, read as concrete ob-
ject, will, apart from this general idea of the barricade, always also include the
particular image of the idea peculiar to the situation in which that barricade fig-
ures.22
On the other hand, however, something a bit stranger and more radical still
takes place in Eisensteins stumbling upon the meaninglessness of the pure out-
line; something that has little to do with the tension between the general outline
and the particularity of the depicted object in the image, and everything to do
with the internal contradiction of the schematic outline in itself. When presented
for itself, the semantically charged line, or as Iampolski also calls it, the line as
the generalizing agent of meaning, suddenly turns into its opposite: it be-
comes a line of semantic discharge and the agent of a sheer proliferation/loss of
meaning (again, an outline can mean anything you like it to mean, which is to
say, it means nothing). The outline is a paradox. An agent of meaning that is
equally an agent of meaninglessness, the eloquent, intelligible outline is also the
line in its blabbering or mute it comes to the same thing delirium. The very
same schematizing, generalizing movement of the outline, which makes some-
thing essential of the Barricade appear in the image, leads us, if followed to the
end, to the self-cancellation of this essential meaning.
There exists in the outline a little surplus of movement realized simultaneously
with meaning and significance. The design of the outline with its cutting move-
ments and jagged lines renders visible the essential significance of the Barricade
(the vicissitudes of struggle), but it is also simply movement, a little bit of
movement in its excess, a bit of delirious movement, in which the movement
enjoys itself. We can evoke here Eisensteins favorite and oft-repeated Heracli-
tean dictum, First the movement, and only then what moves, which could for
our purposes be read in the following way: Always a bit more movement in the
outline than is needed to make the outline meaningful. Now, it is important to
296 luka arsenjuk

note that this opposition between the outline of movement as signifying (mean-
ingful) and asignifying (proliferation/loss of meaning) cannot be taken as simply
an external one. One cannot excise the delirious bit of movement and keep only
the movements signifying intent. The two are produced at the same time, which
means that getting rid of the bit of the asignifying excess would also rid the out-
line of its essential significance. Meaning and delirious proliferation/loss of
meaning form an internal torsion of movement that haunts the schematic outline
from inside.
With that, we can add two more operations of the Eisensteinian image to those
of depiction and defamiliarization, which we identified in the previous section of
this essay. First, there is the operation of generalization, which turns images by
way of the schematic outline of movement toward meanings and essences they
make visible. But, as Eisenstein finds, meaning is not simply within itself in the
outline, it is also beside itself, deliriously proliferating and/or disappearing. To
use a couple of Eisensteins favorite words, we could say that meaning is ex-static
(literally outside itself) and that because of that one finds in the outline not only
signification, but also pathos. The line does not only intend and signify, it also
undergoes and suffers. It is signifying and passionate, pathetic. So that we can
add yet another operation to the three already identified, which is that of patheti-
zation. The second double operation (generalization and pathetization) forms the
movement of essential significance in the image and with the double operation
of dynamic figuration (depiction and defamiliarization) gives us the following
diagram of the Eisensteinian image (Ill. 4, p. 297).
Ill. 4 The diagram of the Eisenteinian image

Conclusion
After this excursion through the Eisensteinian image, let us in conclusion briefly
return to the initial question posed in the introduction to this essay: namely, the
question of the tension between time-as-history and time-as-image in the Notes.
It is striking that each of the four operations we have found at work in the Eisen-
steinian image could also be associated with a distinct type of temporality: the
everyday or the anecdotal (depiction), the event or the evental (defamiliarization,
which Eisenstein often called de-anecdotalization), the eternal (generaliza-
tion), and what we might call the excessive or the delirious in the sense of time
as sheer proliferation/loss (pathetization). We could perhaps think of the four
operations and their distinct temporal modes as moving in a kind of dialectical
synchronicity of the asynchronous, as four distinct tempi of the image that oper-
ate simultaneously and yet do not add up to one single time. For a while there is
some uncertainty about this, but [Eisenstein] finally comes to insist on the plur-
ality of coded levels within the filmic image, and categorically rejects the dream
of univocality.23 The image with its montage of distinct temporal voices thus
importantly differs from the experience of time gained through historical inter-
pretation, whose achievement lies in the ability to render a multiplicity from a
temporal perspective that is more or less totalizing. In his historical writing, of
which the Notes offer an example, Eisenstein seeks to produce and place in ten-
sion a certain totalizing narrative of the historical development of cinema as well
as a complex image of cinema, which he creates by assembling a montage of
anecdotal depictions,24 statements of conceptual generality that turn on what is
essentially, eternally the case,25 instances of evental defamiliarization,26 and also
a certain sense of delirium, where one gets the feeling that this capacious history
of cinema could include and digest absolutely everything just as it could all of a
sudden collapse around its empty center and evaporate in front of our eyes (a
kind of caricature or parody of historical totalization). One of the lessons of Ei-
sensteins unfinished project is that, to grasp the phenomenon of cinema, it is
sometimes necessary to interrupt the historical mastery of time with a form of
construction in which one builds the time of cinema not by unifying it, but, on
the contrary, by multiplying it across its discontinuous levels.
I would like to thank Abe Geil, Keith Jones, Michelle Koerner, Liz Papazian, Natalie
Ryabchikova, and Eric Zakim for reading and commenting on this essay in its various
stages. I also wish to express my gratitude to the Graduate School at the University of
Maryland for its support. Its Research and Scholarship Award, which I received in the
Summer of 2012, greatly supported the writing of the essay.
298 luka arsenjuk

4. Act Now!, or For an
Untimely Eisenstein
Nico Baumbach
Regarding the cinema spectator, in 1925 Eisenstein demanded, We need not con-
templation but action.1 According to Eisenstein, the content of a film should not
be sought in its story or themes but in the socially useful emotional and psycho-
logical effect that excites the audience.2 The context of Eisensteins early polem-
ical declaration could not be more distant, but today spectatorship is increasingly
articulated as an activity that is not mediated by a representation that absorbs the
viewer but rather is made by the spectator (or user) as much as it is made for
him. A broad range of contemporary discourses whether from media theorists or
advertisers, tell us that forms of media today are interactive, our culture is parti-
cipatory, consumers have become producers, and so on. Meanwhile, the content
of these media are increasingly recognized as their socially useful effects and
affects. To be sure, contemporary claims about the activity of the spectator do not
form a univocal discourse and we may, for example, want to make a distinction
between the cyber-utopians who celebrate the ways media is now available to
everyone and the pessimists who see only new insidious mechanisms for social
control, but what both these positions share is the impression that increasingly
we are no longer passive recipients of audiovisual media, but rather active crea-
tors. How do we account for the uncanny resonance of Eisensteins demand for
an active spectator today?
With this question in mind, Id like to take the occasion of the publication of
Sergei Eisensteins Notes for a General History of Cinema (1946-1948) to provide
some preliminary remarks about the general history of the reception of Eisen-
stein within film theory over the last fifty years. Specifically I want to look at the
reception of Eisenstein in terms of two central matrices and their interrelation:
(1) How film theory has conceived of the ways that film can be thought of as
political, and (2) How film theory has understood the relation between films and
the body and brain of the spectator.
In particular, the central tenets of Eisensteins writings that were long thought
to be from an era that had been laid to rest seem to correspond to current trends
in the discourses identified with the amorphous category of new media. The
299
Notes takes cinema as the heir and culmination of the vast history of represen-
tational forms; indeed, it seems as if cinema for Eisenstein may have no intrin-
sic identity beyond this synthesis of all the arts and media that precede it,
which is to say that it is a place-holder for something that today might very well
go by another name.3
But in film studies, too, the days of the passive disembodied spectator are
over. In writings not only on new media and alternative modes of production or
reception but also on classical Hollywood film, spectators, we are told today, are
not discursive constructs interpellated by the text of the film; they are creative
producers who make the text as much as they are made by it. Theory is increas-
ingly articulated in relation not to the text itself but the body, affect, sensation, or
neurons. Whether finding support in Deleuze and Bergson, returns to phenom-
enology or forms of cognitive science, a wide range of heterogeneous discourses
no longer ask about how texts signify, but about the sensorium they activate.
Eisenstein, it should be noted, asked about how films signify and the sensor-
ium they activate and indeed the unification of these two questions is at the crux
of his project. I will return to this point but for now Id just like to make it clear
that while I want examine more closely the ways in which Eisenstein anticipated
certain contemporary agendas, to some degree I share the sentiment guiding the
concern expressed by Paul Willemen that sooner or later some techno-fetishist
is bound to invoke, abusively, Eisensteins name in the celebration of the internet
or computer-based art.4 If Eisenstein has become timely, perhaps the goal
should be to make him untimely again, to find the aspects of his theory that
while appearing to fit into a genealogy that can be connected to current received
ideas can also be shown to be in certain respects heterogeneous to those same
ideas. As I hope to show, what remains untimely about Eisenstein is the relation-
ship he conceives between aesthetics and politics.
As Willemen feared, Eisenstein does get evoked as a precursor for a new gen-
eration of film and media theorists though often superficially. For Lev Manovich,
Eisensteins theories of intellectual montage are echoed in virtual reality guru
Jaron Laniers anticipation in the 1980s that virtual reality would usher in an era
of postsymbolic communication, in which mental processes will be able to be
objectified in such a way that we will no longer need to be weighed down by
those inconvenient arbitrary signs known as words.5 For Jonathan Beller, Eisen-
stein desired what will become normalized in the attention economy, an idea
of cinema as a machine that transforms mental life by taking the activity of the
spectator as a form of productive labor.6 For Jan Simons, Eisenstein was an early
theorist of multimedia.7 For Bill Seaman, Eisenstein anticipates the potential of
his own computer-based media art by having been keenly aware of the emergent
conceptual realm brought about through the realm of media.8 For contempo-
rary cognitivists like Torben Grodal and Carl Plantinga, Eisenstein along with
300 nico baumbach

Hugo Munsterberg was pioneering in his use of cognitive hypotheses about the
relation between the brain and body and the film.9 And although Friedrich Kittler
makes no mention of Eisenstein in this context, his influential proposal that we
see film theory as an offshoot of psychophysics is no doubt ripe for a reading
that takes Eisensteins use of reflexology for a theory of montage as a significant
moment within this framework.10 Eisenstein therefore can be seen as a progeni-
tor of theories of the relation between embodiment, affect, cognition, and new
media forms that are either apolitical or serve political purposes strictly contrary
to those of Marxism or communism.
On the other hand, the now increasingly unfashionable idea that the film spec-
tator is disembodied stems, of course, from writings in the 1960s and 1970s that
framed film theory in explicitly political terms. In a position most explicitly ar-
ticulated by Jean-Louis Baudry, sometimes known in somewhat reductive terms
as apparatus theory, disembodiment as well as a kind of mental relaxation that
bore analogy to the dream state was seen as an effect of the apparatus with an
ideological surplus value. The corresponding job of a new kind of political cine-
ma and theory itself was to make the spectator active by making her conscious of
the repressed apparatus. For Baudry then the return of the apparatus in flesh
and blood in Dziga Vertovs Man with a Movie Camera allowed for the possibility
of what Althusser called a knowledge-effect.11 This discourse shared the same
premise as not only Eisenstein, but much contemporary film studies, whether
cognitivist, phenomenological, or Deleuzean, that passivity was a bad thing, but
where they differed was in whether it described a dominant condition of cine-
matic spectatorship. If the spectator was not naturally active, he or she needed to
be made active through a coming to consciousness of the conditions of possibil-
ity of spectatorship. How could this be done?
The name that was most often enlisted to provide the formula was Bertolt
Brecht. D.N. Rodowick labeled this discourse political modernism, understood
as exemplified by an editorial in October advocating texts that seek a critical or
discursive function within cinema itself.12 As the title of the journal makes ap-
parent, the political modernism of the 1970s placed itself within a tradition ex-
tending back to Eisenstein, but this does not mean that it was the same dis-
course. The logic of the political modernism of the 1970s was premised on the
idea that the baseline of cinema was ideology in the pejorative sense and what
film and theory should do was thwart it. Cinema was no longer the heir of all
the arts; it was rather, as Serge Daney put it, a bad place.13 Passivity or the
smooth transfer of ideology could be interrupted by a device that made the audi-
ence aware of the level of mediation. Activity was for the sake of knowledge and
film theory like alternative forms of film practice were oriented toward, as Chris-
tian Metz put it, disengaging the cinema-object from the imaginary and wining
it for the symbolic.14
act now!, or for an untimely eisenstein 301

And when the idea of a Brechtian cinema that became central to political film-
making and film theory in 1960s and 1970s sought precedents in the great era of
Soviet filmmaking, Eisenstein though he was, of course, a hero and widely ac-
knowledged as the most significant theorist and practitioner of cinema as a poli-
tical art, was never fully embraced as a model in either the French or Anglo-
American film theory in the 1960s and 1970s. It is telling that in the aftermath of
1968, when Godard and Chris Marker looked back to Soviet filmmakers as em-
blems of nonhierarchical forms of collective filmmaking, it was Vertov and Med-
vedkin respectively that they turned to and not Eisenstein.
Why was there no Les Groupes Eisenstein? The obvious answer might be that
Eisensteins project, invested in finding a formula for the control of the psyche of
the masses, might be thought to be too marked by an era of totalitarianism, or
the other hand too tied to Taylorism and other processes of capitalist rationaliza-
tion. Brechtian art might then be seen as not risking the dimension of Eisen-
steins art that could be considered authoritarian or propagandistic. But in a re-
markable essay called Eisensteins Madness, Jacques Rancire points out that
this is not a satisfying explanation. He argues that the reason Eisensteins the-
ories and practice are not often claimed as an influence on contemporary forms
of political film and video and its accompanying discourses is due not to his
politics but his aesthetics.15 Eisensteins aesthetic logic is not compatible with
what we typically understand by propaganda. Propaganda requires a hierarchy
in which the symbolic explains the aesthetic, but Eisenstein sought to overcome
this opposition.
Whereas Brecht supplies an endlessly renewable resource for thinking the
ends of contemporary art, Eisenstein, according to Rancire, elicits a certain em-
barrassment or discomfort today because he sought to bring a dream of aesthetic
modernity to its limit, not to thwart the logic of representation but to overcome it
to create an art that short-circuited mediation and worked directly on the ner-
vous system of the masses.
Unlike Brecht, Eisenstein never wanted to instruct or teach his audience how
to see and create a distance. Brecht set out to purge theatrical representation
of identification, fascination, absorption. Eisenstein, instead wanted to
capture all of them and multiply their power. [] A communist art was not
for him a critical art aimed at bringing about a new consciousness; it was an
ecstatic art that directly transformed the links between ideas into chains of
images in order to bring out a new regime of sensibility. That is the heart of
the problem. Our grudge with Eisenstein has less to do with the ideals he
wanted us to share with him than with the fact that he turns our supposed
modernity on its head. He reminds us of that idea of artistic modernity to
which the cinema once thought it could identify its technique: the anti-
representative art that was going to replace the stories and characters of yore
302 nico baumbach

with a language of ideas/sensations and with the direct communication of
affects.16
Eisenstein sought to release the power of mimesis by wresting it from the mi-
metic logic of representation. The politicized film theory of 1970s, set on the
critique of realism as illusionism, tended to fail to distinguish these different
conceptions of mimesis. For Peter Wollen, for example, Eisenstein unlike Vertov
was too close to classical narrative the signified remained dominant17 but few
thinkers went farther than Eisenstein in insisting that the representational di-
mension of the image was only the means to an end whose object was the psyche
of the spectator. Eisenstein sought mimesis not of appearance the realism
which Andr Bazin called psychological but of what he called in a 1929
speech, the principle of appearance which lies behind appearance.18 This is
what Mikhail Iampolski has called the method of artistic x-ray, a primary form
of mimesis that underlies the secondary effect of verisimilitude and can be ac-
cessed as a common denominator to work directly on the spectator at the same
primary level; it does not involve a rejection of mimesis but the seizing of its
principle in such a way as to avoid the logic of absorption into a diegetic world
to produce its effects.19
As brilliant as Rancires essay is, he fails to recognize the extent to which this
perhaps once repressed modernist dream of fusing prelogical and conceptual
thought in a new art that works directly on the mind and body of the spectator
increasingly resonates with current utopian and dystopian fantasies attached to
media today. Yet absent in these new theories is the explicitly political dimension
of Eisensteins work. As Rancire shows, Eisenstein identified this idea of artistic
modernity with an attempt to put communism to the test of cinema.20 It is
with this in mind that I would like to look more closely at how we might best
understand the political dimension of Eisensteins conception of spectatorship.
There are no doubt different ways of thinking of the politics of Eisensteins
work, but since the active consumer/spectator/user today is often thought to be
evidence of a more democratic dimension to new media and Eisensteins work is
often thought to be antidemocratic, I would like to think more concretely about
the politics of the way Eisenstein conceived of the relationship between the film
and the audience. I propose then that we consider the politics of cinema not in
terms of political content i.e., stories that concern the strategies of govern-
ment, the pursuit or exploitation of power, or revolutionary uprisings or in
terms of how a particular film can be credited with calculable political effects in
the public sphere by raising awareness, inciting a call to action, or galvanizing
the masses, but rather in the ways that cinema can inscribe equality.
A word that features far more frequently in Eisensteins writings than equal-
ity is unity. Indeed the concept of unity has been a central sticking point that
has been a barrier to Eisensteins being embraced by film theory as it developed

in the Anglo-American world in the 1960s and 1970s. As an example we might
look at Ben Brewsters editorial qualification of the only essay focusing on Eisen-
stein published in Screen in the 1970s, Eisensteins Epistemological Shift by
David Bordwell. According to Brewster, who found Bordwells essay not suffi-
ciently political to be published without additional comment, The problem of
Eisensteins aesthetic theory is that at all stages unity prevails over heterogeneity
and incongruity even kabuki is made into a monistic ensemble. [] Eisenstein
never saw montage as the deliberate promotion of heterogeneity itself for aes-
thetic and political effect, which is what it always meant for the German practi-
tioners of montage, and for Brecht in particular.21
But what is the relation between unity and equality? In the second version of
Benjamins famous essay, The Work of Art in the Age of Its Technological Re-
producibility, he claimed that Any person today can lay claim to being
filmed.22 This provides an example of what I am calling cinematic equality,
which is to say an idea of cinema as a way of inscribing equality. Leaning either
on the old theatrical tradition of professional acting or the emerging discourse of
celebrity, being in a film meant in 1935, as it still usually does, being an actor or
a star. In contrast, Benjamin looked to Soviet cinema for his model that he in-
sisted was in some sense inherent to the transformations in sense perception
brought about by capitalist modernity in which film was both symptom and
agent. According to Benjamin, Some of the actors taking part in Russian films
are not actors in our sense but people who portray themselves and primarily in
their own work process. In western Europe today, the capitalist exploitation of
film obstructs the human beings legitimate claim to being reproduced.23
Benjamin's statements about the egalitarian potential of mass media are fre-
quently evoked but the implications of them tend to remain unexamined. What
does it mean for everyone to have the right to being reproduced? By way of ex-
planation, Benjamin proposes an analogy. Using the example of letters to the
editor in daily newspapers, he suggests that the reader as an expert [...] gains
access to authorship. As in Russian films, in newspapers, Work itself is given a
voice.24
Here we are in more familiar terrain and can recognize one of the central dis-
courses about Web 2.0 the barriers to access are eliminating the distinction
between amateur and expert. But we should notice here two distinctions: There
is a slippage from subject to author in the analogy of the letter to the editor with
the worker portrayed on film. The worker who portrays himself on film is not
him or herself a filmmaker, the way the reader of the newspaper becomes a wri-
ter. Nonetheless, it is a slippage that Benjamin would see as intrinsic to the new
art of mechanical reproduction in which the image of the artist/author genius is
no longer relevant. For Benjamin, the human body on screen also had a claim to
304 nico baumbach

authorship of the film as it made possible the capacity for self-representation or,
as it he put it, "a productive use of the human beings self-alienation."25
Eisenstein was the Soviet filmmaker Benjamin most admired and in a 1947
piece The Audience as Creator, written during the period he worked on the
Notes, Eisenstein would use the same word experts to refer to the Soviet specta-
tors. They were experts not because they were literally filmed but because their
social function or position within the division of labor was. The people onscreen
were substitutable for those in the audience and if they werent that was a failure
of the filmmaker. A boxer in the auditorium will not let the slightest technical
mistake, committed by the boxer onscreen escape his notice; nor will a jockey fail
to observe in the screen jockeys posture; nor will a foundry worker,26 and so
on. The bodies on screen linked the filmmaker and the audience members as
creators of the same great historical cause. As Eisenstein put it, Our film
audience is a creator-audience sharing with the film-makers the creative author-
ship.27
It is instructive to compare Eisenstein here to Vertov who Benjamin surely also
had in mind when he referred to nonactors in Russian films as people who
portray themselves and primarily in their own work process. For Vertov, labor
is also explicitly cited as the very basis for conceiving of how montage inscribes
equality. According to Vertov, evoking The Communist Manifesto, Kino-Eye estab-
lishes a visual bond between workers of the whole world without the media-
tion of a teacher or propagandist.28 The nonanthropomorphic camera eye, the
indifferent machine, makes possible a true equality or unanimity unmediated by
an avant-garde. The workers of the world are united by the communism of filmic
expression. The artist or filmmaker does not stand above the other workers as a
master, but in a horizontal relation as a producer among producers. The Kino-
Eye for Vertov is not an eye of surveillance or fetishistic fascination as film theor-
ists will later identify in the gaze intrinsic to the cinematic apparatus, but a de-
mocratic participant that in Vertovs 1929 film Man with a Movie Camera linked the
equal movements of the factory worker, the telephone operator, the hairdressers
in the beauty salon and the cameraman. Vertov was the self-proclaimed first
shoe-maker of Russian cinema. His colleagues still fettered by bourgeois narra-
tive forms were merely shoe shiners. For Vertov this equation of filmmakers and
shoemakers was reciprocal. Artistry is a universal capacity available to anyone
and the reception of the film was predicated on this idea. As Vertov put it, "Every-
one has something of the poet, artist, musician. Or else there are no poets, ar-
tists, musicians."29 Art for Vertov, in Benjamin's terms, should be divested of
aura, that sense of distance that separated art from the audience.
Eisenstein like Vertov, and unlike the advocates of Brechtian cinema, didnt
want to create a distance between the film and the audience but to eliminate it.
And like Vertov, he sought to do this by finding a method called montage that
created an equivalence between spectator, filmmaker, and the actors or types on

screen. Here is where the similarities end.
As Eisenstein put it in Montage 1938,
The image conceived by author, director and actor and fixed by them in the
separate depictive elements, will finally come into being anew in the
perceptions of the spectator. [...] The strength of the montage lies also in the
fact that the spectator is drawn into a creative act of a kind in which his
individual nature is not only not enslaved to the individuality of the author but
is deployed to the full by a fusion with the authors purpose.30
Whereas Vertov sought to show that the filmmaker was a worker among workers
and was also in a certain sense a spectator, Eisenstein sought a method that
would make the spectator act or work in a way that was equivalent to that of the
filmmaker. Whereas Vertov wanted to link all forms of productive labor into a
relation of equivalence through the rhythmic energy of montage, Eisenstein
wanted montage to transform cinema itself into a form of productive labor. The
productivity of the labor was instantiated or given flesh by the spectator.
In this sense Jonathan Beller is right that Eisenstein in a certain way predicts
late capitalisms desire to make attention into a form of labor, but he is wrong to
suggest that Eisenstein desires an audience of dogs.31 If Eisenstein in 1938 as
in 1926, still wanted to make sure that the spectators response could be calcu-
lated with certainty and fused with the unambiguous intention of the filmmaker,
he was also keen on asserting the necessarily creative dimension to that process.
The image that the spectator creates is the same image that has been conceived
by the author, but that image will also have been simultaneously brought into
being by a creative act on the part of the spectator.32 Eisensteins conception of
montage took the stimulation-response logic as a means toward a process of
conversion that could be realized only at a higher level, which the spectator ar-
rived at. There are two paradoxes here: (1) The higher unity created by the specta-
tors labor was only possible because of a proto-logical dimension that preceded
the spectators labor, and (2) The creative act on the part of the spectator had to
be forced by the film. As he put it, it is precisely the montage principle, as
distinct from the depictive principle which forces the spectator to create. Each
spectator creates his own image, his own conception which are all as images,
individual and different, yet at the same time they are thematically identical. And
each readers/spectators image [] is simultaneously the authors image and
equally his own image, which is alive and intimate. [] The image conceived by
the author has become flesh, [] the flesh of the spectators image.33
In the section of the Notes for a General History of Cinema entitled The Heir, the
principle of montage is called unity in diversity.34 The phrase might be seen as
a succinct summation of the principle that guides not only montage as a con-
cept, but also the General History itself and Eisensteins project throughout his
306 nico baumbach

career. In the 1920s, of course, the stress on conflict or opposition might not
share the seemingly pluralist implications of diversity, but if we are to seek a
unity in the diversity of the history of Eisensteins own thought, it might be
found in the consistent desire to think how the heterogeneous can combine into
a new form with its own autonomy.
The will to unity may not sit well with us today, but in a moment in which
activity is increasingly treated as an imperative and an end in itself to be valued
as long as it can be numerically measured, we should be reminded of a concep-
tion that believed that the activity of filmmaking and film viewing could be part
of the collective egalitarian project of creating something that as a unity was not
the sum of its parts but qualitatively new.

5. Pathos and Praxis
(Eisenstein versus
Barthes)
As a whole, Eisensteins Notes for a General History of Cinema appears as the protean
outline of a greater dialectical endeavor constantly animated by a double rhythm,
something like a respiration or a perpetual heartbeat. On the one hand, Eisen-
stein understood cinema as a kind of gigantic diastole, an extraordinary opening
of the field of the image: as a consequence, he called for an anthropology in
which Greek dithyrambs and Christian pilgrimages, puppet theater and grisaille,
Egyptians and Picasso, Chinese scrolls and Van Eycks altarpieces, Peruvian pot-
tery and Verlaines poems, Javanese theater and Constructivist photomontage,
among the countless examples brought up, would jostle together. This involved
placing the cinema in the forefront of a general observation on the effectiveness
of images and the psychic, physical, social movements they simultaneously
required and gave rise to. This explains why Eisenstein, in spite of the socialist
scientism and the party lines to which he constantly had to answer, never hesi-
tated to conceive of images within the pluri-disciplinary perspective of a sort of
mythopoesis found in many of his contemporaries (Aby Warburg and Marcel
Mauss, Carl Einstein, and Georges Bataille, for instance).
On the other hand and this is in no way contradictory with the first point
Eisenstein approached cinema as a materialist practitioner and thinker. He
would then also through a systolic movement, one might say zero in on the
crucial site of his theory of montage, where everything splits again and reorga-
nizes concretely: by this I mean the visual shock his dialectical and dynamic con-
ception of images entails. This is why he also stands in the proximity of artists or
thinkers such as Bertolt Brecht and Lszl Moholy-Nagy, Walter Benjamin and
Ernst Bloch. It should be remembered, for example, that Ernst Bloch had under-
stood montage as the procedure central to artistic modernity as a whole the
heritage of our times, as he put it, which was all we had left of the collapsed
context of a world that had undergone the devastation of the First World War.1
309
Ill. 1 Alexander Rodchenko, poster for The Battleship Potmkin, 1925.
Let us also remember how Walter Benjamin located this economy of the shock in
Bertolt Brechts epic montages which were theatrical, but were at once captured
in their closeness to cinema:
Epic theater proceeds by fits and starts, in a manner comparable to the images
on a film strip. Its basic form is that of the forceful impact on one another of
separate, sharply distinct situations in the play. [] As a result, intervals
occur which tend to destroy illusion. These intervals paralyse the audiences
readiness for empathy. Their purpose is to enable the spectator to adopt a
critical attitude (towards the represented behaviour of the plays characters
and towards the way in which this behaviour is represented).2
The difficulty in understanding Eisenstein evidently has to do with the heterodox

dialectics he made use of, the usual ideological and theoretical uses notwith-
standing. He never reduced his truth, either to an absolute knowledge issuing
from the speculative movement beyond antinomies, or to an absolute position
issuing from the conflict between two opposite parties (illusion against
truth, for instance). His dialectics constantly involved the intervention there
lies the heterodoxy of the mythos in the logos (following the teachings of
anthropologists or Freudian psychoanalysis) and of the pathos in the praxis (fol-
310 georges didi-huberman

Ill. 2 Naum Kleiman, montage of shots from The Battleship Potmkin, undated.
lowing the teachings of poets or, once again, psychoanalysis, but also of the
psychology of emotions developed by Lev Vygotsky).3 It proved impossible for
Eisenstein to develop a knowledge of contemporary Mexico without looking to
its myths, its beliefs, its superstitions, its rituals, its survivals, all of which form-
ing a temporal material where, in his view, the very energy of Mexicans to eman-
cipate themselves from their centuries-old alienations and find the conditions of
their own revolutionary future should be understood.
Just as vain in Eisensteins eyes was the attempt to understand revolutionary
praxis without appealing to the pathos which provided it with the very premises
of a physical acting out, as one may say. Because it was misunderstood or
simply dismissed this heterodox dialectics of pathos and praxis has to a large
extent conditioned the debates inherent to the reception of Eisensteins work.
The poster designed by Alexander Rodchenko for The Battleship Potmkin in 1925
(Ill. 1, p. 310), for example, orchestrates a violent antinomy between pointed can-
nons and slaughtered crowds on the stairs of Odessa. It suggests, therefore, the
side which the different army corps had to take with respect to the people rising
up. The montage produced later by Naum Kleiman from single frames of The
Battleship Potmkin suggests, by contrast, a much more complex, much more
anthropological stance, as though cued to an atlas a montage of multiple
pathos formulae (Ill. 2, p. 311), a glimpse of which Eisenstein himself had
pathos and praxis (eisenstein versus barthes) 311

given in the form of single frames from The General Line in a spread designed in
1930 for the periodical Documents (Ill. 3 and 4, p. 312).
Ill. 3 and 4 Sergei M. Eisenstein, montage of shots from The General Line. Source:
Documents 4 (1930), pp. 218-219.

The relation established by Eisenstein between pathos and praxis that is, be-
tween the bodily modifications of subjects affected by history and the historical
modifications acted by politicized subjects does seem constructed, composed,
an object of montage each time, in something whose complexity prevents us, in
the end, from reducing his work either to a Jungian mystique (an art of ecstasis
or pathetic lyricism) or to Stalinist propaganda (an art of message or watch-
word). Eisensteins images fascinate, yet they also exasperate. For nothing is
more exasperating than being fascinated, or seeing oneself transported off
ones seat as a spectator, the experience the filmmaker claimed he could make
happen. Nothing is more exasperating, for a discourse of truth, than feeling li-
able to be fooled by the image.
It is a well-known fact that Roland Barthess critique of our contemporary
mythologies4 has played a considerable part in France in the acknowledgment
of ideological phenomena vested in images. Barthes rejected the mythos as a lie
about historical praxis (in favor of the epos, for example), just as he rejected the
pathos as an aesthetic lie contained in shock effects (in favor of the punctum,
for example). Certainly, he introduced a legitimate suspicion toward media
images of pain, in particular when these feature sensationalism and sentimental-
ism. At the same time, however, he simplified the problem in such an elegant
manner that his disciples, as though to extend the elegance of the style of his
thinking, repeated his simplifications without realizing it. Barthes, for instance,
examined a shock-photo representing the grief of Aduan Malkis fiancee, the
murdered Syrian. Barely denouncing other, overconstructed photographs that
try too hard to signify the horrible for us to experience it, he concedes that in
this particular photograph the fact, surprised, explodes in all its stubbornness,
its literality, in the very obviousness of its obtuse nature. Yet he immediately
refuses to take in the tragic of the image, which in his view only incites to an
emotive purgation, unlike the epic construction of history, that which accord-
ing to Brecht would alone make possible a critical catharsis (but does not the
word catharsis mean emotive purgation, precisely?) All this aims to reduce
to simplify the photographed horror to the sole situation of the spectator
comfortably facing the photograph: the horror comes from the fact that we are
looking at it from inside our freedom.5
At around the same time, Roland Barthes wrote a memorable critical review of
the photography exhibit The Family of Man, designed by Edward Steichen.6 He
then found himself confronted with other pathetic images, other images of pain
(but of pleasure as well), other images of death (but of life as well); he saw the
mourners photographed by Alvarez Bravo in Mexico, Margaret Bourke-White in
India and Korea, Eugene Smith in American black ghettos.7 As it happens, how-
ever, rather than looking at these images for what they are and some of them,
he never says it, are simply admirable Barthes opts to widen his point of view
and, as a result, expresses a general protest against the very old mystification

which, according to him, gave the exhibition its very principle: to suppress the
determining weight of History while postulating the universality of human ac-
tions on the basis of an identical nature, of a Great Family of Man forming
a unity magically produced and ambiguous in its political consequences
beyond all its variations, all its historical injustices.8 What does Barthes try to
simplify there? First, the exhibition The Family of Man was perhaps not as much
as he claimed removed from a point of view on history: the many references to
recent wars, genocides, political terror attest to this, for instance. One could al-
most see the exhibition as a photographic response to the introduction by the
Nuremberg court which some images chosen by Steichen bring to mind of
the legal concept of crime against humanity. Moreover, we know through
works such as Robert Antelmes LEspce humaine9 that it was possible, during
those same years, to speak of human actions without conforming to the spir-
itualist soppiness which Barthes rightfully sought to denounce.
One of Barthess great concerns in his approach of images was always to dis-
tinguish between two regimes of meaning, which the article of Mythologies de-
voted to shock-photos already names with much precision: on the one hand,
the pure sign prevails, that is, the visual sign aiming for the perfect legibility
and which, on this account, does not disorganize us, as Barthes superbly
writes; on the other hand, the obtuse nature of an irreducible obviousness
looms, that which, in an image, may reach us, move us deeply, deliver a truth.10
We must then acknowledge a reversal of the hierarchies which the standard ico-
nographic reasoning would enforce on us: from that point on, the perfect leg-
ibility of an image has to be considered as a rhetorical effect comparable to what
Barthes, in a literary context, rightly named the reality effect,11 something like a
realistic clich. Conversely, when the fact, surprised, explodes in all its stub-
bornness12 and, as a result, makes the image mysterious, the real returns
through a countereffect of sorts in which an experience of strangeness is deliv-
ered Barthes will later choose to refer to it as the punctum.
In the meantime this distinction, so fertile, between the two signifying re-
gimes of the image, was theorized by Barthes with the terminology of obvious
meaning and obtuse meaning.13 In this regard, it is not without interest to
note that the example on which Barthes developed his distinction was none other
than a series of images from Eisensteins The Battleship Potmkin. The task at hand
was therefore to locate instances in which such images only made signification
visible (obvious meaning) and instances in which they were able to deliver sig-
nifiance (obtuse meaning), according to a vocabulary manifestly borrowed from
Jacques Lacan. Barthes first sees only obvious meaning [] in its pure state in
the grieving women: this is a way of reading Eisensteins cinema as an iconogra-
phy saturated with pomposity, oversignification, gestural decorativism down
to the relation established with the pictorial tradition of the piet that is, in the

Ill. 5 Montage of shots from The Battleship Potmkin. Source: Roland Barthes, LObvie et
lobtus. Essais critiques III (Paris: ditions du Seuil, 1982), p. 47.
end, a mere realistic rhetoric full of clichs, to which he denies any polysemy, any
power of ambiguity:
Eisensteins art is not polysemous: it chooses the meaning, imposes it,

hammers it home (if the signification is overrun by the obtuse meaning, this is
not to say that it is thereby denied or blurred): the Eisensteinian meaning
devastates ambiguity. How? By the addition of an aesthetic value, emphasis.
Eisensteins decorativism has an economic function: it proffers the truth.
Look at III (Ill. 5, p. 315): in extremely classic fashion, grief comes from the
bowed heads, the expressions of suffering, the hand over the mouth stifling a
sob, but once all this has been said, very adequately, a decorative trait says it
again: the superimposition of the two hands aesthetically arranged in a
delicate, maternal, floral ascension towards the face bowing down. Within the
general detail (the two women), another detail is mirroringly inscribed;
derived from a pictorial order as a quotation of the gestures to be found in
icons and piet, it does not distract but accentuates the meaning; this
accentuation (characteristic of all realist art) has some connection with the
truth of Potmkin. Baudelaire spoke of the emphatic truth of gesture in the
important moments of life; here it is the truth of the important proletarian

moment which requires emphasis. The Eisensteinian aesthetic does not
constitute an independent level: it is part of the obvious meaning, and the
obvious meaning is always, in Eisenstein, the revolution.14
Roland Barthes then catches in passing, in the same sequence of Potmkin

which features the funeral of seaman Vakulinchuk a single frame that suddenly
causes the obvious signification of images and their message of grief to vacil-
late:
I first had the conviction of the obtuse meaning with image V (Ill. 6, p. 316).
A question forced itself upon me: what is it in this tearful old woman that
poses for me the question of the signifier? I quickly convinced myself that,
although perfect, it was neither the facial expression nor the gestural
figuration of grief (the closed eyelids, the taut mouth, the hand clasped on the
breast): all that belongs to the full signification, to the obvious meaning of
the image, to Eisensteinian realism and decorativism. I felt that the
penetrating trait disturbing like a guest who obstinately sits on saying
nothing when one has no use for him must be situated somewhere in the
region of the forehead [and] came very precisely from a tenuous relationship:
that of the low headscarf, the closed eyes and the convex mouth. [] All these
traits (the funny headdress, the old woman, the squinting eyelids []) have as
their vague reference a somewhat low language, the language of a rather
pitiful disguise. In connection with the noble grief of the obvious meaning,
they form a dialogism so tenuous that there is no guarantee of its
intentionality. The characteristic of this third meaning is indeed [] to blur
the limit separating expression from disguise, but also to allow that
oscillation succinct demonstration an elliptic emphasis, if one can put it like
that.15
Ill. 6 Montage of shots from The Battleship Potmkin. Source: Roland Barthes, LObvie
et lobtus. Essais critiques III (Paris: ditions du Seuil, 1982), p. 48.

These two passages deserve to be looked into for a moment. In the first, Barthes
speaks of Eisensteins art only between quotation marks: his images devastate
ambiguity through emphasis and decorativism, his cinema claims to prof-
fer the truth of the proletarian revolution, all of which only results in obvious
meaning, according to him, whereas genuine art may be recognized in the deliv-
ery of its precious obtuse meaning or at least so goes the thesis implicit in
these lines. If Barthes devotes the very end of the text to a heavy defense of the
single frame as allowing the film to be grasped authentically I say heavy
because I feel that it is hampered by its own paradoxes, and notably by its refer-
ences to the Eisensteinian theory of montage which proposes the exact opposite
it is perhaps because Barthes senses, in his analysis of still, isolated images of
the mourners, all that he loses of the explosive montage of images of the film
itself.
To realize this, one simply needs to view again the sequence from which these
frames have been excerpted. The sequence is of course part of an epic narration
that has the revolution as a principal motif. Yet the motif does not operate in it as
obvious meaning, pure sign, narrative unit endowed with a perfect legibil-
ity: it is given to see only in a montage of differences out of which obtuse
meaning bursts forth at every moment, in every interval, as long as one accepts
to become attentive to the rhythm, the very pulsation of these differences. We are
at the beginning of the third part of the film, whose title, Death Demands Jus-
tice, reads like a political slogan or a chapter from a Victor Hugo novel. What
can then be seen, however, immediately undoes the obvious meaning of this sen-
tence: it is a space unsettlingly foggy from which sailboats slowly and silently
emerge, as in Caspar David Friedrichs paintings. From then on, everything is
organized around a play of contrasts: old sailing ships (sails, masts, rigging)
over a background of industrial docks (mechanical crates), for example. Then,
once Vakulinchuks exposed corpse has been glimpsed, men are still shown
quietly fishing in the harbor, a little cat eating a piece of fish. When the crowd is
seen walking down the immense stairs toward the dead or marching on the im-
posing curve of the pier, one still lingers on the drying laundry, the trivial
breeches, the hanging fishing nets.
What Barthes fails to see, especially, is that the grief of women confronted
with the dead a classical grief, he writes, one unilaterally decorative ac-
cording to him does not appear as a fixed form, but always as a musical
rhythm, a dialecticized motif, an always complexified gesture, an affect destined
to a necessary transformation. Eisenstein did not content himself with showing
mourners and chose, rather, to assemble them in a montage, in an extraordinary
variety of adjacent images the old woman on whom Barthes focuses his atten-
tion thus appears at three very different moments of the sequence, manifestly to
tell of three different states of her grieving body precisely because the lamenta-
tion is understood or, better still, constructed by the filmmaker in a meaning

which is neither fixed nor obvious. Mourning turns out to affect bodies so clas-
sically, according to the piet form Eisenstein draws from iconographic canons
of Russian icons, only to find in itself an other energy meant, precisely, to de-
stroy this classical form: from one image to the next, the lamentation turns into
imprecation; the crying of each becomes the singing of all; religious despon-
dency gives way to the political protest of the pasionaria and the young militant,
whose speeches, it is explicit, now demand justice. We have moved from the
religious sphere to the political sphere, and the effect (the emphasis) of the for-
mer was needed for the latter to deliver its countereffect (acting out).
A decisive moment in the sequence comes when a bourgeois in the midst of
the crowd, reacting to the traditional gestures of lamentation Christian Ortho-
dox gestures, gestures of popular devotion, as is often said shouts out, quite
irrationally, Death to the Yids! (He probably takes aim at the young orators, but
it is then understood that Eisenstein likes nothing more than constructing man-
ifest situations on the basis of latent or symptomatic significations.) From that
moment on, grieving bodies, bodies of lamentation become animated with a
whole new energy: the bourgeois gets lynched, women shout in anger, a kind of
wild joy takes hold of the mourning crowd. Revolution, indeed: revolution in
affects, in gestures, in bodies, in collective decisions.
Eisenstein did not simply place an old world (that of the old mourners) and a
new world (that of young revolutionaries) side by side, since men too allow their
tears to flow in the sequence, just as the old women are able to turn their grief
into furor and revolt. The filmmaker introduced a desire and a violence that go
beyond any obvious meaning. Still, he did so thanks to the activation of a more
subtle, deeper memory than anything Barthes was ready to acknowledge in the
old mourners funny side a somewhat coarse expression chosen to denote
the effect of visual punctum related to the garb alone. This old woman is much
more than funny: she is anachronistic in that she taps into the most traditional
forms of funerary gestures to draw a new form of revolutionary protest from it.
Finally, it also appears that, through the constant montage of heterogeneous or-
ders of size the seamans corpse with the little cat eating, the crowd gathered in
earnest with the underwear drying in the sun Eisenstein ceaselessly gives to see
this obtuse meaning which Barthes recognizes only once in the static contrast
between the mourners noble grief and her rather pitiful disguise.
Roland Barthes thus elicited, including in the best of his postmodern disci-
ples, the attitude of distance which regards as a critical outlook what often
proves to be the refusal of any outlook. In a famous issue of the Cahiers du cinma
titled Images de marque, Alain Bergala thus wanted to see, in photographic
images of pain and lamentation, the sticky identification to the victim, to the
fellow humans whose fate has taken a dramatic turn by which, in his view, the
photograph offers itself up as a fetish, a screen-memory for desire.16 In consid-
eration of which, in front of the famous image of a group of women and children

arrested by the Nazis in the Warsaw ghetto, and in order to avoid feeling pity, he
preferred to come across or to extract, rather some Barthesian third mean-
ing solely in the accessory of dress, the cap of the little Jewish boy, without a
word for the event itself constituted at first glance by all these raised hands, all
these petrified bodies, and all these crazed looks under the death threat docu-
mented in unbearable detail by the image. One might say that for a sizable num-
ber of post-Barthesian and post-Lacanian critics, the pathos would be the
worst of the image, it being understood that the Imaginary would already be the
worst of the Symbolic: in short, an appalling illusion. Specious, uninformed,
mistaken. Could it be that in images of lamentation, one may find only lamenta-
ble images?
This point of view, however, is trivial, defensive, moralistic even. The con-
tempt for pathos in the political field is akin to the rejection of kitsch the bad
genre, the error of taste in the aesthetic field. It may be deconstructed in
several ways: thanks to the aesthetics of intensities according to Friedrich
Nietzsche, the anthropology of Pathosformeln according to Aby Warburg, the me-
tapsychology of affects and representations according to Sigmund Freud, the
ethnology of the obligatory expression of feelings according to Marcel Mauss,
the poetics of passions according to Erich Auerbach, the sacred sociology of the
contemporary world according to Georges Bataille or, more recently, what
could be called the pathetic politics according to Pier Paolo Pasolini and Glau-
ber Rocha. How not to see, above all, that the best response to the Barthesian
critique of pathos lies in Eisensteins film itself, and more generally, in the poe-
tics of the great filmmaker and theoretician that he was?
On the one hand, scenes of mourning and lamentation almost always hold
pivotal positions in Eisensteins dramaturgic compositions: this may be seen in
Strike, which ends with the vision of the bodies of murdered strikers, a vision
whose slight high angle at eye level is exactly that of someone who would come
and assess the situation (from the standpoint of history or praxis) or to meditate
(from the standpoint of mourning or pathos). In October, there are also dead re-
volutionaries that the camera itself mourns for, not to mention the structural
inversion of this situation in the famous scene of Orpheus put to death by his
very maenads (his bourgeois women).
In The General Line, a poisoned bull is mourned collectively. In Que Viva Mexico!
mourning rituals half-pagan, half-Christian run through the entire narration,
in an economy of images constantly oscillating between documentary style and
Surrealist composition. As to the construction of Bezhin Meadow, it is held to-
gether by two funerary scenes, the mourning of the mother at the beginning and
the mourning of the child at the end. In Alexander Nevsky, it is of course the brav-
ery of soldiers killed in action for which tears are shed. Finally, in Ivan the Terrible,
funeral vigils are bombastic and ominous as they must have been under Stalin:

they are paranoid and instrumentalized politically, loving but also vengeful, con-
spiratorial and excessive to the point of madness.
On the other hand, specific work should be started so as to get the measure of
the theoretical answer produced by Eisenstein himself to clear pathos from any
psychological weakness, that is, with a view to producing images of lamenta-
tion which would not be lamentable images for all that: in short, images of
pathos not necessarily disconnected from praxis and political history. As early as
1922, Vladimir Mayakovsky took a stand against Hollywoods whining cinema:
For you cinema is a spectacle.

For me almost a Weltanschauung.
Cinema purveyor of movement. []
Cinema a sower of ideas.
But cinema is sick. Capitalism has covered its eyes with gold. Deft
entrepreneurs lead it through the streets by the hand. They accumulate money
by stirring the heart with whining little tales.
We must put an end to this.17
Eisenstein himself repeated this criticism. However, he chose not to ignore that
pathos was rooted at the very heart of revolutionary praxis. What the mourning
scene builds up, in The Battleship Potmkin, is nothing but the dialectical transfor-
mation of peoples in tears toward their historical power as peoples in arms.
Mourning thus appears pivotal Eisenstein writes of a caesura, implicitly reusing
Hlderlins principle of the poetic caesura on a cinematographic level between
the inertia of an exhausted people and its movement toward emancipation:
Actually, near the middle, the film as a whole is divided by the dead pause of a
caesura; the stormy movement of the beginning pauses totally so that it can
gather momentum a second time for its second half.
The role of a similar caesura in terms of the film as a whole is played by the
episode of the dead Vakulinchuk and the Odessa mists. []
In one case it is several shots of clenched fists in which the theme of
mourning over the murdered man jumps to the theme of rage.18 (Ill. 7 and 8,
p. 321)
Eisenstein said somewhere in his 1933 essay on cinema and literature that the
scene of mourning in Potmkin was intimately linked, for him, to the memory of a
poetic line, A silence of death hung in the air.19 How not to remember as well
the chapter from Victor Hugos Les Misrables titled A Burial; An Occasion to Be
Born Again, one sentence from which reads, like everything that is bitter, af-
fliction may turn to revolt?20 How not to acknowledge the pivotal role of pathos
in any historical praxis?

Ill. 7 and 8 Sergei M. Eisenstein, The Battleship Potmkin, 1925. Single frames.
321
6. Eisensteins Absolutely
Wonderful, Totally
Impossible Project
Jane Gaines
The English translation and publication of Sergei Eisensteins Notes for a General
History of Cinema is momentous, obviously, but for all the wrong reasons as well
as for better ones. Yes, the Notes may tempt us to think for a minute that this
could become a history of cinema, to imagine its completion, or even to cham-
pion it as a final authority and definitive lineage to which we can now attach
cinema today. Or, worse, we may attempt to use the Notes as lessons from
history for the present how to proceed or not to proceed to think cinema in
transition. The project has to do with us, certainly, but not in the ways we might
think least of all because if [c]inema is the heir of all artistic cultures, as
Eisenstein proclaims at the beginning of the section of the Notes entitled The
Heir, we can now know what is the heir of cinema. So we start by resisting
the temptation to take Eisensteins Notes as secretly containing the historicist an-
swer for us to the question it implicitly poses: What made cinema the cinema
that it is? especially because that question leads too easily to the corollary: Is
cinema on its way to becoming something other than cinema?
Instead, I want to use the occasion to begin to assess the historical turn in
the field of film and media studies.1 Influenced by what some call the new phi-
losophy of history, I propose three oblique angles on the question of history
that lurks in the term history of cinema, and these are: impossibility in sev-
eral senses, genealogy as bad and good, and, finally, historical time as
peculiar, to quote Louis Althusser and tienne Balibar.2 Since those associated
with the new philosophy of history do not necessarily agree on what to call
their approach I will sometimes refer to these critiques of traditional historiogra-
phy with the less contested term theories of history.3 Because when we start to
ask what we mean by history, or even histories, we are right back in the
territory of the theory that the historical turn was originally meant to avert.4
The importance to us of the total impossibility of Eisensteins intriguing proj-
ect cannot be underestimated. Yet what is meant here by impossible, given that
323
the philosophical implications of the term impossible may be incompatible
with the daunting empirical challenges implied? Claiming that the project is em-
pirically impossible is of course not at all the same as claiming it for the philoso-
phical sense of the impossible, although the ordinary usage persists in the philo-
sophical. Here, however, I actually want to keep both meanings the empirical
sense of unrealizable and the theory of history sense in which every attempt to
write the historical past is founded on a doomed assumption that the past can be
retrieved and represented accurately in the present. In this second meaning, im-
possible is a code word for a deconstructive stance, the enlarged sense in which
might see Eisensteins fragments as impossibly possible.5
That some of those aligned with the new philosophy of history identify
themselves as deconstructionist historians begins to have a kind of symmetry
because they continue to conduct historical research all the while declaring the
absolute impossibility of the historical project.6 In this respect it seems likely that
on the basis of the Notes, Eisenstein can be an honorary deconstructionist his-
torian, like Walter Benjamin with the Arcades Project as well as Jacques Derrida
himself, by virtue of never having written a proper history.7 But where does that
leave those who once were called film scholars?
We are situated, as Andr Gaudreault says, post-Comolli, that is, after Jean-
Louis Comollis 1971 six-part Cahiers du Cinma article critical of the first genera-
tion of traditional film historians.8 So Gaudreault has thrown down the gauntlet.
Exactly how critical is the field willing to be? This is the field that since the 1980s
has taken up history as a new direction, all the while expressing increasing
skepticism about either history of film or history of cinema.9 Without a
doubt, the search for the moment of the birth of cinema has been discredited,
certainly beginning as early as Comollis Technique and Ideology. Yet there
remains the dream of it. Because Comolli still holds out for, as he says, a mate-
rialist history of the cinema today, stipulating that it would need to be accom-
panied by a materialist theory of history.10 In the end, however, Comolli, like
Eisenstein before him, could be seen as having left an unfinished project. David
Bordwell and Kristin Thompson, whose assessment we defer to in consideration
of their own prodigious historical research, would comment: That Comolli has
left the task undone suggests that he found it daunting.11 Thus we have in the
field not one but two historical monuments to an ambitious impossibility, less
than a quarter of a decade apart.
To what, however, does the dream of a history of cinema commit one? At
issue is the politics of the genealogical approach which could be taken in two
competing directions. Here, the new philosophy of history acknowledges the
good genealogical, now archaeological project, following Michel Foucault,
which critiques what we might call the reactionary or bad genealogical ap-
proach, as we will see.12 But first, just to restate Eisensteins prefatory remarks
324 jane gaines

which point toward a genealogical mode of approaching the project he calls the
history of cinema:
Cinema is the heir of all artistic cultures, as is the nation itself that elevated it
for the first time in all history both in estimation and creatively to the very
Cinema is the art of the USSR par excellence, and it is so in a natural and organic
way.
It is according to this perspective that the history of cinema must be
established.13
In this statement we find, yes, the seeds of the genealogical assumption, if no-
where but in the elevation of cinema to heir. Later, we find in the Notes lists of
inventions and inventors, chronologically organized, and clearly derived from the
Inventions section at the end of Lewis Mumfords Technics and Civilization.
Thus, for example:
1558 Camera with lens and stop for diaphragm

Daniello [sic] Barbaro
1590 Compound microscope (Jansen)
1714 Typewriter
1719 Threecolor printing from copper plate
1796 Lithography (!)14
Followed by:
Dynamic image and sound

1807 Kymograph moving cylinder for recording continuous movement
(Young)
1839 Electrotype (Jacobi) (?)
1839 Callotype (Talbot)
1839 Daguerreotype (Nipce and Daguerre)
1840 Micro-photography (Donn)
1841 Paper positives in photography (Talbot)
1855 Television (Caselle)
1856 Color photography (Zenker)
1858 Phonautograph. Voice vibrations, recorded on revolving cylinder (Scott)
1864 Motion Picture (Ducos)
1870 Celluloid (J.W. and J.S. Hyatt)
1877 Microphone (Edison)
1877 Phonograph
1882 Motion picture camera (Marey)
eisensteins absolutely wonderful, totally impossible project 325

1886 Hand camera (Eastman)
1889 Modern motion picture camera (Edison)
1893 Moving picture (Edison)
1894 Jenkinss Phantoscope first moving picture of modern type
1895 Moving picture projection (Edison)
1907 Television-photograph (Korn)
1920 Radio broadcasting
1927 Radio television15
What do we have here? A fascination with chronological lists from the master
theorist of asynchronicity, and, what is more, verticality from the aesthetician of
the diagonal! One can debate whether or not chronology is always doomed to
imply causality, one technological breakthrough the consequence of an earlier
one, always in this model an advance but never a retrograde move. Yet from a
contemporary standpoint looking at such a chronology we cant help but think
about what forces disrupt and cut across it the duplication of effort, waste,
competing claims, piracies, industrial espionage and patent disputes, not to
mention fraud and graft. And why these inventions but not others? Comolli ob-
served that even in spite of the first histories, that is, despite Georges Sadoul and
Maurice Bardche and Robert Brasillach, for example, even all smoothed out,
one cannot help but see births begetting, cancelling, and begetting births.
Thus:
It is in fact as both plural and fragmented that the birth of cinema emerges
from all its Histories: scattered and sporadic, beginning anew with each
new apparatus, each technical detail and each new patent, and at the same
time held back, postponed again for a time by the lack in each successive
apparatus of some technical detail, of the new solution to a new problem.16
For Comolli, the technological evolution narrative will always testify against it-
self.
Such a chronology as Eisenstein has included here is also a line of descent,
and whether or not these particular ancestors are themselves auspicious or vener-
able the idea of ancestry alone contributes to the elevation of film from its low
status as nonart. And genealogy is always about paternity, about who will or will
not exhibit physical characteristics and as a consequence can or cannot inherit
property. Laws of biological heredity are resolutely one-directional. Only in
science fiction can paternity be orchestrated against chronological time think
here of Robert A. Heinleins All You Zombies in which, following a sex change
operation, the character is able to both father and mother himself. So, I
think, making technological family trees in an effort to understand machines
and scientific instruments is an exercise less science and more science fiction,
326 jane gaines

such chronologies lending themselves to fantasies of paternity. Or, stories of
illegitimacy and abandonment that still obsessed with paternity. Consider, in
this regard, how we are now faced with the perplexing question as to whether to
grandfather cinema into a new family tree so that it can be seen to legitimately
beget the digital. We might ask how this is any different from John Connor send-
ing Kyle back in time to become his own progenitor in an effort to rescue the
future in The Terminator (1984). Why? Because while we may agree that the histori-
cal past no longer exists we may still write about it as though we can know it
now. The easiest form of historical explanation is the arrangement of past events
chronologically before the present such that later events appear as a consequence
of the earlier. The historian is expected to convincingly prove evolution if not
causality when he or she can really only fiction technological relations. If noth-
ing else this comparison should demonstrate how the contemporary philosophy
of history thinks this problem, dedicated as it is to proving that historical study is
not science. If not science, then, the mere use of the term digital cinema itself
might suggest that the paternity question has been settled. But no. Thomas El-
saesser, arguing against such an inevitability, claims the opposite:
For instance, the arrival of digital cinema for many, still a contradiction in
terms has thrown into doubt the very definition of what cinema is, and it
has rendered diffuse any single point of origin, any linear path of influence or
causal chains that confidently prescribe particular trajectories or ascribe
specific goals to either film or the cinema.17
While we may hope, following Elsaesser, that the digital moment can forestall
the resolution of the question as to what cinema is, the question may be
decided not by science or technology but in the realm of metaphor.
While on the one hand the digital troubles the genealogical, on the other, it
shores it up by elevating its antithesis film. This we find in the film archivists
discourse. If the genealogical borrows the family tree analogy it can as easily
borrow the microbiological gene as when the question of digital restoration is
posed as the problem of an archival ethics, that is, to mix or not to mix the
inferior digital DNA with that of the photochemical in the same restored im-
age. Here, to differentiate the photochemical the archivists term film-born can
rig the debate on the side of ontological purity.18 Here film-born reinforces the
idea of genetic makeup even when there are really no genes involved, although
the analogy encourages something like the worry about genetically modified corn
getting into the food chain. But what, really, is the danger of viewing images in
which we can no longer tell compared to that of eating mysteriously modified
food?
The pitfalls of genealogical thinking are terribly obvious. Lining up antece-
dents, like searching for ancestors, has been deployed in the service of the most

conservative of politics. Yet in Eisenstein the genealogical project is undertaken
in the service of the idea of a revolutionary new nation although by 1947 the
nation was no longer new and not necessarily revolutionary. So I dont want to
belabor this point because the genealogical method is just too easy a target.
Rather, I want to probe the alliance between genealogical thinking and the disci-
pline we call history, a probe as a segue that allows the why history question
once more.
To press the question of why history further lets take another tack the very
history itself of the nineteenth-century notion of history. Admittedly, I in-
voke history in a critique of history, but that is my point. To call upon history
is to call up authority. Hayden White, himself calling upon history, reminds us
that in that century the new study of history was properly disciplined and made
scientific as a means of legitimizing new nation-states. The worry about ethnic
origins was in this context an imperative. Newly trained historians, he says, ef-
fectively addressed anxiety about mongrelization.19 These fears now exposed,
the term mongrelization is freed up to do more than just indict race purity. We
can now claim mongrelization as a productive metaphor for cinema-as-confluence.
What is more intriguing is that Eisensteins genealogical project, pushed to its
extreme, finds not legitimate high culture ancestry but mongrelization, that is, ci-
nema, so broadly conceived, is a product of unknown ancestry given all the
cross-breeding, most notably, the high with the low, the ancient and the modern.
And interestingly, David Rodowick, answering the charge of inferiority asso-
ciated with film as aesthetically mixed, intimates the possibilities of just admit-
ting that it is a mongrel medium.20 While Eisenstein may have thought to
make a case for cinema as clearly the heir of the arts and culture that predate
it, instead, with so many tributaries and origins proposed in the Notes the end
result is cinema as productively, as we might say, unoriginable.
Now to my third approach, to continue to urge the question as to why we think
that history is important for the present, which is not to say that it necessarily
should be, only that we should ask why rather than assume that it is. So what
exactly is the rationale that underwrites our historical research? What are the
animating reasons for going to the incredible trouble of historiographic inquiry
on behalf of what Eisenstein (and we sometimes) have called history of cine-
ma, even while granting its condition of impossibility, to quote Jacques Ran-
cire seeming to channel Derrida.21 And historys condition of impossibility is
no more dramatic than in the three modes of time past, present, future the
modes that can never be made to line up at one and the same time because by
definition they can never be the same time. This is the structure that we negotiate
without thought in daily life but which is for philosophy a major conundrum.
Contemporary work in the philosophy of history wants to know what notion of
historical time governs the work of professional historians.22 Certainly this
time is not the same notion as the one that organizes our ordinary sense of
328 jane gaines

here today, gone tomorrow, or whats over is over. Right? And yet, perhaps
the way in which traditional historians grasp the problem is no different from
that of ordinary people. In other words, these historians dont necessarily see
that there is a problem.23 Hayden White and other theorists of history maintain
that working historians take the past for granted and that although they may
not be so heavily invested in objective truth that they think there is one version
of events, they still write and research as though the events of the past do not
depend upon their own narrative realization of them.24
These issues are arising for us as we study the Notes because, following the-
ories of history, our present present stands to Eisenstein as a future present
and our past is the former present in which he made his notes. That our pre-
sent present is not only an earlier eras future but our own future past is
difficult (if not impossible) to grasp in this alternating pattern, even if we accom-
modate it daily, looking back and expecting forward.25 As Keith Tribe introduces
Reinhart Koselleck on historical time, however, it is the question of how we
live the present given that the past (chronology) is in felt relation to what was
once an anticipated future, putting the emphasis on how the present is always
the future that once was, or the former future. What we have here is some-
thing like Heideggers hermeneutic circle in which the three modes are put in
explanatory relation to one another.26 And here, as I see it, is a challenge to the
one-way lessons of history in which to know the present one must know the
past. The way to refuse the lessons of the past is to think of the three positional
modes as constantly interpreting one another. Here is where we can appreciate
Althusser and Balibars formulation of the antithesis of historicism. Against the
highly ideological continuum of a linear time they see an extremely complex
and peculiar temporality, noting that it is utterly paradoxical.27
So the peculiar temporality of historical time suggests how our present mo-
ment is implicated in Eisensteins Notes, but our present is not only the cinema
future for his unrealized history of cinema but also the future for the Soviet
state and world Communism. Whatever we say about the conditions of Eisen-
steins historical research will also be colored by our post-Cold War present in-
terpretation of the events of the pre-Cold War moment in which his project was
conceived by the Soviet state, as Masha Salazkina shows in this volume.28 Hence
just as we might today be inclined to say that Eisensteins cinema future is no
more cinema, the present in which capitalism has won interprets the past and
reads the future as no more socialism. For instance, Youssef Ishaghpour, in con-
temporary conversation with Jean-Luc Godard, looks at the past of the American
film industry and the Russian revolution (once the future and later the past for
Eisenstein), and summarizes the victors narrative: There was a dream factory
that conquered the world and then there was the utopia of the Russian revolu-
tion that turned into a nightmare (represented, he thinks, by Lenins mummy
disintegrating in public view). Godard, however, breaks in to object to this ver-

sion of events: The history of Russia isnt written.29 It would seem that only
Jean-Luc Godard is left to keep alive Eisensteins connection between a history
of cinema and the utopian future envisioned by the Russian revolution. And
since we know that in his book commentary as well as in his television series,
Histoire(s) du cinma, Godard wrestles with traditional historiography, we are en-
couraged to take his assertion that there is as yet no history of Russia as a
challenge to Ishaghpours version of events. So we will take Godard to mean
something like the verdict is still out on the question of whose cinema con-
quered the world, or, for that matter, what is to be the fate of the utopian (the
future of the future) as aligned with both cinema and the Russian revolution.
From the point of view of the former present of Godards Dziga Vertov
group, the moment of Godard and Jean-Pierre Gorins anti-Vietnam War film
Letter to Jane (1972), the future present (today) should have been the end of capi-
talism. Today, from the vantage of the former future in which the revolution has
not been realized, some might be inclined to leave the Dziga Vertov group out of
some version of the history of cinema. But this is not to argue for its inclusion.
My point is that the entire enterprise of traditional history writing, telling, and
showing is an attempt to rectify the odd imbalance of historical time. We are
tipped off to the final futility of this exercise by Godards use of the ironic quota-
tion from Oscar Wilde: To give an accurate description of what has never oc-
curred is [] the proper occupation of the historian.30
Now to ask Why history? for the last time. Given the exasperating difficulties
of locating events in the constant turnover of historical time, considering the way
the three modes are always in a pattern of alternation, and given the paradoxical
situation we find ourselves in respecting the autonomy of the past events that
we effectively make, why undertake historical research at all? The historical
turn in the study of film represents a case in point. What happens if we ask the
same question of specific projects in the present present in which the burning
issue is how to think the impact of digital or computational technological cap-
abilities on what has been cinema? To be more specific, What is the current
rationale used to justify renewed investment in silent era cinema research? Tho-
mas Elsaesser, for one, has framed this question as: What can early cinema
studies tell us about the kinds of rupture represented by the digital, and thus
what does it teach us about our present multimedial, intermedial, hypermedial
moment?31 On first consideration, this might look like a lessons of the past
justification, that is, the idea that in order to grasp events in the historical pre-
sent one must know the events that occurred before because the past explains
the present. In contradistinction to this, much current theoretical and historio-
graphic work on cinema has an eye on both the so-called digital present and the
historical first decade of the motion picture.32 One historical moment is held in
interpretative relation to the other. And yet, I have to ask the next question. Do
we not sometimes privilege our historical findings, a strategy that could be inter-
330 jane gaines

preted as a displacement in which we reference the one but mean the other
time? Why the apparent privileging? Because, after all, what use has the past for
our insight into it? Then again, when we think more than one temporality at once
we may end up with the paradox of an entity that is only known through the
study of its own death and demise, something of which is captured in Paolo
Cherchi Usais often-quoted provocation that The ultimate goal of film history
is an account of its own disappearance, or its transformation into another en-
tity.33 Still, is this not the paradigm for the study of all historical change?
Perhaps not, because for Eisenstein, in contrast, the ultimate goal of his cine-
ma history is to establish cinema as the special art of the revolutionary state.
And here is where the new philosophy of history cannot necessarily help us.
While honoring Marx as a philosopher of history, the new theorists of history
distance themselves from Marxism as an approach to the study of history. Why?
First, as they might put it, Marxism, in its explanation of historical events is dead
set on a pattern from which it does not veer the great struggle between labor
and capital. I would add, secondly, and more importantly here, that Marxs un-
derstanding of all of history included the future as well as the past and the pre-
sent, in other words, all times. Rancire, an exception to the rule as a theorist of
history, reminds us of how vital the future was to Marx, and goes so far as to
pinpoint the future relative to the past as the essential axis of Marxism. He
goes on: The analysis of class struggle that was Marxs paradoxical glory is
rather the theatrical distribution of the shapes that may be taken by the conjunc-
tion of the not yet and the one more time. And here also Rancire gives us one
of the few to attempts to put the past, present, and future into relation with one
another without sparing us. We cannot not also study the present: But the defin-
ing characteristic of the present like that of the real is that it conceals itself
ceaselessly from those who have come to terms with it. It must thus always be
regained over the past and the future, established by the incessant critique of the
past that repeats itself out of season and of the unduly anticipated future.34 No,
not yet. In this respect, Andr Bazin who in his historical overview projected
technological advance only to find he had recapitulated the origins could have
the last word: Cinema has yet to be invented!35
Conclusion: George Washingtons Wet Nurse

Given the difficulties presented to us by historical time any project that seeks to
find definitive support for itself in the events and objects of the historical past is
doomed from the start. That project is an unrealizable endeavor hitched to an
impossible temporal feat. Yet Eisensteins research project is itself significantly
different from the proper history of cinema that it would never become. One
could argue that it was fortuitous that he did not commit the poststructuralist sin

of narrativization (or even that he would not have given that he was such a
modernist antirealist who preferred montage to continuity).
The unnarrativized Notes are, however, a rich source of what Foucault refers to
as disqualified knowledges, or low-ranking knowledges, here brought for-
ward for further study.36 Thus if a legacy for cinema has been here established,
it is the antilegacy of eclecticism or mongrelization: almost everything goes into
cinema and everything and anything comes out of it. We should not be surprised.
Today productive theoretical uses have already been made from Eisensteins
thinking about cultural confluence as well as from his imaginative search for
sources. We see this no more significantly than in his return to the fairground
and its roller coaster, the American mountains, as the Russians called the ride
that stimulated seekers of modern thrills. And who would have thought twenty-
five years ago that Eisensteins reference to the fairground would support an en-
tirely new attractions paradigm that would have such staying power?37
So what do I find in the Notes that could provide us with the germ of the next
paradigm? Above all, I am most impressed by Eisensteins listing of George
Washingtons wet nurse.38 The reference is no doubt to Joice Heth, the elderly
and infirm African American who P.T. Barnum exhibited as the link to the first
president of the United States, claiming that she was 160 years old. In answer to
the public challenge to his hoax, Barnum had her autopsied at her death. What is
remarkable is that Eisenstein would incorporate the hoax, the fraud, and the
charlatan into his thinking about the trajectory of motion picture attractions,
contributing to the incredibly expansive repertoire he has given us to draw upon.
What is absolutely wonderful about Eisensteins project is that it offers so many
kinds of knowledges, any of which could conceivably come to fruition as a new
paradigm for the present.
332 jane gaines

7. Dynamic Typicality
Abe Geil
Eisenstein references his famous method of typage (tipazh) just once in his Notes
for a General History of Cinema. With an anachronistic juxtaposition of the sort that
pervades these texts, Eisenstein marks a direct transition from the enthusiasm
for an element of crudit found in Degass paintings of bathing women to the
aesthetics of typage in all its unattractiveness.1 If the Notes appear to have noth-
ing more to say about typage per se, it is worth recalling that for Eisenstein the
significance of typage exceeds its narrow definition as a technique for casting
nonactors as social types. As he insists elsewhere, there is a typage of plot as
well as character, which signifies both the internal unity of a films overall con-
struction and the typicality of the events it portrays. In its broadest register, ty-
page is nothing less than the signifier of the entire construction obtaining at a
particular period.2 Approached in this way, as a mode of typicality, the under-
lying operation of typage can be seen to play a pervasive role in the Notes and in
Eisensteins thought generally. Insofar as its task is to make a single member of
a social class or occupation stand for the whole, typage is a paradigmatic in-
stance of pars pro toto (the part for the whole) a concept central to Eisensteins
later writings, including the Notes.
In this chapter, I attempt to trace a genetic link between the more narrow
understanding of typage as device or method and this broader concept of pars pro
toto in which it participates. Beginning with the aesthetic practices to which ty-
page is most clearly indebted commedia dellarte and caricature I examine
how they share in the same basic operation of typicality: the construction of a
juncture between the general and the particular in a single depiction. To clarify
the force of this operation, I place it in contradistinction to two other modern
strategies for producing types. The first of these counterexamples is drawn from
the hostile political and cultural milieu in which Eisenstein increasingly found
himself from the early 1930s onward; the second from the nineteenth-century
confrontation between caricature and the positivist application of the protocine-
matic technique of composite photography. What distinguishes Eisensteins con-
ception of typage from these other approaches to type is captured most concisely
in the Notes with his oxymoronic formulation: dynamic mummification. By per-
333
forming the operation of making typical, typage for Eisenstein becomes a motor of
change and becoming even as it utilizes the seemingly most static of forms.
From Theater to Cinema: The Paradox of Infinite Types
As soon as I crossed over into cinema, I threw myself into typage.

Eisenstein, Theatre and Cinema (1934)3
Eisenstein never claimed typage as his exclusive invention. Like montage, it was a
term in general circulation among Soviet filmmakers in the 1920s. In his period-
izations of Soviet film history, Eisenstein consistently coupled typage with mon-
tage as one of the general tendencies of the first period (1924-1929). As he puts
it, the device was refracted differently in the work of the periods principle
filmmakers: from Vertovs factographic approach, to Kuleshovs model actor
(naturshchik), to Pudovkins scenario-based method.4 Nevertheless, Eisenstein
was the name most closely associated with typage, and for a time, especially in
the immediate wake of Battleship Potmkins success, that association lent the de-
vice its greatest prestige.5
As a concept, however, typage has a peculiar status in Eisensteins theory. Un-
like montage, which dominates his writing in the 1920s, it does not play a sig-
nificant role in his major essays from this period, the very time when the device
was so conspicuously present in his filmmaking. It seems to suffer from a pre-
sumption of theoretical self-evidence within Eisensteins writings (as well as the
voluminous secondary literature) in a way that montage never has. Not until the
early to mid-1930s do we find any extended discussions of typage, at which point
Eisenstein treats it retrospectively rather than as an active element of his theory
and practice. These retrospective accounts are at their most illuminating when he
is describing his transition from the Proletkult theater to making his first film,
Strike (1925). As Eisenstein tells it a decade hence, typage figures centrally in the
story of his transition. In fact, the most elaborate discussion of typage appears in
a 1934 lecture entitled Theater and Cinema for a course on direction at the
State Institute of Cinematography (GIK, later VGIK), a lecture he delivered dur-
ing the very time he was returning to theater after a ten-year hiatus.6 Eisenstein
describes his movement from theater to cinema in terms of an organic leap: at
the moment when theater had reached its limit with Proletkult it grew into
cinema. Along with montage, the primary path of that growth led directly from
commedia dellarte to typage: It transpires that the most theatrical phenomen-
on, that is, the comedy of masks, is transformed into a feature of the maximal
purity of cinema.7
This transformation produces two remarkable changes. The first concerns
how the audience recognizes character types. In commedia dellarte, stock masks
334 abe geil

present a defined character passport stamped with stylized traits reinforced
for the audience over years of repetition which is recognized the moment it
appears on stage.8 A similar economy of recognition is at work in Eisensteins
conception of cinematic typage. Which is why it is possible for typage to fulfill
one of the basic criteria of a film attraction its effects are calculable in ad-
vance so that without making recourse to psychological expression or narrative
development the filmmaker can know that, when I present this face, the entire
audience will know what is going on.9 The crucial difference is that the econo-
my of recognition in typage derives from a horizon of experience unbounded by
the conventions of theater or any other artistic tradition. [I]n typage, Eisenstein
remarks, you invariably present a particular audience with a face that expresses
everything on the basis of social experience (and not only social but also biologi-
cal experience).10 Unlike the form of habitual recognition that depends upon the
audiences familiarity with the stylizations of specific, finite characters in the
comedy of masks, in cinematic typage it is possible to recognize a character one
has never seen before because the sum of their physiological features disposes
us towards them in a particular way.11 Here Eisenstein simply passes over the
question of precisely how this link between social and biological experience
and the physiological features of a particular face is constituted.
The second change that accompanies the transformation of commedia del-
larte into typage is the counterpart, on the side of the image, to the expanded
horizon of its recognition: whereas commedia dellarte uses a set of seven or
eight stock characters, typage in cinema works with a potentially infinite number.
More than the simple crossing of a numerical threshold, such a transformation
virtually defines the leap from quantity to quality. It begs the question of how a
conception of type can persist in a domain of infinite characters. In the comedy
of masks there is a one-to-one relationship between type and character that ad-
heres in the stylization of the masks as an identity of content and form. Many of
Eisensteins typage constructions, especially in the early films, continue to work
in an analogous mode. The stylization of the fat capitalists in Strike, for example,
with their top hats and cigars, reproduces more or less directly the types drawn
by George Grosz in The Face of the Ruling Class (1921). Here the type is already
constituted by a set of stylized traits that preexist and determine the selection of
individual characters that conform to it. In other cases, however, Eisenstein pre-
sents entirely singular types. We might think, for example, of Marfa Lapkina in
The General Line (Ill. 1, p. 336) or Stepok in Bezhin Meadow (Ill. 2, p. 336). In these
cases, the operation appears reversed. It is as though Eisensteins act of selecting
a face itself produces the type it is meant to represent. The copy produces its
model. In this way, the problematic of typage is not just about deriving a poten-
tially infinite number of characters from a finite set of types. Rather, it entails a
notion of infinite types. How are we to understand such a paradoxical syntagm?
Does cinematic typage somehow posses the capacity to convert any face into its
dynamic typicality 335

own singular yet immediately recognizable type, and if so, at what point in this
process does the very logic of the type dissolve into sheer multiplicity?
Ill. 1 Marfa Lapkina from the cream separator sequence in The General Line (Sergei
Eisenstein, 1929).
Ill. 2 Vitya Kartashov as Stepok in Bezhin Meadow (Sergei Eisenstein, 1937).
Typage as Caricature
The prospect of infinite types is of course a political as well as an aesthetic prob-
lem, one linked with nineteenth-century urbanization and the historical emer-
gence of the masses as new forms of mobility and circulation unmoored social
appearances from accustomed identities. In Une Fille dEve, for example, Honor
de Balzac would bemoan this new world of infinite nuances: whereas the
336 abe geil

caste system gave each person a physiognomy which was more important than
the individual; today the individual gets his physiognomy from himself.12 It was
no coincidence that the art of caricature flourished in this social context. Much in
the way that Balzac understood the literary vocation of his encyclopedic La Com-
die humaine, caricature held out the promise of reestablishing the intelligibility of
social types.13 Long before Eisenstein encountered the comedy of masks in
Meyerholds theater, he had an intense interest in the art of caricature espe-
cially the nineteenth-century French caricaturists Grandville, Charles Philipon,
Andr Gill, and, above all, Honor Daumier14 and his conception of typage is
equally if not more indebted to this tradition. At a formal level, the problem
caricature responds to is the very gap that typage bridges between character
and type, or individual and class, or, more abstractly yet, between the levels of
particularity and generality. If caricature bridges this gap, it is not as a form of
mediation but as a short-circuit. Theodor Adorno describes this operation in the
work of Eisensteins beloved Daumier: [H]e assigns a very special status to the
concept of the type: in each image of the particular, as rendered in an outsize
nose or a set of bony shoulders, an image of the general is to be captured at the
same time.15 Likewise, typages work of making typical aims to directly produce
in the image of an individual face in all the crudit of its concrete particularity
the image of a type.
This idea of a direct transition from the particular to the general recurs at
several key points in the Notes where Eisenstein marks a leap in the history of art
from a stage of mimetic reproduction to a higher level of generalization. He de-
scribes this variously as the leap from the direct reproduction of an object or
event to its mummification,16 from banal copying to the reconstruction of
the principle of the structure of phenomena,17 and, with respect to photography
and cinema specifically, from the mechanical copy of reality to conscious
photographic creation.18 This leap is integral to Eisensteins understanding of
what it means to compose a General History of Cinema, not because it represents a
settled stage of development, but, to the contrary, because it repeats itself
throughout the history of art prior to cinema and again in the history of cinema
itself. Moreover, it must repeat itself. For this movement is both progressive and
regressive, returning to a previous moment of particularity at the same time as
raising it to a higher level of generality.
The nature of that double movement brings us directly to the intimate link
between typage and the principle of pars pro toto that I gestured toward at the
outset of this chapter. In the Notes, Eisenstein suggests that in the course of its
emergence in the history of art the principle of pars pro toto performs its own
variation upon the leap weve just described. And it makes that leap again in the
history of cinema where it emerges most conspicuously in the close-up. Pars pro
toto first arises as what he calls pre-synecdoche, in which the part is simply any
one of all possible details. Eisensteins example here is Griffiths informational

close-up, an arbitrary element cut out of the spatial temporal whole and en-
larged. In its next phase, pars pro toto accomplishes the transition to a fully rea-
lized synecdoche in which the detail now bears a necessary relation to the whole:
it is the typical one as the only one substituting for the whole.19 Now the
exemplar of pars pro toto is our close-up, found, for example, in the shot of the
ship doctors pince-nez in Battleship Potmkin. But here we must take care to avoid
an easy conflation. Given the close association of the face with the close-up in
the history of cinema, there is an obvious temptation to reduce typage to a mere
function of the close-up. For Eisenstein, however, there is no necessary relation
between typage and the close-up. It is simply that both participate in the logic of
pars pro toto, whether independently or in concert. Just as the close-up did not
originate with the invention of film, as Eisenstein famously insists, neither did
typage.
When Eisenstein discusses typage as a matter of practical artistic judgment, he
casts particularity and generality as the poles of naturalism and conventional-
ism. A typage construction will fail to bring its effect across if it errs too far in
the direction of one pole or the other. At one extreme, it risks sinking into nat-
uralist particularity and becoming no more than a face, plain and simple, rather
than a typical collective face. At the other, it risks the deadness of repetition
and generalization, passing over into hieroglyphics and losing its pictorial
effectivity.20 But this way of posing the problem is misleading inasmuch as it
suggests that an effective typage construction requires splitting the difference
between these poles, as if it were a matter of adding or subtracting a quantum of
the natural here or the conventional there. To the contrary, the entire force of the
notion of infinite types lies in short circuiting the middle-course resolution. In this
respect, Eisensteins most incisive approach to typage understood now as a
paradigmatic instance of pars pro toto is perhaps not to be found in his discus-
sions of typage itself but, rather, in his famous doctrine of the juncture of oppo-
sites. As weve seen, the caricatural dimension of typage lies in a direct coinci-
dence of the particular and the general in its capacity to make extremes
meet.21
From Living Man to Image (Obraz)

If we accept that Eisensteins idea of typicality is best understood according to
the juncture of opposites, what then should we make of the fact that Eisensteins
remarks on typage in the early to mid-1930s do nevertheless stress the idea of
balance? To begin with, the passage quoted above regarding the need for a bal-
ance between the vital particularity of naturalism and the generality of con-
ventionalism needs to be considered carefully within the ideological context of
its utterance. At that point, typage was thoroughly associated with the formalism
that had been under assault in official Soviet culture since the late 1920s. In the
338 abe geil

years leading up to the adoption of Socialist Realism as the official doctrine for
Soviet cinema in 1935, the slogan of the the living man was one of the primary
weapons by which that assault was carried out. Conceived and promoted by the
Russian Association of Proletarian Writers (RAPP), this slogan took up the
broadly vitalist theme of life overcoming the sterile intellectualism of form,
concentrating it into a representational norm for the correct portrayal of socialist
characters. Representing the living man in the work of art meant depicting a
characters vital attributes and particularities through an emphasis on psychol-
ogy. And of course it was precisely such psychologism that the ideographic strat-
egy of typage was designed to oppose in the first place. But if in 1929 Eisenstein
could still publicly attack the the living man as the reactionary imposition of a
right-wing deviation upon Soviet cinema,22 by 1937 he is compelled in an offi-
cial statement of self-criticism to adopt its vitalist terms in renouncing the typage
tendencies that contributed to the catastrophe of Bezhin Meadow:
[I]n regard to the appearance of the cast. These were not living faces but
masks: the ultimate generalization of typicality [tipichnost], as distinct from
a real face. In their behavior, the emphasis was on stasis, where the static
frozen face was like the mask of a gesture just as a mask was the ultimate
generalization of a dead face.23
Yet this is only one side of the delicate operation of self-criticism that Eisenstein
was compelled to perform. For just as it was possible in the view of the censors
to err on the side of dead generalizations, it was equally incorrect to place too
much emphasis on the particularity of lifes manifestations to the detriment of
typicality. Thus Eisenstein also criticizes the central episode of Bezhin Meadow a
kulak father murdering his Young Pioneer son for being not in the least bit
characteristic. Even though the incident was taken from real life (such things
had happened) it was nevertheless not a typical episode. Quite the opposite: it
is exceptional, unique and uncharacteristic.24
Eisensteins balancing act in The Mistakes of Bezhin Meadow with regard to
the problem of typicality can be understood as his attempt to manage a funda-
mental contradiction at play in the vitalist canon of Socialist Realism. According
to Mikhail Iampolski, this canon attempted to enforce two incompatible norma-
tive demands: On one hand, it fostered the attitude that life was to be maximally
reflected in all its manifestations. But, on the other hand, emphasizing any ele-
ment was perceived as elevating a part to the detriment of the whole, hence as a
sign of formalism.25 What resulted was the impossible criterion of perfect
averageness [] some apothecaries weight of all components.26 This essen-
tially untenable ideological demand for averageness, which led first to the valor-
ization and later the denunciation of the living man, ultimately found resolu-
tion in a concept that was sufficiently vague to accommodate these

contradictions the image (obraz). Originally a concept in religious art dating
to the Byzantine tradition, Iampolski describes the recuperation of image
(obraz) in the context of Socialist Realism as an amorphous construct that com-
bined aspects of typification and averageness with those of lifes elementary vital-
ity.27 This doctrine of the image enabled the continuation of the contradictory
ideal of an average or typical hero, a figure who incarnated the very best attri-
butes of vitality while remaining entirely within the bounds of the average, with
all extremes blandly balanced.28
From 1937 onward after the denunciation and physical destruction of Bezhin
Meadow, as well as his coerced letter of self-criticism Eisenstein too adopted the
image (obraz) as a central category in his writings. But whatever ideological
cover the terms vagueness may have provided, it is clear that Eisensteins ex-
plorations of the image carry forward and even sharpen his formalist interest
in the problematic of typage (albeit without using the term).29 This is especially
evident in his unfinished book Montage, composed of texts written largely be-
tween 1937 and 1940.30 In these texts, Eisenstein explores the coexistence of
what he calls depiction and the generalizing image across a stunning range
of graphic forms. I believe that it is in the existence of these two elements the
specific instance of depiction and the generalizing image which pervades it that
the implacability and the all-devouring force of artistic composition resides.31
This formulation of the image (obraz) captures the basic operation of carica-
ture: the direct production of an image of the general in a depiction of the parti-
cular.
Composite Photography as Real Generalization

While the ancient art of physiognomic caricature underwent a cultural resur-
gence during the nineteenth century in the context of social massification, it
could hardly match the biopolitical utility of the new science of statistics when it
came to the classification of populations. For the Victorian eugenicist Francis
Galton, physiognomical classification would only ever rise to the level of positi-
vistic knowledge exemplified by statistical analysis by purifying itself of the sub-
jective distortions of caricature:
The physiognomical difference between different men being so numerous

and small, it is impossible to measure and compare them each to each, and to
discover by ordinary statistical methods the true physiognomy of a race. The
usual way is to select individuals who are judged to be representative of the
prevalent type, and to photograph them; but this method is not trustworthy,
because the judgment itself is fallacious. It is swayed by exceptional and
grotesque features more than by ordinary ones, and the portraits supposed to
be typical are likely to be caricatures.32
340 abe geil

Galton staked the superiority of his new anthropometric technique of composite
photography upon its capacity to overcome precisely this propensity for carica-
ture by extracting the element of human judgment altogether. The key lay in
devising a procedural formalism that matched the technical automatism of the
photographic medium. Galtons solution was to divide the total exposure time
for a given composite by the number of facial images in the sample class of a
given type out of which the composite was to be composed mugshots of male
criminals, for example (Ill. 3, p. 341).33 The result, he claimed, was a new pic-
torial statistics, the equivalent of those large statistical tables whose totals,
divided by the number of cases and entered on the bottom line, are the
averages.34 By uniting the iconic and indexical properties of photography with
the statistical capacity for quantitative abstraction, Galtons composites would
visualize types as real generalizations, because they include the whole of the mate-
rial under consideration.35 Even the characteristic blurring along the edges of
these composites was claimed by Galton to increase their statistical precision by
measuring the tendency of individuals to deviate from the central type.36 Most
importantly, that central type is brought into focused solidity by the repeated
exposures of overlapping features. Thus the most abstract level of representation,
statistical average, is pictured as entirely concrete, while the deviating blurs reg-
ister the ghost of a trace of individual peculiarities.37 Translated into the terms
of Eisensteins concept of the image (obraz), Galtons ideal of real generaliza-
tions expresses the dream of subsuming depiction into the line of generaliza-
tion without a remainder not the juncture but the fusion of opposites.
Ill. 3 Composite Portrait of a Criminal Type (Francis Galton, 1897).

In effect, Galton promises nothing less than a technological fix for the paradox
of infinite types: to square the circle by simultaneously preserving and averaging
natures empirical multiplicity. By redoubling the automatism of photography,
his real generalizations purported to bridge the gap between a regime of visual
differentiation (the mug shot as a means to identify specific individuals) and a
regime of visual classification (the composite portrait as a means to establish
general categories into which any number of individuals could be slotted). In
actuality, that bridge is only accomplished by virtue of the transcendental taxon-
omy of quasinatural types that organized the photographs of particular faces into
Galtons sample sets to begin with. This smuggling of a transcendental order
into an ostensibly empirical demonstration is the basic operation by which phy-
siognomy is converted into an object of positivist knowledge and set in contra-
distinction to its disavowed other: physiognomy as caricature.
Eisenstein insists upon this same distinction but from the side of caricature
and against positivist representation. In Beyond the Shot (1929), for example,
he describes the expressive force produced by the disproportionate representa-
tion of facial features in portraits by the great eighteenth-century Japanese wood-
block printmaker Tshsai Sharaku (the Japanese Daumier38) and compares it
to a cinematic montage of incongruous shot scales. In both cases, the effect is
not simple distortion or discontinuity. Rather, the depictive elements of the re-
presentation are subordinated to what Eisenstein calls (following Julius Kurth) a
semantic purpose: to embody in the image itself a standpoint toward the object it
represents. Whereas Galton links caricature to human judgment as proof of the
latters faulty perception, Eisenstein elevates this link to an active principle
of tendentious composition, and, in the name of this principle, he asserts that
[p]ositivist realism is by no means the correct form of perception. When he
then turns to sharply criticize the demand for actual (absolute) proportions on
the part of positivist realism, he sees its will to correct figural distortion as the
function of a social structure that seeks to negate tendentiousness tout court. As a
demand for subordination to the inviolable order of things, this tendency re-
turns periodically and unfailingly in periods when absolutism is in the ascen-
dancy, replacing the expressiveness of antiquated disproportions with a regular
ranking table of officially designated harmony.39
This latter statement, aimed here against the antiformalist tendencies mount-
ing in the official Soviet culture of 1929, could easily be applied retrospectively to
Galtons idea of composite types as the modern corrective to the distortions of
caricature or, for that matter, prospectively to the normative demand of Socialist
Realism for the impossible balance of heroic typicality. What both of these doc-
trines share is an idealist commitment to the univocal relation between an es-
sence and its phenomenal appearance, a relation that entails a conception of
form as the causal expression of an immutable order. They cannot tolerate the
distortion of a standpoint embodied in the form itself, not least because it threat-
342 abe geil

ens to reverse the direction of causality, redounding upon the underlying order
that it ought merely to express.
Physiognomy as Self-Generalizing Form

From the beginning, Eisenstein found the prospect of reversing the causal order
of essence and appearance virtually irresistible as an aesthetic operation. Evi-
dence of that appeal can be seen, for example, in his embrace of various motor
theories of cognition and emotion for his theory of attractions. Among the most
influential proponents of these theories in the early twentieth century was Wil-
liam James. And in a very late essay written in same period as the Notes, Eisen-
stein recalls that during his time in the Proletkult theater he was already aware
of Jamess famous formula that we are not crying because we are sad; but we are
sad because we are crying. I liked that formula first of all aesthetically, for its
paradoxical quality.40 Eisensteins description here of his affinity for this Jame-
sian inversion returns us to the paradox of typage whereby the selection of an
individual face precedes the general type it is meant to express.
As an illustration of how Eisenstein puts this inversion to work with respect to
typage, consider his transformative appropriation of the tradition of physiog-
nomy itself a discourse that focalizes the expression of essence in the outward
appearance in the face. In his speech to the All-Union Creative Conference of
Soviet Filmworkers in 1935, Eisenstein combines an explicit rejection of the
scientific validity of Lavaters physiognomy with an affirmation of its artistic
power. We do not ascribe any scientific value to it objectively, and yet the mo-
ment we have to show a typical characterization of external appearance on a par
with a three-dimensional depiction of the character, we start using faces in the
same way as Lavater did.41 The discredited science of physiognomy can ree-
merge in art where it is needed as an image, as Eisenstein puts it, because the
falsity of physiognomy as a science lay in its positing a univocal relation between
essence and appearance. Once that relation is severed, the physiognomic appear-
ances assume an autonomy of form that makes them available to art.
In Montage, Eisenstein describes more precisely how it is possible to appropri-
ate physiognomy in this way. Physiognomic appearance depends upon what he
calls a reversed metaphor which entails a figurative connection between mi-
micry and physiognomy. A persons physiognomy generalizes, as it were, those
mimetic features which are most peculiar to him. His habitual movements seem
to be frozen in the permanent character mask of his face.42 It is crucial, however,
not to interpret this as a naturalistic description. If you need an actor to play an
old craftsman, Eisenstein tells his students at GIK, you dont go to a workshop
and pick out the first craftsman who has been there since before the Revolution.
Not at all.43 Rather, it is a matter of selecting a face in which that entire history
of experience and expression appears as if it were congealed there. For Eisen-

stein, the efficacy of that selection is ultimately a question of artistic judgment.
What matters for our purposes is the act of selection as a mode of judgment in
the first instance as opposed to taking what he calls disparagingly a naturalistic
mug shot. It is the leap between what he calls in the Notes the mere reproduction
of reality and its dynamic mummification. Indeed, Eisensteins aesthetic ap-
propriation of physiognomy as self-generalizing form recalls the fundamental
dynamism at the heart of his conception of the image (obraz):
constituted as a generalization, as an aggregation of separate metaphors into

a single whole: this is again not a process of formation; it is an end-product,
but an end-product which, as it were, contains a swarm of potential dynamic
(metaphoric) features that are ready to explode. It is the sort of immobility
that is not inaction but the acme of dynamism.44
Conclusion
By way of conclusion, I would like to briefly consider how the idea of dynamic
typicality Ive attempted to elucidate might also shed light on Eisensteins idio-
syncratic construction of a history of cinema in the Notes. As Antonio Somaini
demonstrates in his introduction to this volume, the basic compositional princi-
ple at work here is montage. Somaini convincingly argues that by taking up mon-
tage as an epistemic tool invented by cinema itself for the exposition and ana-
lysis of its own history Eisenstein is able to produce a nonlinear history of
cinema adequate to his understanding of the mediums temporal complexity. To
this fundamental insight into the centrality of montage for our understanding of
the Notes, I would add only that its less illustrious sibling might have a support-
ing role to play. Typage, at its most basic level, involves a principle of selection
(why this face among the multitude?) and, given the sheer capaciousness of what
Eisenstein planned to include in his general history of cinema, the problem of
selection is no small matter. Within a time scale spanning from petroglyphs to
the most current developments in mid-twentieth-century film, there are a quasi-
infinite number of possible examples available to be taken up as elements in a
potential montage. And, if Eisensteins Notes prove anything, it is that there is
nothing in the entire history of art, media, and technology that cannot in princi-
ple be compared to cinema. Once the selection is made and taken up, the accom-
plishment of montage is to produce out of the examples contingency the neces-
sity of typicality a synecdoche in Eisensteins strong sense of a nonsubstitutable
substitute for the whole.
But alongside the principle of montage, a more conventional logic of linear
history is also present in the Notes. This is perhaps most evident in the various
chronologies of inventions, such as the list of precinematic technologies that
Eisenstein borrows directly from Lewis Mumfords Technics and Civilization.45 The
344 abe geil

principle of typicality offers a way to think a relation in the Notes between these
apparently incommensurable historical logics. When Eisenstein asserts, for ex-
ample, that drawn cinema precedes other types he is referring at once to pro-
tocinematic apparatuses like the zoetrope that mechanically create the illusion of
movement from still images and to the style of contour drawing exemplified for
him by Disneys animation.46 But it is only in asserting the typicality of the latter,
with its direct connection to the long history of animal epos, that the historically
contingent invention of the zoetrope can assume a kind of retroactive necessity.
It is this sense, that Eisenstein can duly put [Disney] in the beginning of the history
of cinema, ahead of an apparatus invented some seventy years before Disney was
born.47 In fact, Eisenstein constructs one of his most extreme anachronisms in
his luminous notes on Disney (written in the years just prior to the Notes) where
he imagines Ovid plagiarizing Disney some two thousand years in advance. After
rapturously describing the literal metamorphosis he sees embodied in Disneys
drawn animations, he insists that his choice of the term metamorphosis is not a
slip of the tongue, for in leafing through Ovid, several of his pages seem to be
copied from Disneys cartoons.48 Eisensteins method for constructing a history
of cinema one capable of producing the necessity for such an anachronism out
of the conventionally static chronologies of artists and inventions is perhaps
best captured up in his own one-line summary of the Metamorphoses: a direct
protest against the standardly immutable.49

8. Archaeology vs.
Paleontology: A Note on
Eisensteins Notes for a
General History of
Cinema
Vinzenz Hediger
Un artiste original ne peut pas copier.

Il na donc qu copier pour tre original.
Jean Cocteau
What kind of a history of cinema does Eisenstein propose in his notes? How does
his General History of Cinema relate to other histories, and in particular to the
histories of other arts? And to what extent is the idea of a General History of
Cinema still relevant to our contemporary concerns?
To answer these questions, it may be useful to start with a statement from
another filmmaker/critic/historian which was made fifteen years after Eisenstein
wrote his sketch of a General History of Cinema. In an interview published in
1962, Jean-Luc Godard proclaimed: We are the first filmmakers who know that
Griffith has existed.1 The We Godard spoke about was, of course, the group
of French cinphiles-turned-critics-turned-filmmakers that included Truffaut,
Chabrol, Rohmer, and Godard himself. This group became known as the nou-
velle vague, a label originally coined by journalist Jean-Jacques Servan-Schreiber,
founder of Le Nouvel Observateur magazine, to describe the postwar generation
whose ascendancy coincided with the rise to power of Charles de Gaulle. What
was new about the nouvelle vague directors was indeed, as Godard somewhat
grandiloquently claimed, that they knew who Griffith was. They were all gradu-
ates of the twin academies of the Cinmathque franaise and Cahiers du cinma,
i.e., the schools of Henri Langlois and Andr Bazin. Langlois started collecting
film in the late 1920s based on the assumption that film was an art form and that
directors were artists whose work deserved to be preserved for posterity. As can
347
be seen from his very early writings Bazin set out to become a film critic with the
stated goal to prove, through his own work, that film was an art that deserved its
own criticism and theory of criticism, like painting, literature, or music. For both
Langlois and Bazin treating film as an art, whether in the act of screening films
or talking and writing about films, meant acknowledging that film had its own
history: not a history that derived from other arts, but a history in its own right.
While Bazin thought and wrote a lot about cinema in relation to theater, paint-
ing, and the other arts he maintained the idea of a medium specificity of cinema
in texts such as The Ontology of the Photographic Image or The Myth of Total
Cinema. Even when Bazin defended the idea of a cinma impur his main point
was that cinema could stand on its own without having to resort to the abstrac-
tion and formal purity promoted by the various avant-gardes of previous decades.
So what exactly did Langlois and Bazin convey to Godard and his peers by
teaching them that Griffith had existed? One way of looking at is to say that they
taught their students that cinema was a modern art in the sense defined by Stan-
ley Cavell. The modern, Cavell argues, is a condition in which art acquires a
history, that is in which music and painting and poetry (like nations) have to
define themselves against their past. Acquiring a history, however, also means
acquiring a future. Defining an art form against the past also means subjecting
art works to a logic of the new. In the condition of the modern, as Cavell calls
it, works attain relevance to the extent that they innovate upon existing forms,
i.e., to the extent that they represent a use of the medium that is new and distinc-
tive when compared to what came before, which may also mean that they expand
the limits of their medium of expression and redefine that medium. Once an art
has become modern, artists gain prominence in direct proportion to their proven
ability to innovate, to create something new and redefine their medium of ex-
pression. In the process, technical ability becomes secondary to the ability to
innovate. It remains an open question whether Andy Warhol was, technically
speaking, as good a painter as Rembrandt, but there is no doubt that the inventor
of pop art is as important an artist as the Dutch master of the golden light. Tech-
nically ability remains important, but for the modern artist a sound knowledge
of the history of a given art is a necessary condition for artistic success. What is
more in the process of defining themselves against their past each of the arts
becomes its own subject, as if its immediate artistic task is to establish its own
existence.2 Whether we describe the result with a concept like reflexivity or
use some other term to capture this tendency: once the task of the artist becomes
to create something new, and testing the limits of the medium becomes standard
procedure in artistic production, art develops a tendency to be, at least partially,
all about itself.
As for cinema, the question, as Cavell famously wrote, is not whether cinema
can be an art but how it could be spared the fate of becoming one for so long.
Cinema and especially classical Hollywood cinema is, in Cavells view, most em-
348 vinzenz hediger

phatically not a modern art, but an art that emerges and evolves outside of the
strictures and constraints of art-historical consciousness. It is a classic art form
whose practitioners are blissfully oblivious to the dictates of the new. Rather than
innovate and test the limits of their medium, classical Hollywood filmmakers
simply produce masterpiece after masterpiece. In Cavells estimation, in the
sound period from the early 1930s through the 1950s more undeniable master-
pieces come out of Hollywood than there are in all of Elizabethan poetry (and
that includes Shakespeare).
The modern only really catches up with cinema in the late 1950s and the
early 1960s, with a new generation of filmmakers who are indeed aware, as God-
ard phrases it, that Griffith has existed. The films Godard and his nouvelle
vague peers create are not necessarily technically superior to their predecessors.
In fact, in a survey article for Film Quarterly from 1959 on the earliest films of the
nouvelle vague, Noel Burch, defending a different strain of cinematic modernism
derived from the avant-garde in the visual arts, deplores the poor quality and
obvious lack of technical skill on display in the works of this new generation of
filmmakers.3 What Godard, Chabrol and their peers may have lacked in well-
honed technical skill they make up for by creating something new, and by testing
the limits of the medium. The jump cut for instance, a technical mistake of the
most glaringly obvious nature, became a distinctive trait of Godards films after
bout de souffle (1960), to the extent that older filmmakers like Henri Verneuil
started to insert jump cuts into their films to keep up with the hip new cinema of
the younger generation.
But as disruptive or even revolutionary as the artistic practice of Godard and
his generation may have appeared, the historical consciousness from which it
derived actually created continuity with the past of film art.4 Godard placed him-
self in an explicit line of filiation with numerous great directors of classical cine-
ma, but particularly so with Fritz Lang. Lang appeared, of course, as the quasi-
mythical director of a film version of The Odyssey in Le Mpris (1963). What is less
known is that Lang provided, however unwittingly, the financing for bout de
souffle: the films producer, Georges de Beauregard, coproduced Langs second-
to-last German film, The Indian Tomb (1959), and used the avance sur recettes, the
state subsidy paid out as a function of that films box office success, to finance
Godards directorial debut.5 In a lengthy interview with Fritz Lang, produced for
French television in 1967 by Andr S. Labarthe, Godard provided a template for
this and other filiations that constituted the continuity of his work with the past
of film art. The title of the program was Le dinosaure et le bb (The dinosaur
and the toddler), a title that established a sense of the awe-inspiring distance
between Lang, one of the founders of film art, and his still youngish disciple
Godard, but also suggested a specific genealogical template. For Godard, appar-
ently, to define himself against his past meant to discuss film art in terms of
archaeology vs. paleontology 349

origin and descent. Reflecting on film history meant tracing his own origins,
meant a form paleontology.
What is important here is that Godard was actually in a position to use paleon-
tology as a template for film history: It was possible for him to trace his own
origins to predecessors like Fritz Lang or Griffith, who were also filmmakers,
that is, who worked with and within the same medium as him, and within the
same medium that he was expanding with his disruptive new form of artistic
practice.
Against Cavell one could argue that cinema acquired its own history long be-
fore Godard and his peers came along. In fact, what is probably the first tract on
the history of cinema was published in France in 1914, and when film lovers like
Henri Langlois or Iris Barry started organizing film archives devoted to film as an
art and the preservation of works threatened with loss at the dawn of the sound
era, they certainly acted with a clear idea of the mediums history in mind.6 In
their 1935 Histoire du cinema, which was translated by Iris Barry into English in
1938, Bardche and Brasillach sorted cinema according to national origin and
defined cinema not only against its past, but also against the past of the various
great nations of cinema.7 Their approach to film history, which despite Braill-
sachs fascist leanings and not least thanks to Barrys translation provided a
model that held sway over film historiography for the next few decades,8 simply
expanded on the principle of nations competing with each other through their
major film artists established three years earlier with the first edition of the Ve-
nice Film festival.
Furthermore, while the existence of film historiography does not necessarily
mean that the artistic practice of film was driven or guided by a consciousness of
the mediums history, there is little doubt that the avant-garde filmmakers of the
1920s considered themselves as artists in what Cavell defines as the modern
sense of the term. However, the avant-garde filmmakers of the 1920s looked less
to cinema and its past than to the other arts to define their place and the place of
their art in history. All avant-gardes must subscribe to the temporal logic of a
steady historical progress of the arts in order to carve out their place at the fore-
front of that progress. According to the avant-garde of the 1920s, cinema, albeit a
new art form, had already fallen behind and needed to catch up with the other
arts, particularly with painting, which had just undergone a revolutionary shift to
abstraction, and with music, where Schnbergs twelve-tone music was the latest
word. For an artist-filmmaker like Hans Richter, who also happened to be proli-
fic writer on the history of the cinematic arts9 and who set out to turn cinema
into a medium for producing sensations rather than merely for reproducing
objects before the lens,10 abstract animation and the pure play of forms was the
way for film to achieve parity with the other arts. While characters on screen in
the 1920s hypnotized each other with spells like Du mut Caligari werden! (You
must become Caligari!), the avant-garde entreated cinema to become (like) paint-
350 vinzenz hediger

ing and music it if truly was to be an art, carving out a pattern that was to endure
into later stages of the avant-garde. When Peter Kubelka stressed that music had
been a metric art for hundreds of years and called for cinema to become a pure
metric art along the same lines before he proceeded to exhibit his films as Film-
tableaus, i.e., segmented into strips of equal length in a rectangular picture
frame as if they were abstract paintings to be hanged on a wall, he was still
following in the footsteps of the first avant-garde of the 1920s.11 Paradoxically,
by linking the fate of cinema to the supposed historical progress of the other arts
the avant-garde reverted behind Lessings Laocon to an Horatian conception of
ut pictura poiesis, of the identity and interchangeability of the arts, obliterating
the mediums specificity and with it what may have been perceived as cinemas
own particular history in the process.
As for Soviet cinema of the 1920s, the response of filmmakers such as Eisen-
stein to the institutional mode or representation of Western and particularly
Hollywood cinema consisted in attempting to place cinema not only at the
avant-garde of art history, but of history tout court. The cinema of Eisenstein and
his peers was not merely a product and a representation of the revolution but was
meant to be a contribution toward its completion.12 Eisensteins Notes are a cul-
mination of two and a half decades of reflection on the place of cinema in the
history of the arts by a master practitioner who considered cinema not merely as
an object of historiography but as an agent of history.
In defense of Godard and his Cavellian chronology it is important to note that
in his Notes as well as in many of his earlier writings Eisenstein uses a genealogi-
cal template that is quite different from Godards paleontology of cinema. Eisen-
steins goal in the Notes is to determine the historical place of the cinema in the
history of the arts. While Yo, his autobiography, served to show how one be-
came Eisenstein, the Notes prepared the ground for a work that was supposed to
show how cinema became what it had become, particularly in the hands of Ei-
senstein.13 In the Notes for a General History of Cinema, but also in his earlier writ-
ings, Eisenstein systematically reaches outside of cinema to other arts and other
media, as well as beyond his culture of origin to show how cinema had become
what it was, and to envision what cinema could yet become. Eisenstein also knew
who Griffith was, as did Richter, by the way, even though he misspelled his sec-
ond name as Ward in one of his texts from the 1950s. But when Eisenstein
writes about Griffith, he writes not about the cinema alone and about Griffith in
relation to the history of cinema. Rather, he writes a sentence like this: From
here, from Dickens, from the Victorian novel, stem the first shoots of the Amer-
ican film esthetic forever linked with the name of David Wark Griffith.14 Instead
of dinosaurs and toddlers Eisenstein writes about plants, or more specifically
about transplants: among other things, the emergence of cinema appears as a
cross-pollination of sorts between the arts, but also as a cross-pollination be-
tween various media. But Eisensteins genealogical templates are not limited to

metaphors lifted from biology. This is sound cinema! Eisenstein is reported to
have exclaimed while watching a Kabuki theater performance. In Kabuki, Eisen-
stein discovered not only the principle of breaking down the actors body into its
component parts that is one of the hallmarks of cinematic montage (a principle,
by the way, that Richter attributed as one of his principal innovations to Griffith).
Eisenstein also discovered an articulation of body, gesture and spoken language
that he read as a model for the montage in sound film, just as he had discovered
the principle of silent film montage in what he perceived to be the ideogram-
matic principle of Japanese and Chinese writing. Like Erza Pound, Eisenstein
based his reading of Japanese and Chinese writing on a misconception of the
Chinese ideogram that they both ostensibly inherited from Ernest Fenollosa,
namely that the word (i.e., the Chinese or Japanese character) could carry the
pictorial equivalent of its linguistic meaning.15 As in the case of Pound, Eisen-
steins misconception proved to be highly productive. Eisensteins understanding
of the ideogram as a representation led him to an understanding of montage,
and particularly intellectual montage, as the juxtaposition of images of concrete
objects to construct abstract concepts and notions, preferably through a conflict
of meanings.
Some critics have read Eisensteins fascination with Japanese art and culture as
a case of orientalism and primitivism. According to their argument, Eisenstein
steps outside the boundaries of his own culture and enlists Asian art in order to
create a primitivist genealogy of cinema that dispenses with and explodes the
confines of the models of European art.16 That may be so. After all, the Soviet
Empire was the successor of the Russian Empire, which was a colonial empire
like Britain or France, with the difference that Russia engaged in internal rather
than external colonization, from the colonization of the Ukrainian plains and the
subjugation of the Siberian tribes to the systematic acquisition of resource-rich
territories in central Asia. The culture that Eisenstein attempted to transcend by
searching for epiphanies of prefiguration in Asian art was a culture still pro-
foundly marked by the colonial experience. The revolutionary state absorbed
the practices and experiences that the Empire projected onto its subject peoples,
writes Alexander Etkind in a discussion of Hannah Arendts concept of the
boomerang effects of colonialism on the colonizing societies. Not only is the
post-Soviet era postcolonial, the Soviet era was postcolonial, too.17 Along those
lines it is possible to argue that Eisensteins conception of the revolutionary audi-
ence of peasants and workers, beyond his artistic figurations of the mass as a
total union inaccessible to the limited individual which owed a great deal to
Freud and his idea of the unconscious,18 remained embedded in a rhetoric of
internal colonization that the Soviet cultural elites in an oblique way inherited
from their tsarist predecessors and that proved to be surprisingly resilient to the
cultural and political upheaval of the Russian revolution. Eisensteins primiti-
vism, then, would be as much a matter of the primitives at home that the
352 vinzenz hediger

Soviet revolutionary filmmakers set out to educate as it was a matter of the pri-
mitives and their art abroad, a matter of the non-European origin of some of his
sources.
In any case a discussion that focuses solely on Eisensteins supposed oriental-
ism in drawing on Asian art and culture misses the larger point: namely, that
Eisensteins genealogical pathways feed into a comprehensive conception of ci-
nema as the Vollendung, the completion and end, of all the other arts, which
includes non-European arts and their history. The idea of one art as the comple-
tion and summation of all the other arts in itself is not new. As Eisenstein, the
polymath, knew well, Berninis baroque chapels and the Cornaro chapel in the
church of St. Maria della Vittoria in Rome in particular were designed to be
complete artworks and to create evidence of an underlying unity of the visual
arts, with architecture providing the outer frame to embed all the other arts.19
Furthermore, as Dieter Thom has argued in his essay on Eisensteins 1940 pro-
duction of Wagners Die Walkre, the concept of the Gesamtkunstwerk provides
one of the inspirations for Eisensteins ideas about montage, and the inherent
tensions of the Wagnerian Gesamtkunstwerk can be said to find a reflection and
continuation in the contradictory dynamics of Eisensteinian montage.20 How-
ever, beyond the influences of Bernini and Wagner Eisensteins conception of
cinema as the completion of art must also be traced back to Hegels philosophy
of history. The indebtedness of Eisenstein to the dialectics of Hegel is not a mat-
ter of contention. His notion of conflict, for instance, is directly lifted from He-
gel. However, the extent, and the bold nature of Eisensteins Hegelianism prob-
ably only come really to the fore in the Notes for a General History. For Eisenstein,
cinema is to the other arts and to the history of art as the philosophy of Hegel is
to other philosophies and to the history of philosophy. In philosophy, writes
Hegel in the Phenomenology of the Spirit, the first step is Auffassung, perception,
the second step is Beurteilung, judgment, while the third step, the most difficult
and most important, is the synthesis of understanding and judgment, Darstel-
lung. Philosophie ist Darstellung, writes Hegel, philosophy (and that means first
and foremost the philosophy of Hegel) is both a representation and perfor-
mance, a conceptual reenactment of sorts, of prior philosophies and the history
of philosophy. At the same time, Philosophie als Darstellung, philosophy as both
representation and performance of all previous philosophies, is the completion
of philosophy and its history, the end of philosophy. In his genealogy, Eisen-
stein, one could argue, simply replaces philosophy in Philosophie ist Darstellung
with cinema, the other philosophies with the arts and the history of philosophy
with the history of art. Cinema is Darstellung, i.e., both a representation and a
performative reenactment of the previous arts and their history, and it is simulta-
neously a summation of all the other arts and the completion of their history.
However, Eisensteins genealogy of cinema does not proceed by way of a dia-
lectics in which earlier art forms become obsolete and gain an afterlife only in

sublation. In fact one can even argue that Eisensteins conception of the history
of art is in a way as far from a historicist conception of empty, homogeneous
time as it is from the steady, revolutionary progression of history as process in a
Marxist sense. Instead, Eisensteins conception of history appears to be closer to
Benjamins idea of Jetztzeit of a past that becomes present and comes alive in
messianic splinters.21 In his writings on cinema and the other arts Eisenstein
proceeds in what we might call the mode of prefiguration and epiphany: a moment
of epiphany reveals the prefiguration of cinema and of its specific esthetic prob-
lems in other arts and media, and provides a solution for one or several of these
problems. Thus Kabuki is sound film in the sense that Kabuki prefigures the
problem of sound film and provides a template for the solution of this problem,
in the historical moment that the problem actually poses itself. To the extent that
the other arts survive in cinema, they survive not because they become absorbed
into some kind of conceptual totality, but because they contribute building
blocks toward the new art, messianic splinters that prefigure and eventually acti-
vate the potential of the coming art of film. Rather than a paleontology of practi-
tioners of film art, then, Eisensteins genealogy of film is an archaeology of the
prefigurations of cinema, and rather than filiation his mode of inquiry is that of
historical epiphany.
Godards paleontology of cinematic filiation succeeded Eisensteins archaeol-
ogy of prefiguration and epiphany, and the nouvelle vague certainly helped to
enshrine the auteurist approach to film history as the default mode of film his-
toriography in the decades since. Even in the Histoire(s) du cinema, where Godard
appears to engage in an archaeology of cinema of his own, the paleontological
model eventually prevails. At the beginning of episode 3A, for instance, Godard
argues that cinema begins with Manet because the female figures in his paintings
abandon the interiority of the female gaze, the moi dabord, le cosmos ensuite of Da
Vinci, Vermeer and even Corot. Instead, in Manet they start to look back with a
look that says Je sais quoi tu penses, engaging the viewer in an exchange of
looks in which the me joins the cosmos, as Godard puts it, and which antici-
pates or rather begins the patterns of looking of cinema. But while Godards
declaration Et avec Edouard Manet commence la peinture moderne, cest--dire le cinma-
tographe may sound like a prefiguration of the Eisensteinian kind, the sentence
really translates as lest we forget, before Griffith came Manet. Godard was
merely the first to know that the paleontology of cinematic filiation stretches
back to a certain well-known proto-Impressionist painter.
Eisensteins archaeology, on the other hand, appears to have found a series of
postfigurations in the various media archaeologies that have sprung up over the
last twenty-odd years and presented themselves variously as alternatives to the
paleontologies of auteurist film history. The New Film history of the 1970s and
1980s integrated approaches from economic and social history to break with
what a new generation of scholars had quickly come to view as the stale pieties
354 vinzenz hediger

of the great-auteurs-from-great-nations paradigm of film history. New Film his-
tory eventually branched out into a form of media historiography that tends to
dissolve the object of film into a Foucauldian media history. This new media
historiography can take the form of a media archaeology of film as proposed
variously by Thomas Elsaesser, Wanda Strauven, Michael Wedel or a historical
epistemology of the film dispositif as proposed by Franois Albera, Maria Tortaja-
da, and others. More radically, the media archaeology of Friedrich Kittler dis-
solves the object of film altogether into a new Hegelian narrative not of the com-
plete artwork, but of the complete medium, that is, the computer. This narrative,
which may best be described as Techno-Hegelianism, turns Hegel not only from
its head to its feet, but replaces the feet with the Heideggerian Gestell of tech-
nology, or more specifically: media technology. In Kittlers media archaeology,
the computer takes the place of the Hegelian Geist and becomes the medium
that can represent all other media. Thanks to the binary code, writes Christoph
Tholen in a seminal volume on the computer as medium that he coedited with
Kittler and Norbert Bolz in 1994, the computer is capable of representing all
that presents itself (alles zu prsentieren, was sich prsentiert).22 While Tholens
claim echoes a similar claim made in 1962 by the then-head of corporate com-
munications of Krupp, a German steel corporation,23 for the medium of film,
what is lost in the techno-Hegelian media archaeology of the computer in com-
parison to Eisensteins archaeology of cinema is precisely the consideration of
film and cinematic specificity, but also the Jetztzeit dynamics of prefiguration
and epiphany.
Maybe now that the Techno-Hegelian media archaeology of the computer has
largely run its course and has come to its own end while film and media history
continue to raise methodological challenges is a good time indeed to return to
Eisenstein and to the archaeology of prefiguration and epiphany in order to find
out how we should write the history of cinema going forward.
One of the challenges for a coming history of cinema, as well as for the history
of film theory, is to account for the way in which facing history and becoming an
art in Cavells sense changes cinema. In the view of one of his contemporaries,
Siegfried Kracauer, the effect of Eisensteins archaeology of prefiguration and
epiphany on his own cinema was paradoxical. When Eisenstein the theoretician
began to stress the similarities between the cinema and the traditional art media,
identifying film as their ultimate fulfillment, Kracauer wrote in Theory of Film,
Eisenstein the artist, increasingly trespassed the boundaries that separate film
from elaborate theatrical spectacles: think of his Alexander Nevsky and the operatic
aspects of his Ivan the Terrible.24 Kracauer, who had taken leave of the neo-Marx-
ist philosophy of history at the end of the 1920s and whose thinking about film at
the time he published Theory of Film owed more to Lessing than to Hegel (or
Lukcs), insisted that film could never fully become an art but that the aesthetic
value of the filmic lay in the right balance between the formative tendencies

of art and the realistic tendency of the medium, a position that included a
strong aversion to the theatrical mode in film. But by pointing to what he per-
ceives to be a divergence between Eisensteins artistic practice and his philoso-
phy of art history, Kracauer not only highlights the underlying coherence of cine-
ma as an object of theory and practice. He also insists on the need for cinema to
affirm itself as an art in its own right, or rather, in his terms, as a medium with
its own specificity. Or, to put it in other terms, in his Theory of Film, which was
first published in 1960, i.e., at the moment when according to Cavell film became
modern and an art in his sense of the term, Kracauer already assesses Eisenstein
from a point of view that is actually more in line with a Godardian paleontology
of cinema and treats Eisensteins own Hegelian archaeology as an approach that
is itself already an historical object.
However there is a tension not unlike the one that Kracauer sees in Eisenstein
in the Godardian paleontology of film. Fritz Lang himself happily endorsed the
paleontological template by calling himself the last of the dinosaurs in a well-
known interview with Charles Higham and Joel Greenberg, which was published
two years after the Godard interview.25 Lang did not, however, endorse the nou-
velle vague as such. In his view, the esthetic of the nouvelle vague was plagued
with an excessive realism that actually amounted to an anti-aesthetic of cinema.
They want to shoot everything just as it is, Lang said in his interview with
Higham and Greenberg. My way of shooting is through disciplined selection.
Im therefore absolutely opposed in principle to what the nouvelle vague does. I
think it is the death of art, which is primarily selection.
One could argue that Lang merely points out what may be also described as an
underlying affinity between the nouvelle vague and Kracauer, a refusal to reduce
film to the formative gesture, and a conception of cinema that ties aesthetic value
to the redemption of physical reality: to shoot everything just as is. Lang also
echoes Eisensteins critique of Vertov here, which may or may not be a coinci-
dence. But Lang certainly has a point. His concern with the lack of selection
appears to be echoed in a statement that Godard made not long after his com-
ments on Griffith: On peut tout mettre dans un film, on doit tout mettre dans un film
(You can put everything into a film, you have to put everything into a film). This
statement has been read as a poetics of Godards cinema: an application of No-
valiss concept of the infinite novel to cinema and the transformation of cinema
into a medium of reflection that encompasses and absorbs other all media and
de- and reconstructs all other art forms, that is based on the potential selection
of everything.26
In that sense cinema, once those who knew who Griffith was have taken over,
may indeed be seen as both the completion and the death of art: a cinema that is
thoroughly modern, oscillates between paleontology and archaeology, and pro-
vides an afterlife, a survivance not only to the other arts, but to cinema itself.
356 vinzenz hediger

9. Point Pathos Totality
Mikhail Iampolski
According to Eisenstein, the general model of the history of cinema follows a

dialectical formula. Everything begins with a certain primary nondismembered
protophenomenon resembling Goethes Urphnomen (which interested Eisen-
stein). In the process of development this protophenomenon is differentiated,
becomes more complex, and loses its initial unity. A phase of fragmentation sets
in, which indicates the decay of the primary organic form, but that same phase
prepares the dialectical leap into a new integrity, on a higher level which restores
the lost unity. This secondary wholeness is colored in utopian tones and pro-
duces a kind of telos out of itself. In social development this is a society without
contradictions,1 in art this is an aesthetic harmony, removing contradictions.
I will cite examples. Here is how Eisenstein schematizes the history of photo-
graphy. At first we have a whole photograph, in which elements of disintegration
are introduced. This is the Painter Rejlander (1813-1875) O.G. Rejlander, The
Two Ways of Life from 30 negatives (the first combined from 3, 1851). Next,
Duchenne de Boulogne: Photographs of G.-B.-A. Duchenne de Boulogne for
the book Mcanisme de la Physionomie Humaine, ou Analyse lectro-physiologique de lex-
pression des passions.2 What is referred to here are experiments in photographing
the movement of isolated facial muscles which disrupt the organics of facial ex-
pressions. Afterward Eisenstein mentions illustrated newspapers which provide
an even greater fragmentation of the world in photographs. The instantaneous
photograph comes into existence, breaking away from the idea of duration and a
newspaper serialization of images also takes place. After that, the disintegration
intensifies and photomontage appears: Montage by the means of the combina-
tion of the pictorial reproduction of photographs (Assembly of Scottish ministers
by David Octavius Hill). Montage by the means of combined printing. [] Mon-
tage by the means of combined shots.3 In the end comes the chronophotogra-
phy of Marey and Muybridge, in which phasing and fragmentation reach such
force that the only thing possible beyond them is a dialectical leap in a new unity
accomplishable by cinema. Cinema synthesizes anew a world fragmented to the
limit into a certain whole, into an illusion of life.
But such a scheme is found in the evolution of painting. At a certain stage
painting is integral: Simultaneous pictures. Stringing together various phases
357
of an event (Memling, Botticellis illustrations for the Divina Commedia). Simulta-
neous sets in Middle-Age and Renaissance theater. Subsequently a serialization
occurs, a multiplication of points of view, as in photography: Chain of pictures
(Hogarth, Goyas Robber Maragato). The problem of a compositions dynamics.
Further, the decomposition of the single point of view is found inside one figure
which combines different points of view: Various phases of the position of a
figure (Tintoretto, Daumier).4
The disintegration continues and goes parallel to the disintegration of social
unity. Divisionism, Pointillism, and Cubism correspond to the imperialist stage.
Before Eisenstein, Malevich, who believed that synthesis created Suprematism,
suggested a similar scheme of the evolution of painting. Eisenstein believed that
painting finds its lost unity in the cinematograph.
In a text with the expressive title The Heir, Eisenstein proclaims cinema the
heir of the old arts:
The historical place of cinema in the history of the arts

Its origins in the ruins of the second baroque.5
-Isms. Each based on one particular feature.
The social structure (USSR), seeking a type of mass art etc.
The social pre-condition and [the] technical [one] coincide.*
[]
The removal of contradictions
Where has it ever been more so than in our case?
Universal unity.
[]
The idea of synthesis as a revival* of syncretism.
Hostility towards synthesis in periods of social breakdown.
[]
The Phenomenon of Cinema
(History of the phenomenon*)
Frames and the method of cinema.
From the mosaic to pointillism.
A dynamic juxtaposition instead of mixing together.6
It is worth it to carefully examine the mechanism of this disintegration of the

whole and its subsequent assembly. The disintegration of unity in Eisenstein
usually leads to a phenomenon he calls multipointness (mnogotochechnost). On
358 mikhail iampolski

December 24, 1947, he writes: Multiple points of view. Dont forget van Eycks
The Arnolfini Couple with its a multi-point perspective.7 The director discovers
multipointness in The Portrait of Maria Ermolova by Valentin Serov, in Robert De-
launay, in Leonardo, in El Grecos Storm over Toledo, and even in ancient orna-
ments, where Eisenstein identifies multipoint montage (projection).8
But multipointness is not only the combination of a multiplicity of points of
view in one image or the serialization of one object in a multitude of images.
With regards to the Ghent Altarpiece, Eisenstein looks at the construction of the
frame and the altar gates and finds the principle of bricklaying in the structure
of the altar frames. Here, the points are not points of view, but segmentations of
the general space of the altar by the joints of the frames of the different images of
the lower and upper rows. Eisenstein identified that same bricklaying in Push-
kin, where points were, for instance, moments of joining of the aural and the
visual. Here, points become fully metaphorical. In Pushkin, the director finds
segmentations of the text, corresponding to the principle of the golden section,
when one part of the text is related to the other at a proportionality ratio of 0.618.
Such a segmentation of the text is accomplished by the point. Thus, Eisenstein
takes a fragment of Pushkins Poltava:

. ,
,
[His heavy wound
He forgot. His head dropping,
He gallops, pursued by the Russians]
and indicates that segmentation occurs at the pause after the word forgot,
where Pushkin placed a point (a period): The division of the whole mass, and also
the division within the mass. And again cut off by full stops periods, again
single instances when the period is inside the line.9 Here, the metaphorical
point coincides with the point (period) as a punctuation sign: this is the only
line interrupted within by the mark of full punctuation the period.10
Of course, none of the points Eisenstein writes about exist in nature. Pushkins
text does not break into measurable parts with the help of points. These points
are imaginary. But it was precisely such an operation in search of imaginary
points that Malevich carried out in the twenties, believing that Futurist paintings
are built around some invisible points.11 Pavel Florensky devoted a special study
to the point, in which he very justly indicated the imaginary nature of this phe-
nomenon: These points, being abstract, do not correspond to any reality, and
the physical phenomenon takes place as if there were a real focus in a given
point.12 According to Florensky, the imaginary and negative nature of the point
manifests itself particularly clearly in perspectival constructions, in such imagin-
point pathos totality 359

ary concepts as point of convergence or point of view which are so essential to
Eisensteins multipointness. Florensky wrote: And, moving aside, it the
point gathers with itself everything it meets on its way, sweeping space clean of
any reality whatsoever. [] Perspective, that is linear perspective, is a machine
for the destruction of reality; in it, the point of convergence acts as an infernal
all-consuming throat.13
The point and this was well understood by Eisenstein and a whole line of
Russian art theorists before him particularly the point of view or the point of
convergence of perspective is a geometric imaginary, in which subjectivity man-
ifests itself in the outside world. The point is the site of the joining together of
the objective and subjective, and this joining turns out to be possible precisely
due to the fact that the point, though found on the surface, does not belong to
this world, but is a construct of the subject, it is assumed by the subject.
Wassily Kandinsky, whose work Eisenstein studied carefully, comes closest to
Eisensteins interpretation of the point. In his book Point and Line to Plane, Kan-
dinsky defined the point as a strange intermediate formation: The geometric
point is an invisible thing. Therefore, it must be defined as an incorporeal thing.
Considered in terms of substance it equals zero. Hidden in this zero, however,
are various attributes which are 'human' in nature.14 The thing is that, accord-
ing to Kandinsky, the point (in the painters eyes it means silence) is a sign by
means of which the internal manifests itself in the outside world (this topic was
examined in detail in his first book, On the Spiritual in Art) and internal tensions
find visible expression. The appearance of this sign is accompanied by a certain
internal sound, corresponding to these tensions:
As we gradually fear the point out of its restricted sphere of customary

influence, its inner attributes which were silent until now make
themselves heard more and more. One after the other, these qualities inner
tensions come out of the depths of its being and radiate their energy. Their
effects and influence upon human beings overcome ever more easily the
resistances they set up. In short, the dead point becomes a living thing.15
The point the graphic element turns into sound. In Kandinsky, the sound is
audible only to the subject himself the manifestation of the internal experi-
ence; the vibration, capable of being called forth in the soul of the spectator by
the visible form, in other words, the translation of the visible into pure affect,
which takes the shape of sound. In the famous treatise On the Spiritual in Art,
Kandinsky described the means by which the impression of color can develop
into an experience, which gives rise to that which the painter called inner
sound.16 The different elements of the painting can call forth a whole number
of internal sounds, which begin to reverberate, joining together in a mutual echo,

and give rise to a certain common internal sound of the work. At the same time, in
Kandinskys work colors, lines, and points all create their own sound.
The likening of internal impression to sound in Kandinsky goes back to the
aesthetics of Schopenhauer, who saw derivativeness and illusion in the external
representations of the world (including the visual ones) and in ideas. The philo-
sopher considered music the only art reflecting the will (this unrepresentable
source of the world) and directly expressing the essence of the world.17 But will,
according to Schopenhauer, is also expressed in desires which can never be ful-
filled. Hence the theme of suffering, the pure pathos, so characteristic of music.
In this way, music conveys the world through the will, which is the internal prin-
ciple directly connected with affect and pathos.
Kandinsky adopts Schopenhauers basic positions. Eisenstein draws elements
of his own aesthetics from Kandinsky. This borrowing is facilitated by a solid
knowledge of Schopenhauer, whom the future director studied particularly thor-
oughly in 1919. Eisensteins points are doubtless akin to the points of Kan-
dinsky; both systematically take part in the translation of the visual into aural, in
the organization of the audio-aural synthesis. The visual point gives rise to
sound; in it the visual can be converted into the aural. In his article The
Fourth Dimension in Cinema the director wrote:
Whereas sound and visual perceptions are not reducible to a single denominator.
They are constants in different dimensions.
But the visual overtone and the sound overtone are constant in a single
dimension! Because, while a shot is a visual perception and a tone is a sound
perception, both visual and sound overtones are totally physiological sensations.
And, consequently, they are of one and the same kind, outside the sound of
acoustic categories that serve merely as guides, paths to its achievement.
For the musical overtones (a beat) the term I hear is no longer strictly
appropriate.
Nor I see for the visual.
For both we introduce a new uniform formula: I feel.18
The possibility of reducing the visual to the aural forces Eisenstein (and Kandins-
ky)19 to, at some point, fully disregard the content of the image. He begins to
differentiate the irritant and the internal sensation caused by it. Thus, he
writes: generally, we must take interest not in the irritant, but in that which it
calls forth inside perception,20 in how different internal sounds are synthesized
in one. In Kandinskys opinion, the same happens in painting. For instance,
Kandinsky writes that a point on a plane produces a double sound: As the
double sound point, plane takes on the character of a single sound.21 For
Eisenstein this harmonization of a multitude of internal sounds into one domi-

nant sound (dominante) is the principle instant of its entire historical synthesis,
which aspires toward the absorption of a huge diversity of material in a certain
movement toward the Single, the absorption of difference into a final Absolute.
While working on Nonindifferent Nature, Eisenstein finds a convenient term to
define this internal sensation pathos. The points are merely the path to pathos,
from the external, from the irritant to the internal sensation. Pathos describes
the transition from the external, from the object-focused toward an internal ton-
ality, in which any kind of objectness disappears. It is not by chance that Eisen-
stein introduced a chapter entitled Sverkhpredmetnost i sverkhtelesnost
(Superobjectness and supercorporeality)22 in the section of Nonindifferent Nature
devoted to pathos, in which chapter Malevichs ideas are included along with
religious ecstasy.
The classic description of pathos (of affect, passion) was provided by Aristotle
in Metaphysics:
Affection (pathos) means (1) a quality in virtue of which a thing can be

altered; for example, whiteness and blackness, sweetness and bitterness,
heaviness and lightness, and all other of this sorts of affections. (2) The
actualities or alterations of these. (3) Of the latter, the alterations, or motions
which are rather harmful and of these most of all those which are painful. (4)
Also, misfortunes and pains of considerable magnitude are called affec-
tions.23
Thereby pathos is the sensation, producible in us by the effect which a certain

substance has over us. Something influences us, and we perceive this influence
as pain or pleasure, but we can also perceive it as a quality heaviness, lightness,
warmth, cold. The peculiarity of pathos lies in the fact that, in pathos, a mixing
of the internal and external takes place. The sensation of heaviness, for instance,
is our sensation of a certain external object which we lift, but we transform this
internal sensation into a quality of the object itself and say that the object is
heavy. In other words, pathos has the tendency to be absorbed into the external
substance, to disappear inside it. And this disappearance was perceived by the
peripatetic tradition as something positive. Michel Meyer writes: As such, pas-
sion is always a threat if it does not lead to its own suppression in the order of
universal necessity.24 For Aristotle, pathoss ability to be absorbed by the sub-
stance meant that the order of human perception of the world correlates with the
external world, is harmonized with it and is not in opposition to it. However,
such faith in the accord between the internal and external gradually ceases to be
absolute. Meyer notes: What was broken was the Aristotelian hope to have a
human order which could be absorbed, with its pathos, into the universal order.
Pathos remained free of all shackles, without any possibility of absorption, with-
out the ultimate rationality required to contain and control it.25 In Meyers opin-

ion, the pathos unabsorbable by the substance turns into pure passion, which
begins to be viewed as the path toward sinfulness. Hence the appeal for restraint
of passion and for discipline.
In Eisensteins writings, the work of art must turn into pure pathos, into the
deep affect which accompanies the perception of film. In Nonindifferent Nature,
Eisenstein, on principle, avoids clarifying the nature of pathos and limits himself
to characterizing pathos only through a description of its effects: the effect of
the pathos of a work consists in bringing the viewer to the point of ecstasy.26
Ecstasy is characterized as transport out of oneself, but not as transport into
nothing rather a transition into something else. In essence, Eisenstein views
pathos as an abrupt, leaps-and-bounds, ecstatic transition from one substance to
another from sound to image (or vice versa), from the internal to the external
or from the external to the internal. And here the point plays the part of an ima-
ginary positioning of such a transition.
An important analysis of Surikovs Boyarina Morozova is included in Nonin-
different Nature. In accordance with his usual methodology, Eisenstein finds on
Surikovs canvas points of intersection of diagonals and verticals, wherein the
division of the painting by the principle of the golden section is supposedly es-
tablished. Eisenstein marks certain imaginary points of invisible intersections on
the canvas, among which he singles one out and calls it the highest point.
Nevertheless, the positioning of this highest point is unexpected:
Actually section A1 B1, as it goes to 0,618 from the right edge of the picture,
passes not through the hand, not even through the head or eyes of the
boyarina, but appears somewhere in front of the boyarinas mouth! That is, in
other words it is a decisive dividing line, a means of attracting maximum
attention, as if passing through the air, for no purpose, in front of the mouth.
[] The golden section cuts here at the main point. And the unexpectedness
is only that the very thing that is most important is unportrayable plastically.
The golden section A1 B1 passes through the word that flies from Boyarina
Morozovas mouth.27
This transition from the depictable into the nondepictable, from a dimension to
a dimension on the point of highest ascent is Eisensteins pathos. The director
accentuates that, in this point of pathoss affect the undepicted sound is ap-
plied at this point.28 The analysis of Surikovs painting is interesting not only
because of the way in which Eisenstein conceives the pathetic transition from
image to sound (auro-visual synthesis), but also because of how, in the point of
the highest pathetic action (he forces the viewers attention to remain excitedly
on this spot, for this spot is not a plastically depicted point of transversal of two
decisive compositional divisions),29 a transition from the visible and the materi-
al to a transcendence which is in direct correlation with the high degree of the

internal affect takes place. Eisenstein writes that, by means of the pathos con-
struction Surikov depicts not only the word, but the flaming word of fanatic
conviction.30 The viewers pathos coincides with the characters pathos and
leads to a full deobjectivization of any depictable objectness. Objects disappear
in the realm of a strange immanently transcendent void.
Approximately at the same time when Eisenstein was writing his treatise on
the universal history of cinema, Georges Bataille, in his Inner Experience (1943),
was also searching for the grounds of the absolute inner experience, pathos.
Much of what interested Eisenstein was of interest to Bataille as well Christian
mysticism, the practice of ecstasy, St. Ignatius of Loyolas spiritual exercises, etc.
In Inner Experience, Bataille includes a section entitled First Digression Concern-
ing Ecstasy before an Object: The Point. The point, marked by a subject sub-
merged in the internal and excluding himself from the external world, replaces
with itself the missing object. Bataille writes that this point is a projection of
itself. But this is also a purely fictitious site of contact between I and the uni-
versal. Starting from the felicity of movements, it is possible to fix a vertiginous
point ostensibly containing inwardly all the fragmentation of the world, the con-
tinual slipping of everything into nothingness,31 writes Bataille. The point, as in
Florensky,32 turns out to be not only the expression of nothing, but, at the same
time, the expression of totality, in which the fracturedness world is absorbed
by a certain unity.
However, Bataille warned of the danger of the road which opens up toward the
unified and the transcendent: at the extreme of the possible, experience de-
mands a renunciation: a renunciation of the desire to be everything,33 he ob-
served. He called for not letting our own finiteness out of sight for even a minute.
Pathos, transforming the whole experience of the external world into a homoge-
nous abstraction of pure affect, easily converts the whole world into an abstrac-
tion of the universal. Of course, it is not accidental that pathos professionals
ascetics (about whom Bataille writes) and mystics use pathos for the experience
of dissolving into God, the Unified and the Universal.
Eisenstein is aware of pathoss nearly inevitable connection with the transcen-
dent, or simply with God. He writes that pathos is ecstasy [which] is exactly
like this in its final peaks: a transport out of understanding a transport out of
conceptualization a transport out of imagery a transport out of the sphere of
any rudiments of consciousness whatever into the sphere of pure effect, feel-
ing, sensation, state.34 However, here he is forced to admit that For the per-
son having fallen (been brought) into this state the uncommonness of it is
connected with the image of the Lord God.35 In Eisenstein, pathos often leads
to God; in Kandinsky, as Michel Henry believes, it refers to life as a certain force
which penetrates the human being. Henry thought that what Kandinsky did was
precisely to give an image of life, wherein life is, in essence, the same abstrac-
tion and the same affect as God: How is life present in art? Abstractions response:

never as that which we see or we think we see in the painting, but as that which
we feel within ourselves when such a vision is produced.36 Both God and life are
given to us in the form of pathos and affect which does not have a direct correla-
tion with the objective world. Pathos (private human experience) refers to a cer-
tain endless abstract totality. And, as we will see, this ability to connect with such
high abstractions plays an essential role in Eisensteins aesthetics.
The separation of affect from the substance, which Meyer wrote about, is what
allows for the expression of the transcendent to become apparent. The quality
separates from the object and becomes pure sensation which only passes
through the object and is expressed by it. Such expressivity makes any object
convertible into another object sound into image and vice versa. Pathos turns
out to be the grounds ensuring the interconnection of everything with everything
else and the universal circulation of objects and signs. Eisenstein wrote: trans-
port beyond the bounds of the concept image of an object, and on the other of
the ability to add its dynamic intensity to any image acting in connection with it.
The sensation, first of being. And then God.37
All of this is directly related to the historical scheme of the development of the
arts sketched out by Eisenstein. At first glance, in the Notes for a General History of
Cinema we have an unusual variety of names and facts referring to completely
different eras, combined outside of a distinct genealogy or chronology. However,
what is in front of us is by no means a withdrawal from linear history or a con-
stellation of images like those present in Walter Benjamin or Aby Warburgs
Mnemosyne. Eisenstein does not attempt to create a shocking collage of the het-
erogeneous, since behind all of these heterogeneous elements he detects one and the same
scheme leading from the point (multipointness) or the lines toward pathos, in
which heterogeneity disappears and gives way to homogeneity. One and the
same formula of ecstasy manifests itself everywhere and Eisenstein declares
that a dynamic generality of the formula of ecstasy also passes through ecstatic
works of pathos, which are both extremely different in subject, aim, idea, theme,
time, and place, and are from different countries and people appearing at times
as a quite unexpected echo.38
The radical difference from the historicism of Benjamin and Warburg consists
of, above all, Eisensteins use of the dialectical method. Eisenstein often men-
tions dialectics. The majority of scholars (it seems to me) see in this simply a
function of the time period, or simply the common USSR ritual of citing the
classics of Marxism. However, it seems to me that the nature of Eisensteins
adoption of dialectics was far from ornamental. In early texts from the period
of the Montage of Attractions the director was also interested in affects and
described cinema as an affective machine, but there was no dialectics. Dialectics
appears in Eisensteins texts only in the second half of the 1920s and announces
itself particularly loudly in a cycle of articles on montage from 1929. It is repre-
sentative that Jay Leyda published one of the major articles of that time period in

English under the title A Dialectic Approach to Film Form. The adoption of
dialectics is very important for understanding Eisensteins transition from short
essays and articles (in the 1920s) to amorphous books without a beginning or
end, endlessly growing and transitioning from one into the other (1930s-1940s).
This transition, in my view, is partially related to the fact that dialectics allows
one to conceive every phenomenon in the forms of its historical development and
formation. Every phenomenon acquires a limitless dynamic genealogy, which is
what leads to a change in the form of the texts and the creation of projects like
the general history of cinema, like a branching dialectical genealogy.
The Dramaturgy of Film Form (also known as A Dialectic Approach to Film
Form) begins with a declaration:
Thus:
The projection of the dialectic system of things
into the brain
into creating abstractly
into the process of thinking
yields: dialectic methods of thinking;
dialectic materialism PHILOSOPHY
And also:
The projection of the same system of things
while creating concretely
while giving form
yields: ART.39
In this exceptionally important text Eisenstein formulates the main conflict of art
as a conflict between natural being and creative tendentiousness. At the same
time, nature and natural being are proclaimed the bearers of the passive principle of
being. Nature is passiveness and indifference. It is opposed by creative rationality
and subjectivity which follow the active principle of production. The dynamics
of development and historicism appear as a result of the penetration of the active
subject into the passiveness of the external substance. This position is so important for
Eisenstein that he names one of his main works Nonindifferent Nature. But this is a
central idea for Hegel as well. Thus, for instance, in the systematic criticism to
which he subjected Spinoza, the German philosopher constantly underlined that
Spinoza was incapable of going beyond the limits of the substance which was
external to consciousness, passive, indifferent, and knew no internal principle of
development besides degradation into attributes and modi. Hegel asserted that
Spinoza was only familiar with the rigid, unyielding substance.40 He wrote:
As all differences and determinations of things and of consciousness simply go
back into the One substance, one may say that in the system of Spinoza all things
are merely cast down into this abyss of annihilation. [] [It] comes to no vitality,

spirituality or activity. His philosophy has only a rigid and unyielding substance,
and not yet spirit; in it we are not at home with ourselves.41 Hegel believed that
the absolute notion of substance must become the object of the living conscious-
ness. It is only through self-accomplishment of this notion by the spirit which
carries negation in itself that the notion that it can acquire the dynamic of life. It
is a question of seeing the thought as identical with the conceivable object, the
elimination of the Kantian thing-in-itself. Spinozas substance is even more
external to the consciousness which must become part of the self-movement of
the notion of substance itself.42
But that is precisely what we find in Eisensteins discussion of nature and the
principle of creative production, the principle of consciousness which must be
introduced into the indifferent passiveness of nature. However, from such a
point of view, it is absolutely necessary (as in Hegel) to not only suppose that
knowledge and the world (nature) are identical, but also to postulate their differ-
ence (one enters into a relationship of negation with the other). Of course, Eisen-
stein does not lay claim to the projection of the dialectic system of things into
the brain, into creating abstractly, into the process of thinking.43 That, as we remem-
ber, is the destiny of philosophy. It is a question of the projection of the system
of objects into images which Eisenstein begins to associate with pathos at a cer-
tain moment. I will remind the reader that the director maintained that pathos
supposedly ensures going beyond the limits of the representation-image of the
object and, on the other hand the ability to impart its dynamic intensity to any
image entering into a relation with it. It is a question precisely of the dynamiza-
tion of the external passive substance at the expense of the injection of a pathetic consciousness
in it. In The Dramaturgy of Film Form (A Dialectic Approach to Film Form),
this is discussed in the following terms: To form equitable views by stirring up
contradictions within the spectators mind, and to forge accurate intellectual
concepts from the dynamic clash of opposing passions.44 Here, the recent or-
ientation toward intellectual cinema is still felt: the notion itself must arise, fol-
lowing the Hegelian model, through self-movement of the consciousness in the
forms of dialectical negation.
Thus, Eisenstein begins his path in aesthetics with affect, which, for him, is
related to the attraction (any element that subjects the audience to emotional
or psychological influence45). Attractions are not at all connected among them-
selves, but are pointedly heterogeneous:
The instrument of this process consists of all the parts that constitute the
apparatus of theatre (Ostuzhevs chatter no more than the colour of the
prima donnas tights, a roll on the drums just as much as Romeos soliloquy,
the cricket on the hearth no less than a salvo under the seats of the
auditorium) because, despite their differences, they all lead to one thing
which their presence legitimates to their common quality of attraction.46

Moreover, it is precisely the heterogeneity of elements that allows every one of
them to preserve its shock value and produce affect. As is known, at the basis of
the montage of attractions lies conflict which, at first, is not subjected to any
dialectization (conflict does not become dialectical contradiction). In this early peri-
od affect is described in terms of expressivity. Expressivity is understood as a
conflicting movement of a body (or bodies) which is capable of provoking the
corresponding strong affect in the viewer. An early text devoted to expressive
movement states that expressive movements are the ones in which are present a
conflict between reflexive movement and the voluntary impulse restraining it []
restraint is most characteristic for expressive movement. And it is that collision
of two motor movements which gives that muscular distortion which charac-
terizes expresiveness (mime, gesture).47
In my view, Eisensteins discovery of phaseness, concealed behind the assem-
blage of conflicting components restricted to one another turns out to be a turn-
ing point. He finds this phaseness above all in the figures of Daumier and Tin-
toretto. In the latter, the different parts of the body are not simply united in
conflict, but also reflect the different phases of one and the same movement:
Thus the foot is in position A, the knee already in stage A+a, the torso in stage
A+2a, the neck in A+3a, the raised arm in A+4a, the head in A+5a, and so on.48
In this way, the assemblage of elements turns out to be unified as stages in the
development of a single movement. The multipointness which arises in this
way gradually acquires a wider historical temporality, becoming a general
scheme of the development of art from one point of view toward the combina-
tion of different phases and toward the final removal of multipointness in the
final synthesis (that is in cinema).
I consider the discovery of phaseness an extremely crucial moment allowing
the transition from the matter of expressivity to the matter of the internal move-
ment of the subject. During this transition, pathos and affect begin to play an
essentially different role. At that time, the role assigned to affect is not so much
that of reaction to the impact of conflicting assemblage but rather that of the
source of the unifying movement of the spirit within indifferent matter. This is
the movement which Eisenstein calls pathos. Pathos begins to play a dialectical
role. Of course, Eisenstein is far from having the spirit in his writings to search
for a coincidence of the object with the concept (this is philosophys concern),
but the concept with inevitability arises in Eisensteins speculations concerning
Metod or Grundproblem, where the movement of affect is transformed into the
movement of consciousness between the abstraction of the concept and the con-
creteness of the sensual perception, i.e., precisely the Hegelian movement par
excellence.49 Thus the negative movement, which, at some point, was under-
stood by Eisenstein as a conflicting and therefore an expressive union of impulse
and inhibition, is now understood as a scheme of the dialectical process. The
negative movement is a the replacement of a simple statement through the

developed negation of a negation. And the replacement of an accomplished re-
sult through the process of becoming.50 The expressive gesture, as Eisenstein
indicates, needs to follow the developed formula of dialectics.51
In his study entitled Even-Odd: The Bifurcation of the Unified, Eisenstein
explains how the dialectization of expressive movement takes place. He calls this
transformation the transition of the process from a two-point scheme into a
three-point one! This is precisely not a transition into a logical pair: initial point
and the target point, but into a dynamic triad: point of intention, point of its
negation and its removal by new negations on the road towards the point of
accomplishment.52 For Eisenstein, an example of this is the hammers strike
on the anvil, which is impossible without the preliminary swing, that is, the
negative movement to the side opposite to the target. Eisenstein illustrates his
example with a graphic scheme. On a straight line he indicates the point where
movement begins the point of intention which at first goes back toward the
point of negation and then throws itself far forward toward the point of ac-
complishment. He explains the necessity for this dialectical scheme in the fol-
lowing manner: otherwise the action will not be read by the viewers perception,
exactly as it is impossible for the viewer to capture the all-smashing fortissimo in
its fullness if it is not preceded by a turn to the opposite side of loudness to
silence.53
Dialectization begins in the rethinking of the ontology of the point which, as
we know, is an index of affect and pathos. The affect is the experience of a cer-
tain outside influence, and in that sense it possesses its own completeness. Kan-
dinsky, and Eisenstein after him, likened it to internal sound. At the same time,
the perception of this sound absolutely did not need its opposite, for instance,
silence. But now this once self-sufficient point begins to be described as incom-
plete, this is only a point of intention which can be perceived only to the
extent to which it will be correlated with the point of negation and the point of
accomplishment. Without such a correlation, as Eisenstein writes, it will simply
not be read by the viewers perception.
As Charles Taylor observed in relation to Hegelian dialectics, material objects
are simply given to us; for us to be able to see a contradiction in them, we have to
look at them as posited.54 As soon as we begin to understand the object as pos-
ited by the spirit, it ceases to be an object given to us, but begins to correlate
with the spirit that posits it and, in this way, it is transformed into a particular,
inadequate reflection of the object which, in order to achieve adequacy, must first
be subjected to negation. The dialectical contradiction is brought into the object
through its correlation with the totality of the spirit which posits it. But that is
precisely what we have in Eisenstein, who takes the point as an index of affect
and turns it into a point of intention acquiring general meaning only through
correlation with the postulated target of a certain process of movement, through
correlation with the point of negation and point of accomplishment. The contra-

diction penetrates into the affect as soon as it becomes a part of the whole pre-
cisely because this is a part which cannot be adequately presented by that part.
As a result, in Eisenstein the figure pars pro toto, which turns out to be the
necessary link of the affirmation of dialectics, comes to the foreground. Any gi-
ven must be understood as a pars of a certain unknown toto. At the same time, the
act of thinking in pars categories is proclaimed by him to be prologue-ical sensual
thinking; pars certainly correlates with toto, i.e., with the whole of the Hegelian
spirit and ipso facto becomes an element of abstract-logical thinking. Dialectics
turns out to be not only a scheme of the process, but also a scheme of the transi-
tion from the concrete-sensual (the primordial) to the logical-rational (let me
remind the reader that Eisenstein calls the leap from the sensual to the abstract
pathos). As a matter of fact, this is the Hegelian scheme of self-movement of
the spirit.55 For it to begin moving, the point must initially be transformed
from an adequate to an inadequate one. Jacques Rivelaygue writes about the ne-
cessity, in Hegel, to understand everything referring to the finite consciousness
as untrue (pas vrai).56 It is this feeling of inadequacy and falsity which creates a
contradiction between the private given and the totality of meaning which sets
the whole process in motion. Here, the dialectical movement itself depends on
the detection of this inadequacy, the differences inside the given. In the notes
to Metod, Eisenstein writes of the necessity to take a step forward from the
pointedness57 and indicates that this step is possible only through the sensual
discernment [differentiation] which precedes the intellectual (the initial-logi-
cal).58 In other words, we must find the inadequacy, the absence of identity
(difference) in the affect itself, connected to the point, coming out of which is
impossible without the ascertainment of this difference, representable in cate-
gories of partialness, incompleteness. This difference, according to Eisenstein,
cannot belong to the affect itself or to the object which provokes it. It is intro-
duced only by means of the postulation of the point as a part of the whole, i.e.,
exclusively by means of correlation with the subject, or, more broadly, with that
spirit which in the process of historical movement gives rise to the history of
culture.
Eisenstein leaves no doubt on this account. In his opinion, the first stage of
dialectical movement is the stage where any random part is considered and read
(and represented) by the author as the whole.59 In other words, this is an instant
of self-sufficiency of the point, of affect. But, in Eisensteins later writings, the
phenomenological given is always only a partial whose relation to the whole
is dislodged from the consciousness. This is always a false whole: The first act of
the pars pro toto stage (of the early one on the path toward abstracting (pars pro
toto, the only one) this is the breaking off of a part from the whole.60 In this
way, the whole always precedes the part which naturally is postulated only with
respect to the whole. Here, Eisenstein runs into the dead end from which dialec-
tics never managed to find a way out. It is precisely this dead end which forced

contemporary philosophers (for instance, Deleuze) to search for difference in the
given itself rather than in its relation to the false whole. That same dialectical
position explains why Hegel did not accept the Spinozian substance as external
and self-sufficient.61 The substance did not contain the partialness and differ-
ences which would allow it to be integrated into the thought process.
The aesthetics of Eisensteins late writing turns out to be largely based on the
postulation of imaginary points correlatable with imaginary totalities. The struc-
ture of these imaginary points allows for the start of a process, a dialectical
movement which can be amplified and turned into a general movement of cul-
ture spanning millennia. It is precisely this construction of the imaginary which
allowed Eisenstein to construct an extravagant mechanism of cultural evolu-
tion based on a dialectical movement of points which restore the synthesis of
unpredictable totalities. The question of the extent to which all our constructions
of the historical process follow a similar scheme remains open.

10. Distant Echoes1
Arun Khopkar
There is nothing new under the sun but there are lots of old things we don't
now.
Ambrose Bierce, The Devil's Dictionary
Curtain Raiser
Eisensteins encounters with civilizations other than European enriched him and
his observations brought out unsuspected aspects of them. Dealing with Japan,
he enriched the language of cinema by formulating the basic concepts of mon-
tage and also deepened our understanding of Japanese culture. He brought his
insights into it to bear upon the aesthetics of sound cinema by the concept of
monistic ensemble. He used an Archimedean point outside his time and culture
to upturn the established ideas of cinema and other arts; it was provided first by
Japan, then China and then Mexico.
Eisensteins thoughts have made me look at my own civilization in a different
light. He shares a great deal with great Indian thinkers like the aestheticians
Anandavardhan2 and Abhinavagupta.3 They all have intellects that reach to the
deepest layers of our being so that each of their thoughts sets all layers vibrating,
like sympathetic strings, and it emerges, full-bodied, rich in overtones and subtle
with microtones. You dont read their writings; their writings read you. They
question you, make you search within and without yourself.
Unfortunately, there are layers and layers of dust on the best in my culture.
When one encounters a storm like Eisenstein, many layers are swept away and
the gold nuggets start gleaming. It is up to us to pan the gold dust.
Eisensteins thoughts have a centrifugal force that diffuses the Eurocentrism
and anthropocentrism of many Western thinkers. They also have the centripetal
force that seeks universals that provide a solid core to his thinking, without sur-
rendering to the valueless relativity of unhistorical thinking.
Eisenstein speaks of his interests in the invisible aspect of our being:
373
My interest in the pre-natal stage of being has always been very strong. It
quickly extended to the invisible aspect of being. I became interested in the
stages of biological development that preceded the stage of man!
More than that, my range of interests took in early forms of social relations;
pre-class, primitive society and the forms of behaviour and thought peculiar
to it. It was because they repeated the surviving fragments of all the stages in
our consciousness, thought and behaviour that I found these areas so
rewarding.4
Indian culture is extremely complex, with a continuity and coexistence of several

stages of civilization. Almost all that Eisenstein mentions in the quote above,
exists in India, not as recorded history but as a living present. Atomic reactors
and nuclear physics coexist side by side with food-gathering tribes, with their
beliefs and practices. It is a perfect laboratory for testing some of Eisensteins
ideas. I hope that this article, in a tiny measure, will contribute in showing the
relevance of his thoughts to my culture, and of both, to world culture.
Montage of Attractions
It was a visceral experience of attraction5 much before I had even heard the
term. It happened during a performance of a Kathakali6 play, when I was in my
early twenties.
Here is a description of an attraction, like the one that I had experienced,
which describes a scene of a Kathakali presentation of an episode from the epic
Ramayana.7
Much more eerie and gruesome to behold is the scene of Surpanakhas

tragedy. This ogress, in the guise of a charming damsel, makes love to
Laksmana and having failed to impress the prince, she tries to abduct him,
whereupon, [] he chops off her nose and ears. The succeeding scene [] is
neenam (blood display).8 We see a loathsome rakshasi (ogress), all black,
streaming with blood, howling in pain and rage, emerging from the darkness
of night (she approaches from the opposite end of the auditorium, making
her way through the audience) like the very spirit of evil let loose, and
preceded by the lurid glow of torches which, fed with resin powder, shoot out
angry tongues of flame.
The effect is accentuated by the monstrous, insistent drumming. We are
terror struck to the marrow of our bones and disgust, utter disgust, for the
weird spectacle seizes us. But then a strange unearthly power keeps us riveted
to our seat and our mind and eyes remain glued to the scene. Bhayanaka (utter
fear) and Bibhatsa (utter disgust) are graphically depicted and produce an
abiding impression. Such blood-displays are announced beforehand and
374 arun khopkar

children, the craven-hearted and pregnant women are dissuaded from
witnessing such frightful scenes.9
The passage is important, as an illustration of a theatrical attraction as well as

an example suitable for Eisensteins history of close-up. For, over and above
the gruesomeness of the event described here, we need to look at the manner in
which this effect is intensified and carried to its utmost.
A Kathakali stage has a single source of light, a huge oil lamp placed on the
stage. It casts a circle of light in which the characters act out the scene, with the
audience remaining in semidarkness or darkness. The space behind the audience
is almost in total darkness; this is used with telling effect for certain scenes. In
the scene described, the ogress, with her bleeding nose and ears, enters through
this darkness and uttering terrible screams, makes her way through the audience.
So, there is no safe distance between the spectator and the spectacle, no pros-
cenium arch. The spectacle tumbles into the spectator. The ogress comes very
close to you. With the audience sitting on the floor, it gives a low-angled, larger
than life view of her and the blood oozing out. It is a red pigment soaked in oil,
which shines in the flickering flames. This, combined with the smoke of the
lamp, the monstrous drumming and the cries produces an effect that has been
known to lead a vulnerable spectator into an emotional paroxysm with serious
consequences. It is a very effective use of an attraction as well as a close-up
or even as an example of stereoscopic precinema as defined by Eisenstein.10
This theatrical form, though highly stylized, depends heavily on the observa-
tion of nature in its acting style. It uses no settings or dialogue and the entire
narration is the accompanying music linked with superb miming by the actors.
When an actor wants to narrate something about a bee, then his fingers convey
its movement in all its complexity. When he wants to depict an elephant, his gait
makes it clear to you that it is an elephant that he is describing. An actor has to
watch animals, plants, and insects as a part of his training and internalize the
essence of their form and movement.11
Animal metaphors are common to Kathakali.12 Eisenstein, too, used them
right from his film Strike. In his staging of Ivan the Terrible, he uses an eagle for
Ivan, a snake for Ephrosinia, a dog for Malyuta, and so on. He created their
imagery through careful mise-en-scne, mise-en-dcor, and mise-en-geste, so that his
audience could feel the specific animal depicted. Ephrosinia, many times,
comes into the frame from below like a snake and Ivan has winglike sleeves and
swoops down like a predatory bird.
Eisenstein has analyzed theatrical traditions like commedia dellarte, panto-
mime and Beijing Opera, Kabuki, etc.13 Without straining, he easily came close
to the spirit of Kathakali and other theatrical forms like Balinese theater, which
had influenced Antonin Artaud.14
distant echoes 375

Interconnectedness of All Arts
Let me flash back to Vishnudharmottarapurana, a key text about Indian art prac-
tices.15 One of its famous passages dealing with the interrelationship of art forms
is a dialogue between the sage Markandeya and the king Vajra.16
King Vajra requests the sage to accept him as his disciple and teach him the
art of icon-making, so that he may worship the deities in their proper forms.
The sage replies that one cannot understand the principles of image making
without a knowledge of painting. The King wishes for instruction in this art
and is told that unless he is accomplished as a dancer, he cannot grasp even
the rudiments of painting. The King requests that he be taught dancing,
whereupon the sage replies that, without a keen sense of rhythm or
knowledge of instrumental music, proficiency in dance is impossible. Once
again the king requests that he be taught these subjects; to which the sage
replies that a mastery of vocal music is necessary before one can be proficient
in instrumental music; and so finally the sage takes the king through all
stages before he is taught the art of iconography.17
I would like to juxtapose this passage with a text of Eisenstein,
In reality, in the material that the artist uses, nothing is secondary. He is not
only a painter, or only a poet or musician but also all these together. In his
soul lives a painter, a poet and also a musician. His creativity is basic in
bringing them together.
From the moment artistic impulse realizes itself in a specific language, it
becomes complex. Neither painting, nor music, nor poetry should be
considered as an absolute art, example (or model) for other arts, which are to
be considered as less true. In each artist lives another, who feels for his art.
Art by itself is neither painting, nor poetry, nor music, but creativity in which
all arts are united.18
Whereas many of the early thinkers who wrote about cinema or even some recent
thinkers were interested in showing its difference from other art forms, Eisenstein
was one of the first thinkers who worked in two directions; he analyzed its speci-
ficity as an art form and also its commonality with the other art forms. His em-
phasis on the interconnectedness and interdependence of all art forms, with his
analysis of various concrete examples, is integral to his thinking, writing, and
practice. It is precisely this aspect that leads to his formulation of the conceptual
framework of his writings for the books entitled Montage, Metod, and Nonindiffer-
ent Nature.
376 arun khopkar

Nonanthropocentric View of the World
And God said, Let us make man in our own image, after our likeness: and let
them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and
over the cattle and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that
creepeth upon the earth.19
Following this, the religions of the Book have Man at the center of the universe.
This view, curiously, has given rise to many ideologies, philosophies, and reli-
gious and profane practices where the earth is to be exploited for the benefit of
man and for man alone. It has resulted into anthropocentric views of the world,
morality and aesthetics. With the technological power in the hands of a few, it is
now a serious threat to our environment and to the very existence of life on earth.
Eisenstein was one of those rare Western thinkers who realized early on the
limitations of this view of life and art. Though he did not develop his views on it
systematically, his notes on Disney contain one of the most profound and mov-
ing statements on how intimately human life is connected with all other forms of
life. He not only wrote about Disney, he also passionately defended a nonanthro-
pocentric and nonmechanical view of the world.20
Eisenstein sees Disney as a torchbearer of a long tradition of artists, going
back to prehistoric times, which have given free vent to their imagination and
created a truly animated world in their art. Here he speaks about the rise of
this animation mentality:
It is interesting to note that the same kind of flight into an animal skin and
the humanisation of animals is apparently characteristic for many ages, and is
especially sharply expressed as a lack of humaneness in systems of social
government whether in the age of American mechanisation in the realm of
life, welfare and morals or the age [] of mathematical abstraction and
metaphysics in philosophy.21
And a little further:
Animism, in which there wander vague ideas and sensations of the

interconnections of all elements and kingdoms of nature, long before science
guessed the configuration of the connection in sequence and stages.
Before this, man had known no other way than the supplying of the
environment with its own soul and judgement by analogy with himself.22
Just as he sees Disney as a reaction to the mechanization of life in America,23 he

sees La Fontaine and his fables about humanized animals as a reaction to the
distant echoes 377

mechanistic philosophies of the seventeenth-century metaphysicians: The heart-
less geometrisizing and metaphysics here give rise to a kind of antithesis, an
unexpected rebirth of universal animism.24 A little further he quotes Taine,
who says about La Fontaine,
He defended his animals from Descartes, who made machines of them. He

does not dare to philosophize like the doctors, he asks permission; he
hazards his idea as a timid supposition, he attempts to invent a soul for the
use of rats and rabbits.
Moreover:
Like Virgil, he too felt sorry for trees; he did not exclude them from life.
Plants breathe, he said. At the same time that an artificial civilization was
clipping the yews and hornbeam of Versailles into cones and geometrical
figures, he wanted to preserve the freedom of their branches and foliage.25
We learn from La Fontaine: This is a second book of fables that I present to the
public. [...] I have to acknowledge that the greatest part is inspired from Pilpay,
an Indian Sage.26
The work of the Sage was Panchatantra.27 But the source of Panchatantra is
largely the Jataka tales in Pali. It is one of the largest collections of stories and
constitutes a class of Buddhist religious literature about the previous births of
Buddha.28 The Buddhist view of the world is not anthropocentric. In his previous
births, Buddha appears in the form of various creatures. As man is not seen as
created in the image of God, there is a great empathy in Indian literature and art
with other forms of life.29
The doctrine of nonviolence, which forms a major part of the Jainist and Bud-
dhist creeds, is based on the idea that all creatures are interconnected, through
the life that they carry within them. It was propagated at a time when animal
sacrifices and their ritualistic slaughter by Aryans had reached immense propor-
tions. Just as in times of La Fontaine, Buddhas parables and the tales about his
birth showed the links between man and nature. Buddhist art shows us some of
the most loving depictions of animal and plant life. It is the beginning of the
figurative sculpture in Indian art. Earlier Buddhist art does not even depict the
human figure of Buddha but he is represented by signs associated with him, like
a royal umbrella, footprints, the Bodhi Tree, etc. His image with his beatific
smile after attaining the universal wisdom came much later.
Unlike many Occidental cultures, in which each historic period, like feudal-
ism, capitalism, etc., eventually made a sharp break with the previous one, in
India ancient beliefs like animism still prevail. These are not restricted to endow-
ing other organisms with soul but they also extend to inanimate objects, like a
378 arun khopkar

workmans tools, etc. One of the most moving films to come out of India was
Ritwik Ghataks Ajantrik,30 which has as a protagonist, a taxi driver who loves his
taxi like a companion. He talks to her, loves her and even gets angry with her. As
this old taxi gives up the ghost, he practically goes mad. The scene of the death
of his taxi, like the death of HAL in Stanley Kubricks 2001: A Space Odyssey, is one
of the most poignant depictions of the death of a machine in world cinema.
Both directors have made superb use of sound in these scenes.
Landscape of Music
Audiovisual correspondence including its very existence is one of the prob-
lems about which Eisenstein started writing about, even before he had any actual
experience of sound in cinema.31 In his writings, he sees a strong relationship
between such correspondences and synesthesia.32
I would like to describe here and not propose a different path to a corre-
spondence, not so much as a point-wise (ponctuel) correspondence as discussed
by Eisenstein, but a more global relationship between musical and visual struc-
tures, as suggested by the North Indian art music.
Over five millennia, interacting with various musical cultures and systems, In-
dian music has evolved into one of the most complex systems, the North Indian
art music called khayal.33 In it, the surrounding landscape is perceived in terms
of levels of solar energy, a very different kind of relationship between the audio
and visual. There are no specific references to the graphics of the landscape, but
only to solar energy surrounding us and the response to it, through the activity of
humans, animals, and plants.34
The basis of rendering a khayal is a specific composition, a bandish, embedded
in a larger structure of a raga. It is developed according to certain norms and also
improvised. Once certain rules are observed, then improvisation depends upon
the imagination of the musician.
These ragas relate to solar cycles, both diurnal and annual. Twenty-four hours
of the day are divided into eight sections in following the diurnal cycle. Each
eightfold division of the day has its corresponding ragas, which must be sung at
specific times of the day.
In the annual cycle of seasons, the high points are spring and monsoon, two
most important seasons for the Indians. Various ragas with bandishes that de-
scribe specific seasons are sung only in those seasons. A raga like Miyan Ki
Malhar, expounded in three octaves, employs deep bass notes reminiscent of
the sounds emitted by the frogs; its fast-moving taan patterns in the higher oc-
tave suggest the jagged curves of lightning and the bass percussion reminds you
of thunder claps. But there is no direct imitation; the aesthetic experience is
based on coding and suggestion.
distant echoes 379

The deployment of sharp and flat notes, of various scales like pentatonic,
hexatonic, the minor and major scales combined with varied percussion cyclic
patterns creates correspondences between ambient life and music. Here it is the
music that also blends into the landscape. As the raga is developed, the elabora-
tion can respond to the change in mood due to the change in light. This is most
important in the ragas that are played in the time zones that join light and dark-
ness, the sandhikal, which is dawn and dusk. The former group depicts a gentle,
quiet rise of energy and a sense of awakening, while the latter aims at creating
pining, melancholy, and a sense of emotional restlessness.35
In addition to audiovisual correspondence, khayal obliquely relates to the con-
cept of nonindifferent nature. Instead of making nature reverberate with hu-
man emotions, the musical system aims to create a correspondence, in which
music echoes the moods of nature. Therein lies its acceptance that artistic crea-
tion is in tune with nature, gently bringing man in unison with it.
Prenatal Experience and the Rite of Birth

Sangeeta Ratnakara, attributed to Sarangadeva, is arguably one of the most impor-
tant texts of Indian musicology.36 Curiously, its very first chapter describes the
growth of the human body from the conception to its birth, because sound is
produced by human body thereby also stressing the importance of vocal music
in all Indian musical traditions and its thorough understanding is essential for
excellence of music. Here are a few excerpts from its translation from Sanskrit
into English and the editors commentary
Our author is suggesting that the embryo is capable of mental states such as
valour and timidity. [] [I]t is the fourth month that endows the embryo with
consciousness and craving for experience.
The heart of the embryo is fashioned after the heart of the mother. [] The
word heart is symbolic of the faculty of conation, of feeling and will, of
emotion and desire. [] [T]he heart of the embryo as well as that of the
mother beat in unison; they form a unity, analogous to that of the twins. So
that enceinte is named two-hearted, [] Dohada means an enceinte and her
wishes are also called Dohada-s. []
Therefore the wishes of the expectant mother should be respected for the
growth of the foetus [] The unfulfilled desires of the pregnant woman are
likely not only to cause mental complications in her mind, but those
complexes react on the consciousness of the embryo, so much so that a non-
gratification of any desire for a particular sensation during gestation tends to
adversely affect that particular sense organ.37
Juxtapose this passage against Eisensteins prenatal experience:
380 arun khopkar

Everyone had drunk far too much that evening. A fight broke out and
someone was killed.
Papa grabbed his revolver and dashed across Morskaya Street to restore order.
Mama, who was pregnant with me, was scared to death and almost gave birth
prematurely.
A few days passed in the fear of possible fausses couches.
But that did not happen.
I made my entrance into this world at the allotted hour, albeit three whole
weeks early.
And my haste and my love of gunshots and orchestras have remained with me
ever since.
Not one of my films goes by without a murder.
It is of course hard to imagine that this episode would have left any
impression on me avant la lettre.
But a fact is a fact.
My interest in the pre-natal stage of being has always been very strong.38
So, important is the prenatal experience for the Indian civilization that the sanc-
tum in a temple is called garbhagriha, literally the abode of the embryo. Some
temples have a passage which is so narrow that you have to crawl on all fours. A
devotee has to pass through it and subject himself to total darkness and crossing
of the claustrum. This experience, in a concise form, replicates the process of
birth.39
But all this is history.
I would now like to speak about an artist of Indian origin, Anish Kapoor, who
has deep links with his own culture and his unconscious. In recent years he has
brought something of the monumentality of Indian sculptures and cave temples
to his work, but without any kind of pastiche or imitation. He has transformed
this monumentality into something that makes him a contemporary artist with
the most universal appeal. As I was working on this article, I saw Leviathan, a
sculpture by Anish Kapoor in the Grand Palais, in Paris.40
You enter this work through a dark passage. Then you see dim light filtering
through an immense membranelike surface that looks like it is a subtle net of
blood vessels. It has three pods with smooth and well-rounded curves with ori-
fices that suck you in. One in front and two on either side. And you, a nascent
embryo, half organism and half human, are able to see light only through the
body of the Great Mother.
As you come out and see the work from outside, the devouring concave space
turns convex now and becomes mountainous. You are like a Lilliputian newborn,
looking at the nourishing, comforting but also awe-inspiring curves of the body
of Mother that appears now as a giantess. You can play hide and seek with it, go
underneath it to feel a small space just good enough for you, then come out into
distant echoes 381

vastness and look up, up and up, at the large convexities that keep on changing
their appearance as you move around.
In his essay, Rodin et Rilke, Eisenstein speaks about the simultaneity and
complementarity of the convex and concave spaces:
It is a question of the mirror-unity of form and counter-form, of relief and

counter-relief. In a general way of speaking, it would seem that the fact of the
unity of concave and convex form has made incarnate and materialised two
modes of knowing the essence of the phenomenon, seizing it from without
and knowing it from within. Certainly, in an ideal case, the two ways would
fuse into one.41
The hand that cups the breast is concave but assumes its convex curve. Picassos
concave Cubist paintings of women correspond in time to their counterpart, his
paintings of gigantic voluptuous bathers.
In his Leviathan, Anish Kapoor has succeeded in giving us the experience of
two non-Euclidean worlds, the inside and outside of the body of the Great
Mother, in a single work.
Ecstasy
Many pages of writing, sketches, drawings, stills, and film footage of Eisen-
steins work are given to the topos that he likes to spell as ex-stasis. It is a
recurring theme that occurs in diverse contexts, from the milk separator scene in
the Old and the New, to his essay El Greco and the Cinema. He is interested in
the ecstatic experience as a sexual experience, as an experience under the influ-
ence of psychedelic drugs as well as a mystical experience. He is interested in its
effects from contorting bodies to changing the depth of field of human vision
giving it an ability to have Pan-focus.
I had begun this article by referring to two of the great thinkers of aesthetics,
e.g., Anandavardhan and Abhinavagupta. They are both worshippers of Shiva
and believers in Tantra.42
Aesthetic speculation, which was born and grew up on the edge of

metaphysical thought, did not omit, therefore, to enquire into the relations
and differences existing between it and religious experience. [] Aesthetic
experience, being characterised by the immersion of the subject in the
aesthetic object, to the exclusion of all else and therefore by a momentary
interruption of his everyday life is akin to the beatitude of ecstasy or the
experience of brahman.43
382 arun khopkar

Whether it is a sexual ecstasy, an aesthetic experience or a mystical experience,
there is a complete surrender in which the subject loses himself.
The spectator is without any pragmatic requirement, any of the interests

(desire for gain, etc.), by which ordinary life is characterized. He is immersed
in the aesthetic experience to the exclusion of everything else; the task of
generalization carried out by the poetic expression breaks the barrier of the
limited I and eliminates in this way the interests, demands and aims
associated with it.44
Though this might seem a far cry from the point of departure of Eisensteins
thinking about the work of art as a machine to produce specific emotion in the
mind of the spectator, it is exactly the direction in which Eisenstein has devel-
oped his key concepts of nonindifferent nature, method, and montage, toward a
universalization of the aesthetic experience.
On account of his earliest writing associated with agitprop, Eisenstein has of-
ten been accused of looking at art as an instrument of manipulation. Nothing
could be further from the truth. The relationship between the artist and the con-
noisseur, who savors its flavor, is seen as an equal relationship by Eisenstein as
well as by Anandavardhana and Abhinavagupta. They see the ideal reader of po-
etry as a sahridayin:
Abhinava defines sahridayata as the faculty of entering into identity with the
heart of the poet [] and sahridaya denotes persons capable of identifying
with the subject, as the mirror of their hearts has been polished by constant
study and practice of poetry.45
And here is Eisenstein:
A certain image hovers in front of the authors inward eye, an image which for
him is an emotional embodiment of the theme of this work. He is then faced
with the task of turning that image into two or three partial depictions, which in
combination and juxtaposition will evoke in the mind and emotions of their
perceiver precisely that initial generalised image which the author saw with
his minds eye. [] The strength of montage lies in the fact that it involves the
spectators emotions and reason. The spectator is forced to follow the same
creative path that the author followed when creating the image.46
When the point of departure of an artwork and its point of arrival meet, and we
have come a full circle. It is time to rest my case.
distant echoes 383

11. Synthesis of the
Arts or Friendly
Cooperation between
the Arts? The General
History of Cinema
According to Eisenstein
Pietro Montani
I.
In his incessant theoretical reflection, Eisenstein lingers more than once over the
historiographic question of where to locate cinema within the modern system of
the arts. His well-known thesis is that cinema meets all the requirements neces-
sary to occupy the very top of this system. Though the thesis remained constant
throughout the years, one cannot say the same for the argumentations used to
expound and justify it. Two different formulations of this thesis merit particular
attention. According to the first, widely diffused throughout the whole of Eisen-
steins theoretical writings, cinema would perform a synthesis of the arts pre-
ceding it. The word synthesis entails some presuppositions that are anything
but innocent, of which Eisenstein is well aware; I will examine them in the first
part of this text. The second formulation of the thesis on the primacy of cinema
is less structured and therefore more plastic, more open to reconsideration and
significant reformulations. One of these reformulations can be found precisely in
the Notes for a General History of Cinema published in this volume, the vast historio-
graphical project on which Eisenstein worked between 1946 and 1948, during a
period of forced inactivity following his first heart attack. Here, Eisenstein speaks
of cinema as the heir of all artistic cultures;1 and, in a paragraph entitled
A Synthesis of the Arts (sintez iskusstv), he uses the expression friendly coop-
eration (sodruzhestvo iskusstv) with great emphasis (he places an exclamation
385
mark next to it): A friendly cooperation of nations as basis for a friendly coopera-
tion of the arts!2
In the second part of my text, I will examine this remarkable formulation,
which presents cinema as a space for a friendly cooperation of the arts that
can be realized only within a political community that has been able to overcome
divisions between peoples (a utopian formulation). For the moment, I would like
to recall the strong emphasis borne by the exclamation Eisenstein scrawled at the
end of his note as worthy of further consideration. Noting down his thoughts
about the perspective according to which the history of cinema must be estab-
lished the fact that cinema is the art of the USSR par excellence,* and it is so in
a natural and organic way3 it suddenly occurred to him that the concept of
synthesis of the arts entailed a theoretical profile oriented more toward the
confrontation between the arts than their hierarchical ordering. Therefore, cine-
ma provides the conditions for a high differentiation between the arts (each
[art] is embedded in a qualitatively new way) rather than a unifying synthesis
(a mechanical copresence in pure form). It also makes it possible to analyze
the fate of each art and of its new quality within the synthesis.4
By noting such a remarkable thought (though one not really new to him), Ei-
senstein grasps in a new way precisely as a disturbance effect its political
implications at an international level (he wrote workers of the world just two
lines above). Indeed, a menacing thought loomed up within the idea of cinema as
a friendly cooperation between the arts, parallel to a friendly cooperation be-
tween peoples: that the Soviet character of the synthesis of the arts, realized,
one might say, in just one country, would have been stripped of any exemplari-
ness. The historiographical principle solemnly stated at the beginning of the note
would consequently have been questioned, too hence, supposedly, his dismis-
sal of the internationalist version of the synthesis and the return to safer ground.
Nevertheless, a political implication to which I will return later remains no-
ticeable in the cooperative and friendly formulation of the synthesis of the arts,
which shall not be confused with their hierarchical ordering culminating in the
(Soviet) cinema.
II.
As I have already said, the concept of synthesis does not lack binding philoso-
phical assumptions. The same can be said, I must add now, for the concept of
organicity. In the last decade of his theoretical reflection, Eisenstein made use
of both concepts advisedly, and not without some significant discrepancies from
his previous thesis and formulations. I will clarify the nature of such philosophi-
cal assumptions with the aid of two examples, respectively from Montage and
Nonindifferent Nature.
386 pietro montani

The great work on montage is overtly articulated around a dialectic tripartition
which serves at once as historiographical principle and criterion for a systematic
comprehension. Eisenstein draws the interaction between the historiographical
and systematic levels from a materialistic interpretation of the Hegelian dialectic,
which, considering the times (1937), provides him the safe-conduct he needs in
light of the specific version he is about to offer. His version, indeed, aims to
secure the rights of form against the precepts taught by Socialist Realism, in
essence oriented toward the primacy of content. Here is Eisenstein's thesis: cine-
matographic montage had already made its debut at the stage of the single set-
up cinema as plastic composition (that is, as montage within the individual
fixed frame). Such a stage is dialectically negated by the following one, multi-
ple set-up cinema, when montage is a sequential composition, or the juxtaposi-
tion of shots marked by perceptible breaks. Lastly, the third stage will bear, as
synthesis or negation of the negation, a leap in the quality of montage, presented
now as musical composition, or sound-film montage (vertical montage,
according to Eisenstein's later definition).5 Thus, the synthetic figure takes
over the two previous ones, transmuting them into a more articulated form, a
compositional principle that keeps laboring the shot from within (first stage),
without renouncing the introduction therein (second stage) of sequential articu-
lations (for example, contrasts and repetitions, harmonious and disharmonious
effects, and so on) coordinated by the audiovisual relation. Put differently, mon-
tage composition will no longer depend, in a primitive and material fashion, on
the perceptibility of the breaks, rather it will settle within the audiovisual flux,
therein realizing a polyphonic synthesis (multimedia, as it could be called
nowadays) to which the most various expressive elements could contribute (col-
or, for example, as Eisenstein will later theorize in the essays on this topic, and
masterfully experimented with in the great sequence concluding the second part
of Ivan the Terrible).
In the dialectical scheme just elaborated, the concept of synthesis is used in
a rigorous way: it means the form that takes over the previous ones and brings
them to the highest degree of reflective self-awareness and most original expres-
sive power. It is the Eisensteinian version of the Gesamtkunstwerk, the summit of
the modern system of the arts. Although he shared with Wagner the idea that the
system of the arts has a hierarchical structure, Eisenstein regarded the audiovi-
sual Gesamtkunstwerk in a completely different way. The reason for this, as I am
about to explain, depends on the formal organization of the synthesis Eisenstein
fashions.
In order to clarify the differences between Eisenstein and Wagner's concep-
tions of synthesis, we need to consider the concept of organic unity (organich-
nost). In Nonindifferent Nature, Eisenstein clarifies that the organic character of the
cinematographic work must be understood as a dynamic one (the organism as an
unstable system, ex-static, capable of growing and reorganizing itself) rather
synthesis of the arts or friendly cooperation between the arts? 387

than a static one (the organism as a harmonious whole, whose unity transcends
the sum of its parts). In this regard, the organic unity of the film is nothing other
than its own capacity to govern the ex-static turbulence of the expressive forces
running through it, which the work literally contains. The form dominates the
forces as it is itself a force superior in rank. Such a remarkable conception of
organic unity6 approaches the very same concept of great style that Nietzsche
contrasted to the drift toward informality followed by the Wagnerian drama.7
So much for the substantial difference between Eisenstein and Wagners takes
on the technical-formal nature of the synthesis of the arts. We need now to go
back to their convergence on the (political?) idea of a hierarchical system of the
arts, regarded by Eisenstein as a historiographical principle. More precisely, we need
to question: (1) the reliability of the hypothesis that the arts evolve toward forms
of multimedia unification, and (2) test Eisenstein's prediction that cinema devel-
ops in conformity to the principle of the synthesis discussed before. Such a princi-
ple might turn out to diverge from the idea of a friendly cooperation between
the arts.
III.
Eisensteins final thesis, that the arts evolve toward forms of multimedia unifica-
tion, can be easily supported by a large apparatus of quotations from his theore-
tical writings. But at least two of the assumptions this thesis relies upon are not
self-evident at all. The first assumption is that art is an anthropological constant,
a structural element of human culture in general, and the second, that art follows
an evolutionary path driven by rules and teleologically oriented (in this specific
case toward unification rather than differentiation). Eisenstein was not only fully
aware of the assumptions behind his thesis, but was also convinced that they
should integrate with each other. In other words, art evolves toward forms of
unification precisely because it is a structural element of the anthropogenesis.
Thus, the synthesis of the arts does anything but bring the complex synesthesia
of our perceptual system to its full unfolding. It is a great theme, a humanistic
and materialistic idea, which runs through all Eisenstein's major works, from
Montage to Metod, from the Problems of Film Direction to Nonindifferent Nature. I have
had the occasion elsewhere8 to underline the powerful, as well as uncanny,
amount of negativity (destruction of preexistent forms of unity is required so
that new and more powerful ones can be constructed) and the disharmonious
elements (single parts of the work might resist full integration within the syn-
thetic movement) inherent in such an idea: here, though, my concern is to point
out the ambiguity of its political implications, together with the rather modest
predictiveness it can guarantee from an historiographical point of view.
In the last fifty years, nothing like a synthesis has been realized in the field of
the arts, which instead demonstrated an intensely centrifugal movement, and
388 pietro montani

such evident pulverization that someone felt compelled to speak of a posthistori-
cal condition9 stripping any meaning from the concept of a system of the arts.
Despite this, it is true that the new technologies of audiovisual image production
generated remarkable forms of multimedia unification, especially in cinema.
Nevertheless, it is questionable whether these forms headed toward the synthesis
of the arts and the full enfoldment of synesthesia that Eisenstein had in mind, or
whether they took a different and maybe opposite direction, oriented toward the
impoverishment of a fully channeled sensitivity rather than its expansion and
refinement. As I have discussed such a thesis at length on more than one occa-
sion,10 I will only point out here that the contemporary and hypertechnological
version of the multimedia synthesis requires the viewers to use all their sensorial
resources (possibly aided by prosthesis, such as 3D glasses) in an immersive en-
vironment within which the range of their optional stimulus responses is re-
duced to about zero. In a word, a spectator fully directed by the spectacle he
or she is attending. What we are thus presented is a situation similar to the one
depicted by Eisenstein at the beginning of his notorious text-manifesto The
Montage of Attractions, in which he wrote: The moulding of the audience in a
desired direction (or mood) is the task of every utilitarian theatre.11 Yes, more or
less. Such an analogy, which seems to me only partially legitimate, leads us
straight to the political implications of the synthesis, to whose ambiguity I will
devote my final observations.
IV.
I spoke intentionally of ambiguity, to finally reconnect my remarks to the pair
synthesis of the arts/friendly cooperation of the arts I opened my note with. It
merits interest that both these conceptual determinations, between which Eisen-
stein oscillates, can be traced, even if only implicitly, to an unreconciled dialecti-
cal opposition within the concept of montage of attractions,12 as well as to the
related creative practice (especially in Strike). The opposition itself oscillates be-
tween two incongruous, and ultimately truly irreconcilable levels. On the one
hand, Eisenstein acknowledges the right of the (theatrical) show to admit an un-
paralleled amount of heterogeneity: no element shall be excluded from the mise-
en-scne, neither the noblest (Romeos soliloquy) nor the most trivial (a salvo
under the seats of the auditorium), neither the most traditional (Ostuzhevs
chatter) nor the most innovative (the short film insert Glumovs Diary showed in
two parts during the stage performance of Enough Stupidity in Every Wise Man,
which is the theatrical production Eisenstein's manifesto refers to). On the other
hand, he demands each of these attractions to be linked to specific emotional
shocks that, once unified, will ultimately converge in the final ideological con-
clusion drawn by the audience who has been moulded by the show.

It would be legitimate to recognize in such a demand the germs of the propa-
gandistic perversion of the politicization of the arts that will lead in ten years
time to the Stalinist engineering of human souls, formalized by Zhdanov in
his speech at the First Soviet Writers Congress.13 It would be legitimate, how-
ever, only if Eisensteins demand had not joined surreptitiously (and verbosely,
for at bottom it was delivered as a proclamation) the two incongruous levels of
the shows fragmentary form and the audiences unifying response. By doing so,
he made noticeable the essential and well-grounded ambiguity of such a de-
mand. The Eisensteinian idea of montage seems, therefore, affected from the
very beginning by a twofold movement, heading at once toward a synthesis and
a more complex and problematic kind of unity perhaps, the same unity that
could be established on the basis of a cooperation, rather than a fusion,
which led Eisenstein to seal the expression friendly cooperation of the arts
with an exclamation mark (a sort of why didn't I think of that?) in the final
notes on the history of cinema.
The second text on the montage of attractions, the one dedicated to cinema,
confirms such a divergence, endowing it with some further, and less verbose,
theoretical argumentations. The synthesis of the heterogeneous materials borne
by the film (in this case Strike, on which the essay is focused) is no longer carried
out by the audiences mysterious capacity to perform an emotional unification,
but rather has to be ascribed to a truly constructive principle, a precise compositional
rule of the text. But what shall this rule be? According to Eisensteins truly re-
markable intuition, it shall be a political rather than an aesthetic one. Hence, Strike,
which is presented as an experiment that, without resorting to a classical narra-
tive framework, aims at finding its own overall dramatic configuration its own
constructive principle within the structure of a typical phenomenon of moder-
nity: the strike as form of class struggle. How remarkable that intuition was but
perhaps a stronger adjective should be used is showed by the fact that Eisen-
stein unleashed the compositional unification in one stroke from the inheritance
of a synthesis conceived in a rigorous sense, by denying it to be an aesthetic issue
and leading it toward a very different relationship between the heterogeneous
elements coordinated by the film. Indeed, Strike is a work lacking stylistic unity
altogether, switching from one style to another according to the demands of the
new political and attractional dramaturgy, mixing canonized genres14 (crime, ac-
tion) with real footage (the extraordinary mass scenes: the arson, the invasion of
a working-class neighborhood, the final massacre), and freely inventing new nar-
rative procedures (the introduction of the spies, the recruitment of the provoca-
teurs, and so on). Such a mix is possible and meaningful because the principle of
coordinating the materials is not aesthetic but political. What such a principle aims
to guarantee is not a synthesis, but rather something like a friendly coopera-
tion, an interactive engagement, so to speak, between the forms that cooperate
with each other in full autonomy, and without aspiring to merge into a superior
390 pietro montani

unity. Although Eisenstein did not renounce the polyphonic richness of the film,
he stands here at the antipodes of the Wagnerian Gesamtkunstwerk. Contrarily to
the Wagnerian melodrama, every single voice must here remain recognizable,
without merging in the indistinct unity of a more powerful emotional involve-
ment. Yet, the consistent oscillation between the synthesis of the arts and
friendly cooperation of the arts remains undoubtedly a main characteristic of
Eisenstein's theoretical thought, and as such it should not just be acknowledged
but also systematically investigated.
I would like to conclude here with two remarks. First, the regressive political
drift imputable to the synthesis in the Wagnerian sense could not subsist within
the framework set up by friendly cooperation. Second, the modest predictive-
ness I previously ascribed to the Eisensteinian thesis about the development of
the arts could even turn into its opposite, should the historiographical principle
actually selected conform to the concept of friendly cooperation instead of
synthesis. The best contemporary cinema, in fact tends to contrast with the
phenomenon of multimedia unification I referred to earlier, following an inter-
media trajectory oriented toward the comparison and the critical cooperation
between autonomous expressive forms and media rather than their synergetic
fusion.15

12. Eisensteins Mummy
Complex: Temporality,
Trauma, and a
Distinction in
Eisensteins Notes for a
General History of
Cinema
Philip Rosen
There are many fascinating aspects to Eisensteins extraordinary manuscript,

Notes for a General History of Cinema. Among them are sketches and lists for chron-
ologies or genealogical successions of artistic forms, strategies, and technolo-
gies; evocative and provocative suggestions about montage; and a variety of ex-
cursions into Eisenstein's lifelong theoretical concern, the impact and roots of
form in all the arts, including some close analyses. In this paper, I will focus on
one specific element of this relatively compact but intellectually sprawling text:
the distinction between reenactment and mummification, which is intro-
duced in the section of the Notes entitled Dynamic Mummification: Notes for a
General History of Cinema.1 It seems to be formulated as part of a schema of
first principles for the overall project of a general history of cinema. I will limit
my references to just a few passages where this distinction is explicitly discussed,
but I will also make some suggestions about the relation of this distinction to
one or two issues in Eisensteins theoretical work and canonical classical film
theory.
Many of the entries of this text have a fragmentary and sketchy character, as
opposed to a formally elaborated, continuous exposition. Nevertheless, the in-
tensity, the conceptual range, and scale of the Notes make it almost impossible to
avoid referring them to Eisensteins theoretical corpus, especially his extensive
393
later work, much of which was unpublished in his own lifetime. Considered as
general aesthetic theory, Eisensteins more developed writings often seem to loot
the entire history of arts and cultures in order to discover basic cinematic princi-
ples in all cultures at all times. Considered as film theory, these same writings
also appear to operate in a reverse but complementary direction: they examine
films and cinema as such, but they there discover foundational principles of art,
culture, and human mentality. He encapsulated this back-and-forth approach in
the 1930s with the following sentence: Thus, we can see that the principle of
cinema is not something which dropped upon mankind from the heavens, but it
is something that has grown out of the very depths of human culture.2 This
same attitude underpins the Notes for a General History of Film. Indeed, based on
this text, a visitor from another planet might have the impression that most of
the history of cinema occurred in the centuries and millennia before the 1890s.
From one angle, then, Eisensteins approach to film history, along with his
theoretical formulations, can appear paradoxically ahistorical: As a principle, the
cinematic exists universally, in all the arts, so the history of cinema encompasses
all of human history. On the other hand, his approach may appear radically his-
torical, for even the most contemporary art form and instances of it cinema and
films become thinkable only with reference to a multiplicity of historical ante-
cedents, parallels, connections, and instantiations stretching back to antiquity
and even preantiquity. Yet, there may be a something vaguely comparable to this
dizzying mixture of past and present in early-twenty-first-century theoretical dis-
cussions about film, media, and historicity. In our own time, there has been a
heightened interest in mixed temporalities; just one pertinent reference might be
the discourses of so-called media archaeology. So we may now be situated to
recognize the interest as well as the difficulties and problems of such interplays
of past and present, in their discontinuities and jumps as well as their continu-
ities and homogeneities.
Woven into the Notes is a central aspect of such interplay, namely the relation
of the lasting on the one hand, and the unique instant on the other. It is thema-
tized at the start of the earliest entry of the section entitled Dynamic Mummifi-
cation: Notes for a General History of Cinema, dated December 2, 1946. Eisen-
stein cites a famous line from Goethe's Faust, when the protagonist imagines a
moment of absolute perfection: Verweile doch, du bist so schn (Stay, you are so
beautiful.)3 With these words, Faust envisions suspending time forever at an in-
stant of supreme fulfillment, in order to sustain the experience of incomparable
satisfaction as everlasting rather than ephemeral. He imagines the benefits of
being able to make the evanescent into the enduring, and he considers whether
the capacity to do so is worth the price of his soul.
Why would this be the first note, the springboard, for a general history of
cinema? Fausts temptation is framed within a supernatural, religious context,
but it correlates with a secular experience and problem specific to Western mod-
394 philip rosen

ernity. One of the pillars of this modernity is a temporality always pregnant with
the possibility of the new, therefore the unprecedented, therefore the unique.
This generates a fundamental question: Can there can be any stability in the
never-ending flux of time? Faust desires to make an instant of perfect fulfillment
timeless, but the universe is time-filled.4
This initial citation in the Notes on a General History of Cinema suggests that there
may be profound methodological and substantive manifestations of this anti-
nomy in Eisensteins own theoretical work. If so, it would be implicated with the
modernity of his theoretical corpus, even or rather especially when his writings
appeal to the persistence of a primitive or primal layer underlying modern cultur-
al and psychological dynamics. For as in much modernist thought, Eisenstein
defines this layer as primitive or primal from the standpoint of modern practices
of knowledge. Here the interplay between past and present would be understood
as an interplay between a prior, primal layer of human history and experience
with modern experience. As I already suggested, Eisenstein himself seeks under-
lying universal principles for all of human culture and mentality, even when ex-
amining the most current and specific instances of film form and cinema. Thus,
while the Faust citation may be read as reflexive of Eisensteins metatheoretical
framework, it is also metahistorical. For it introduces the problem faced by any
modern historiographic enterprise: the relationship of event and law, instance
and structure, the singular conjunction and the durable, the momentary and the
lasting.
Yet, the Notes veer in a somewhat different direction. Instead of moving from
the Faust citation to a consideration of methods for his own history of cinema,
Eisenstein immediately attributes the desire for lastingness to cultural practices
themselves, including ritual, myth, the arts cinema and even (in 1947!) televi-
sion.5 That is, this temporal antinomy is described less as a methodological
problem for the historian and more as a generative impulsion or fundamental
property within the objects and histories being studied.6
Art, Eisenstein writes, is Auswuchs dieses Triebes an outlet or discharge for a
motive force or drive, which originates outside of art. This is explained based on
the following principle: Man is eternally subject to the power of creation and
destruction, just as are nature, history, and society.7 This is a modern under-
standing of temporality. In the face of perpetual change, humanity is driven to
seek stability, hence eternity. But given that change and transformation are them-
selves always already eternal, there can never be a perfect end to this pursuit.
Such stability is therefore always already and fatally impossible, flawed, or lost.
In fact, Eisenstein associates this drive with trauma. In the Notes, the trauma
seems to work as follows. The human response in discharging the drive for the
stable or eternal is a counteraction against the impossibility of its realization:
there is a constant reflux of social, and historically inflected practices or forms,
which are the outlets impelled by the drive. These aspire to the value of the eter-
eisensteins mummy complex 395

nal expressed in the trauma, but it is a value impossible of fulfillment. Culture is
filled with such outlets, and some develop as art.
As happens at a number of points in the Notes, Eisenstein quickly scribbles
some examples: physical immortality (VIEM),8 immortality through children,
eternal life through metempsychosis, by going to paradise, through the creation
of enduring things of value, in the hearts of the people, etc. (The Americans
longing for security.*) These examples are indicative of major tendencies in the
imagined overcoming of temporal transitoriness. As the emphasis on immortal-
ity suggests, Eisenstein heavily associates the trauma to be overcome with death.
But of course, this only underscores the problem posed by this temporality,
namely that these discharges of the motive force can never be fully successful on
a logical and material level. The very process of seeking to resolve the problem of
imperishability evinces the problem.
In the 1930s, Eisenstein had invested heavily in developing a concept of prelo-
gical or sensual thinking as a structuring force in human mentality, based partly
on his own mix of available anthropology and psychology. For him, this is an
underlying emotional level of mind and signification, with its own specific syn-
tactic structures and regularities. It has basic psychological force but also trans-
cends the individual and is a determinative pressure for cultural and artistic
forms.9 In the Notes, the traumatic quest for the enduring must find a resource in
prelogical, sensual thinking. Culture affirms endurance through the repetition or
revivification of entities from the past: persons now dead, but also events which
have already occurred. This is where the kinds of connections and associations
given emotive force by prelogical or sensual thinking are crucial. If cultural, so-
cial and aesthetic forms respond to death as embodying the trauma, they seek to
overcome that death and therefore must deny any absolute ending. If we shift
registers and consider the conception of temporality at work, this is to denegate
punctuality itself.
Death is thus most important here as a figuration of the unceasing passage of
time, which generates the impulse to counter it; as a corollary, death also ap-
pears in the Notes as a generator of a fundamental human activity, namely com-
memoration (as it is in religion and in Faust). Commemoration not only includ-
ing tributes to ancestors, but also to societal heroes and mythifications. One has
the impression that this text makes commemoration, rather than imitation or
mimesis, an originary operation on the history of the arts. In the many examples
and chronological lists of the Notes, commemoration is a reference point for so
many of Eisensteins crucial examples, that it actually seems to underpin mim-
esis itself.
What, then, is the nature of the cultural outlets springing from this generative
drive which compels commemoration? Still early in the Notes, Eisenstein provides
three categories of cultural-aesthetic modes discharging the force underlying the
trauma, but he seems most concerned with the first two and the distinction be-
396 philip rosen

tween them. The first category is dynamic reproduction or reenactment of that
which has previously occurred. The second category is mummification or preserva-
tion of that which is dead or lost in time. The third category, added as a seeming
afterthought and with significantly and oddly sparse elaboration, is symboliza-
tion.10
Reenactment is exemplified more than once in the Notes by the ancient Greek
dithyramb, which was both an aesthetic (verse) form and also the reenactment of
actions of the god Dionysus. Those present participated in this orgiastic perfor-
mance, and it seems worth pointing out that Eisensteins lifelong concern with
relating aesthetic form to spectatorial emotional engagement is in evidence in his
account of this particular ritual as exemplifying an origin of art. Eisenstein traces
theater itself not to an Aristotelian configuration of plot logic which imitates a
causal order, but to the participatory reenactment of the dithyramb.
As often happens in the Notes, there are a string of further examples that follow
from this earliest one. Such strings suggest preliminary or partial schemas for
lines of succession, and the possibility of developmental chronologies to be filled
in later. The line following from the dithyramb includes religious pilgrimages
such as retracing the passion of Christ, which is a reminder of the interest in
religious emotion in several of Eisensteins writings and films. But the same line
also includes Shakespeares historical chronicles.11 And, as the lineage con-
tinues, this putative root (cradle) of theater leads to cinema. (A thought: Does
this phylogenetic history retrace the specific ontogeny of the young Eisenstein's
migration from theater to cinema?) He also connects newsreels and certain of his
own films to this line, with the Odessa steps sequence of Potmkin and the Winter
Palace settings of October mentioned as commemorative reenactments. Even the
new medium of television is attached to this line. Perhaps, one speculates, this is
because of televisions potential for engaging a spectator with a contemporary
history in which s/he participates, which would tie it to the newsreel. For the
line stemming from the dithyramb is characterized by commemorative reenact-
ment, but it is also a reenactment associated with emotional participation via
aesthetic form.
The second category or mode for discharging the motive force/trauma is the
mummification or literal preservation of material elements of a person or event.
Even more obviously than the first category, this mummification category neces-
sarily appears as a commemorative operation. Inevitably, ancient Egypt is a privi-
leged example, and serves as counterpart to the dithyramb as originary instance
in the reenactment line. But as with the reenactment line, this mummification
mode is also said to remain fundamental throughout history: The mummification
of the hero for the eternal preservation of his physical being (that is, again in
accordance with primary logic, of the hero himself) from Egypt to this day.12
And once again, there are strings of additional examples following historically
and formally from a privileged ancient practice.

At first the distinction between the reenactment and mummification seems
straightforward, but the strings of examples in the latter category soon makes
the distinction less absolute. This is because many of those examples are not
actual or literal mummification/preservation of the remembered body or object.
That is, the mummification line seems to develop away from material identity or
contact with the privileged referent. How could this be, when it is the presence of
the referent (the body of the dead) which defines the practice of mummification?
In one of the most indicative of such chronological strings, mummies are suc-
ceeded by the death mask, and then sculpture.13 Now, the death mask still in-
volves contact with the actual corpse, but there is already a difference implying
some subtleties: Unlike the mummy, it is separable from the corpse even though it
reproduces the appearance of the deceased still based on physical contact with
the face of the deceased. But then, Eisenstein adds successors to the death mask
in this line. And these derivative forms are not only separable, but also need not be
produced from contact with the actual corpse. He mentions artifacts such as Ro-
man images of ancestors and commemorative sculpture.14
But statuaries of noble family members are not mummification, nor are other
of Eisensteins examples of commemorative art in this line, such as the massive
heads of US presidents sculpted from Mount Rushmore. Rather than starting
from the materiality of the physical body of the commemorated ancestor or social
hero, they are at best a prosthesis for memory via depiction of the likeness of the
ancestor. In that sense, it seems to be more like the Dionysian dithyramb, for the
participants act like the god, but are not themselves literally gods. Yet, for Eisen-
stein, it seems to be enough that such sculpture mimes the form of the death
mask or other kinds of castings. This positions them in this line. He postulates
that the origins of statuary as a form lie in the death mask as a model, that is, a
kind of mimicry of the death mask.
He attributes such mimicry to a certain development from an originary outlet for
the traumatic motivating drive. This lineage would then have its effectivity
through associations at the level of prelogical or sensual thinking revivifying the
mummifying impulse itself, in something like a metacommemoration. The pre-
logical transforms associations into absolute identities at an emotional level;
hence it is possible on an emotional rather than rational level to conflate statue
and body, as may happen with any artwork and the object it depicts. This means
to use a different terminology from a later kind of film theory the mummifi-
cation line includes not only literal mummies, but entities that are commemora-
tive objects or operations because they address what can be called subjectivities
as subliminally connected to the dead or past event. These subjectivities engage
with the sculpture as if it were made from the presence of the actual body of the
remembered one. Eisensteins lineages suggest that the history of the arts and
cinema is a history of subjectivities or mentalities as much as they are histories
of forms and technologies.
398 philip rosen

A pivot point in this conception, then, is the relation of mummification and
separation. The death mask thus becomes a kind of transitional practice between
literal preservation and a more materially autonomous construction of likeness.
But once that relative autonomy is achieved, the special effectivity work does not
depend on actual physical contact with the deceased, but rather a kind of mem-
ory that such contact once existed. Yet, this must have a peculiar consequence for
the logic of Eisensteins conception. As the mummification line develops, a se-
parable, independently produced likeness, it must move toward something that
seems closer to reenactment than one might first expect. And of course, both
lines are generated by the need to commemorate, that is, to make something last
despite the fact that its existence is restricted in time. Therefore, while there is a
formal or logical distinction between the dynamic reproduction characterizing
the reenactment line and the preservative impulse characterizing the mummifica-
tion line in the arts, it would seem difficult to sustain that distinction as absolute.
In a passage of the Notes apparently written a year later, Eisenstein briefly re-
turns to the distinction between reenactment and mummification, and evokes it
in a typically summary way:
Static stage
Dynamic stage
Roots of reproduction as reproduction of ones own copy
Reflections and reproduction.
The very first dynamic wing: commemorative action; it is also audio-visual;
the reflection happens into itself in impersonization* (the actor plays
becomes Dionysus). Reproduction only for the duration of the action.
Further:
the first stage is not reflection, rather it preserves the object itself
(mummification), but for eternity;
the second stage is the factual physical mold (the commemorative death mask
is the proper beginning. Egypt, Rome). 15
This passage supplements the earlier ideas. The distinction between reenactment
and mummification is now summarized as a relation of reproduction to its
endurance: On the one hand, there is the limited duration of dithyrambic (thea-
trical) commemoration, now also characterized as reproduction. It is initiated in
itself and does not last beyond its live performance. This is opposed to mummi-
fications for all time. Intriguingly enough, the distinction between reenact-
ment and mummification is now grounded in the very opposition between the
time-filled and the timeless, the short-lived and the durable. It is as if the distinc-
tion between two modes of commemoration is based on the same temporal anti-
nomy that generates commemoration in the first place.

The distinction is also now abetted by some previously absent terms. For one
thing, the language of reproduction as well as commemoration is applied to
both lines. (It is conceivable that the addition of reproduction into the problem
was inflected by the several intervening considerations and lineages of photogra-
phy within the Notes, especially nineteenth-century photography in relation to
both painting and cinema.) Also now added to the terminological mix is reflec-
tion. The term dynamic was always valued in Eisenstein's aesthetic and psycholo-
gical theories, and it is indicative that a year earlier, Eisenstein had defined the
reenactment line as dynamic reproduction. In the later entry, the term dynamic
is associated with reflection.
Reflection therefore denotes a positive cognitive outcome as opposed to mere
reproduction. It seems to me that there is an important and revelatory parallel
with an opposition crucial in other later Eisenstein writings: between the dyna-
mism of obraz (generalized or global image) and mere depiction. However, if this
later entry opposes reproduction to reflection, this opposition is presented as
internal to both lines reenactment as well as mummification. This implicitly
reinforces something I already observed about the mummification line. Insofar
as it leads to separability away from the depicted objects and therefore toward
developed art forms it must become something more than mere preservation
or, here, reproduction. The name for this something more in these sections of
the Notes is reflection, much as the name for it in other writings is obraz/global
image. In this later entry, the importance of the transition from death mask to
sculpture is also present and is, if anything, more elaborated: the first stage is
not reflection, rather it preserves the object itself (mummification), but for eternity; the
second stage is the factual physical mold (commemorative death mask is the
proper beginning. Egypt, Rome).16 Egypt, Rome, is clearly shorthand for the
sculptural forms invoked earlier and completion of the transition through which
the preservation line leads to art.
It is physical separability from the corpse that makes the death mask the
proper beginning, as this later fragment puts it. But the beginning of what? It
cannot be the arts tout court, because we know from the dithyramb and reenact-
ment that there are arts which start without preservation, in themselves; in a
sense, the arts stemming from reenactment are physically separated in their
very constitution from the remembered person or reproduced actions or events.
Perhaps, then, this is properly the beginning of cinema?
This seems confirmed by one of Eisenstein's chronological strings in the
mummification line. This string moves from the removal of the death mask, to
castings, then photography, and finally to cinema as cine-chronicle (kino-khro-
nika). NB. Probably, for the history of cinema. Chronicle [Khronika] as cradle.17 Cru-
cially, however, this end point does not distinguish the mummification line from
the reenactment line, for he had previously written of the reenactment line that it
leads to cinema through the chronicle. It appears that Eisenstein, with the term
400 philip rosen

cine-chronicle is thinking of the newsreel, with its production/reproduction of
socially valued persons and events, as a kind of originary mode in the history of
cinema. But this is something that conjoins both lines as leading to cinema. It is
almost as if the newsreel completes a process begun with the death mask, for it
is the moment of transitional convergence of both lines. The reenactment and
mummification lines are dialectically combined into cinema.
Yet, this is not to collapse completely the distinction between reenactment and
mummification. Even if an art in the mummification line is separated from literal
connection with the remembered person or event, for Eisenstein the originary
appeal of preservation through prelogical thought on the model of the death
mask can endure. This affects the aspirations and formal qualities of a pertinent
art or work. So the overall situation might possibly be summarized as follows:
The stronger the separation from pure preservation of the original body, event,
or object being reproduced, then the more room there is for aesthetic form and
artistry. Indeed, in order for the commemoration or reproduction to be dynamic
and reflective, literal mummification or preservation would have to be supple-
mented or sublated something which requires separation.
Inversely, however, this also implies that the originary commemorative/repro-
ductive impulses, insofar as they persist, do continue to place necessarily limits
on aesthetic form, both in the reenactment line but even more so for the more
material and literal preservational impulse originating in the mummification
line. If cinema is a dialectical combination of the two lines, whose originary uni-
fication lies in the cradle of the newsreel, it must sustain some of the drive for
contact and preservation This may help explain his remark in a 1934 article: The
shot, considered as material for the purpose of composition, is more resistant
than granite. This resistance is specific to it. The shots tendency toward com-
plete factual immutability is rooted in its nature.18
Within the Notes, it is telling in this regard that Eisenstein calls Egyptian sculp-
ture naturalistic, based on its derivation from the death mask; he also calls Ro-
man portraits realistic because of their commemorative origins. Even in the
mummification line, separation from the commemorated object does not elimi-
nate the originary psychological and social appeal of preservation implanted in its
origins with the help of prelogical thinking. This appeal, this overriding Aus-
wuchs dieses Triebes19 endures in the arts, and is materially integrated into the
technology and art form of cinema, as a continuing human response to the flux
of time.
At this point, however, for the sake of completeness, we need to recall that
Eisensteins Notes also mention a third category for discharging the trauma of
temporality, although this third category receives significantly less attention.
This third category is symbolization. His first examples include a pyramid, a
gravestone, or writing on a cross in a cemetery.20 These examples are all still
commemorative, and have to do with death. But what seems to distinguish this

third category from the first two is a certain conventionality of representational
materials and/or forms. In symbolization, commemoration occurs without like-
ness, reenactment or mimesis (as in dithyramb and theater), and without preser-
vation or contact (as with mummies and the death mask that leads to sculpture).
Instead, symbolization consists in seemingly artificial constructions of equiva-
lence between a sign and the dead object or past event it evokes. We can charac-
terize that relation as arbitrary, if we want to use a theoretically loaded term.
Nevertheless, since Eisensteins examples of symbolization are commemorative,
it seems that symbolization is likewise yoked to the impulse to discharge the
traumatic motivating drive provoked by the flux of temporality, by countering it
through the everlasting. How he might think symbolization is related to repro-
duction and reflection is not settled in the Notes, though some minimum of re-
flection must be involved insofar as commemoration is involved. Here, it would
seem, commemoration must bridge the greatest amount of difference between a
depiction or reproduction and the past person or event. But symbolization thus
defined surely has major noncommemorative functions, or would Eisenstein as-
sert that, like reenactment and mummification, all symbolization has its origins
in commemoration? It is possible that this issue may point to some problems
with the other two categories (for example, is all dynamic reproduction neces-
sarily commemorative?) An elaboration is lacking in the Notes.
However, transforming the binary, dialectical distinction between reenactment
and mummification into a trinary classification among reenactment, mummifi-
cation, and symbolization leads to a rather astonishing correspondence with la-
ter film theory. It parallels Peirces second trichotomy of signs, which was in-
jected into film theory following Peter Wollen's 1969 critique of Saussurian
semiology.21 Peirces trichotomy is defined according to sign-object relations,
and the variants are called icon (similarity relation), index (existential relation)
and symbol (lawful or conventional relation.) In thinking of grounding principles
for a general history of cinema, Eisenstein has derived a parallel distinction: re-
enactment (similarity/icon), mummification (preservation/index), symbolization
(conventionality/symbol). This surprising correspondence might lead to new and
interesting readings of Eisenstein's theories and, perhaps even films.
But here I will only point out that it is related to another, perhaps more ob-
vious parallel, which will have already struck anyone familiar with the history of
film theory. Wollen's introduction of Peirce into film theory included a reading of
theories of Andr Bazin, in order to argue that Bazins virtue was to highlight the
indexical character of cinema, and his weakness was to overemphasize that char-
acteristic. If we return to Eisensteins notion of the culturally generative trauma
associated with the origin of the arts leading to cinema, there are ways in which
Eisensteins ideas converge with some of Bazins fundamental theses. Bazin
found origins of the arts, photography, and cinema in the special appeal of pre-
servation, as a way of responding to the fatal and problematic nature of tempor-
402 philip rosen

ality for humanity and its subjectivity. This was concisely formulated in Bazins
now canonical essay, The Ontology of the Photographic Image, first published
in a book on art in 1945.22 This was just one year before Eisenstein scribbled his
opening distinction between mummification and reenactment. Bazin's much-
noted trope of the mummy complex, which crystallizes this temporal constella-
tion, involves formulations not necessarily identical but overlapping with Eisen-
steins Notes: a human subjectivity confronting time as a threat figured as death,
and an obsessive psychological drive to counter this threat through preservation,
is analogous to Eisensteins temporal trauma; the Egyptian mummies are privi-
leged as an origin of Western representational art, an origin which may possibly
be more figurative in Bazin and literal yet generalizing in Eisenstein; the problem
of likeness in the arts is a psychological goal which places limitations on the
aesthetic, which seems analogous to the issue of separability in Eisensteins
mummification line; and photography and cinema are given a special place in
sustaining contact with the past existents being depicted, but not absolutely en-
ough to resolve the problem, such that form and aesthetics remains components
of their realism. It is startling to pick certain sentences out of Bazin's founda-
tional essay with Eisenstein's Notes in mind. There is, for example, a footnote in
which Bazin suggests photography should be compared to the death mask, Ei-
senstein's great transitional object in the mummification line. And then there is
Bazins opening characterization of the origin of the arts in the mummy com-
plex, which seems so consonant with Eisenstein's notion of trauma and tempor-
ality: by providing a defense against the passage of time it satisfied a basic psy-
chological need in man for death is but the victory of time.23
Wollen criticized Bazin for overemphasizing the indexical aspect of cinema,
and thus obscuring the status of cinema as a hybrid mixture of indexical, iconic,
and symbolic signification. Wollen also notes that Eisenstein was often asso-
ciated with the symbolic potential of cinema. However, at least in the Notes, while
Eisenstein acknowledges symbolization it is not much discussed as such. Be-
cause of the unfinished, fragmentary nature of the Notes, we cannot be sure if he
would have developed this category, or, on the other hand, if this was a prin-
cipled deemphasis on his part. However, the elaboration of iconicity in the re-
enactment line and preservation in the mummification line opens up the possi-
bility that there may be something wrong with Wollens reading.
But the lacunae around symbolization in the Notes only makes the overlap with
Bazin more intriguing. What is the status of a coincidence that has the two most
remarkable of all classical film theorists, who have so often been placed in hoary
opposition to one another, both thinking of Egyptian mummies as distant origin
of cinema in the 1940s? It is just possible, if barely so, that they might have been
reading a few of the same works of art history or criticism (Malraux, for exam-
ple?). And it is within the realm of possibility, though barely so, that Eisenstein
could have seen the 1945 Bazin essay before writing his late 1946 notations. Per-

haps archival information on this may emerge in the future, though it is not at all
certain.
But what is most important is thinking about the conceptual or theoretical
roots of this overlap between Bazin and Eisenstein. This begins from the idea of
time as radically problematic, which is registered as trauma in Eisenstein and
threat to subjectivity in Bazin. In both this menace is said to be fundamentally
generative of culture and art, and to be behind any special status attributed to
cinema: as conjunction of the reenactment and mummification lines for dischar-
ging the trauma in Eisenstein, and as privileged medium for preserving not only
objects but duration itself in Bazin.
The distinction between reenactment and mummification in the Notes on a Gen-
eral History of Cinema thus also suggests the centrality of configuring temporality
for Eisenstein. Of course, this is implicit in the value he places on terms like
dynamic and transformation in so many of his other writings. These are concepts
that his theoretical work explores most intensively not with respect to history,
but with respect to aesthetic composition and its relation to spectatorial experi-
ence. Earlier I pointed out that the opposition between reproduction and reflec-
tion in the Notes would exist within both the reenactment and the mummification
lines, though in different valences. I also briefly compared it to the crucial oppo-
sition in his other later writings between depiction and obraz/global or general-
ized image.
Obraz was a term widely utilized in a variety of Russian aesthetic thought. In
Eisensteins work, it is associated with the dynamic, transformative aspect of the
work. In his reading of Eisensteins later theory, Martin Lefebvre has argued that
its effectivity is dependent on memory, that is, on mental entities and associa-
tions specific to each spectator. The artistic composition marshals these into a
whole through emotive means.24 Memories come to mentality in the present
from fleeting past, and are then organized by means of aesthetic form and cogni-
tive appeal. This would mean that at the core of the spectator, as well as the core
the work, and therefore at the core of Eisensteins approach to aesthetics and
culture, we find the great modern aporia between past and present, between the
enduring and the unique. As we have seen, it is also at the heart of historical
consciousness in modernity, and it doubtless finds outlet in Eisensteins own
theoretical ambitions. In this sense, at least, Verweile doch, du bist so schn is an
appropriate epigram for his general history of cinema, but also for the special
relation of form and emotion central to all of Eisensteins thought.
404 philip rosen

13. Sergei Eisenstein and
the Soviet Models for
the Study of Cinema,
1920s-1940s
Masha Salazkina and Natalie Ryabchikova
The story of how Eisenstein came to write his Notes for a General History of Cinema is
wrapped up in a larger story of institution-building in the Soviet Union. That
institutional backstory is worth telling for at least three reasons: to understand
the peculiar interactions that shaped the states relationship to an art that was
regarded as a preeminent Soviet achievement at the beginning of the postwar
period; as an example of the kind of politics that revolved around film education
in the age of the film institutes, out of which came many of the most influential
directors of the postwar period; and to understand how these two factors affected
Eisensteins project. The essay further places these developments into a larger
international context of the institutionalization of film studies as part of the de-
velopment of the film cultures in Europe.
Eisensteins Notes were being developed as part of the institutional platform for
the Cinema Section of the Institute of Art History of the Soviet Academy of
Sciences in 1947-1948. The Institute was established in 1944 by the renown Soviet
art historian Igor Grabar, and it initially included departments (or sections) of
visual arts, music, and theater. All members of the institute were required to have
advanced postgraduate academic degrees. Despite initial resistance from Gra-
bar, Eisenstein lobbied for cinemas inclusion, and in June 1947, he succeeded:
the Cinema Section was announced. It was to be lead by Eisenstein himself.
Teaching and research duties would devolve upon a handful of official members,
and an informal circle of participants (vneshtatnyj aktiv), who were expected to
receive degrees and then be able to join the section formally.1
Eisenstein had at that point been teaching at the State Institute of Cinemato-
graphy (GIK) for decades, beginning as early as 1928, when the institute bore
another name and had been accorded technical college (tekhnikum) status. In
1930 it was upgraded to an institute. Eisenstein returned to teaching there after
405
his trip abroad in September 1932, becoming the head of the directing work-
shop. He immediately plunged into implementing his program of theory and
practice of film directing, a draft of which was published in 1933, with a second,
much more detailed, version appearing in 1936.2 This program in some ways
prefigures the Notes, sharing the same institutional and pedagogical provenance,
while combining, with unmistakable Eisensteinian breadth, elements from logic,
anthropology, psychology, the history of all arts, and the latest discoveries of
science. Given this ambitious program, it is no surprise that Eisenstein insisted
that the Institute should aim at higher academic standards, yet he initially op-
posed Nikolai Lebedevs project of reorganizing GIK.3 Lebedev was a journalist,
a film critic and an aspiring documentary filmmaker. He started teaching at GIK
in 1932 and quickly rose to the directors position. Lebedev was instrumental in
turning the Institute into an important locus of film education and research. In
1934, under Boris Shumiatskys leadership at the Central Cinematrographic Ad-
ministration (GUK), a series of structural changes took place: the Institute ob-
tained a status of an institute of higher education, academy-type and was re-
named the Higher State Institute of Cinematography (VGIK).4 This was a step
toward specialization: only people who had degrees or experience in cinema
could be accepted into the film departments, the Department of Directing and
the Department of Camerawork, while all other film departments were dis-
banded. With these changes, the Institute could pay more attention to its post-
graduate program and the research unit (NIS) that it had inherited from the
Scientific Research Institute in Cinema and Photography (NIKFI). Money was
spent to expand the film library and historical archive. These changes were re-
versed in 1938. However, the intellectual community created in the early 1930s
continued to influence cinema history studies and theory. In 1939, after the suc-
cess of Alexander Nevsky, VGIK awarded Eisenstein the degree of a Professor of Art
History (doktor iskusstvovedcheskikh nauk).5 Thus, Eisensteins lobbying Grabar to
open a Cinema Section at the Institute of Art History was preceded by years of
work in the institutional development of not only cinema but also film studies.
He envisioned a research center for the study of cinema (nauchnyi centr po izuche-
niiu kinematografii) connected to the state film archive, and a museum of cinema.6
It was in this situation that Eisenstein proposed the compilation and publica-
tion of the general history of cinema. Officially, the role of the Institute of Art
History was to oversee the publication of multivolume editions of academic his-
tories of the arts in Russia and the Soviet Union; to this project, in October 1947,
the Ministry of Culture appended a plan to publish the history of Soviet Cinema
in seven volumes. Eisenstein was not only to supervise the production of this
massive project, but was also supposed to write the unit on silent cinema.
This unit was planned on an epic scale, in three volumes, the first of which
would focus on those Russian cultural traditions relevant to Soviet cinema, the
second of which was to survey prerevolutionary cinema, and the third of which
406 masha salazkina and natalie ryabchikova

was to focus on the Soviet cinema of silent period. Eisenstein began writing
notes as part of the report on the activities of the section. In 1948 he proposed
an expansion of the already epic scope of the volumes to include a general his-
tory of cinema. The introductory volume of this proposed history would take
into account the history of expressive means of cinema (close-up, temporality,
then history of sound in painting, audiovisual synesthesia in painting, problems
of space, movement, and color), followed by a history of montage in all the arts.
At the same time, the first unit of the history of Soviet cinema (on which Eisen-
stein was working simultaneously with the general history of cinema) was
going to reconstruct the genealogy of the species as the path towards news-
reel (curiously treated here apparently as an exemplary national Soviet cine-
matic phenomenon) in relation to Eisensteins theoretical framework of that per-
iod (explored in detail in Antonio Somainis contribution to this volume), such as
his elaboration of his concepts of mummification, fixation, and reproduc-
tion in cinema and art.7
Comparative Contexts
As Eisenstein proceeded on the project of a general history of cinema in the
second half of the 1940s, other similar projects were being mounted within other
national and international film cultures. While in its earlier stages, institutional
development of film education and theory in the Soviet Union was significantly
ahead of the rest of the world, by the late 1940s this process accelerated in other
countries, most importantly in France, Italy, the UK and the US, where this very
period can be seen as directly responsible for giving rise to intellectual promi-
nence of film theory and institutional recognition of film studies in the 1960s. A
brief look at that earlier Soviet effort, however, can provide us with a larger his-
torical trajectory for this process.
The State Film School (GIK), founded in Moscow in 1919, was the worlds first
professional educational institution for cinema, for decades serving as a model
for professional training and research/theoretical activity in film around the
world. Although initially the school only trained actors and directors, its curricu-
lum included courses on cinema technique (tekhnika kino) and the basics of
cinema, taught by the film director Vladimir Gardin one of the schools original
organizers.8 Feofan Shipulinskii, one of the pioneer Russian film historians,
taught at GIK from 1919 until the early 1930s.9 Soviet cinema culture of the
1920s gave rise to and in turn fed off of an extensive, institutionally mediated
critical apparatus that created forums, in journals and conferences, for dialogue
and polemic. Here we would reference the example of the famous but short-lived
Film Committee at the Zubov Institute in Petrograd/Leningrad (formed in
1925), which included all the authors of the Poetics of Cinema (1927): a collection
unified by a commitment to expanding the expressive means of cinema in con-
eisenstein and the soviet models for the study of cinema, 1920s-1940s 407
scious relation to the historical evolution of form.10 The proposal to create a
museum of cinema attached to the State Academy of Artistic Sciences (GAKhN)
in Moscow, was first made by Grigori Boltianskii, who was an important mem-
ber of the Academy. To celebrate the fifteenth anniversary of the October Revolu-
tion in 1932, the Sector of Film History of the Academy, headed by Feofan Shipu-
linskii, first announced plans to create a comprehensive history of Soviet cinema.
This project never got beyond the stage of collecting preliminary documents and
organizing meetings with film industry veterans. When the Academy was trans-
ferred to Leningrad in 1931, its collection was divided between it and NIKFI. Part
of it disappeared altogether.11 Two years later NIKFI gave up its cinema history
sector to VGIK.12 These were all moves consistent with the Stalinist mandate of
the centralization of cultural apparatuses. In this institutional competition, GIK/
VGIK emerged as the sole purveyor of cinematic research in the Soviet Union.
NIS, which had inherited materials and personnel from other institutes, includ-
ing such outstanding filmographers, bibliographers and historians as Veniamin
Vishnevskii and Mikhail Iordanskii, prepared, under Nikolai Lebedev, to expand
its research remit. Plans called for a direct link between theoretical work and
practical film production. Areas of focus included educational film, expansion of
the network of film theaters, and general film studies, meaning extensive ar-
chival work. Lebedevs plan called for the unit to collect documents concerning
cinema, compile bibliographies and filmographies, organize both a text and a
film library, and even eventually produce works on cinema of specific countries,
on movements and individual filmmakers.13
This proved impossible, due to the political shifts and pressures of the 1930s.
Nikolai Lebedev was dismissed from his position as the director of VGIK in the
fall of 1936. Half a year later the research sector was disbanded, and all theoreti-
cal work was transferred to individual departments.14 The large-scale work in the
field of Soviet film studies was put on the backburner.
Elsewhere, of course, the historical course of events was different. Thinking
through Eisensteins grandiose plans for the Cinema Section in 1947, we should
credit him with an awareness of other similar projects going on elsewhere, to
which we now turn.
The first intellectually ambitious and internationally resonant attempt to cap-
ture the history of cinema outside of the Soviet Union is perhaps Leon Moussi-
nacs Naissance du cinema, which was published in French in 1925, and immedi-
ately translated and published in Russian in 1926.15 However, the film
institutional context for Moussinacs work (and other Europeans writing on cine-
ma in the 1920s) lacked the capacity of the Soviets state-backed system.16
Throughout the 1920s and 1930s in Europe, the UK, and the US, the divide be-
tween the official state-sponsored (or international) institutions, and the more
informal venues such as cine-clubs and film societies (which were often cine-
phile-driven, and linked to the radical political avant-gardes and its Soviet pio-

neers such as Eisenstein) shaped much of film culture. The British Film Institute
is a perfect example of this tendency, as it was, in the words of Cristophe Dupin,
to be
somewhat removed from the early manifestations of a British film culture

which had been emerging in Britain since the late 1920s (in particular through
the works of the Film Society, the journals Close-up and Film Art, and the state-
funded documentary film movement led by John Grierson). If the BFI failed to
recognize the importance of these cultural practices, in return it was largely
excluded from them.17
In the postwar years, with the Keynesian expansion of the state, the funding and
organization of these institutions changed. It was in 1948, for instance, that the
BFI adopted a mandate toward the development of public appreciation of film
as an art form [] through the maintenance of the National Film Library, film
criticism, a network of film societies, the compilation of a critical catalogue of
films and the collection of information about film,18 thus in some ways attempt-
ing to bring the two forms of film culture together.
A similar dynamic can be observed in postwar France. Again, a dirigiste state
exerted its power to integrate film education and appreciation into state aca-
demic and cultural institutions. The Institut des hautes tudes cinmatographi-
ques (IDHEC; the Institute for Advanced Cinematographic Studies) was founded
in 1944 in Paris by the Ptain government and evolved from modest beginnings
as one of countless Vichy youth groups19 under the initial leadership of Marcel
lHerbier, and Leon Moussinacs directorship (from 1946 to 1949), as well as
Georges Sadouls participation. Their involvement in these institutions under-
scores their link to the earlier French and European avant-garde circles of the
1920s, and through them to the film culture in which Eisenstein was an active
participant. Thus it should be hardly surprising that at the same time that Eisen-
stein was planning his history of cinema, in 1946, Sadoul came out with one in
France that was destined to become internationally the most influential study of
film history for decades. In 1947 the Institut de filmologie (Institute of Filmol-
ogy) opened under the aegis of the Sorbonne,20 and this event is often credited as
a fundamental step forward in the history of film studies as a discipline. The
postwar skewing of film studies in Europe and America toward French cinema
and interpretation of cinema was surely influenced by these institutionalizing
moves in France. Despite its historical precedence and all of Eisensteins efforts,
Soviet film scholarship was inevitably stunted by the harsh cultural politics of the
Stalinist state. There are a number of notable similarities between Eisensteins
approach and that of filmology, which we will touch upon in conclusion.
The rupture brought about in the 1940s can be seen in the state of play in film
education in Europe in the 1920s and 1930s. Film schools followed the model of
a workshop, and abjured theory and scholarship. The exception to this overall
tendency was the National Film School in Rome (1930), which became the Cen-
tro Sperimentale di Cinematografia in 1935, a body directly modeled on GIK in
its combination of theory and practice in its curriculum. The idea for a national
Italian film school came from Anton Giulio Bragaglia, one of the key figures in
Italian Futurism, who had long-standing ties with the Russian and Soviet avant-
garde (especially Meyerhold). In 1930, when Bragaglia made his proposal to the
state agency dealing with mass media in Fascist Italy (the Corporazione dello
spettacolo), he referred specifically to the School of Screen Arts, to Trauberg and
Kozintsevs studio in Leningrad, to Kuleshovs experimental studios in Moscow,
and to the work of GIK. Bragaglia couched his idea in terms of creating a Euro-
pean example which would bring together artistic experiment and academic re-
search. The three pillars of Bragaglias proposal were centered on actors train-
ing, teaching, and practice, with the teaching to be based on (1) theoretical
culture, (2) experimental application of scholarly ideas, and (3) practical artistic
work.21 In reply, the Fascist government extended permission and funding for
the Scuola Nazionale di Cinematografia (National Film School), which was
opened in Rome in 1932. In 1934, when the state took more aggressive control
over film, the Scuola was re-formed as the Centro Sperimentale di Cinematogra-
fia. Luigi Chiarini, a literary and cultural critic, was appointed as its director.
Chiarini brought along Umberto Barbaro, another literary critic who took a parti-
cular interest in Soviet art and cinema. Under the influence of the two of them,
the Centro developed an academic program that related practical film work and
theory; under the wing of the Centro, a journal was founded in 1937, Bianco e nero,
in which were articulated the issues that defined the emergence of neorealism in
cinema. Barbaro could read Russian, and he translated Pudovkins writings (un-
der the title Il soggetto cinematografico) even before his work at the Centro. Barbaro
and Chiarini also put together anthologies of material for the use of students,
which consisted in large part of selections from Pudovkin, Eisenstein, Timoshen-
ko, Balzs, Arnheim, Spottiswoode, and Rotha.22 In the postwar period the Cen-
tro lost its preeminent status as a critical site for the production of film discourse
(while remaining an important film school) and cinematic discourse in Italy mi-
grated to film journals not affiliated with any educational institutions, such as
Guido Aristarcos Cinema Nuovo, culminating in Aristarcos edited collection on
film theory (1959) and his book The History of Film Theory (1960).
An alternative to the forming of the national film institutes was the Istituto
Internazionale di Cinema Educativo (IICE; International Institute of Educational
Cinematography) under the auspices of the League of Nations. It was founded in
1928 and was based in Rome until 1935. It aimed mainly at promoting and pro-
ducing documentaries for educational purposes. In these terms, it served as the
first major forum for international discourse in these areas.23 During its brief
existence, the IICE organized several film and photography exhibits, including

the Venice Film Festival, sponsored a monthly journal published in five lan-
guages, carried out a series of massive international surveys on film and educa-
tion between 1929 and 1934, and even attempted to sponsor an encyclopedia of
cinematography. Rudolf Arnheim, a member of the IICE, began writing his semi-
nal Film as Art as part of this project.24 Such figures as Lszl Moholy-Nagy and
Germaine Dulac were also involved with the IICE.25 At the same time, key figures
in the IICE also occupied governmental positions in Mussolinis state-run film
propaganda units. So although it has been assumed in scholarship that the IICE
could be seen as a liberal alternative to communist-oriented cultural cosmopoli-
tanism (i.e., communist internationalism), however tainted with its associations
with the Fascist government, recent scholarship shows that the IICEs plans in-
cluded exchanges with the Soviet film industry, which occurred through the All-
Union Society for Cultural Relations with Foreign Countries (VOKS), a parago-
vernmental organization, as well as through the Soviet embassy in Italy, and Lu-
ciano De Feo, the IICEs director, tirelessly searched for ways to include Soviet
organizations in the running of the Institute and its project. Soviet Russia was
the inevitable model during this period because it was the most advanced country
to use the states power to implement the development of cinema as a tool of
education, and academically, the Soviets had already, in the 1930s, made cinema
the object of scholarly study. True, other film schools existed in Germany and
France, and isolated film courses were being taught in US universities, but only
Soviet cinematic education was conceived on a truly broad scale, within a larger
humanities framework, integrating it not only with craft training and film appre-
ciation, but taking film into the study of aesthetics at large, while at the same
time insisting on the formation of film as a distinct scholarly discipline.
Thus, under the surface of an anti-Bolshevik discourse in the European cinema
cultures of both the fascist states and the democracies, the Soviet film institu-
tions were imitated by those in the film culture concerned with the potential and
aesthetics of film. Thus, it is not surprising that IECE repeatedly turned to the
Soviet film officials for participation in these initiatives. A decade of correspon-
dence exists that flowed between De Feo and the Soviet organizations, which
document the extent of De Feos relentless intermediary work in trying to trans-
plant the Soviet model by creating a modus vivendi between Soviet film institu-
tions and the IICE. Thanks to his efforts, a great deal of printed materials from
the Soviet Union was published in the journals associated with the Institute
Revue internationale du cinma ducateur (RICE), Intercine (and even Cinema, which at
its inception in 1936 was also affiliated to the Institute). Notwithstanding a series
of (extremely ambitious but mostly unrealized) plans for cooperative ventures
between the Soviet and Italian film industries, De Feo did manage to arrange for
Soviet participation in the first two Venice Film Festivals (of which De Feo was a
key organizer).26 However, the IICE failed, in the end, to involve the Soviet film
industry and its film education institutions in its world congress on educational
cinema or the encyclopedia of the history of cinema, because the political obsta-
cles were insurmountable, and the IICE found itself unable to complete its initia-
tives. However, we would argue that its existence had a large effect on the diffu-
sion of certain themes and programs in international film culture, among which
was the use of international film festivals as major sites of nontheatrical cine-
matic exchanges and the formation of various film archives leading to the estab-
lishment in 1938 of the International Federation of Film Archives (which in-
cluded the MOMA,27 the Cinmathque Franaise, the Reichsfilmarchiv, and the
National Film Library of the UK).
In light of these developments we can see that Eisenstein played as important a
role in the institutionalization of the practice and study of cinema as his films did
in legitimizing film as an art. Eisenstein was well aware of developments in the
European and American cinemas through his trips abroad in the late 1920s to the
early 1930s. For the most part, he was only two degrees of separation from the
key figures in the art film community, through his friendship with many of its
key figures (Montagu, Moussinac, Sadoul, Cavalcanti, Leyda). Yet in the turn
away from involvement in European cinema, codified after 1936 (in the twin pro-
grams of cinema for the millions in the Soviet Union and the popular front out-
side the Soviet Union), the kind of epic project combining film study and produc-
tion Eisenstein dreamed of was put on hold, and even considered suspect.
This brief survey of institutions shows how important it was to have an institu-
tional framework in order to legitimate film cultures production, criticism,
professional journals, noncommercial exhibition, film theory and the use of film
in pedagogical practices. In the postwar era, the insistence on the specificity of
film as art met a more welcoming reception within the space created by Eur-
opeans and Americans in the cultural sphere. The paradox is that Eisensteins
Notes are both part of and marginal to that moment of systematization and pro-
fessionalization of writing on film (especially institutionally speaking). This is
reflected in their form, which, preserving the utopian ambitions of the 1920s,
differ in many aspects from other such works (whether Sadouls or Aristarcos).
As cinema studies elsewhere were beginning to be organized as a discipline,
which meant supposing the specificity of cinema as a medium and form of ex-
pression with its own distinct methodology, Eisenstein was loosening his own
approach whether we define it here as history or as theory to becomes
less and less film-specific, engaging more and more explicitly with questions of
aesthetics of perception and anthropology, in continuation with film writing
from the 1920s and 1930s by thinkers such as Munsterberg, Arnheim, or Panofs-
ky. It is striking that Eisensteins project on history does not have any visible
relationship to film criticism. In fact, there is very little mention of films or direc-
tors, and even less historical context of production or reception; film here serves
as one of the loci of the historization of the aesthetic domain itself. However,
unlike many of the humanists of the 1950s, Eisenstein wanted to cut off any

claim to the universality of aesthetics. Like his friends/foes, the Russian Formal-
ists, Eisensteins is a middle-ground approach between the precepts of Marxist
historical materialism and a systematic study of the evolution of form.28 For Ei-
senstein, this was not just a question of formal qualities of the object, but also
the formal qualities of perception. And, similarly to the Formalists, this evolution
is never understood to be linear but always heterogeneous, a system of shifts
backward and forward. We will allow ourselves two brief observations on this
tendency in Eisensteins discourse and institutional program.
First, while insisting on the Cinema Section as a separate institutional domain,
Eisenstein obviously embraced interdisciplinarity as reflected not only in his
epistemological approach but also in Eisensteins program for the Cinema Sec-
tion: while cinema is privileged as the object of study, the section would invite
musicologists and art and theater historians, as well. As Eisenstein asserted: We
will not separate the history of cinema from the general history of the arts. We
consider cinema as a stage of development of particular arts, a certain highest
level of their development, and as the synthesis of other arts. [] This is the first
point, which is very important to me.29
Secondly, as we see in these later writings, Eisensteins evolving conception of
subjectivity and psychology in relation to history stands in contrast to Marxist
and protostructuralist approaches. The latter dominate the field until well into
the introduction of Lacanian psychoanalysis in the 1960s. Eisenstein argued that
psychology was crucial for film scholars, and had long supported the project of
incorporating the history and theory of psychology into the teaching of the di-
recting workshop, including studying the impact of films on the spectators under
experimental conditions.30 Throughout the Notes, Eisensteins double conception
of the evolution of form is articulated in the dialectical movement from the
individual to the collective, or individual cognition and perception to social ex-
pression. In the section entitled The Place of Cinema in the General System of
the History of the Arts Eisenstein argues that cinema is the most perfect copy of
the psychic apparatus of man, correlating psychic and somatic states with ex-
pressive means.31 Eisenstein posits an evolutionary ladder in which this function
is taken up successively by all the arts until the breakthrough of cinema creates
the most comprehensive technical automatoscope of the phenomenon of the
reflection of reality that lies at the root of the formation and establishment of
human consciousness,32 picking up the thread of his theoretical preoccupations
of the 1930s. We can imagine that if Eisenstein had succeeded on this basis, he
would have been in synch with such collaborators with filmology in the 1950s as
Henri Wallon, Edgar Morin and tienne Souriau, with their interest in anthropol-
ogy and social psychology as the basis for the study of cinema as a social phe-
nomenon. As Peter Bloom has shown, the filmology theorists were highly in-
debted to earlier research in anthropology, in particular Lucien Lvy-Bruhls
concept of primitive mentality33 which we know to be formative of the devel-
opment of Eisensteins theories in the 1930s and 1940s.34 The nonlinearity of
Eisensteins notion of (artistic and cinematic) evolution can be further linked to
his and filmologys use of Lvy-Bruhl to implicitly critique the mechanistic
ideology of modernity. Bloom sees a reference to primitive mentality behind the
concept of the filmic fact, as conceptualized by filmologys key thinker, Gilbert
Cohen-Sat. Here we can see traces of the paths that will lead from both, Eisen-
steins theoretical legacy and from filmology to the appropriation of structural-
ism and semiotics into the formation of the film theory discourse, via a figure
like Metz; the prehistory of this junction, hinted at in the Notes, is worth examin-
ing in depth. Unfortunately, the scope of this essay does not permit us to do
more than point to these issues. Still, we would like to open them as possible
topics on some other occasion, taking advantage of the newly available Notes, the
archival documents and the mass of materials generated by the institutionaliza-
tion of film studies and film theory in the Soviet Union and elsewhere.

Bibliography
Works by Eisenstein in Russian
Disney. Koskva: Ad Marginem, 2014.
Eizenshtein o Meyerkhol'de: 1919-1948. Edited by Vladimir Zabrodin. Moskva: Novoe izda-
telstvo, 2005.
Eizenshtein: popytka teatra. Edited by V. Zabrodin. Moskva: Eizenshtein-Tsentr, 2005.
Izbrannye proizvedeniia v shesti tomakh. 6 vols. Moskva: Iskusstvo, 1964-1971.
Izbrannye stati. Moskva: Iskusstvo, 1956.
Memuary. Edited by Naum Kleiman. 2 vols. Moskva: Trud i Muzei kino, 1997.
Metod. Edited by Naum Kleiman. 2 vols. Moskva: Muzei kino, Eizenshtein-tsentr, 2002.
Metod/Die Methode. Edited by Oksana Bulgakova. 4 vols. Berlin and San Francisco: Potem-
kin Press, 2008.
Montazh. Edited by Naum Kleiman. Moskva: Muzei kino, 2000.
Neravnodushnaia priroda. Edited by Naum Kleiman. Vol 1: Chuvstvo kino. Moskva: Muzei kino,
Eizenshtein-tsentr, 2004; Vol. 2: O stroenii veshchei. Moskva: Muzei kino, Eizenshtein-
tsentr, 2006.
Planirovka mesta deistviia na materiale Kavkazskogo plennika Pushkina: Lektsiia S.M. Eizenshteina
vo VGIKE. Moskva: Muzei kino, 1998.
Psikhologicheskie voprosy iskusstva. Moskva: Smysl, 2002.
Teatral'nye tetradi S.M. Eizenshteina, edited by M. Ivanova and V. Ivanov, in Viacheslav
Ivanov, ed., Mnemozina. Dokumenty i fakty iz istorii otechestvennogo teatra XX v: Istoricheskii
al'manakh: Vypusk 2. Moskva: Editorial URSS, 2006, 190-279.
Vse velikoe prosto. S.M. Eizenshtein o teatre. 1919-1923, edited by Vladimir Zabrodin, in
Viacheslav Ivanov, ed., Mnemozina. Dokumenty i fakty iz istorii otechestvennogo teatra XXv:
Vypusk 4. Moskva: Indrik, 2009, 437-505.
Works by Eisenstein in English

Eisenstein Collection, The. Edited by Richard Taylor. New York: Seagull Books, 2006.
Eisenstein on Disney. Edited by Jay Leyda, translated by Alan Upchurch. Calcutta: Seagull
Books, 1986.
Eisenstein Reader, The. Edited by Richard Taylor. London: Palgrave Macmillan, 1998.
Film Essays and a Lecture. Edited by Jay Leyda. New York: Praeger, 1970.
Film Form: Essays in Film Theory. Edited and translated by Jay Leyda. New York: Harcourt
Brace and World, 1949.
Film Sense, The. Edited and translated by Jay Leyda. New York: Harcourt Brace and World,
1942.
Immoral Memories: An Autobiography. Translated by Herbert Marshall. Boston: Houghton
Mifflin, 1983.
415
Nonindifferent Nature. Edited by Herbert Marshall. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
1987.
Notes of a Film Director. Moscow: Foreign Languages Publishing House, 1959.
On the Composition of the Short Fiction Scenario. Edited by Jay Leyda, translated by Alan Up-
church. Calcutta: Seagull Books, 1984.
Psychology of Composition, The. Edited and translated by Alan Upchurch. Calcutta: Seagull
Books, 1987.
Selected Works, Volume I: Writings, 1922-1934. Edited and translated by Richard Taylor. Lon-
don: I.B. Tauris, 2010.
Selected Works, Volume II: Towards a Theory of Montage, 1937-1940. Edited by Michael Glenny
and Richard Taylor, translated by Michael Glenny. London: I.B. Tauris, 2010.
Selected Works, Volume III: Writings, 1935-1947. Edited and translated by Richard Taylor. Lon-
don: I.B. Tauris, 2010.
Selected Works, Volume IV: Beyond the Stars. The Memoirs of Sergei Eisenstein. Edited by Richard
Taylor, translated by William Powell. London: BFI, 1995.
Short Fiction Scenario, The. Edited by Jay Leyda and Alan Upchurch. Calcutta: Seagull Books/
Eisenstein Cine Club, 1984.
Works by Eisenstein in French

Au-del des toiles. Translated by Jacques Aumont, Bernard Eisenschitz, Sylviane Moss,
Andre Robel, and introduction by Jacques Aumont. Paris: Union gnrale dditions,
1974.
Charlie Chaplin. Strasbourg: Circ, 2013.
Cinmatisme. Peinture et cinma. Introduction, notes, and comments by Franois Albera.
Paris: Kargo/Dijon: Les presses du rel, 2009.
Dickens & Griffith. Gense du gros plan. Translated by Marina Berger. Paris: Stalker, 2007.
Disney. Strasbourg: Circ, 2013.
Glass House. Introduction, notes and comments by Franois Albera. Dijon: Les Presses du
rel, 2009.
La Non-indiffrente nature 1. Introduction by Pascal Bonitzer. Paris: Union gnrale ddi-
tions, 1976.
La Non-indiffrente nature 2. Paris: Union gnrale dditions, 1978.
Le Carr dynamique. Sergue M. Eisenstein. Translated by Marianne Laroche and Jean-Paul
Morel. Paris: Sguier, 1995.
Le Film, sa forme, son sens. Edited by Armand Panigel. Paris: C. Bourgois, 1976.
Le Mouvement de lart. Edited by Franois Albera and Naum Kleiman, with an introduction
by Barthlmy Amengual. Paris: Cerf, 1986.
Les crits mexicains de S.M. Eisenstein. Edited by Steven Bernas. Paris: LHarmattan, 2001.
Mmoires 1. Translated, introduction, and notes by Jacques Aumont. Paris: Union gnrale
dditions, 1978.
Mmoires 2. With an introduction by Bernard Eisenschitz. Paris: Union gnrale dditions,
1980.
Mmoires 3. With an introduction by Barthlmy Amengual. Paris: Union gnrale ddi-
tions, 1980.
416 bibliography
Mettre en scne. Translated by Jacques Aumont, and introduction by Jean-Louis Comolli.
Paris: Union gnrale dditions, 1973.
MLB. Plonge dans le sein maternel. With an introduction by Grard Conio. Paris: Hobeke,
1999.
Rflexions d'un cinaste. Translated by Lucia Galinskaja and Jean Cathala. Moskva: ditions
en langues trangres, 1958.
Works by Eisenstein in German

Das dynamische Quadrat. Schriften zum Film. Edited by Oksana Bulgakowa and Dietmar Hoch-
muth. Kln: Rderberg, 1988.
Disney. Edited and translated by Oksana Bulgakowa und Dietmar Hochmuth. Berlin: Po-
temkin Press, 2011.
Jenseits der Einstellung. Schriften zur Filmtheorie. Edited by F. Lenz and H. Diederichs. Frankfurt
a. M.: Suhrkamp, 2006.
Schriften 1 / Streik. Edited by H.-J. Schlegel. Mnchen: Hanser, 1974.
Schriften 2 / Panzerkreuzer Potmkin. Edited by H.-J. Schlegel. Mnchen: Hanser, 1973.
Schriften 3 / Oktober. Mit den Notaten zur Verfilmung von Marx Kapital. Edited by H.-J. Schle-
gel. Mnchen: Hanser, 1975.
Schriften 4 / Das Alte und das Neue (Die Generallinie). Mit den Notaten eines Vertonungsplanes. Edited
by H.-J. Schlegel. Mnchen: Hanser, 1984.
Sergej M. Eisensteins Allgemeine Geschichte des Kinos. Aufzeichnungen aus dem Nachlass. With an
introduction by Antonio Somaini and Naum Kleiman. In Zeitschrift fr Medienwissenschaft
1.4 (2001): 139-58.
Works by Eisenstein in Italian

Charlie Chaplin. Edited by S. Pomati. Milano: SE, 2005.
Forma e tecnica del film e lezioni di regia. Edited by P. Gobetti. Torino: Einaudi, 1964.
Il colore. Edited by Pietro Montani. Venezia: Marsilio, 1982.
Il montaggio. Edited by Pietro Montani, with an essay by Jacques Aumont. Venezia: Marsi-
lio, 1986.
Il movimento espressivo. Scritti sul teatro. Edited by Pietro Montani, with an introduction by
Alberto Cioni, with an afterword by Ornella Calvarese. Venezia: Marsilio, 1998.
La forma cinematografica. With an introduction by Marco Vallora. Torino: Einaudi, 2003.
La natura non indifferente. Edited by Pietro Montani. Venezia: Marsilio, 1981.
La regia. Larte della messa in scena. Edited by Pietro Montani. Venezia: Marsilio, 1989.
Lezioni di regia. Edited by P. Gobetti. Torino: Einaudi, 2000.
Memorie. La mia arte nella vita. Edited by Ornella Calvarese, with introduction by Naum Klej-
man. Venezia: Marsilio, 2006.
Que viva Mexico! Edited by C. Bassotto and S. Cavagnis. Mestre: Cineforum italiano, 1999.
Stili di regia. Edited by Pietro Montani and Alberto Cioni. Venezia: Marsilio, 1993.
Sulla biomeccanica. Azione scenica e movimento. Edited by A. Cervini and with an introduction
by P. Montani. Roma: Armando, 2009.
Tecnica del cinema. Torino: Einaudi, 1950.
bibliography 417
Teoria generale del montaggio. Edited by Pietro Montani, with an essay by Francesco Casetti.
Venezia: Marsilio, 1985.
Walt Disney. Edited by S. Pomati. Milano: SE, 2004.
Works about Eisenstein in Russian

Aksnov, Ivan. Sergei Eizenshtein: portret khudozhnika. Moskva: Muzei kino, 1991.
Bulgakova, Oksana. Podrazhanie kak ovladenie: Shklovskii Eizenshtein: bio avtobio-
grafiia. Kinovedcheskie zapiski 11 (1991): 220-30.
Bulgakova, Oksana. Pushkinskie motivy u Eizenshteina, in Devid M. Betea et al., eds.,
Pushkinskaia konferentsiia v Stenforde, 1999: Materialy i issledovania. Moskva: OGI, 2001,
472-84.
Bulgakova, Oksana. Sergei Eizenshtein i ego psikhologicheskii Berlin. Kinovedcheskie
zapiski 2 (1988): 174-91.
Bulgakova, Oksana. Teoriia kak total'noe proizvedenie iskusstva, in Oksana Bulgakova,
Sovetskii slukhoglaz: Kino i ego organy chuvstv. Moskva: Novoe literaturnoe obozrenie,
2010, 204-44.
Freilikh, Semen, Teoriia kino: ot Eizenshteina do Tarkovskogo. 2nd ed. Moskva: Akademiches-
kii proekt, 2002.
Freilikh, Semen. Zhizn' i smert' Sergeiia Eizenshteina. Kinostsenarii 2 (1996): 144-58.
Iampol'skii, Mikhail. Eizenshteinovskii sintez, in Mikhail Ryklin, Dirk Uffel'man, and
Klaus Shtedtke, eds., Uskol'zaiushchii kontekst: Russkaia filosofiia v postsovetsikh usloviiakh.
Moskva: Ad Marginem, 2002, 77-104.
Iampolskii, Mikhail. Nevidimyi tekst kak vseobshchii ekvivalent (Eizenshtein), in Mi-
khail Iampolskii, Pamiat Tiresiia. Moskva: RIK Kultura, 1993, 370-405.
Iampolskii, Mikhail. Organisheskaia mashina u Eizenshteina i Disneia. Kinovedcheskie
zapiski 34 (1997): 52-61.
Iampolskii, Mikhail. Slepoe risovanie (Eizenshtein, Shopengauer, Kant), in Mikhail
Iampolskii, O blizkom (Ocherki nemimeticheskogo zreniia). Moskva: Novoe Literaturnoe
Obozrenie, 2000, 57-76.
Iampolskii, Mikhail. Sublimatsiia kak formoobrazovanie (Zametki ob odnoi neopubliko-
vannoi stat'e Sergeia Eizenshteina). Kinovedcheskie zapiski 43 (1999): 66-87.
Iurenev, Rostislav. Eizenshtein i postizhenie zvuka. Voprosy kinoiskusstva 14 (1972): 187-
208.
Iurenev, Rostislav. Sergei Eizenshtein: Zamysly, Fil'my, Metod. Vol 2. Moskva: Iskusstvo, 1985.
Iurenev, Rostislav. Tragediia Bezhina luga, in V.M. Murian, ed., Kino: Metodologiia issle-
dovaniia, Moskva: VGIK, 2001, 147-169.
Iurenev, Rostislav, ed. Eizenshtein v vospominaniiakh sovremennikov, Moskva: Iskusstvo, 1974.
Ivanov, Viacheslav. Dostoevskii i Eizenshtein, in Tvorcheskii protsess i khudozhestvennoe vos-
priiatie. Leningrad: Nauka, 1978, 236-52.
Ivanov, Viacheslav. Eizenshtein i kultury iaponii i kitaia, in L.B. Alayev et al., eds., Vos-
tokZapad: Issledovaniia perevody publikatsii. Moskva: Nauka, 1988, 279-90.
Ivanov, Viacheslav. Esteticheskaia kontseptsiia zvukozritel'nogo kontrapunkta u Eizensh-
teina, in Dmitrii Blagoi et al., ed., Vzaimodeistvie i sintez iskusstv. Leningrad: Nauka,
1978, 168-83.
418 bibliography
Ivanov, Viacheslav. Estetika Eizenshteina, in Viacheslav Ivanov, Izbrannye trudy po semio-
tike i istorii kul'tury. Moskva: Shkola Iazyki russkoi kul'tury, 1998, vol. 1, 141-378.
Ivanov, Viacheslav. Izbrannye trudy po semiotike i istorii kultury, t. I. Moskva: Iazyki russkoy
kultury, 1998, 143-370.
Ivanov, Viacheslav. Ocherki po istorii semiotiki v SSSR. Moskva: Nauka, 1976.
Ivanov, Viacheslav. Ozornye risunki Eizenshteina i glavnaia problema ego iskusstva in
N.V. Zlydneva et al., eds., Khudozhnik i ego tekst: Russkii avangard: istoriia, razvitie, znache-
nie. Moskva: Nauka, 2011, 52-78.
Ivanov, Viacheslav. Problema iskusstva po Eizenshteinu i bakhtinskii karnaval, in Alek-
sandr Troshin, ed., Close-Up: Istoriko-teoreticheskii seminar vo VGIKe: Lektsii 1996-1998.
Moskva: VGIK, 1999, 10-19.
Ivanov, Viacheslav. Sovremennaia nauka i teatr (K analizy postanovki Val'kirii Vagnera S.
M. Eizenshteina, in Teatral'naia pravda. Tbilisi: Teatral'noe obshchestvo Gruzii, 1981,
388-410.
Khrenov, Nikolai. Sergei Eizenshtein: ot tekhnologii suggestivnogo vozdeistviia k este-
tike dialoga. Kinovedcheskie zapiski 46 (2000): 197-207.
Kinovedcheskie zapiski 36/37 (1997-98). [Special double issue on Sergei Eisenstein]
Kleiman, Naum. "Effekt Eizenshteina," in Sergei M. Eizenshtein, Montazh. Moskva: Muzei
kino, Eizenshtein-tsentr, 2000, pp. 5-30
Kleiman, Naum. "Problema Eizenshteina," in Sergei M. Eizenshtein, Metod, vol. I. Mosk-
va: Muzei kino, Eizenshtein-tsentr, 2002, pp. 5-30
Kleiman, Naum. Formula finala: Stat'i, vystupleniia, besedy. Moskva: Eizenshtein-tsentr,
2004.
Kleiman, Naum. Neosushchestvlennye zamysly Eizenshteina. Iskusstvo kino 6 (1992): 9-
21.
Kleiman, Naum. Pafos Eizenshteina, in Sergei Eizenshtein, Neravnodushnaia priroda.
Moskva: Muzei kino, Eizenshtein-tsentr, 2004, vol. 1, 5-32
Kleiman, Naum. Tri zhesta Ivana Groznogo, in Aleksandr Lavrov, Aleksandr Ospovat,
and Roman Timenchik, eds., Ot slov k telu: Sbornik statei k 60-letiiu Iuriia Tsiv'iana. Mosk-
va: Novoe literaturnoe obozrenie, 2010, 93-118.
Kleiman, Naum, and K. Levina, eds. Bronenosets Potmkin. Moskva: Iskusstvo, 1969.
Kozintsev, Aleksandr. Evoliutsionnoe begstvo: S.M. Eizenshtein i estetika komichesko-
go. Kinovedcheskie zapiski 100/101 (2012): 419-37.
Kozlov, Leonid. Chelovecheskii obraz v iskusstve Eizenshteina. Voprosy kinoiskusstva 13
(1971): 41-83.
Kozlov, Leonid. Eizenshtein o tsvete v kino. Voprosy kinoiskusstva 4 (1960): 176-217.
Kozlov, Leonid. K istorii odnoi idei. Iskusstvo kino 1 (1968): 69-87.
Kozlov, Leonid. Proizvedenie vo vremeni: Stat'i. Issledovaniia. Besedy. Moskva: Eizenshtein
Tsentr, 2005.
Kozlov, Leonid, ed. Iz tvorcheskogo naslediia S.M. Eizenshteina: Materialy i soobshcheniia. Mosk-
va: VNIIK, 1985.
Krasnoiarova, Ol'ga. Dialogichnost' ekrana S.M. Eizehshteina. Irkutsk: Izdatel'stvo Irkutskogo
universiteta, 1998.
Krivosheev, Iurii, and Roman Sokolov. Aleksandr Nevskii: sozdanie kinoshedevra. Istoricheskoe
issledovanie. Sankt-Peterburg: Liki Rossii, 2012.
bibliography 419
Kukui, Ilia. Zhestokii talant Sergei Eizenshteina: Tri istochnika i tri sostavnye chasti,
in Marina Balina, Evgenii Dobrenko, and Iurii Murashov, eds., Sovetskoe bogatstvo: Stat'i
o kul'ture, literature i kino. Sankt-Peterburg: Akademicheskii proekt, 2002, 295-315.
Levin, Efim. Gody ucheniia Sergeiia Eizenshteina. Kinovedcheskie zapiski 15 (1992): 14-47.
Levin, Efim. Ob Eizenshteine. Iskusstvo kino 5 (1996): 27-33.
Levin, Efim. S. Eizenshtein i problemy strukturnogo analiza. Voprosy literatury 2 (1969):
135-43.
Levin, Efim, ed. Teoriia i praktika prepodavaniia kinoreiissury (iz pedagogicheskogo naslediia S.M.
Eizenshteina). Moskva: VGIK, 1988.
Leving, Iurii. Trerii dubl (Nabokov i Eizenshtein), in Aleksandr Lavrov, Aleksandr Os-
povat, and Roman Timenchik, eds., Ot slov k telu: Sbornik statei k 60-letiiu Iuriia Tsiviana.
Moskva: Novoe literaturnoe obozrenie, 2010, 144-61.
Meilakh, Mira. Izobrazitelnaia stilistika pozdnikh filmov Eizenshteina. Leningrad, Iskusstvo,
1971.
Mikhalkovich, Valentin. O mifologichnosti Bronenostsa Potemkina. Kinovedcheskie za-
piski 17 (1993): 150-64.
Miliakh, Andrei. Teorii novoi antropologii aktera i statia S. Eizenshteina i S. Tret'iakova
Vyrazitelnoe dvizhenie, in Viacheslav Ivanov, ed., Mnemozina. Dokumenty i fakty iz
istorii otechestvennogo teatra XX v: Istoricheskii al'manakh. Vypusk 2. Moskva: Editorial
URSS, 2006, 280-91.
Nikitin, Andrei. Moskovskii debiut Sergeiia Eizenshteina (1920-1921). Moskva: Intergraf Servis,
1996.
Nizhnii, Vladimir. Na urokakh rezhissury S. Eizenshteina. Moskva: Iskusstvo, 1958.
O filme Bezhin lug S. Eizenshteina. Protiv formalizma v iskusstve. Moskva-Leningrad: Iskusstvo,
1937.
Norshtein, Iurii. Groznyi kak animatsiia. Prilozhenie na DVD. Lektsiia, prochitannaia v
2002 godu v Tokio. Kinovedcheskie zapiski 100/101 (2012): 450-53.
Podoroga, Valerii. Bunt protiv Otsa (S. Eizenshtein: Genezis detskoi travmy). Arkhetip.
Filosofskii psikhoanaliticheskii zhurnal 1 (1996): 24-34.
Podoroga, Valerii. Chislo massy: S. Eizenshtein i teoriia pafosa, in Hans Gunter and
Sabina Hensgen, eds., Sovetskaia vlast' i media. Sankt-Peterburg: Akademicheskii
proekt, 2006, 504-25.
Podoroga, Valerii. Materialy k psikhobiografii S.M. Eizenshteina, in Valerii Podoroga,
ed., Avto-bio-grafiia: K voprosu o metode. Tetradi po analiticheskoi antropologii 1. Moskva:
Logos, 2001, 7-140.
Podoroga, Valerii. S. Eizenshtein. Vtoroi ekran i kinematograf nasiliia. Litso i vzgliad.
Pravila raskroia. Iskusstvo kino 6 (1994): 90-102.
Podoroga, Valerii. S. Eizenshtein. Vtoroi ekran. Znachenie podpisi. Iskusstvo kino 10
(1993): 45-58.
Podoroga, Valerii. Vtoroi ekran. S.M. Eizenshtein i kinematograf nasiliia, in Mikhail
Ryklin, Dirk Uffel'man, and Klaus Shtedtke, eds., Uskol'zaiushchii kontekst: Russkaia filo-
sofiia v postsovetsikh usloviiakh. Moskva: Ad Marginem, 2002, 105-28.
Porodorga, Valerii. Zerkal'naia podporka (S. Eizenshtein. Vtoroi ekran i kinematograf
nasiliia). Segodnia, 14 August 1994.
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Roshal, Lev. Gore umu, ili Eizenshtein i Meyerkhol'd: Dvoinoi portret na fone epokhi. Moskva:
Materik, 2007.
Rostovtsev, Ignatii. Brotenosets Potemkin. Moskva: Iskusstvo, 1962.
Shklovskii, Viktor. 5 feletonov ob Eizenshteine, in Viktor Shklovskii, Za sorok let: Stati o
kino. Moskva: Iskusstvo, 1965, 87-90.
Shklovskii. Viktor, Eizenshtein. Moskva: Iskusstvo, 1973.
Shklovskii, Viktor. Ikh nastoiashchee. 3. Eizenshtein, in Viktor Shklovskii, Za sorok let:
Stati o kino. Moskva: Iskusstvo, 1965, 74-87.
Tereshkovich, V. Eizenshtein i Stanislavskii: K postanovke problemy. Iskusstvo kino 12
(1978): 96-105.
Tsivan, Iurii. Bisex kak tema i kak khudozhestvennyi priem: K sisteme obrazov v Ivane
Groznom Eizenshteina. Tynianovskii sbornik 11, Deviatye Tynianovskie chteniia (2002):
730-46.
Tsivan, Iurii. Intellektual'nyi montazh: Oktiabr, in Iurii Tsivan, Istoricheskaia retseptsiia
kino: Kinematograf v Rossii 1896-1930. Riga: Zinatne, 1991, 324-62.
Vasileva, Iuliia. Eizenshtein: kontseptsiia agressivnogo iskusstva? Kinovedcheskie zapiski
3 (1989): 205-9.
Vinogradov, Vladimir. Eizenshtein i Shopengauer. K voprosu vliianiia. Kinovedcheskie za-
piski 78 (2006): 109-22.
Vishnevskii, Vsevolod. Eizenshtein. Moskva: Goskinoizdat, 1939.
Vladimirova, M.M. Vsemirnaia literatura i rezhisserskie uroki Sergeia Mikhailovicha Eizenshteina.
Moskva: MGIK, 1990.
Zabrodin, Vladimir. Eizenshtein: kino, vlast', zhenshchiny. Moskva: Novoe literaturnoe oboz-
renie, 2011.
Zabrodin, Vladimir. Eizenshtein: popytka teatra. Moskva: Eizenshtein-tsentr, 2005.
Zholkovskii, Aleksandr. Poetika Eizenshteina dialogicheskaia ili totalitarnaia? Kinoved-
cheskie zapiski 16 (1992): 118-36.
Zholkovskii, Aleksandr. Porozhdaiushchaia poetika v rabotakh S.M. Eizenshteina, in
Aleksandr Zholkovskii and Iurii Shcheglov, Raboty po poetike vyrazitel'nosti. Moskva, Iz-
datelskaia gruppa Progress, 1996, 37-53.
Zorkaia, Neia. Sergei Eizenshtein, in Neia Zorkaia, Portrety. Moskva: Iskusstvo, 1966,
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Works about Eisenstein in English

Antoine-Dunne, Jean, and Paula Quigley, eds. The Montage Principle: Eisenstein in New Cultural
and Critical Contexts. Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2004.
Aumont, Jacques. Montage Eisenstein. Translated by Lee Hildreth, Constance Penley, and
Andrew Ross. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1987.
Barna, Yon. Eisenstein: The Growth of a Cinematic Genius. Translated by Lise Hunter. Bloo-
mington: Indiana University Press, 1973.
Bergan, H. Sergei Eisenstein: A Life in Conflict. New York: Overlook Press, 1999.
Biltereyst, Daniel. Will We Ever See Potemkin?: The Historical Reception and Censorship
of Eisensteins Battleship Potemkin in Belgium (1926-32). Studies in Russian and Soviet
Cinema 2.1 (2008): 5-19.
bibliography 421
Bohlinger, Vincent. Engrossing? Exciting! Incomprehensible? Boring! Audience Survey
Responses to Eisensteins October. Studies in Russian and Soviet Cinema 5.1 (2011): 5-27.
Bordwell, David. Eisensteins Epistemological Shift. Screen 15.4 (1974/75): 29-46.
Bordwell, David. Eisensteins Epistemological Shift: A Response. Screen 16.1 (1975): 142-
43.
Bordwell, David. The Cinema of Eisenstein. New York: Routledge, 2005.
Bulgakowa, Oksana. Eisenstein, the Glass House, and the Spherical Book: From the Co-
medy of the Eye to a Drama of Enlightenment. Rouge 7 (2005). www.rouge.com.au/7/
eisenstein.html.
Bulgakowa, Oksana. Sergei Eisenstein: A Biography. Translated by Anne Dwyer. Berlin and
San Francisco: Potemkin Press, 2001.
Burns, Paul E. Cultural Revolution, Collectivization, and Soviet Cinema: Eisensteins Old
and New and Dovzhenkos Earth. Film and History 11.4 (1981): 84-105.
Carroll, Nol. Eisensteins Philosophy of Film, in Richard Allen and Malcolm Turvey,
eds., Camera Obscura, Camera Lucida: Essays in Honor of Annette Michelson. Amsterdam: Am-
sterdam University Press, 2003, 127-46.
Carroll, Nol, and Sally Banes. Cinematic Nation-Building: Eisenstein's The Old and the
New, in Mette Hjort and Scott Mackenzie, eds., Cinema and Nation. London: Routledge,
2000, 121-38.
Christie, Ian, and David Elliott, eds., Eisenstein at Ninety. Oxford: Oxford Museum of Art,
1988.
Christie, Ian, and Richard Taylor, eds. Eisenstein Rediscovered. London: Routledge, 1993.
Dogo, Dunja. The Sacredness in Bezhin Meadow, a Film against the Soviet Canon, in
Pietro Bianchi, Giulio Bursi, and Simone Venturini, eds., Il canone cinematografico/The
Film Canon: Atti del XVII Convengo internazionale di studi sul cinema. Udine: Forum, 2011,
161-69.
Geduld, Harry M., and Ronald Gottesman, eds. Sergei Eisenstein and Upton Sinclair: The Mak-
ing and Unmaking of Que Viva Mxico! Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1970.
Gillespie, David. Sergei Eisenstein: The Mytho-Poetics of Revolution, in David Gillespie,
Early Soviet Cinema: Innovation, Ideology and Propaganda. London: Wallflower, 2000, 37-
58.
Goodwin, James. Eisenstein, Cinema, and History. Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1993.
Hansen, Miriam. Of Lightning Rods, Prisms, and Forgotten Scissors: Potemkin and Ger-
man Film Theory. New German Critique 95 (2005): 162-82.
Hershfield, Joanne. Paradise Regained: Sergei Eisensteins Que Viva Mxico! as Ethnogra-
phy, in Barry Keith Grant and Jeanette Sloniowski, eds., Documenting the Documentary:
Close Readings of Documentary Film and Video. Detroit: Wayne University Press, 1998, 55-
69.
Iampolski, Mikhail. The Invisible Text as a Universal Equivalent: Sergei Eisenstein, in
Mikhail Iampolski, The Memory of Tiresias: Intertextuality and Film. Translated by Harsha
Ram. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998.
Iampolski, Mikhail. The Logic of an Illusion: Notes on the Genealogy of Intellectual
Cinema, in Richard Allen and Malcolm Turvey, eds., Camera Obscura, Camera Lucida:
Essays in Honor of Annette Michelson. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2003, 35-
50.
422 bibliography
Iampolski, Mikhail. Theory as Quotation. October 88 (1999): 51-68.
Karetnikova, Inga, and Leon Steinmerz, eds. Mexico According to Eisenstein. Albuquerque:
University of New Mexico Press, 1991.
Kepley, Vance. The Evolution of Eisensteins Old and New. Cinema Journal 14.1 (1974): 34-
50.
Khitrova, Daria. Eisensteins Choreography in Ivan the Terrible. Studies in Russian and Soviet
Cinema 5.1 (2011): 55-71.
Kleberg, Lars, and Hkan Lvgren, eds., Eisenstein Revisited: A Collection of Essays. Stock-
holm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1987.
Kleiman, Naum. Fergana Canal and Tamburlaines Tower. Studies in Russian and Soviet
Cinema 5.1 (2011): 103-22.
Kleiman, Naum. On the History of Montage 1937, in Sergei M. Eisenstein, Selected Works,
Volume II: Towards a Theory of Montage, 1937-1940, ed. Michael Glenny and Richard Tay-
lor, tr. Michael Glenny. London: I.B. Tauris, 2010, xvii-xx.
Kozlov, Leonid. The Artist and the Shadow of Ivan, in Richard Taylor and Derek Spring,
eds., Stalinism and Soviet Cinema. London: Routledge, 1993.
LaValley, A., and Barry P. Scherr, eds. Eisenstein at 100: A Reconsideration. New Brunswick:
Rutgers University Press, 2001.
Law, Alma, and Mel Gordon. Meyerhold, Eisenstein and Biomechanics: Actor Training in Revolu-
tionary Russia. Jefferson: McFarland, 1996.
Levaco, Ron. The Eisenstein-Prokofiev Correspondence. Cinema Journal 13.1 (1973): 1-16.
Leyda, Jay, and Zina Voynow. Eisenstein at Work. New York: Pantheon Books, 1982.
Leyda, Jay, ed. A Premature Celebration of Eisensteins Centenary. Translated by Alan Upchurch,
N. Lary, Zina Voynow, and Samuel Brody. Calcutta: Seagull Books, 1985.
Lvgren, Hkan. Eisensteins Labyrinth: Aspects of a Cinematic Synthesis of the Arts. Stockholm:
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Bertetto, Paolo, ed. Teorie del cinema rivoluzionario: gli anni Venti in URSS. Ejzenstejn, FEKS,
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Laterza, 1991.
Casetti, Francesco. Limmagine del montaggio, in S.M. Ejzentejn, Teoria generale del
montaggio, ed. Pietro Montani. Venezia: Marsilio, 1985, ix-xxv.
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di Venezia, Venezia, 1991.
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426 bibliography
Works on Eisensteins Drawings
Aizenshtadt, Olga, Gennady Miasnikov, and Iurii Pimenov. Risunki = dessins = drawings.
Moskva: Iskusstvo, 1961.
De Santi, P.M. I disegni di Eisenstein. Roma-Bari: Laterza, 1981.
De Zegher, Caterine. The Body of the Line: Eisensteins Drawings. Paris: Fondation Daniel Lan-
glois, 1999.
Eisenstein, S.M. Les Dessins mxicains dEisenstein. With an introduction by I. Karetnikova,
choice of drawings by Inga Karetnikova and Naum Klejman, in collaboration with
Leon Steinmetz. Moskva: Sovetskij Hudonik, 1969.
Eisenstein, S.M. S.M. Eisenstein. Esquisses et dessins. Edited by Jacques Aumont, Bernard Ei-
senschitz, and Jean Narboni. Paris: Editions de ltoile, 1978.
Eisenstein, S.M. Unpublished Mexican Drawings. Mxico: Cineteca Nacional, 1978.
Goriaeva, Tatiana, et al. A Mischievous Eisenstein. Exhibition catalogue. St. Petersburg: Slavia
Publishers, 2006.
Marcade, Jean-Claude, and Galia Ackerman. S.M. Eisenstein. Dessins secrets. Paris: Editions
du Seuil, 1999.
Risunki Sergeia Eizenshteina. 1942-1944. Kollektsiia Lidii Naumovoi. Moskva: Iskusstvo, 2004.
bibliography 427
Notes
Editorial Criteria
1. Naslednik, Kinovedcheskie zapiski 28 (1995), pp. 115-119.
2. Dinamicheskaia mumifikatsiia. Zametki ko Vseobshchei istorii kino, Kinoved-
cheskie zapiski 100/101 (2012), pp. 53-105.
3. Otkrovenie v groze i v bure (Zametki k istorii zvukozritelnogo kontrapunkta),
Kinovedcheskie zapiski 15 (1992), pp. 183-207.
4. Pokhvala kino-khronike, Kinovedcheskie zapiski 36/37 (1997-1998), pp. 104-114.
5. Mesto kinematografa v obshei sisteme istorii iskusstv, Kinovedcheskie zapiski 36/37
(1997-1998), pp. 100-103.
6. Pionery i novatory, Kinovedcheskie zapiski 28 (1995), pp. 127-128.
7. S.M. Eisenstein, Notes pour une Histoire gnrale du cinma, ed. Franois Albera, Naoum
Kleiman, and Antonio Somaini (Paris: AFRHC, 2013).
8. Sergej M. Eisensteins Allgemeine Geschichte des Kinos. Aufzeichnungen aus dem
Nachlass, eingeleitet von Antonio Somaini und Naum Klejman, Zeitschrift fr
Medienwissenschaft 4 (2011), pp. 139-157.
9. Sergei M. Eisenstein, Conspectus of Lectures on the Psychology of Art [1947], in
Sergei M. Eisenstein, The Psychology of Composition (Calcutta, Seagull Books, 1987),
pp. 16-17.
10. See Naum Kleiman, Foreword, here, pp. 13-18; Antonio Somaini, Cinema as
Dynamic Mummification, History as Montage: Eisensteins Media Archaeology,
here, pp. 19-108.
11. See the following illustration: Ill. 1, p.22
Naum Kleiman, Foreword

1. Kinovedcheskie zapiski an independent quarterly journal dedicated to the problems of
film theory and film history, established in 1988 by the Eisenstein Center for Cultural
Researches in Moscow, a nonprofit foundation.
2. Sergei M. Eizenshtein, Izbrannye proizvedeniia v shesti tomakh, 6 vols. (Moskva:
Iskusstvo, 1964-1971). Hereafter abbreviated as IP.
3. Kinovedcheskie zapiski 36/37 (1997/1998).
4. Otkrovenie v groze i v bure (Zametki k istorii zvukozritelnogo kontrapunkta),
Kinovedcheskie zapiski 15 (1992), pp. 183-207.
5. Kinovedcheskie zapiski 28 (1995): Naslednik, pp.115-119; Sovietskoe kino kak
detishche russkoi kultury, pp. 119-123; K istorii nemogo kino, pp. 123-128.
429
6. Kinovedcheskie zapiski 36/37 (1997/1998): Plan rabot kino-sektora Instituta istorii
iskusstva pri Akademii nauk, pp. 96-99; Mesto kinematografa v obshchei sisteme
istorii iskusstv, pp. 100-103.
7. Zametki ko Vseobshchei istorii kino, Kinovedcheskie zapiski 100/101 (2012), pp. 53-
105.
8. IP 5, pp. 85-97. English translation by Jay Leyda as Achievement in Sergei
Eisenstein, Film Form: Essays in Film Theory, ed. and trans. Jay Leyda (New York:
Harcourt Brace and World, 1949); previously translated as Pride in the Moscow-
based International Literature (April-May 1940).
9. Georges Sadoul, Histoire gnrale du cinma, tome 1, L'invention du cinma (Paris: Denol,
1946-1975); tome 2. Les pionniers du cinma (Paris: Denol, 1947-1975); tome 3, Le cinma
devient un art L'avant-guerre (Paris: Denol, 1950-1975); tome 4, Le cinma devient un art
La premire guerre mondiale (Paris: Denol, 1950-1975); tome 5, L'Art muet L'aprs-
guerre en Europe (Paris: Denol, 1950-1975); tome 6, L'Art muet Hollywood La fin du
muet (Paris: Denol, 1950-1975); tome 6 (selon le plan initial). L'poque contemporaine
(1939-1954) 1/ Le cinma pendant la guerre (1939-1945) (Paris: Denol, 1946, reedited
in 1954).
10. Eisenstein wrote his Notes for a General History of Cinema between 1946, the year of the
resolution of Central Committee against the magazines Zvezda and Leningrad, but
practically against Anna Akhmatova and Mikhail Zoshchenko, and 1948, the year of
the resolution against the opera The Great Friendship by Vano Muradeli, directed
against Prokofiev and Shostakovich; the second one was published on January 11,
1948, on the first page of Pravda, while on the last page was a small notice about
Eisensteins death. It is very possible that he received the message from the BBC, and
that this was one of the causes of his fatal heart attack.
11. See M.M. Bakhtin, Toward a Methodology for the Human Sciences, in his Speech
Genres and Other Late Essays, ed. Caryl Emerson and Michal Holquist, trans. Vern W.
McGee (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1986), p. 170: There is neither a first nor
a last word and there are no limits to the dialogic context (it extends into the
boundless past and the boundless future). Even past meanings, that is, those born in
the dialogue of past centuries, can never be stable (finalized, ended once and for all)
they will always change (be renewed) in the process of subsequent, future
development of the dialogue. At any moment in the development of the dialogue
there are immense, boundless masses of forgotten contextual meanings, but at
certain moments of the dialogues subsequent development along the way they are
recalled and invigorated in renewed form (in a new context). Nothing is absolutely
dead: every meaning will have its homecoming festival. The problem of great time.
12. Sergei Eisenstein, Neravnodushnaia priroda, vol. 2: O stroenii veshchei (Moskva: Muzei
kino, Eizenshtein-tsentr, 2006), p. 7.
13. Ibid., p. 540.
14. Muzei kino, Coll. 40, List. 1, Folder 12/1, p. 1.
15. It is possible that Eisenstein here means Jean Renoir he treated his sound films
such as La Bte Humaine and Toni rather critically.
16. Muzei kino, Coll. 40, List 3.
430 notes
17. Other notes from 1944-1946, both from this folder and from the folders kept in the
Russian State Archive of Literature and Art (RGALI) refer in the main part to the
history of Soviet cinema; they require interpretation and commentary on their own.
In the corpus of Eisensteins texts there is a whole line of historiographical articles
and speeches about the development of Russian cinema: from journalistic pieces
(see, for example, the articles from 1928: Pochemu katastroficheski tuskneet
sovetskoe kino [Why Soviet cinema has been waning catastrophically], Sovetsky
ekran 44 [1928], p. 4, and Dvenadtsaty [The twelfth year], Sovetsky ekran 45 [1928],
pp. 4-5) to overviews and prognoses timed to correspond with the anniversaries
of the Decree of the Nationalization of cinema industry (the date, which was
celebrated and is still being celebrated as the beginning of the national film history).
Incidentally, it should be noted that the complex of these texts, which hide their
scarcely official content behind anniversary rhetoric, has not been sufficiently
studied.
18. Sergei Eisenstein, Montazh (Moskva: Muzei kino, 2000), p. 475.
Antonio Somaini, Cinema as Dynamic Mummification, History

as Montage: Eisensteins Media Archaeology
I would like to thank all the friends and colleagues whose suggestions and
comments have been very important during the elaboration of this text. To begin
with, Naum Kleiman, co-editor of this volume, director of the Eizenshtein-tsentr in
Moscow, editor of the Russian editions of some of Eisenstein's most important
theoretical works, and a crucial reference point for all film scholars working on
Eisenstein and Soviet cinema. Franois Albera, co-editor of the French edition of
Eisenstein's Notes for a General History of Cinema (Paris: AFRHC, 2013). Then Ada
Ackerman, Francesco Casetti, Angela Dalle Vacche, Georges Didi-Huberman, Jane
Gaines, Vinzenz Hediger, Olga Kataeva, Pietro Montani, Andrea Pinotti, Marie
Rebecchi, Natalie Ryabchikova, Elena Vogman. When no other translator is
indicated, translations from Russian to English are by Olga Kataeva.
1. In the last autobiographical fragment written by Eisenstein for his Memoirs on
December 14, 1946, with the title P.S., P.S., P.S. we read: On 2 February this year,
a heart muscle ruptured. There was a haemorrhage. (An infarction.) By some
incomprehensible, absurd and pointless miracle, I survived. All the facts of science
dictated that I should die. For some reason, I survived. I therefore consider that
everything which happens from now on is a postscript to my own life P.S. .
(Sergei M. Eisenstein, Selected Works, Volume IV: Beyond the Stars: The Memoirs of Sergei
Eisenstein, ed. Richard Taylor, trans. William Powell (London: BFI, 1995), p. 797;
hereafter Selected Works [4 vols.] is abbreviated as SW.)
2. Ibid., p. 15.
3. References to passages from these texts will be made by indicating simply the title of
the text followed by the page number in this volume.
4. On the activities of the Institute of Art History and on Eisensteins role in it, see the
essay published in this volume by Masha Salazkina and Natalie Ryabchikova: Sergei
Eisenstein and the Soviet Models for the Study of Cinema, here, pp. 405-414.
notes 431
5. In his essay published in this volume with the title Pathos and Praxis, Georges
Didi-Huberman describes these oscillations in terms of diastolic and systolic
movements: see here, p. 309-322.
6. The term line (linii) is used in several passages of the Notes: see, for example, The
Heir, here, p. 115, and Dynamic Mummification: Notes for a General History of
Cinema, here, p. 131.
7. The expression urge to record phenomena appears for the first time in The Heir,
p. 113.
8. The passage comes from a note written by Eisenstein on July 27, 1945, and quoted by
Naum Kleiman in his foreword to this volume: see here, p. 17.
9. The term heir appears in the title of the text The Heir. The term forerunners
appears in Dynamic Mummification, p. 125.
10. Lon Moussinac, Naissance du cinma (Paris: Povolozky et Cie, 1925); Terry Ramsaye, A
Million and One Nights: A History of the Motion Picture through 1925 (New York: Simon &
Schuster, 1926); Maurice Bardche and Robert Brasillach, Histoire du cinma (Paris:
Denol et Steele, 1935; 2nd rev. ed. Paris: Denol, 1943); Lewis Jacobs, The Rise of the
American Film: A Critical History (New York: Harcourt Brace, 1939); Georges Sadoul,
Histoire gnrale du cinma, vol. I: LInvention du cinma, 1832-1897 (Paris: Denol, 1945;
2nd ed., 1948), vol. II: Les Pionniers du cinma, 1897-1909 (Paris: Denol, 1947). On the
relationship between Sadouls Histoire gnrale and Eisensteins general history, see
the essay published by Franois Albera in this volume: The Heritage We
Renounce: Eisenstein in Historio-graphy, here, pp. 267-288.
11. See Pioneers and Innovators, here, pp. 247-254.
12. For a critique of several of the recurrent traits of traditional film histories
chronological linearity, continuity, progressive teleology see Andr Gaudreault,
Film and Attraction: From Kinematography to Cinema, trans. Timothy Barnard, foreword
by Rick Altman (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2011), especially pp. 9-31.
13. Sergei M. Eisenstein, Towards a Theory of Montage, chapter Laocon, in SW 2, p.
154.
14. Ibid., The Psychology of Composition, ed. Alan Upchurch (Calcutta: Seagull, 1987), p. 3.
15. Ibid., An Unexpected Juncture [1928], in SW 1, pp. 115-122.
16. The Heir, p. 110.
17. The German terms Rckblick and Ausblick are used by Eisenstein in the Draft of
Introduction to the 1937 book Montage: see Sergei M. Eisenstein, Towards a Theory
of Montage, 1937-1940, in SW 2, p. 3.
18. Siegfried Kracauer, Marseiller Entwurf zu einer Theorie des Films (1940), in
Siegfried Kracauer, Theorie des Films. Die Errettung der ueren Wirklichkeit, ed. Inka
Mlder-Bach in collaboration with Sabine Biebl (Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 2005). Ibid.,
Theory of Film: The Redemption of Physical Reality (1960), with an introduction by Miriam
Bratu Hansen (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1997).
19. Andr Bazin, The Ontology of the Photographic Image (1945), in Andr Bazin,
What Is Cinema?, foreword by Jean Renoir, new foreword by Dudley Andrew, essays
selected and trans. by Hugh Gray (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005),
pp. 9-16.
432 notes
20. See Philippe Dubois, Lucia Ramos Monteiro, and Alessandro Bordina, eds., Oui, cest
du cinma! Formes et espaces de limage en mouvement (Udine: Campanotto, 2009); Dudley
Andrew, What Cinema Is! (London: Wiley Blackwell, 2010); Raymond Bellour, La
Querelle des dispositifs. Cinma installations, expositions (Paris, P.O.L.: 2012); Jacques
Aumont, Que reste-t-il du cinma? (Paris: Vrin, 2012); Andr Gaudreault and Philippe
Marion, La Fin du cinma? Un mdia en crise lre du numrique (Paris: Armand Colin,
2013); Francesco Casetti, The Lumire Galaxy: Seven Key Words for the Cinema to Come
(New York: Columbia University Press, 2015). For a historical perspective on the
status of cinema as a media and a dispositif, see Franois Albera and Maria Tortajada,
eds., Cinema beyond Film: Media Epistemology in the Modern Era (Amsterdam:
Amsterdam University Press, 2010); Franois Albera and Maria Tortajada, Cin-
dispositifs. Spectacles, cinma, tlvision, littrature (Lausanne: Lge dHomme, 2011).
21. On medium specificity and cinema, see Nol Carroll, Medium Specificity Arguments
and the Self-Conscious Invented Arts: Film, Video and Photography, and The
Specificity of Media in the Arts, in Theorizing the Movie Image (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 1996), pp. 3-36). On intermediality, see Irina O. Rajewsky,
Intermedialitt (Tbingen: UTB, 2002); Joachim Paech and Jens Schrter, eds.,
Intermedialitt analog/digital. Theorien, Methoden, Analysen (Mnchen: Fink, 2008);
Angela Dalle Vacche, ed., Cinema and Painting: How Art Is Used in Film (Austin:
University of Texas Press, 1996). On remediation, see Richard Bolter and Jay David
Grusin, Remediation: Understanding New Media (Boston: MIT Press, 2000). On
relocation, see Francesco Casetti, The Relocation of Cinema, in Necsus: European
Journal of Media Studies, Autumn 2012 (Tangibility), http://www.necsus-ejms.org/the-
relocation-of-cinema/.
22. See Georges Didi-Huberman, Devant le temps. Histoire de lart et anachronisme des images
(Paris: Les ditions de Minuit, 2000); ibid., LImage survivante. Histoire de lart et temps
des fantmes selon Aby Warburg (Paris, Les ditions de Minuit, 2002); Alexander Nagel
and Christopher S. Wood, Anachronic Renaissance (New York: Zone Books, 2010);
Angela Mengoni, ed., Anacronie. La temporalit plurale delle immagini (Firenze: La casa
Usher, 2013).
23. Cf. Hans Belting, An Anthropology of Images: Picture, Medium, Body (Princeton:
Princeton University Press, 2011).
24. Sergei M. Eisenstein, The Montage of Attractions [1923] and The Montage of
Film Attractions [1924], in SW 1, pp. 33-38 and 39-58.
25. Dynamic Mummification, p. 175.
26. On the New Film History see the essays by Nol Burch, Charles Musser, Barry Salt,
Janet Staiger, and others gathered in Thomas Elsaesser, ed., Early Cinema: Space,
Frame, Narrative (London: BFI, 1990). On the cinema of attractions see Tom
Gunning, The Cinema of Attractions: Early Film, Its Spectator and the Avant-
Garde, Wide Angle 8.3/4 (1986), and The Whole Towns Gawking: Early Cinema
and the Visual Experience of Modernity, Yale Journal of Criticism 7.2 (1994), pp. 189-
201; Gaudreault, Film and Attraction; Wanda Strauven, ed., The Cinema of Attractions
Reloaded (Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2006).
27. FIAF stands for Fdration Internationale des Archives du Film (International
Federation of Film Archives).
notes 433
28. The notion of cultural series is discussed by Gaudreault in his Film and Attraction,
especially pp. 62-82.
29. On the historical turn in film studies, see Jane Gaines, What Happened to the
Philosophy of Film History? in Film History 25.1-2 (2013), pp. 79-80. See also
Michle Lagny, De lhistoire du cinma: mthode historique et histoire du cinma (Paris:
Armand Colin, 1992).
30. The expression deep time of the media is taken from the title of Siegfried
Zielinski, Deep Time of the Media: Toward an Archaeology of Hearing and Seeing by Technical
Means, trans. Gloria Custance (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2006). By Zielinski see
also Audiovisions: Cinema and Television as Entractes in History (Amsterdam: Amsterdam
University Press, 1999).
31. Thomas Elsaesser used the term media archaeology in the title of his introduction
to Early Cinema: Space Frame Narrative (Early Cinema: From Linear History to Mass
Media Archaeology, pp. 1-8). He then further developed his point in The New Film
History as Media Archaeology, Cinmas: revue dtudes cinmatographiques 14.2-3
(2004), pp. 75-117. For a general presentation of the field of media archaeology,
see Erkki Huhtamo and Jussi Parikka, eds., Media Archaeology: Approaches, Applications,
and Implications (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2011); Jussi Parikka, What Is
Media Archaeology? (Cambridge: Polity, 2012); Wanda Strauven, Media Archaeology:
Where Film History, Media Art, and New Media (Can) Meet, in Preserving and
Exhibiting Media Art: Challenges and Perspectives, ed. Julia Nordegraaf, Cosetta G. Saba,
Barbara Le Matre, and Vinzenz Hediger (Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press,
2014), pp. 59-79. On the archaeology of cinema, see C.W. Ceram, Archaeology of the
Cinema, trans. Richard Winston (New York: Harcourt, Brace and World, 1965);
Laurent Mannoni, Le Grand art de la lumire et de lombre: Archologie du cinma (Paris:
Nathan, 1994), translated into English as The Great Art of Light and Shadow: Archaeology
of the Cinema, ed. and trans. Richard Crangle (Exeter: University of Exeter Press,
2000); Giusy Pisano, Une archologie du cinma sonore (Paris: CNRS ditions, 2004).
32. Elsaesser, The New Film History as Media Archaeology, p. 113.
33. James Goodwin, Eisenstein, Cinema and History (Urbana: University of Illinois Press,
1993).
34. Sergei Eizenshtein, Diffuznoe vospriiatie [Diffused perception], in Eizenshtein,
Metod, ed. Naum Kleiman (Moskva: Muzei kino, Eizenshtein tsentr, 2002), vol. 1, p.
316.
35. In this film, which was supposed to use a complex web chromatic symbolisms in
order to weave together the different stages of the history of Moscow, Eisenstein
wanted to apply to narration a jumping chronology, that is, a sequentiality that is not
chronological [kalendarnaia] but rather thematic: Sergei M. Eizenshtein, Moskva
800. Skhema situatsii, in Izbrannye proizvedeniia v shesti tomakh, 6 vols. (Moskva:
Iskusstvo, 1964-1971), vol. 3, p. 576. (Hereafter Izbrannye proizvedeniia v shesti tomakh
is abbreviated as IP.)
36. On Que Viva Mexico! see Masha Salazkina, In Excess: Sergei Eisensteins Mexico (Chicago:
University of Chicago Press, 2009), and Laurence Schifano and Antonio Somaini,
eds., Que viva Mexico!. Anthropologie, archologie, modernit (Paris: Presses Universitaires
de Paris Ouest Nanterre La Dfense, 2014)
434 notes
37. Sergei M. Eisenstein, Commentary on the Film The Great Fergana Canal, in Voprosy
kinodramaturguii, ed. Ilya Weissfeld (Moskva: Iskusstvo, 1959), pp. 327-353.
38. Ibid., The Dynamic Square, in SW 1, p. 207.
39. Ibid., Montage 1937, in Towards a Theory of Montage, in SW 2, p. 43. This idea of a
journey in space that becomes a journey in time can be found in the works stemming
from other travels to Mexico with which Eisensteins Mexican experience can be
compared: from the travel that the British ethnologist Edward B. Tylor described in
1861 in the volume entitled Anahuac, to Aby Warburgs visit to the Hopi of New
Mexico in 1895-1896, a visit whose photographic documentation was then presented
and commented by Warburg in a lecture known as Lecture on the Serpent Ritual
(the original title in German was Bilder aus dem Gebiet der Pueblo-Indianer in
Nord-Amerika) delivered in 1923 at the Bellevue psychiatric clinic in which he had
been hosted since 1921; from D.H. Lawrences visits to Mexico and New Mexico
between 1923 and 1925 (which provided the basis for The Plumed Serpent and Mornings
in Mexico in 1926 and 1927), to the later travels of Artaud in 1936 and Breton in 1938.
40. The article has been published with a commentary by Naum Kleiman in
Kinovedcheskie zapiski, 89-90 (2008-2009), pp. 111-124 (Italian translation in Francesco
Pitassio, ed., La forma della memoria. Memorialistica, estetica, cinema nellopera di Sergej
Ejzentejn [Udine: Forum, 2009], pp. 193-214).
41. Lenin deals with the issue of mnogukladnost in two different texts: Left-Wing
Communism: An Infantile Disorder (1918) and The Tax in Kind [1921]. The
quoted passage comes from the second text (V.I. Lenin, Collected Works, 1st English
ed. (Moscow: Progress Publishers, 1965), vol. 32, p. 331).
42. Sergei M. Eisenstein, Piat epokh [Five epochs], in Pravda, 6 June 1926.
43. On the shift that took place in Eisensteins film theory between the writings of the
1920s on the one hand, and those of the 1930s and 1940s on the other, see David
Bordwell, Eisensteins Epistemological Shift, Screen 15.4 (1975), pp. 29-46; ibid.,
The Cinema of Eisenstein (New York: Routledge, 2005).
44. On the period Eisenstein spent in Paris between November 1929 and May 1930, the
encounters with personalities such as Andr Breton and Georges Bataille, and on
Eisensteins contribution to Documents, see Georges Didi-Huberman, La Ressemblance
informe, ou le Gai Savoir visuel selon Georges Bataille (Paris: Macula, 1995). See also Marie
Rebecchi, Parigi 1929. Ejzentejn, Bataille, Buuel (Milano: Mimesis, 2014).
45. Ernst Bloch, Heritage of Our Times [1935], trans. Neville and Stephen Plaice
(Cambridge: Polity Press, 1991).
46. Naum Kleiman, Nota a Le cinque epoche, in Pitassio, La forma della memoria, p. 213.
47. Lucien Lvy-Bruhl, Les fonctions mentales dans les socits infrieures [1910] (Paris: Alcan,
1922), pp. 425ff.
48. On Eisensteins unfinished book Metod, see the introductions written by Naum
Kleiman and Oksana Bulgakowa to the two different Russian editions that have been
published so far: Naum Kleiman, Problema Eizenshteina [Eisensteins problem],
in Eizenshtein, Metod, pp. 2-30; Oksana Bulgakowa, Teoriia kak utopicheskii
proekt [Theory as a utopian project], in Sergei Eisenstein, Metod/Die Methode, 4 vols.
(Berlin: Potemkin Press, 2008). See also Antonio Somaini, Ejzentejn. Il cinema, le arti,
il montaggio (Torino: Einaudi, 2011; English translation: Eisenstein: Cinema, Art History,
notes 435
Montage forthcoming from the University of Illinois Press), and Alessia Cervini, La
ricerca del metodo. antropologia e storia delle forme in S.M. Ejzentejn (Milano: Mimesis,
2010).
49. Eisensteins text entitled Film Form: New Problems is available in English in two
slightly different versions: as an autonomous text in Sergei Eisenstein, Film Form:
New Problems in ibid., Film Form: Essays in Film Theory, ed. and trans. Jay Leyda (San
Diego: Harcourt, 1949), pp. 122-149, and as part of the Speeches to the All-Union
Creative Conference of Soviet Filmworkers in SW 3 pp. 16-46.
50. See the Closing Speech in Speeches to the All-Union Creative Conference of
Soviet Filmworkers, in SW 3, pp. 41-46.
51. Ibid., in SW 3, p. 38
52. Eizenshtein, Diffuznoe vospriiatie [Diffused perception], p. 323.
53. Sigmund Freud, Civilization and Its Discontents [1929], ed. and trans. James Strachey
(New York: Norton, 1962), pp. 16-18. For an analysis of this passage, see Philippe
Dubois, LActe photographique et autres essais (Paris: Nathan, 1990), pp. 261-283.
54. Ibid., p. 18.
55. Walter Benjamin, Excavation and Memory [1932], in Walter Benjamin, Selected Writings,
ed. Michael W. Jennings, Howard Eiland, and Gary Smith, trans. Rodney Livingstone
and others (Cambridge, MA: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1999),
vol. 2, part 2 (1931-1934), p. 576.
56. On this archaeological understanding of history and memory, see Knut Ebeling,
Wilde Archologien. Theorien materieller Kultur von Kant bis Kittler (Berlin: Kadmos, 2012),
pp. 254-362. See also Knut Ebeling and Stefan Altekamp, eds., Die Aktualitt des
Archologischen in Wissenschaft, Medien und Knsten (Frankfurt am Main: Fischer, 2004).
57. Eisenstein is here probably referring to mile Ludwig, Genius and Character, trans.
Kenneth Burke (New York: Blue Ribbon, 1924).
58. Sergei Eisenstein, Neravnodushnaia priroda, ed. N. Kleiman (Moskva: Muzei kino,
Eizenshtein tsentr, 2004), vol. 2, p. 7.
59. These are some of the texts mentioned by Eisenstein: On Griffith and on the history
of the close-up, Istoriya krupnovo plana [History of the close-up] (divided into three
sections: Dickens and Griffith, Peripeteias of the pars pro toto, Griffith and Us),
in Eizenshtein, Metod, vol. 2, pp. 8-131 (partial English translation Dickens, Griffith and
Ourselves, in SW 3, pp. 193-239); History of the Close-up, in Immoral Memories: An
Autobiography, trans. Herbert Marshall (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1983) pp. 228-
233. On Disney, Disney, ed. Oksana Bulgakowa and Dietmar Hochmuth, trans.
Dustin Condren (Berlin: Potemkin Press, 2011-2012). On stereoscopic cinema, O
Stereokino [1947], in Neravnodushnaia priroda, vol. 2, pp. 336-387 (partial English
translation About Stereoscopic Cinema, Penguin Film Review 8 (January 1949), pp.
35-44; full French translation Du cinma en relief, in Le Mouvement de lart, ed.
Franois Albera and Naum Kleiman, with an introduction by Barthlmy Amengual
[Paris: Cerf, 1986], pp. 97-158). On montage and the Chinese culture of
hieroglyphs, see The Dramaturgy of Film Form [1929], in SW 1, pp. 161-180,
which actually concerns Japanese hieroglyphs, just as An Unexpected Juncture [1928]
and Beyond the Shot [1929], in SW 1, pp. 115-122 and 138-151. On Landscape and the
history of the Chinese understanding of nature, see Sergei Eisenstein, Nonindifferent
436 notes
Nature, ed. Herbert Marshall (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987). On
color and chromatic montage, see Eisenstein, Neravnodushnaia priroda, vol. 2, pp.
228-335 and 544-612.
60. On Eisenstein and Ramsaye, see Albera, The Heritage We Renounce, p. 273.
61. Eisenstein, Neravnodushnaia priroda, vol. 2, p. 7.
62. See supra, note 59.
63. Beyond the Shot, in SW 1, p. 138.
64. Walter Benjamin, The Arcades Project, trans. Howard Eiland and Kevin McLaughlin
(Cambridge, MA: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1999), fragment
N2a, 3, p. 362.
65. Eisenstein, The Dramaturgy of Film Form, p. 163. On the concept of interval in
the theories of montage of Vertov and Eisenstein, see Annette Michelson, The
Wings of Hypothesis: On Montage and the Theory of the Interval, in Montage and
Modern Life, 1919-1942, ed. M. Teitelbaum (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1992), pp.
60-81.
66. The Dramaturgy of Film Form, p. 168.
67. On the history of this paradigm, also known as recapitulation theory, see Stephen
Jay Gould, Ontogeny and Phylogeny (Cambridge, MA: The Belknap Press of Harvard
University Press, 1977), which analyzes the presence of this paradigm in the history
of biology and across a wide spectrum of social and cultural sciences.
68. See J.G. Herder, Plastik: Einige Wahrnehmungen ber Form und Gestalt aus Pygmalions
bildendem Traume (1778) and the Conversations of Goethe with Johann Peter Eckermann, ed.
J.K. Moorhead (Cambridge, MA: Da Capo Press, 1998), especially the conversation of
January 17, 1827, in which Goethe says that even if the world progresses generally,
youth will always begin at the beginning, and the epochs of the worlds cultivation
will be repeated in the individual (Conversations of Goethe with Eckermann and Soret,
trans. John Oxenford [London: Smith, Elder & Co., 1850], vol. 1, pp. 328-329.
69. E. Haeckel, Die Weltrtsel. Gemeinverstndliche Studien ber monistische Philosophie (1899),
with an introduction by I. Fetscher (Stuttgart: Krner, 1994).
70. Ibid., Anthropogenie, oder Entwicklungsgeschichte des Menschen (Leipzig: Engelmann,
1874), p. 9.
71. Heinrich Wlfflin, Principles of Art History: The Problem of the Development of Style in Later
Art [1915], trans. M.D. Hottinger (New York: Dover, 1929), p. 21.
72. Sigmund Freud, Beyond the Pleasure Principle [1920], trans. C.J.M. Hubback (London,
Vienna: International Psychoanalytical Press, 1922), section IV. In the Introductory
Lectures on Psychoanalysis of 1916 Freud writes that every individual somehow
recapitulates in an abbreviated form the entire development of the human race
(quoted in Gould, Ontogeny and Phylogeny, p. 156).
73. Walter Benjamin, On the Mimetic Faculty [1933], in Selected Writings, vol. 2, part 2 (1931-
1934), pp. 720-722.
74. Eisenstein, About Stereoscopic Cinema [1947], pp. 35-36. Concerning the way in
which Eisenstein considered the relation between cinema and biological or organic
processes, we may also recall that already in 1929, remembering having seen the
1912 Path film Recette pour faire clore les roses, Eisenstein had imagined the possibility
of producing a film on the theme of the Ausdrucksbewegung der Pflanzen [the
notes 437
expressive movement of plants] [] entirely based on animated drawings: a form
of representation which, conceived of as an instrument for morphologic analysis,
could allow one to grasp the continuous metamorphoses of vegetal forms, and to
understand the language of flowers. The notes for this unrealized film project on
the expressive movement of plants can be found in RGALI 1923-2-1113. I thank
Elena Vogman for having drawn my attention to these notes.
75. Ibid., My Art in Life [1927], Kinovedcheskie zapiski, 36/37 (1997-1998), p. 14, quoted by
Mikhail Iampolski in his article Theory as Quotation, October 88 (Spring 1999), p.
53.
76. The Heir, pp. 109-110.
77. For an overview of Eisensteins film theories in the 1930s and 1940s, see Bordwell,
The Cinema of Eisenstein, ch. 5 (Cinema as Synthesis: Film Theory, 1930-1948), pp.
163-198.
78. When the power of a class is declining and fading we observe not only the breakup
of the arts as a whole into sharply differentiated compartments, but the process of
decadence and disintegration also takes place within the various arts themselves. In
the most striking example of social decadence, namely the collapse of capitalist
society in its highest stage (imperialism) that immediately precedes the attainment
of power by the proletariat, this has been especially vivid and impressive. From the
second half of the 19th century onward we have witnessed the unmistakable process
of disintegration not only of the arts in general but of each separate branch of the
arts. Photographic realism and a literary narrative, for instance, crowded out
everything else in the art of the late nineteenth-century Russian school of socially
committed artists known as The Wanderers. In their case, this was at least justified
by the social message which it was their mission to convey, but this was not so with
other trends, schools and isms. Some concentrated on recording a momentary,
fleeting impression, others on the optical relationship between colours, while a third
group was concerned to catch movement and to convey a particular sense of
dynamism. A fourth trend attempted to capture the perception of space, while still
others strove to fix an otherwise inarticulate inner cry or cri de cur in colour and
sound. Another group was only interested in an interplay of the schematic forms
underlying the structure of visible phenomena. It remained for others coming a little
later to disregard every other aspect of the totality of a picture and to worship only
surface textures or to concentrate on instrumental timbre and rhythm to the
exclusion of melody. The ultimate contribution of the Italians to the labyrinth of
decadence was surely Tactilism painting intended to be perceived solely through
the fingertips! (Towards a Theory of Montage, in SW 2, pp. 275-276) .
79. Sergei Eisenstein, Achievement [1940], in Eisenstein, Film Form, pp. 181-182.
80. Voprosy sinteza iskusstv [Questions on the synthesis of the arts], ed. the Union of Soviet
Architects (Moscow: OGIZ IZOGIZ, 1936). I thank Olga Kataeva for her help
concerning this reference.
81. Ibid., p. 105.
82. Ibid., p. 13.
83. Ibid., p. 22.
438 notes
84. On this idea see the essay published in this volume by Pietro Montani: Synthesis of
the Arts or Friendly Cooperation between the Arts? The General History of
Cinema According to Eisenstein, here, pp. 385-392.
85. In his essay published in this volume, Vinzenz Hediger discusses how Eisensteins
idea of cinema as a synthesis of the arts can be compared with Hegels notion of
Darstellung (in the Phenomenology of Spirit) as both a representation and a
performance, a conceptual re-enactment of sorts, of prior philosophies and the
history of philosophy: see Archaeology vs. Paleontology: A Note on Eisensteins
Notes for a General History of Cinema, here, p. 347-356. For a different
perspective on cinema as a synthesis of other arts and other media in Soviet cinema
of the 1930s and 1940s, see Oksana Bulgakowa, Ton und Bild. Das Kino als
Synkretismus-Utopie, in Die Musen der Macht. Medien in der sowjetischen Kultur der 20er
und 30er Jahre, ed. Jurij Muraov and Georg Witte (Mnchen: Fink, 2003), pp. 173-
186.
86. On the idea of cinema as synthesis of the arts in Eisenstein, see H. Lvgren,
Eisensteins Labyrinth: Aspects of a Cinematic Synthesis of the Arts (Stockholm: Almqvist &
Wiksell, 1996).
87. For an interpretation of the place of Eisensteins Mexican drawings within the whole
of his work, and in relation to his reflections on the meaning of montage, see
Somaini, Ejzentejn, ch. 7 (Stenogrammi dellestasi e della crudelt. I disegni
messicani), pp. 141-186.
88. On Eisensteins understanding of montage in the book Montage, see Jacques
Aumont, Montage Eisenstein (Paris: Images Modernes, 2005), ch. 4 (Le montage en
question), pp. 205-258; Bordwell, The Cinema of Eisenstein, pp. 168-177; Pietro
Montani, Il pensiero denso e il principio dionisiaco del montaggio, in Fuori campo.
Studi sul cinema e lestetica (Urbino: Quattro Venti, 1993), pp. 61-80.
89. Puti regressa [Ways of regression] is the title of a chapter of Metod: Metod, vol. 1,
pp. 194-214.
90. For an overview of these different ways of regression, see Somaini, Ejzentejn, ch. 9
(Metod: le vie del regresso), pp. 216-261.
91. Sergei Eizenshtein, Vyrazitelnoe dvizhenie [Expressive movement], in Eizenshtein,
Metod, vol. 1, p. 181.
92. Sergei Eizenshtein, Moia sistema [My system], in Kinovedchevski Zapiski 36-37
(1997-1998), p. 24.
93. Friedrich Engels, Socialism, Utopian and Scientific, trans. E. Aveling (London:
Sonnenschein, 1892), p. 35. The passage is quoted by Eisenstein in Film Form:
New Problems: see Speeches to the All-Union Creative Conference of Soviet
Filmworkers, in SW 3, p. 38.
94. Achievement, in Eisenstein, Film Form, p. 191.
95. The Heir, p. 110.
96. In his text published in this volume, Mikhail Iampolski presents a different
interpretation of Eisensteins vision of history in the Notes, arguing that what we find
in them is by no means a withdrawal from linear history: see Point Pathos
Totality, here, p. 365.
97. The Heir, p. 110.
notes 439
98. Montazh, p. 400.
99. Towards a Theory of Montage, ch. Unity in the Image, pp. 275-277.
101. Friedrich Nietzsche, The Birth of Tragedy, or Hellenism and Pessimism, trans. W.A.
Haussmann (London, George Allen & Unwin, 1923), p. 27.
102. Ibid., p. 31.
103. Ibid., p. 57.
104. Ibid., p. 79.
105. Ibid., p. 127.
106. Ibid., p. 65.
108. O Stereokino, in Eisenstein, Neravnodushnaia priroda, vol. 1, p. 375 (in French
translation Du cinma en relief, p. 147).
109. Ibid.
110. Diderot a parl de cinma, in Le Mouvement de lart, pp. 77-96.
111. Vertical Montage, in Towards a Theory of Montage, in SW 2, p. 337.
112. A selection of the notes written by Eisenstein in connection to the direction of the
Valkyrie at the Bolshoi Theater in 1940 has been published in Oksana Bulgakowa,
ed., Eisenstein und Deutschland. Texte, Dokumente, Briefe (Berlin: Akademie der Knste
Henschel Verlag, 1998), pp. 55-64 (Die Walkre. Regienotizen). On Wagner and
Eisenstein, see Dieter Thom, Totalitt und Mitleid. Richard Wagner, Sergej Eisenstein und
unsere ethisch-sthetische Moderne (Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 2006).
113. Eisenstein, Nonindifferent Nature, p. 385.
114. The Incarnation of Myth, in SW 3, p. 144. Eisenstein refers here to the texts
Wagner wrote during the exile in Zrich which had followed his involvement in the
1849 Dresden insurrection: Die Kunst und die Revolution (1849), Das Kunstwerk der
Zukunft (1850) and Oper und Drama (1852).
115. The Heir, p. 110.
117. On Ivan the Terrible, see Yuri Tsivian, Ivan the Terrible (London: British Film Institute,
2008).
118. On the first Soviet experiments on stereoscopic cinema, see N. Mayorov, A First in
Cinema: Stereoscopic Films in Russia and the Soviet Union, Studies in Russian and
Soviet Cinema 6.2 (2012), pp. 217-239.
119. About Stereoscopic Cinema, p. 37.
120. Ibid., p. 42.
121. O Stereokino, in Eisenstein, Neravnodushnaia priroda, vol. 1, p. 345 (French
translation Du cinma en relief, p. 109).
122. Towards a Theory of Montage, in SW 2, pp. 274-275.
123. Eisenstein refers here to Konstantin Stanislavsky and to the realism based on the
truth of relived experiences that was at the base of his acting system.
124. Eisenstein staged this agit-guignol play based on Sergei Tretyakovs Gas Masks
(1923) at the Moscow gas plant. It was his last theater production before the move to
cinema with the film Strike (1924).
440 notes
126. See Pavel Florensky, Reverse Perspective (1920), in Florensky, Beyond Vision: Essays
on the Perception of Art, comp. and ed. Nicoletta Misler, trans. Wendy Salmond
(London: Reaktion Books 2002), pp. 197-272.
127. The Place of Cinema in the General System of the History of the Arts, here, p. 241.
128. Dynamic Mummification, pp. 131-ff.
129. Revelation in Storm and Thunder, here, p. 208.
131. On the many references to Daumiers art in Eisensteins writings, films, and
drawings, see Ada Ackerman, Eisenstein et Daumier. Des affinits lectives (Paris: Armand
Colin, 2013).
132. On the importance of Daumiers work for Eisensteins theory of montage, see Ada
Ackerman, Eisenstein et Daumier. Une affinit lective (Paris: Armand Colin, 2013).
134. A Statement on the Sound-Film by Eisenstein, Pudovkin, and Aleksandrov, in
Eisenstein, Film Form, pp. 257-260.
135. Revelation in Storm and Thunder, p. 215.
136. Dynamic Mummification, pp. 127-129.
137. On Eisenstein and glass architecture, see the notes for the unrealized film project
Glass House: Sergei M. Eisenstein, Glass House, introduction, notes, and
commentary by Franois Albera (Dijon: Les Presses du rel, 2009). See also Antonio
Somaini, Utopies et dystopies de la transparence. Eisenstein, Glass House, et le
cinmatisme de l'architecture de verre, Appareil 7 (April 2011), http://appareil.
revues.org/1234.
138. On the history of magic lanterns, see Laurent Mannoni and Donata Pesenti
Campagnoni, Lanterne magique et film peint: 400 ans de cinma (Paris: ditions de La
Martinire/La Cinmathque franaise, 2009).
140. The Place of Cinema in the General System of the History of the Arts, p. 242.
141. The Heir, p. 114.
142. The Place of Cinema in the General System of the History of the Arts, p. 242.
143. Ibid.
144. On the origins on the notion of montage, see Franois Albera, Pour une
pistmographie du montage: pralables, Cinma: revue dtudes cinmatographiques
13.1-2 (2002), pp. 11-32. See also Franois Albera, The Case for an Epistemography
of Montage: The Marey Moment, in Albera and Tortajada, Cinema Beyond Film, pp.
59-78.
145. Dynamic Mummification, pp. 172.
146. In Praise of the Cine-chronicle, here, pp. 237.
148. Assemblage is one of the seven key words (along with relocation, relic/icon,
expansion, hypertopia, display, performance) used by Francesco Casetti in order to
discuss the current transformations of cinema as a medium and a dispositif, and the
various relocations of cinematic experience: see Casetti, The Lumire Galaxy. In
Casettis interpretation, the term assemblage indicates an understanding of the
notes 441
cinematic dispositif as an open, flexible, evolving set of interconnected elements
which can be (and historically have been) freely rearranged and reorganized.
149. Lewis Mumford, Technics & Civilization [1934] (Chicago and London: University of
Chicago Press, 2010).
150. Ibid., p. 437.
152. On the relationship between Sadouls Histoire gnrale du cinma and Eisensteins
general history of cinema, see Albera, The Heritage We Renounce. On the
history of optical media, see Jonathan Crary, Techniques of the Observer: On Vision and
Modernity in the 19th Century (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1992); Friedrich Kittler,
Optical Media (London: Polity, 2009).
153. The Heir, p. 114.
154. The phrase he was searching for ce qui ne passe pas dans ce qui passe comes from
Eisensteins preparatory notes to Metod and is quoted by Naum Kleiman in his
introduction to Metod: Naum Kleiman, Problema Eizenshteina, in Eizenshtein,
Metod, vol. 1, p. 27. The archival reference of the note is RGALI 1923-2-232, 42.
155. Joseph-Marie Montmasson, Le Rle de linconscient dans linvention scientifique (Paris:
Alcan, 1928).
156. Sergei M. Eisenstein, Film Form: New Problems, in SW 3, p. 38.
157. Eizenshtein, Metod, vol. 2, p. 304.
158. The English translations are Otto Rank, Trauma of Birth [1924] (New York: Dover,
1994), and Sandor Ferenczi, Thalassa: A History of Genitality (London: Karnac Books,
2005).
159. Sergei M. Eisenstein, Metod/Die Methode, ed. Oksana Bulgakowa (Berlin: Potemkin
Press, 2008), chapter Poslednee slovo o forme. Forma as urge k besklassovosti, vol.
1, pp. 259-268.
160. Eisenstein, Disney, p. 71.
161. Eizenshtein, Metod, vol. 2, p. 301.
162. Sergei M. Eisenstein, Foreword, Towards a Theory of Montage, in SW 2, p. 1.
163. Ibid., p. 167.
164. Ibid., p. 168.
165. Ibid. On the history of the myth of Dionysus, see Carl Kerny, Dionysos: Archetypal
Image of Indestructible Life (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1976).
166. Alfred Winterstein, Der Ursprung der Tragdie (Leipzig: Internationaler Psycho-
analytischer Verlag, 1925), pp. 160. Quoted by Eisenstein in Towards a Theory of
Montage, in SW 2, p. 171
167. Ibid., p. 170.
168. Ibid., p. 168.
169. Ibid., pp. 171-172.
170. Ibid., p. 109.
171. Ibid., p. 119.
172. Ibid., p. 120.
173. Ibid., p. 119
174. Ibid., p. 121. This idea of a deep analogy between cinema and consciousness an
idea which was first formulated by Hugo Munsterberg in his The Photoplay: A
442 notes
Psychological Study (1916) appears in the Notes in the text entitled The Place of
Cinema in the System of the Arts, in which cinema is presented as a copy of mans
psychological apparatus: see p. 241.
175. Ibid., p. 192.
176. Goethes morphological studies are gathered in the section entitled Morphologie
(pp. 53-250) of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Werke. Hamburger Ausgabe, Band 13,
Naturwissenschaftliche Schriften I, Texkritisch durchgesegen und kommentiert von
D. Kuhn und R. Wankmller, mit einem Essay von C.F. von Weizscker (Mnchen:
DTV, 1988).
177. For Goethes use of the concept of Urpflanze, see Goethe-Handbuch, Band 4/2: Personen,
Sachen, Begriffe LZ, ed. Hans-Dietrich Dahnke and Regine Otto (Stuttgart: Metzler,
1998), pp. 1077-1078.
178. Goethe, Maximen und Reflexionen, 509.
179. On the Goethean morphological paradigm that runs through German philosophical
thought between the end of the nineteenth and the beginning of the twentieth
century, see Francesco Moiso, Morfologia e filosofia, Annuario filosofico 8 (1992),
pp. 79-139, and Andrea Pinotti, Pazienza del dissimile e sguardo pontefice in
Georges Didi-Huberman. Unetica delle immagini, ed. Raoul Kirchmayr and Laura Odello,
special issue of the journal aut aut 348 (2010), pp. 66-83.
180. On the Urphnomen of cinema, see the chapter of Towards a Theory of Montage
entitled Laocon, in SW 2, pp. 109-226.
181. Ibid., p. 192.
182. On Eisensteins notion of formula of pathos [formula pafosa], see Eisenstein,
Nonindifferent Nature. On Aby Warburg and the atlas Mnemosyne, see Georges Didi-
Huberman, LImage survivante. Histoire de lart et temps des fantmes selon Aby Warburg
(Paris: Minuit, 2002). For a comparison between Eisensteins formula of pathos
and Warburgs Pathosformel, see Sylvia Sasse, Pathos und Antipathos. Pathosfor-
meln bei Sergej Ejsenstejn und Aby Warburg, in Pathos. Zur Geschichte einer
problematischen Kategorie, ed. Cornelia Zumbusch (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 2010), pp.
171-90. See also Somaini, Ejzentejn, ch. 12 (La formula del pathos), pp. 350-381.
183. On Warburgs understanding of cultural memory, see Andrea Pinotti, Memorie del
neutro. Morfologia dellimmagine in Aby Warburg (Milano: Mimesis, 2001).
185. Ibid.
186. Ibid., p. 167.
187. These notes are published in Russian and in French translation in Franois Albera,
Eisenstein et le constructivisme russe (Lausanne: Lge dHomme, 1990). The quoted
passage is on p. 260.
188. Aby Warburg, Werke in einem Band, ed. Sigrid Weigel, Martin Treml, and Perdita
Ladwig (Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 2010), p. 631. English translation by Matthew
Rampley in Art in Translation 1.2 (July 2009): 273-283 (The Absorption of the
Expressive Values of the Past)..
189. For a general introduction to Nonindifferent Nature within the context of Eisensteins
film theory and aesthetics, see Aumont, Montage Eisenstein; Bordwell, The Cinema of
Eisenstein; Pietro Montani, Introduzione, in Sergej M. Ejzentejn, La natura non
notes 443
indifferente (Venezia: Marsilio, 1981), pp. ix-xli, and Pathos. Lestetica dellultimo
Ejzentejn, in Fuori campo, pp. 9-44.
190. Eisenstein, Nonindifferent Nature, pp.165-178 and pp. 178-183 (Herbert Marshall
translates the titles of these two chapters with Superconcreteness and On the
question of suprahistory).
191. Ibid., pp. 165-166.
192. Ibid., p. 166.
193. Ibid., p. 174.
194. Ibid., pp. 168-169.
195. Ibid., p. 175.
196. See the chapter of Metod entitled Ritmicheskii baraban [The rhythmic drum], in
Eizenshtein, Metod, vol.1, pp. 183-193.
198. Ibid., p. 182.
199. The Heir, pp. 113-115.
200. Rainer Maria Rilke, Letter to Rodin (December 29, 1908), in Letters of Rainer Maria
Rilke, 1892-1910, trans. Jane Bannard Greene and M.D. Herter Norton (New York:
Norton, 1969), p. 342.
201. Sergei M. Eisenstein, Rodin i Rilke [1945], in Neravnodushnaia priroda, vol. 2, p. 512.
202. On this notion of primary eideticism, see also Albera, The Heritage We
Renounce, pp. 282-283.
203. Eisenstein, Rodin i Rilke, p. 512.
204. On the presence of the ontogeny-phylogeny parallelism in Eisensteins writings, see,
for example, the passage in Direction in which he writes that in each one of us, in a
confuse and undefined way, but very intensely, resounds what we might call the
historical pathos of the conquest of the vertical posture (Sergei M. Eizenshtein,
Rezhissura: Iskusstvo mizanstseny, in IP 4, p. 485).
205. See Alois Riegl, Late Roman Art Industry [1900] (Rome: Bretschneider, 1985).
206. Eisenstein, Rodin I Rilke, p. 519.
207. Ibid., p. 525.
208. The Heir, p. 113.
209. Ibid., p. 114.
210. A quote from Goethes Faust, which Eisenstein sometimes misquotes in these notes
as Verbleibe doch, du bist so schn! (Faust. Der Tragdie zweiter Teil, V, 11582).
211. Stands for Vsesoiuznyi Institut eksperimentalnoi meditsiny, or All-Union Institute
for Experimental Medicine. It was established on the basis of the Imperial Institute
for Experimental Medicine, founded in 1890 by Prince Oldenburgskii. Its main goal
was declared to be the complex study of the causes of disease and the practical needs
of combating diseases and their consequences. In the Soviet times this goal led to
utopian search for attainting physical immortality.
214. See Pliny the Elder, Naturalis Historia, XXXV, 4, who speaks of imaginum pictura
(painting of imagines) describing the practice of applying color on death masks, in
order to preserving a maxima similitudo with the original, the face of the dead
444 notes
ancestor. See Georges Didi-Huberman, Imaginum pictura in totum exoleuit. Dbut de
lhistoire de lart et fin de lpoque de limage, Critique 52.586 (1996), pp. 138-150,
and LEmpreinte (Paris: ditions du Centre Pompidou, 1997).
216. Kracauer, Marseiller Entwurf, p. 527.
217. Ibid.
218. This idea that film allows some form of penetration into the deep layers of
material reality can also be found in Theory of Film. In the Epilogue Kracauer writes:
We cannot hope to embrace reality unless we penetrate its lowest layers. But how
can we gain access to these lower depths? One thing is sure, the task of contacting
them is greatly facilitated by photography and film (Theory of Film, p, 298).
219. Kracauer, Marseiller Entwurf, p. 543.
220. Ibid., p. 545.
221. Ibid., 533.
222. Ibid., p. 591.
223. Ibid., pp. 591-593.
224. Ibid., p. 579.
225. Ibid., p. 534.
226. Ibid., p. 541.
227. Ibid., p. 591.
228. Ibid., p. 605.
229. Ibid., p. 593.
230. Ibid., p. 531.
231. Ibid., 531.
232. Ibid.
233. First Outline of Que Viva Mexico!, in Sergei Eisenstein, The Film Sense, trans. and ed.
Jay Leyda (San Diego: Harcourt Brace & Company, 1947), pp. 251-252.
234. See the chapter entitled Komicheskoe [The comic], in Eizenshtein, Metod, vol. 1,
pp. 420-430.
235. See above, note 19.
236. Andr Bazin, The Virtues and Limitations of Montage [Montage interdit], in What
Is Cinema?, vol. 1, pp. 41-52. Here is how Bazin presents what he considers a principle
or law of aesthetics: When the essence of a scene demands the simultaneous
presence of two or more factors in the action, montage is ruled out (p. 49). For a new
assessment of Bazins film theory and film criticism, see Dudley Andrew and Herv
Joubert-Laurencin, eds., Opening Bazin: Postwar Film Theory and Its Afterlife (Oxford:
Oxford University Press, 2011). See also the partially different French edition of the
same anthology: Ouvrir Bazin (Montreuil: Editions de lil, 2014).
237. Gaston Diehl, Problmes de la peinture (Lyon: Confluences, 1945).
238. Bazin, The Ontology of the Photographic Image, p. 9
239. Ibid., p. 10.
240. Ibid., p. 9.
241. Ibid., p. 12.
242. Ibid., p. 14.
243. Ibid., p. 15.
notes 445
244. Ibid., p. 12.
245. On the presence of these theological references in Bazins idea of realism, see
Vinzenz Hediger, Das Wunder des Realismus. Transsubstantiation als med-
ientheoretische Kategorie bei Andr Bazin, in montage AV (January 18, 2009), pp. 75-
107.
246. Bazin, The Ontology of the Photographic Image, p. 14.
247. Ibid.
248. Here is how Malraux presents the connection between baroque art and cinema in his
Esquisse dune psychologie du cinma: Ce quappellent les gestes de noys du monde
baroque nest pas une modification de limage, cest une succession dimages; il
nest pas tonnant que cet art tout de gestes et de sentiments, obsd de thtre,
finisse dans le cinma (Andr Malraux, Esquisse dune psychologie du cinma [1939],
ed. J.-C. Larrat [Paris: Nouveau Monde, 2003], p. 45). See also Andr Malraux,
Psychologie de lart (Genve: Albert Skira, 1949), p. 111.
249. Bazin, The Ontology of the Photographic Image, pp. 14-15. On Bazin and the idea
of cinema as change mummified, see the essay by Philip Rosen in this volume
(Eisensteins Mummy Complex: Temporality, Trauma, and a Distinction in
Eisensteins Notes for a General History of Cinema, here, pp. 393-404) and his
Change Mummified: Cinema, Historicity, Theory (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota
Press, 2001).
250. Jean Epstein, Bonjour cinma [1921], in crits sur le cinma 1921-1953, tome 1: 1921-
1947, preface by Henri Langlois, introduction by Pierre Leprohon, 2 vols. [Paris:
Cinma club/Seghers, 1974], p. 92). See also Herv Joubert-Laurencin, Embaume-
ment, in Dictionnaire de la pense du cinma, ed. A. de Baecque and P. Chevallier (Paris:
Presses Universitaires de France, 2012), pp. 270-272.
251. Aby Warburg, The Art of Portraiture and the Florentine Bourgeoisie [1902], in The
Renewal of Pagan Antiquity, intro. Kurt W. Forster, trans. David Britt (Los Angeles: The
Getty Research Institute for the History of Art and the Humanities, 1999), pp. 435-
450.
252. On the notion of survival as a historical and culturological category, see Edward
Tylor, On the Survival of Savage Thought in Modern Civilization, in Proceedings of
the Royal Institution of Great Britain 5 (1866-1869), pp. 522-535. As Georges Didi-
Huberman has shown in his LImage Survivante (pp. 51-60, in the chapter titled
Nachleben, ou lanthropologie du temps: Warburg avec Tylor), Tylors notion of
survival was an important reference for Warburg in elaborating the notion of
Nachleben.
253. Julius von Schlosser, Ephemeral Bodies: Wax Sculpture and the Human Figure, ed. R.
Panzanelli (Los Angeles: Getty Research Institute, 2008), pp. 286-287.
254. Andr Bazin, The Myth of Total Cinema, in What Is Cinema?, vol. 1, pp. 17-22.
255. Andr Bazin, On Why We Fight: History, Documentation, and the Newsreel, in Film
& History 31.1 (2001), pp. 60-62.
256. Ibid. On Bazins notion of total history see Vinzenz Hediger, Aufhebung.
Geschichte im Zeitalter des Films, in Lorenz Engell, Oliver Fahle, Vinzenz Hediger,
and Christiane Voss, Essays zur Filmphilosophie (Mnchen: Fink, 2014).
446 notes
258. On the question of anachronism in relation to the history of images and to the role
of montage as a historiographical tool, see Georges Didi-Huberman, Devant le temps.
Histoire de lart et anachronisme des images (Paris: Minuit, 2000), and Angela Mengoni,
ed., Anacronie. La temporalit plurale delle immagini, Carte Semiotiche 13 (Firenze: La
Casa Usher, 2013). On anachronic montage, see this passage from Georges Didi-
Hubermans LImage brle (Art Press 25 [2004], pp. 68-73): Le montage sera
prcisment lune des rponses fondamentales ce problm de construction de
lhistoricit. Parce quil nest pas orient simplement, le montage chappe aux
thologies, rend visibles les survivances, les anachronismes, les rencontres de
temporalits contradictoires qui affectent chaque objet, chaque vnement, chaque
personne, chaque geste. Alors, lhistorien renonce raconter une histoire mais, ce
faisant, il russit montrer que lhistoire ne va pas sans toutes les complxits du
temps, toutes les strates de larchologie, tous les pointills du destin.
259. Sergei M. Eisenstein, Draft of Introduction, in Towards a Theory of Montage, in SW
2, p. 3.
260. Ibid., p. 21.
261. See Iampolski, Point Pathos Totality, p. 366: The adoption of dialectics is very
important for understanding Eisensteins transition from short essays and articles
(in the 1920s) to amorphous books without a beginning or end, endlessly growing
and transitioning from one into the other (1930s-1940s). This transition, in my view,
is partially related to the fact that dialectics allows one to conceive every
phenomenon in the forms of its historical development and formation. Every
phenomenon acquires a limitless dynamic genealogy, which is what leads to a
change in the form of the texts and the creation of projects like the general history
of cinema, like a branching dialectical genealogy.
262. Siegfried Kracauer, Photography, in The Mass Ornament: Weimar Essays, trans., ed.,
and intro. Thomas Y. Levin (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1995), pp.
49-50. Kracauer will later return to the question of the relation between
photography, film, and history in his History: The Last Things before the Last, completed
by Oskar Kristeller with a new preface (Princeton: Markus Wiener, 1995), especially
in the chapter entitled The Historical Approach (pp. 45-61). See Vinzenz Hediger,
Benjamins Challenge: If Art Is No Longer the Same after Cinema, then What about
History? in Dall'inizio alla fine/In the Very Beginning, at the Very End: Proceedings of the XVI
International Film Studies Conference, Udine, Italy, ed. Francesco Casetti and Jane M.
Gaines (Forum, 2010), pp. 455-464.
263. Pioneers and Innovators, p. 149.
264. Elie Faure, De la Cinplastique [1920] (Paris: Sguier, 1995), pp. 32-33.
265. Dziga Vertov, The Birth of Kino-Eye [1924], in Kino-Eye: The Writings of Dziga Vertov,
ed. and intro. Annette Michelson, trans. Kevin OBrien (Oakland: University of
California Press, 1985), p. 41. On Dziga Vertov, see also Yuri Tsivian, ed., Lines of
Resistance: Dziga Vertov and the Twenties (Pordenone: Le Giornate del Cinema Muto,
2004), and John Mackay, Dziga Vertov: Life and Work (forthcoming from Indiana
University Press).
266. Ernst Bloch, Verfremdungen II. Geographica (Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 1964).
notes 447
267. Jean Epstein, LIntelligence dune machine (1946), in Jean Epstein, crits complets,
Sous la direction de Nicole Brenez, Jol Daire, Cyril Neyrat. Vol. V (1945-1951).
Prface de F.J. Ossang, Introduction et notes de Natacha Thiry. Paris:
Indipendencia ditions, 2014, pp. 27-96.
268. Eisenstein, The Dramaturgy of Film Form, p. 168.
269. The passage belongs to a series of notes in Russian added to the German text of
The Dramaturgy of Film Form: it is dated July 7, 1929, and is published in Franois
Albera, Eisenstein et le constructivisme russe (Lausanne: Lge dHomme, 1990), p. 260.
270. See Lucien Lvy-Bruhl, les Fonctions mentales dans les socits infrieures (Paris: Presses
Universitaires de France, 1910).
271. Walter Benjamin, The Arcades Project, ed. Rolf Tiedemann, trans. Howard Eiland and
Kevin McLaughlin (Cambridge, MA: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press,
2002), fragment N31, 2, p. 463.
272. Ibid., K3, 3, p. 394.
273. Albera, Eisenstein et le constructivisme russe, p. 94.
274. Benjamin, The Arcades Project, N11, 4, p. 476.
275. Ibid., N3, 2, p. 463.
276. Ibid., N7a, 3, p. 471.
277. Ibid., N1, 8, p. 458.
278. Ibid., N1, 1, p. 456.
279. Ibid., N9, 7, p. 473.
280. Ibid., N2a, 3, p. 462.
281. Ibid., N2, 6, p. 461.
282. Ibid., N1a, 8, p. 460.
283. Ibid., N1, 10, p. 458.
284. Sergei M. Eisenstein, Encounters with Books, in SW 4, p. 354.
286. Ibid., N1, 2, p. 456.
287. Eisenstein, The Dramaturgy of Film Form, p. 165.
289. Ibid., N10, 3, p. 475.
290. Ibid., N7a, 8, p. 470.
291. Ibid., N1a, 2, p. 459.
292. Ibid., N7a, 2, p. 470]
293. Eisenstein, Laocon, in Towards a Theory of Montage, in SW 2, p. 109.
294. Benjamin, The Arcades Project, N2a, 4, p. 462.
295. The catalogue of the 1929 exhibition Film und Foto has been reprinted with the title
Internationale Ausstellung des Deutschen Werkbundes Film und Foto Stuttgart 1929, ed. K.
Steinorth, intro. M. Rommel (Stuttgart: DVA, 1979). See also Film und Foto der
zwanziger Jahre. Eine Betrachtung der Internationalen Werkbundausstellung Film und Foto
1929, ed. U. Eskildsen and J.C. Horak (Stuttgart: Wrttembergischer Kunstverein,
1979).
296. Lszl Moholy-Nagy, Dynamik der Gross-Stadt, Malerei Fotografie Film [1925, 1927],
ed. Hans M. Wingler, with an editors note and an afterword by Otto Stelzer (Berlin:
Gebr. Mann, 1986), pp. 122-135.
448 notes
297. El Lissitzky, Topographie der Typographie, Merz 4 (1923), republished in El
Lissitzky. Maler Architekt Typograf Fotograf. Erinnerungen Briefe Schriften, ed. S. Lissitzky-
Kppers (Dresden: Verlag der Kunst,1992), p. 360.
298. Walter Benjamin, One-Way Street, in Selected Writings: Volume 1, 1913-1926, ed.
Marcus Bullock and Michael W. Jennings (Cambridge, MA: The Belknap Press of
Harvard University Press, 1996), p. 456.
299. The note (whose archival reference is RGALI, f.1923, inv.1, 1030) is translated in
English in Oksana Bulgakowa, Eisenstein, the Glass House, and the Spherical
Book, Rouge 7 (2005), http://www.rouge.com.au/7/eisenstein.html. On Eisensteins
spherical book, see Oksana Bulgakowa, Das kgelformige Buch von Sergei
Eisenstein als ein bersehenes Angebot der universellen Kunsttheorie, in Cultural
Turn, ed. L. Musner, G. Wunberg, and C. Lutter (Wien: Turia & Kant, 2002), pp. 31-
108.
300. This note, dated September 17, 1947, is published in the back cover of Eizenshtein,
Metod, vol. 2.
301. Sergei M. Eizenshtein, Torito, in IP 4, p. 632.
302. See Giuliana Bruno, Atlas of Emotion: Journeys in Art, Architecture, and Film (London:
Verso, 2002).
303. Sergei M. Eisenstein, Montage and Architecture, in Towards a Theory of Montage, in
SW 2, p. 60.
304. The archival reference of this drawing and of the drawings and notes on The
Volume and the Space that we will comment in the following pages is the
following: Cinema Museum, 40-1-12, pp. 1, 2, 3, 4. According to Naum Kleiman, the
drawing was executed between December 1945 and January 1946, and it is connected
both to the essay Rodin and Rilke (completed in July 1945) and to the Notes.
305. On the history of the atlas-form, see Georges Didi-Huberman, Atlas ou le gai savoir
inquiet. Loeil de lhistoire 3 (Paris: Minuit, 2011). See also Antonio Somaini,
bungsatlas: The Picture Atlas and the Training of the Gaze in Benjamin and
Sander, in Sichtbarkeiten 4. Anordnen, Darstellen, ed. Mira Fliescher, Fabian
Goppelsrder, Dieter Mersch. Berlin: Diaphanes, 2015 (forthcoming).
306. On the unrealized film project Glass House, see, note 137.
307. On Eisensteins interpretation of the myth of Dionysus in Montage, see supra, note
163.
308. See Riegl, Late Roman Art Industry (see supra, note 205).
309. For the archival reference of these two drawings, see supra, note 304.
310. On sculpture, extasis, and montage in Eisenstein, see Giovanni Careri, Ejzentejn e
Bernini. Montaggio e composto, in Sergej Ejzentejn. Oltre il cinema, ed. Pietro Montani
(Venezia: Biblioteca dellimmagine La Biennale di Venezia, 1991), pp. 263-276, and
also Bernini: Flights of Love, the Art of Devotion (Chicago: Chicago University Press,
1995).
311. See Dynamic Mummification, p. 122.
313. See Strauven, Media Archaeology.
314. Elsaesser, The New Film History as Media Archaeology, p. 113.
notes 449
315. On the way in which different definitions of a medium may produce different fore-
and after-histories, see Peter Geimer, Bilder aus Versehen. Eine Geschichte fotografischer
Erscheinungen (Hamburg: Philo Fine Arts, 2010), especially chapter 1 (Geschichte
und Vorgeschichte der Fotografie), pp. 21-55.
316. Dynamic Mummification, p. 123. Here Eisenstein misquotes Goethe by writing
Verbleibe instead of Verweile.
317. In Praise of the Cine-chronicle, p. 225.
318. Ibid., p. 237.
319. Sergei M. Eisenstein, Colour Film, in Notes of a Film Director (Moscow: Foreign
Languages Publishing House, [c. 1946]), p. 124.
320. Sergei M. Eisenstein, Foreword [1946], in ibid., p. 6.
321. Sergei M. Eisenstein, Ever Onwards!, in SW 3, pp. 352-353.
Part One Sergei M. Eisenstein, Notes for a General History of

Cinema
1. The Heir
1. This text is one of the earliest in the series of notes from 1946-48 for the General
History of Cinema. At the same time, it is a result of many years of reflections on the
genealogy of all cinematic forms and their precursors in the history of the arts. In his
theoretical writings and in his lectures at VGIK Eisenstein analyzed the cinematic
potential of traditional forms of art, treating cinema as their rightful heir. The text
was first published in 1995 in the journal Kinovedcheskie zapiski, 28, pp. 115-119.
2. The second baroque (or neo-baroque) refers to one of the stylistic tendencies of
eclecticism, manifested from the middle of the 19th century to the beginning of the
20th century mainly in architecture, but also in sculpture, the applied arts, and
industrial design. In Russia certain features of the second baroque were used in
the style of art nouveau, which emerged at the turn of the century in the period of
cinemas birth.
3. The term -isms refers to the various avant-gardes that in the 1910s and 1920s
designated themselves with terms ending invariably with -ism: Futurism, Cubism,
Expressionism, Constructivism, Surrealism, etc. In 1925, El Lissitzky published
together with Hans Arp a book entitled Die Kunstismen (Zrich-Mnchen-Leipzig:
Rentsch, 1925), which presented, through a montage of definitions given by the
artists themselves and images of their most emblematic works, the main avant-garde
tendencies in the visual arts between 1914 and 1924 under the following headings (in
German): Abstraktivismus, Dadaismus, Expressionismus, Futurismus, Kompressionismus,
Konstruktivismus, Kubismus, Neoplastizismus, Purismus, Simultanismus, Suprematismus,
Verismus.
4. Denis Diderot in his Encyclopedia introduces the notion of nuance as an almost
imperceptible difference of one kind of object (being) from another: Lunivers ne nous
offre que des tres particuliers, infinis en nombre, & sans presquaucune division fixe &
dtermine; il ny en a aucun quon puisse appeler ou le premier ou le dernier; tout sy enchane &
sy succde par des nuances insensibles; & travers cette uniforme immensit d'objets, s'il en
450 notes
parot quelques-uns qui, comme des pointes de rochers, semblent percer la surface & la dominer,
ils ne doivent cette prrogative qu des systmes particuliers, qu des conventions vagues, qu
certains venemens trangers, & non larrangement physique des tres & lintention de la
nature [The universe only presents to us particular beings, infinite in number, with
hardly any fixed or determinate division. None can be termed the first or the last;
everything is linked therein, and follows what came before by imperceptible nuances.
In this immense uniformity of objects, if some appear which, like the tips of rocks,
seem to pierce through the surface and dominate it, they only owe this prerogative to
particular systems, vague conventions, vague and foreign events and not to the
physical arrangement of beings and to the intention of Nature] (Diderot, art.
Encyclopdie, Encyclopdie V, 640A). The notion of a natural equality of objects,
which follows from this, influenced the idea of the social equality that became, along
with freedom and fraternity, one of the demands of the French Revolution. Diderot
considered nature to be the primary model of art and of theater uppermost, which
for him embodied the synthesis not only of thoughts and feelings, of spectacle and
the spectator, but of various means of expression as well.
5. Eisenstein compares here the Christian churchs notion of universal unity with the
slogan of the Communist Manifesto: Workers of the world, unite! and invokes the
propagandistic statement made at the 17th Communist Party Congress (January 26-
February 10, 1934) about the liquidation of exploitative classes in USSR. The tragic
paradox lies in the fact that during the Great Purges (1934-1938) most of this
Congresss delegates were liquidated, because many of them criticized the results
of the first Five-Year plan, privately opposed Stalin and discussed the possibility of
his removal. Officially the 17th Congress was called the Congress of Victors, but
has become known as the Congress of the Condemned.
6. Eisenstein wrote about the polemics between the German philosopher Max Nordau
(1849-1923, author of the book Entartung [Degeneration] in 1892) and the composer
Richard Wagner and his idea of a synthesis of arts in his book Metod [Method] (see
vol. 1, pp. 131-134, the chapter entitled Grundproblem [The fundamental
problem]).
7. In the second part of the book Montazh [Montage] Eisenstein devoted several chapters
to the basic phenomenon of cinema [in Russian: osnovnoi fenomen kino, or
prafenomen kino], that is, the eidetic confluence (superimposition) of still images
(frames) into the movement of one uninterrupted shot in the viewers perception.
On a higher level this process is repeated in the method of the confluence of shots
through montage into a unified action or narrative (and, in the end, into a unified
composition of the film) (see Montazh, pp. 157-175; Engl. transl. Towards a Theory of
Montage, SW2, pp. 109-123). He initially presented this concept in the article
Oshibka Georga Mele (Sovetskoe kino 3-4, 1933, pp. 63-64; Engl. transl. Georges
Mliss Mistake, in SW1, pp. 258-260).
8. Eisenstein wrote about the combination of different phases of movement in one
painting, using as his examples Honor Daumier and Tintoretto, in his book
Montazh (pp. 158-161; Engl. transl. Toward a Theory of Montage, SW2, pp. 109-114).
The title El Maragato (in the manuscript Eisenstein mistakenly writes Margorotto)
refers to the cycle of six panels by Francisco de Goya depicting the capture of the
notes 451
Spanish bandit El Maragato, in 1806, by the monk Pedro de Zaldivia. The cycle of
satirical paintings (later also circulating as prints) Mariage -la-mode by William
Hogarth represented scenes from a miserable life of a married couple in 18th century
London. Eisenstein mentions it in his essay The Dynamic Square (1930) (SW1, p. 211)
and in Metod (vol. 2, p. 174, chapter Chet Nechet; French transl. in Cinmatisme,
p. 178, chapter Pair impair).
9. In his essay El Greco i kino [El Greco and cinema] (1937-39), strictly linked to the book
Montazh, Eisenstein gives the same example of a cinematographic effect in a Greek
vase decoration showing two fighting cockerels: Both figures are completely the
same except for one detail, which is given in quite the opposite way (that is, in
maximum contrast). The effect is absolutely the same as in the jumping from one
frame to another in cinema: it creates the image of movement (Montazh, p. 426;
French transl. in Cinmatisme, p. 85).
10. Eisenstein refers here to the image of an old Egyptian dancing procession in the
book by Joseph Gregor Weltgeschichte des Theaters (Wien: Phaidon Verlag, 1933), p. 85.
11. The picture story Max and Moritz by the German poet and caricaturist Wilhelm Busch
(1832-1908) about the adventures of two boys and their pranks became the precursor
not only of the comic strip, but, according to Eisenstein, also of the storyboard in
feature film, as well as of a particular style of hand-drawn animation (see his essay
Disney, written in 1940 and published in Metod, vol. 2, pp. 254-295; Engl transl.
Disney, in The Eisenstein Collection, ed. by Richard Taylor, London/ New York/ Calcutta:
Seagull Books, 2006, pp. 85-184). See also the longer version Disney, ed. by Oksana
Bulgakowa and Dietmar Hochmuth, transl. by Dustin Condren, Berlin / San
Francisco: PotemkinPress, 2011-12.
12. In the chapter Ob odnom pristrastii g-na Onore de Balzaka [On one predilection
of Monsieur Honor de Balzac] of Metod (vol. 1, pp. 295-316, in particular pp. 309-
310) Eisenstein writes about the development of the principle of unity in diversity
from the lowest biological forms (using the example of linear colonies of flatworms)
to the highest forms, such as a social-political federation. Eisenstein considered
audio-visual montage in cinema to be one of the forms in which this principle
manifested itself in aesthetics.
13. The reason Eisenstein mentions Thomas Dixons novel The Clansman (1905), which
became the source of D.W. Griffiths The Birth of a Nation (1915), is because the
novels plot is based on the assumption that the victims retinas can retain the image
of the murderer.
14. These six lines were added by Eisenstein on a following day, 26.X.1946.
15. The Tale of Igors Campaign is a 12th century Old Russian epic poem about an
unsuccessful campaign against Polovtsians under the leadership of Igor, Prince of
Novgorod-Seversk. Although based on an actual (documentary) event, it is
emotionally colored by folklore (largely pagan) imagery, and subjective and agitated
characters speech in the narration [skaz] itself.
16. The correct title of two series of prints by Jacques Callot is Les grandes misres de la
guerre [The Miseries and Misfortunes of War] (1632-33). Los desastres de la guerra [The
Disasters of War] is the name of Francisco Goyas series (see below).
452 notes
17. The Horrors of Kalish, a propagandistic feature film based on Vladimir Gardins script,
dealt with the violence perpetrated by the German troops upon the Polish town of
Kalish (or Kalisz), and was shot in the courtyard of the first Russian skyscraper in
Bolshoi Gnezdnikovskii lane, designed by the architect Ernst Richard Nirnsee. It
claimed to present a documentary depiction of the tragic events.
18. Eisenstein here refers to Count Fdor Petrovich Tolstoy (1783-1873), a distinguished
graphic artist, sculptor, and medalist who created 63 large-scale illustrations for the
poem Sweetheart (Dushenka) by Ippolit Bogdanovich.
19. Eisenstein wrote about the secret of contour graphics in his essay Disney (see
above, n. 11) and in the essay Zametki o linii i ornamente [Notes on Line and
Ornament] (Metod, vol. 2, pp. 430-456). He explained the fascination of closed
contour drawing in his own drawings, in Disneys animation films and in the works
of Olaf Gulbransson (1873-1958), Aubrey Beardsley (1872-1898), and others by the
illusion of the movement of the line, as well as by protoplasmaticity and
omnipotence of contour drawing, which was able to metamorphose freely and
thus, according to Eisenstein, influence prelogical perception directly. On the
concept of prelogical perception as emotional or sensuous thinking
[chuvstvennoe myshlenie], see the text Kinoforma: novye problemy (1935) (Metod, vol. 1,
pp. 141-69) which is the text of the speech that Eisenstein presented at the First All-
Union Creative Conference of Soviet Filmworkers (Engl. transl. Film Form: New
Problems, in Film Form, pp. 122-150; a slightly different version, containing also
Eisensteins closing speech after the harsh criticism he received from some of the
Soviet film directors participating in the Conference, is included in SW3, pp. 16-46,
with the title Speeches to the All-Union Creative Conference of Soviet
Filmworkers).
20. Here Eisenstein refers not to the German school of Gestalt psychology, but to the
notion of a figurative thinking, or thinking in images (playing with the German term
Gestalt, which can be translated in English as form, a form that can be visually
perceived). On the role that such figurative thinking plays in the phenomenon of
cinema and in montage see the texts by Eisenstein referred to in n. 7 above.
21. Reference to the book of Eugenio DOrs, Du Baroque (Paris: Gallimard, 1935).
22. See n. 11 above.
2. Dynamic Mummification: Notes for a General History of

Cinema
1. Eisenstein had begun to record his thoughts on the history of cinema in diverse
contexts in his articles and diary entries long before the Cinema Section of The
Institute of the History of Arts was organized under his supervision in 1947. The
Sections first task was the publication of a history of Soviet cinema. Along with
drafts and plans for this collective project Eisenstein made a number of notes related
to the history of cinema in general, concerning, in particular, the genesis of its means
of expression. These notes form the outline of materials for the introductory
volume, which was to be called A General History of Cinema. We decided to use the
name Notes for a General History of Cinema as the heading for these drafts as well as
for the whole body of materials from 1946-48 related to this theme.
notes 453
2. Verweile doch, du bist so schn! (Engl. transl. Stay, you are so beautiful!) is a quote from
Goethes Faust, which Eisenstein sometimes misquotes in these notes as Verbleibe
doch, du bist so schn!. The full quote says: Zum Augenblicke drft ich sagen: Verweile
doch, du bist so schn! Es kann die Spur von meinen Erdentagen Nicht in onen untergehn. Im
Vorgefhl von solchem hohen Glck Genie ich jetzt den hchsten Augenblick (Faust. Der
Tragdie zweiter Teil, V, 11581-11586).
3. Stands for Vsesoiuznyi Institut eksperimentalnoi meditsiny, or All-Union Institute for
Experimental Medicine. It was established on the basis of the Imperial Institute for
Experimental Medicine, founded in 1890 by Prince Oldenburgskii. Its main goal was
declared to be the complex study of the causes of disease and the practical needs of
combating diseases and their consequences. In the Soviet times this goal led to
utopian search for attainting physical immortality.
4. Eisenstein uses often the term kolybel (cradle), or u kolybeli (at the cradle), to
mean the origin, the source. The reference to the cradle of the infant is a way of
emphasizing once more a model of historical development to which Eisenstein
refers often in his writings, especially in Montage and in Method: the parallelism
between ontogeny and philogeny, i.e., between the development of human
individuals and that of collective cultural processes.
5. Eisenstein wrote on several occasions about Ancient Greek Dionysia, a term
Eisenstein uses to indicate the religious rites in honor of the God Dionysus. About
the structure of hymnic pathos in the dithyramb, and about its role as a cradle of
theater (and, subsequently, of cinema as well), see in particular the chapter
Dithyramb and Danse macabre in the section entitled Pathos of Nonindifferent
Nature (Neravnodushnaia priroda, vol. 2, pp. 200-221); this chapter is not included in
the currently available English translation Nonindifferent Nature, transl. by Herbert
Marshall, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987, which is based on a
previous edition of the Russian text (Sergei M. Eisenstein, Neravnodushnaia priroda, IP
vol. 3).
6. One of the many ritualistic folk festivals that yearly or periodically reproduce the
passion of Christ, is the ascent of Mexican pilgrims to the top of the ancient Aztec
pyramid to a catholic church in the town Amecameca. Eisenstein filmed this
procession for his film Que Viva Mxico!.
7. During his lifetime, several scholars and critics in various publications showed the
role of the traditions of medieval theatre in Eisensteins films including the
American journal The Theatre Arts.
8. The portraits of the American presidents Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln and
Theodore Roosevelt were sculpted on the rocks of Mount Rushmore, in the Black
Hills Mountains (South Dakota), by the sculptor John Gutzon Borglum between
1927 and 1941.
9. In the draft The history of linear drawing (contour) from October 4, 1940,
Eisenstein writes: [the eye] and the range of movement of the hand, which
reproduces its movements, can present [images] of any depth from the movement
of fingers [or movement of] torso + hand, again up to the physical path around the
object with the whole body (cf. Hokusai who could draw on a grain and who could at
the same time, running around a square with a broom, draw figures that could only
454 notes
be seen from towers, mountains, and trees! (Metod, vol. 2, pp. 438-439). Hokusais
ability to draw not only on the flat surface of paper or wooden board, but also on the
complex surface of mountain slopes is connected in Eisensteins mind with the
ability to construct shots of stereoscopic (stereo) or three-dimensional cinema.
First patents for stereo film technology were received as early as the 1920s, but it
became feasible in the second half of the 1930s. While in the West the work focused
on systems that required the use of special glasses, in the USSR Semn Ivanov (1900-
1972) invented an original system without glasses, in which the images were
projected onto a special raster screen, constructed out of many lenses. In 1941 the
film director Aleksandr Andrievskii made the stereo film The Land of Youth, and, in
1947, Robinson Crusoe, which initiated regular production and exhibition of three-
dimensional cinema in the USSR. Under the impression from this last film, made by
his former student at VGIK, Eisenstein wrote in 1947 a long essay entitled On
stereoscopic cinema (O stereokino). Its fragments were published in the journal
Iskusstvo kino 2 (1948), and the full text appeared in 1964 in IP 3 pp. 433-484. A
shortened English translation with the title Stereoscopic films is in Sergei
Eisenstein, Notes of a Film Director. Moscow: Foreign Languages Publishing House,
1959, pp. 129-137. For a French translation of the full essay, see Sergei M.
Eisenstein, Le Mouvement de lArt, ed. by Franois Albera and Naum Kleiman, Paris:
Cerf, 1986, pp. 97-158.
10. Eisenstein repeatedly wrote about the relativity of movement, which creates in the
viewers imagination a spatio-temporal image. It is either the movement of the
object on a strip of film or the movement of the viewer himself, walking or even
running around the object. He dedicated the section Montage in architecture of
the book Montage to the second type of movement (see Montazh, pp. 116-120, ch.
Afinskii Akropol [Athenss Acropolis], and pp. 121-134, ch. Baldakhin
Bernini [Berninis Baldaquin]; Engl. transl. in SW2, pp. 59-81, ch. Montage
and Architecture).
11. The old Russian name for a photographic image fotosnimok (from foto =
photo and snimok = take) captured the feeling of people of the earliest epoch
of photography that a visual image was taken from an object. Concerning the
reference to Balzac in relation to the idea of the photograph as a take, we may
recall that in his book Quand jtais photographe (Paris: Lcole des Lettres, 1900), in
the chapter entitled Balzac et le Daguerrotype, Nadar summarizes Balzacs
understanding of the nature of the photographic image in the following way,
recalling one of their conversations: According to Balzacs theory, all physical
bodies are made up entirely of layers of ghost-like images, an infinite number of
leaflike skins laid one on top of the other. Since Balzac believed that man was
incapable of making something material from an apparition, from something
impalpable that is, creating something from nothing he concluded that every
time someone had his photograph taken, one of the spectral layers was removed
from the body and transferred to the photograph. Repeated exposures entailed the
unavoidable loss of subsequent ghostly layers, that is, the very essence of life. Was
each precious layer lost forever or was the damage repaired through some more or
less instantaneous process of rebirth? I would expect that a man like Balzac, having
notes 455
once set off down such a promising road, was not the sort to go half way, and that
he probably arrived at some conclusion on this point, but it was never brought up
between us. (Nadar [pseudonym of Gaspard-Flix Tournachon, 1820-1910], Balzac
and the Daguerrotype, in Literature and Photography: Interactions 1840-1990, ed. by
Jane M. Rabb, Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1995. p. 8).
12. Eisenstein refers here to the convention in Russian journalism of drawing a black
box around the name of someone who had recently died. In the case of this
particular clipping, boxes were drawn around the names of two men who were
involved in a theatrical production, but who, apparently, died during the plays run.
This phrase explains the appended clipping from the newspaper Vecherniaia Moskva
from November 30, 1946 announcing the premiere of the film Mastera stseny [Masters
of the Stage] (MKhAT). The film included fragments from the Moscow Art Theaters
classical performances and among its cast there were actors such as Nikolai
Khmelv and Ivan Moskvin, who had died by that time and whose names were put in
black frames. The phrase Dynamic mummification, as one of the cinemas
activities is written on the side of the newspaper clipping.
13. Denis Diderot, Le Fils naturel, ou les preuves de la vertu, comedy in 5 acts, 1757.
14. See Eisensteins article Diderot Wrote about Cinema [Didro pisal o kino]
published in the magazine Teatr 7 (1988): pp. 112-120.
15. In the early 20th century Nikolai Evreinov (1879-1953), a Russian theater director,
playwright and theoretician, developed the concepts of theater for oneself (also
known as theater without spectators and theatralization of life) and of
monodrama (first-person drama given through the mind of a character). On
Evreinovs ideas and works that influenced Eisenstein, see the chapter Cinema and
Theater. Nikolai Evreinov [Kino i teatr. Nikolai Evreinov] in Method (Metod, vol. 1,
pp. 116-129).
16. See above, n. 2.
17. As early as in his Mexican diaries (1930-32) Eisenstein noted the first American
experiments with television. In 1939-40 he and his cameraman Eduard Tisse were
invited to the Moscow radio station on Shabolovka Street, from which the first Soviet
TV-programs were broadcasted. There they discussed problems of shot construc-
tion, camera movement, sound and image recording, etc. However, Eisenstein only
wrote the first texts on the nature of television in 1947. In them he looked at TV
recordings of actual events as the new incarnation and the development of the
principles of the Greek dithyramb (see above, n. 5), dynastic chronicles (in this
particular case, the chronicles of medieval European, that is, English and Russian
rulers and princes, although dynastic chronicles were known in Assyria, Babylonia
and Ancient China), and reconstructions of historical events (from the reenactment
of the Passions of Christ to the recreation of memorable moments in early film
actualities).
18. Gilles Lytton Strachey (1880-1932) was a British writer and critic, the author of the
biography Queen Victoria (New York: Harcourt, Brace and Company, 1921).
19. The note that accompanies the clippings refers to two articles about the memorial of
a Canadian businessman named John M. Davis who demanded for his tomb 11
marbles statues of himself and his wife.
456 notes
21. Miss Havisham a character in Charles Dickenss novel Great Expectations (1861).
22. Florence Becker Lennon, Victoria Through the Looking Glass. New York: Simon &
Schuster, 1945.
23. This set of notes (with the exclusion of the opening one) is predated by three texts
on the history of the audio-visual counterpoint, which were first published in 1992 in
the journal Kinovedcheskie zapiski 15 (1992, pp. 188-203), under the title of one of
them: Revelation in Storm and Thunder. These extensive notes create a unified
essay, which is published here separately.
24. See also Eisensteins description of the stained glass windows of Chartres Cathedral
in the section entitled Pathos of Nonindifferent Nature (Neravnodushnaia priroda, vol. 2,
pp. 128-132; Engl. transl. Nonindifferent Nature, pp. 106-110).
25. In his article The Salon of 1859 (Part I, The Modern Public and Photography)
Charles Baudelaire declared: During this lamentable period, a new industry arose
which contributed not a little to confirm stupidity in its faith and to ruin whatever
might remain of the divine in the French mind. The idolatrous mob demanded an
ideal worth of itself and appropriate to its nature that is perfectly understood. In
matters of painting and sculpture, the present-day Credo of the sophisticated, above
all in France, is this: I believe in Nature, and I believe only in Nature I believe
that Art is, and cannot be other than, the exact reproduction of Nature Thus an
industry that could give us a result identical to Nature would be the absolute of art.
A revengeful God has given ear to the prayers of this multitude. Daguerre was his
Messiah. And now the faithful says to himself: Since Photography gives us every
guarantee of exactitude that we could desire, then Photography and Art are the
same thing. From that moment our squalid society rushed, Narcissus to a man, to
gaze at its trivial image on a scrap of metal (from Charles Baudelaires Salon de
1859; Engl. transl. Charles Baudelaire, Art in Paris 1845-1862. Salons and Other
Exhibitions. London: Phaidon Press Ltd., 1965, pp. 152-53).
26. Svetopis is a Russianized version of the word photography (built on the same
principle from roots combining light + writing), but Eisenstein clearly does not
mean photography here, because two lines further down he attributes svetopis to
Rembrandt. He may have had in mind the monochrome contrast, the play of light
and shadow in graphic art and painting (although in the era of early Russian cinema
the word svetopis' was used in relation to cinema as well, for example, in the texts
of Lev Kuleshov). But the translators concluded that Eisenstein created his own
meaning for the term svetopis when he uses it here and in other documents.
Therefore, we mark the term by inventing a parallel term in English, photo-
graphy. Wherever photo-graphy (with a hyphen) appears in this translation,
Eisenstein wrote svetopis'. Tsvetopis', constructed in the same way, and formed
from the roots for color [tsveto] plus writing [pis] could refer here to contrast
drawing in color. But again this seems to be a special term for Eisenstein. We render
it color-graphy. Both of these terms stem from the Russian word for painting,
zhivopis, from zhizn', life + pisat, writing.
Grisaille monochrome painting in shades of gray. In the article Not Colored, but in
Color [Ne tsvetnoe, a tsvetovoe] (1940), in the sketch The Movement of Color
notes 457
[Dvizhenie tsveta] for the unfinished essay Montage 1940 and in the study
Color [Tsvet] Eisenstein stated that the black, gray, and white color gamma of
classical cinema was not the absence of color, but the finely nuanced exploration of
the color palette of these three tones. See, respectively: Ne tsvetnoe, a tsvetovoe, in
Sergei Eisenstein, Izbrannye stati (Moscow: Iskusstvo, 1956), pp. 306-310 (Engl.
transl. Not Coloured, but in Colour in Sergei Eisenstein, Notes of a Film Director,
Moscow: Foreign Languages Publishing House, 1959, pp. 114-119); Dvizhenie
tsveta, in Neravnodushnaia priroda, vol. 1, pp. 200-224 (French transl. in Le Mouvement
de lart, Paris: Cerf, 1986, pp. 51-75); Tsvet, in Neravnodushnaia priroda, vol. 1, pp.
228-335.
27. Daguerrotype, calotype, and ambrotype were three photographic processes invented
in the 19th century, each one with its own characteristics: the daguerrotype, invented
in 1835-1839 by Louis-Jacques-Mand Daguerre (1787-1851) was a direct positive
image made in the camera on a silvered copper plate, which could not be
reproduced; the calotype, invented in 1841 by William Henry Fox Talbot (1800-1877)
was a negative image made in the camera on a paper coated with silver iodide, which
could be chemically developed in order to produce positive images; the ambrotype,
invented in 1854 by James Ambrose Cutting (1814-1867) was a photographic process
that produced a positive image on a glass plate covered with collodion.
28. In the 19th century the term genre painting in Russian meant everyday-life
painting, in this case transferred onto photography.
29. David-Octavius Hill (1802-1870) was a Scottish painter and photographer from
Edinburgh who, together with his associate Robert Adamson, was among the first to
experiment with the technique of the calotype invented by Fox Talbot. Eisenstein
wrote about features of Hills photographic art in the textbook Direction. The Art of the
Mise-en-scne (Rezhissura. Iskusstvo mizanstseny, IP, vol. 4, p. 256) and in the study The
History of the Close-Up (Metod, vol. 2, pp. 82-84).
30. There are several photographic portraits of the composer Charles Gounod by Nadar,
starting from 1859. The photograph Eisenstein refers to here, in which the viewer
can see in the close-ups of Gounods pupils the reflection of Nadar with his camera,
actually dates from 1890.
31. The double portrait by Jan Van Eyck known as The Arnolfini Portrait (1434) is
discussed by Eisenstein in the following essays: El Greco and cinema (French
transl. El Greco y el cine, in Cinmatisme, pp. 111-112); Vertical Montage
(Neravnodushnaya priroda, vol. 1, p. 105; Engl. transl. SW2, pp. 344-345). Eisenstein
draws the same comparison between Nadars Gounod photograph and The Arnolfini
Portrait in the section The peripeteias of pars pro toto of the text The History of the
Close-Up (Metod, vol. 2, pp. 64, 82).
32. W. Durant, The Life of Greece. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1939.
33. In Lev Kuleshovs and Aleksandra Khokhlovas book 50 Years in Film the montage
experiment The Created Man is described in the following way: By shooting in
close up the back of one woman, the eyes of another, the mouth of yet another one,
the legs of a third one etc., we were able to create through editing a woman who did
not exist in nature (the woman was sitting in front of a mirror and was busy with her
make up (Lev Kuleshov, Sobranie sochinenii v 3-kh tomakh, Moscow: Iskusstvo, 1987-
458 notes
1988, vol. 2, p. 68). The English translation of 50 Years in Film omits this passage (Lev
Kuleshov, Selected Works. Fifty Years in Film, transl. by Dmitri Agrachev and Nina
Belenkaya, Moscow: Raduga Publishers, 1987).
34. See Nikolai Gogols play, The Marriage (1842), in which Agafia Tikhonovna imagines
a perfect composite fianc.
35. In his Trattato della scultura [Treatise on Sculpture] (1565-1567), Cellini writes that la
pittura una parte dellotto principale vedute, alle quali obbligata la scultura
[painting is one of the eight main views that sculpture must contain]. This idea is
also quoted by Eisenstein below in other passages of his Notes.
36. Eisenstein repeatedly wrote that thanks to filming from multipointness and to
editing cinema reaches the goal that the Cubists or Robert Delaunay had put before
them. At the same time cinema does not sacrifice the realistic image of objects in
order to reproduce the simultaneity of several possible points of view on it (see, in
particular, Montazh, pp. 116, 148, 169; Engl. transl. SW2, pp. 80, 120; Neravnodushnaia
priroda, vol. 1, p. 249).
37. Character in Leo Tolstoys novel, Resurrection. This example, based on the article by
Evelina Zaidenshnur Portret Katiushi Maslovoi: K laboratorii tvorchestva Tolstogo,
Sbornik Gosudarstvennogo Tolstovskogo muzeia [The Portrait of Katyusha Maslova:
Towards the creative laboratory of Tolstoy] (Moscow, 1937), is given in the study
El Greco and cinema (Montazh, pp. 436-438; French transl. in Cinmatisme, p. 96).
38. Leo Tolstoy, The Death of Ivan Ilich (1881-1885).
39. About this distinction see the analysis of the montage method and the verbality of
metaphor in Stanislavsky, Whitman, Lessing, Homer, Mallarm, Shakespeare,
Pushkin, and Joyce in Montage (Montazh, pp. 189-271; partial Engl. transl. SW2, pp.
109-202). One of the early auto-descriptions by Eisenstein of his own style as an
adjectival world is contained in a sketch from the end of 1925 beginning of 1926
entitled On the play of objects (Ob igre predmetov) published in Kinovedcheskie
zapiski 36/37 (1997/98), pp. 34-38. The concept of intellectual cinema can be
considered as an attempt to realize the substantival montage, alongside with the
accompanying articles from 1928-29: I.A. 28 (Kinovedcheskie zapiski 36/37, 1997/98,
pp. 39-48; French transl. A.I. 28 in Cinmas, vol. 11, nn. 2-3, Eisenstein dans le texte,
sous la direction de Franois Albera, pp. 147-160) and Perspectives [Perspectivy]
(IP, vol. 2, pp. 35-44; Engl. transl. in SW1, pp. 151-160).
40. From the Third Canto of Aleksandr Pushkins long poem Poltava (Engl. transl. by
Ivan Eubanks, Pushkin Review 11 (2008). p. 164). The passage is quoted also in
Montage (Montazh, p. 282; Engl. transl. SW2, p. 209).
41. Eisenstein is probably alluding to the painting Rain, Steam and Speed The Great
Western Railway (1844) by William Turner.
42. Fritz Mauthner, Wrterbuch der Philosophie. Neue Beitrge zu einer Kritik der Sprache.
Zweiten, vermehrten Auflage, Leipzig: Felix Meiner, 1923.
43. See K. Stanislavski, An Actor Prepares. New York: Theatre Arts Books, 1936, pp. 256-
265, esp. p. 258.
44. Eisenstein wrote about unity as an underlying (through-going, based on
Stanislavskys term in translation) theme of his creative work in the chapter The
author and his theme of Method (Metod, vol. 1, pp. 225-249). In the unfinished study
notes 459
Pushkin and Gogol (1946-48) he touches upon the underlying theme of the
Russian writers (see the fragments published in Kinovedcheskie zapiski 36/37, 1997/98,
pp. 180-220).
45. In Metod Eisenstein writes about the secret of mystery story as the mystery of the
shift from prelogical to logical thinking, which is revealed, for example, in the
structure of the detective story, independently of its material or characters.
Eisenstein saw evidence of this theory in stories and essays of G.K. Chesterton (see
Metod, vol. 1, pp. 374-395; Engl. transl. in S.M. Eisenstein, The Psychology of
Composition, ed. by A. Upchurch, Calcutta: Seagull, 1987, pp. 57-84, chapter On the
Detective Story).
46. The essay draft In Praise of the Cine-chronicle [Pokhvala kinokhronike] should
follow in chronological order after this note. It is published in this edition as a
separate text.
47. There is a clipping from the London magazine The Listener (from January 3, 1946)
appended to this note. The clipping contains the article The Theatre in Java by
Johan Fabricius, which includes a description of comic or fairy tale/mythological
performances in Indonesian theater, where pantomime or dance is accompanied by
music, singing, and recitative by other actors. The Japanese N theater constructs its
shows in a similar way.
48. Natalia Mikhailovna Chegodaeva (1907-1977), a daughter of the philosopher Mikhail
Gershenzon, was at the time working on a dissertation dedicated to Jan Van Eyck.
She successfully defended it in 1949. Among Eisensteins Notes for a General History
of Cinema there is a typed copy of the dissertations abstract, where he underlined
the following points (shown here in italics): 8. A separate section of the work is
dedicated to the description and analysis of the Van Eyck brothers major creation
the Ghent Altarpiece. The presence of two stylistic sets of images is noted: one is
more archaic and is based on linear and rhythmic correlations; the other is more realistic
and emotional, with spatial and plastic elements taking the pride of place. The unity of
the whole ensemble is noted as well; the unity of both meaning and composition. 9.
[] In the Ghent Altarpiece we can see the comparison of the image of the artists
environment (images of the outer panels with their realism, clarity and simplicity),
interpreted in the spirit of new bourgeois ideals of the 15th century, with the image of
the transfigured universe (in the interior panels), presented in the glory of triumph and
exultation. [] To the last phrase Eisenstein added in the margin: Cf. [The Burial
of] The Count of Orgaz by El Greco (Muzei kino. Coll. 40, List 1, Folder 12/11, p. 17).
On The Burial of The Count of Orgaz see the section entitled Pathos of Nonindifferent
Nature (Neravnodushnaia priroda, vol. 2, pp. 133-136; Engl. transl. Nonindifferent Nature,
pp. 110-111).
49. See the chapter Meter and rhythm. Composition on the basis of bricklaying in
Montage (Montazh, pp. 311-326; not translated in the English edition in SW2). Its
basic premises were also developed in Nonindifferent Nature (Neravnodushnaia priroda,
vol. 2, pp. 420-437 and 454-459; Engl. transl. Nonindifferent Nature, pp. 310-329, 348-
354).
50. An edge of the page with the last line has crumbled.
460 notes
51. See also the section Montage in Multiple Set-Up Cinema of Montage (Montazh, pp.
156-295; Engl. transl. SW2, pp. 109-223), as well as the chapters Athenss
Acropolis and Ermolova (pp. 116-121 and 135-155; Engl. transl. SW2, pp. 59-67
and 82-105).
52. In Van Eycks portrait of the Arnolfini couple there are no less than three
perspectives derived from different viewpoints creating a tension between
contrasting impressions of depth (Vertical Montage [Vertikalnyi Montazh] in
Neravnodushnaya priroda, vol. 1, p. 105; Engl. transl. SW2, pp. 344-345).
53. A 1905 portrait of the actress Maria Ermolova by the painter Valentin Serov, which
Eisenstein discusses in a chapter of Montage entitled Ermolova (Montazh, pp. 135-
155; Engl. transl. Yermolova in SW2, pp. 82-105).
54. Eisenstein discusses Leonardos Last Supper in Vertical montage (Neravnodushnaya
priroda, p. 105; Engl. transl. SW2, p. 344).
55. In his essay El Greco and Cinema Eisenstein analyses the elasticity of the figures
painted by El Greco, and explains their sometimes impossible postures as a form of
montage of different phases of a same movement distributed through the different
body parts. The tiny figure drawn by Eisenstein in these Notes for a General History of
Cinema, however, contains another important reference. It refers to the interpretation
given by the psychiatrist Jean-Martin Charcot and his assistant Paul Richer in their
volume Les Dmoniaques dans lArt (1887) of the figure of a young, possessed boy
represented in the fresco by El Greco entitled The miracle of Saint Nile. According to
Charcot and Richer, who were interested in finding in the history of art the
representations of bodily postures that they explained as visual manifestations of
mental illnesses such as hysteria, the possessed young boy in the fresco by El Greco
showed one of the typical forms of the bodily posture described in Charcots
psychiatry as arc de cercle (cf. J.-M. Charcot P. Richer, Les Dmoniaques dans lart
(1887), followed by La foi qui gurit, presentation by P. Fdida and G. Didi-Huberman,
Macula, Paris 2000, p. 49.). Eisenstein, after having discussed Charcots and
Richers interpretation, explains on the contrary this same bodily posture as a form
of bodily montage endowing the figure with a high level of dynamism and mobility
(cf.f. S.M. Eisenstein, El Greco i kino, in Montazh, pp. 442-445; French transl. in
Cinmatisme, pp. 100-102).
56. Eisenstein refers to one in the series of portraits of infantry soldiers from the
Zouaves regiment stationed in Arles, painted by Vincent van Gogh in 1888. In this
particular portrait, The Seated Zouave, Van Gogh creates the impression of the seated
figures elasticity throught a painterly effect based on the choice of a bright red for
the pants of the soldier (cf. El Greco and cinema, in Montazh p. 449; French transl
in Cinmatisme, p. 104).
57. At the time it was forbidden in the USSR to celebrate Christmas, but Eisenstein
decided nonetheless to insert an image of a Christmas tree next to the date of 25th
December 1947.
58. Eisenstein dedicates a chapter of his Memoirs to the Mexican painter Juan Manuel
Orozco, whom he met while in Mexico.
59. Mikalojus Konstantinas iurlionis (1875-1911) was a Lithuanian painter and
composer connected to Symbolism and Art Nouveau. He composed about 250
notes 461
pieces of music and created about 300 paintings, which were often based on musical
themes: see, for example, the paintings Sonata of the Spring (1907), Sonata of the Sun
(1907), Sonata of the Summer (1908), Sonata of the Sea (1908), Sonata of the Pyramids
(1908), Sonata of the Stars (1908), Sonata of the Serpent (1908), the diptych Prelude and
Fugue (1908), and the triptych Fantasy (1908).
60. Tolstoy, War and Peace, Volume III, Part III, Chapter 32: And then suddenly his chain
of thoughts was broken, and Prince Andrey heard a noise (he couldnt tell whether
this was part of a delirious dream or something real), a kind of soft voice whispering
something insistent and rhythmical. Pitty-pitty-pitty, and then, itty-itty, and again,
pitty-pitty-pitty, and again, itty-itty (Leo Tolstoy, War and Peace, new translation
by Anthony Briggs, with an Afterward by Orlando Figes, London: Penguin, 2005, p.
1020). Eisenstein misreproduces Prince Andreys delirious noise, which in the
original reads as: piti-piti-pitii).
61. The actual text of Chanson dautomne [Autumn Song] by Paul Verlaine reads as follows:
Les sanglots longs / des violons / de lautomne / blessent mon cur / dune langueur /
monotone. (The autumns throbbing / Strings moan, sobbing, / Drone their dole; /
Long-drawn and low, / Each tremolo / Sears my soul. Paul Verlaine, One Hundred and
One Poems by Paul Verlaine: A Bilingual Edition, transl. by Norman R. Shapiro, Chicago
and London: The University of Chicago Press, 1999, pp. 16-17).
62. Music first and foremost! In your verse, / Choose those meters odd of syllable, /
Supple in the air, vague, flexible, / Free of pounding beat, heavy or terse. / [] /
Music first and foremost, and forever! / Let your verse be what goes soaring, sighing,
/ Set free, fleeing from the soul gone flying / Off to other skies and loves, wherever. /
Let your verse be aimless chance, delighting / In good-omened fortune, sprinkled
over / Dawns wind, bristling scents of mint, thyme, clover / All the rest is nothing
more than writing. (Paul Verlaine, One Hundred and One Poems by Paul Verlaine, pp. 127-
129).
63. Dmitrii Petrovich Boborykin was a 19th-century writer and literary critic.
64. On Robert Delaunay, Honor Daumier and multi-point perspective, cf.
Eisensteins comments in Montage (Montazh, pp. 158-159 and 169; Engl. transl.
SW2, pp. 111-113 and 120).
65. Indonesian Wayang shadow theater (the meaning of wayang is shadow) comes
from the ritual of communicating with spirits of the dead, who were asked for
protection in ancient times. Now the performance combines the remnants of the
ritual with moral didacticism and entertainment. There are several types of Wayang
theater: Wayang kulit is a shadow puppets theater; Wayang golek is a theater of
wooden puppets; Wayang topeng is a theater of actors in masks; and Wayang orang
(Wayang wong) is a theater of dramatic performance. Most often the name Wayang,
however, refers to the shadow puppets theater.
66. Eisenstein writes about the combination of several temporally different events in one
space in Hans Memlings painting Scenes from the Passion of Christ in Montage, (Montazh,
p. 160; Engl. transl. in SW2, pp. 111-112), and he mentions Botticellis illustrations
for Dantes Divina Commeria in Method (Metod, vol. 2, p. 72).
67. On Goyas El Maragato, see in this volume The Heir, n. 8.
462 notes
68. On Tintorettos and Daumiers figures as the result of a pictorial application of the
principle of montage, see Eisensteins comments in Montage (Montazh, pp. 158-161;
Engl. transl. SW2, pp. 111-113).
69. Der Sachsenspiegel (The Saxon Mirror) is a lawbook published in Heidelberg at the end of
the 13th century, which is famous for its illustrations of different abuses of the law.
For example, problems of inheritance illustrated with an image of people with many
hands and two heads. Eisenstein compares to it the attempts of early 20th century
Futurists to show a running human figure through the depiction of many legs. He
discusses the chronophotographic paintings of the Futurists in Montage, where he
criticizes the Futurist drawings of eight-legged people with the legs drawn in eight
different phases of movement (Montazh, p. 158; Engl. transl. SW2, p. 110) as a form
of representation of movement that instead of generating in the observer an effective
illusion of movement, as it happens with cinema, it exhibits intentionally the
technical presuppositions of such an illusion: that is, the recording of different
phases of one movement in different photograms that are then supposed to be
projected at a certain speed. In this way, Futurist paintings such as Giacomo Ballas
Girl running on a balcony [Ragazza che corre sul balcone] (1912) are closer to the dissection
of movement presented in the chronophotographs of Etienne-Jules Marey, than to
the illusion of movement produced by cinema. Eisenstein makes a similar reference
to Futurist paintings in The Dramaturgy of Film Form (1929), where he writes
about Primitive Italian Futurism representing man with six legs in six positions
(SW1 vol. 1, p. 165).
70. It is possible that Eisenstein here does not mean the American photographer
Eadweard Muybridge (1830-1904) as much as the French physiologist, inventor and
photographer Etienne-Jules Marey (1830-1904). In 1872-1878, Muybridge was the
first to use several cameras for capturing on differing photographic plates the
various phases of movement of a running horse, demonstrating how in certain
phases none of the four legs touched the ground. He exhibited his photographs as
series of individual, sequential images, but he also invented a device called
Zoopraxiscope for projecting the sequential images onto a wall, producing an
impression of movement. Marey, on the other hand, used photography to study
movement from a physiological point of view. He made chronophotographs
photographs made up of multiple exposures capturing the different phases of a
single movement (of a bird flying, an acrobat jumping, a man walking) in order to
facilitate the study of movement by exhibiting its various phases on the same
photographic plate. In the early 1880s, he took pictures of birds flying using a
photographic gun of his own construction, a prototype of a film camera.
71. On the Anglo-Saxon ornament of the Merovingian times (500-750) see Method
(Metod, vol. 2, p. 107).
72. On the re-montage of the city landscape done by El Greco in his paintings View of
Toledo (1609) and View and Plan of Toledo (1610), see the essay El Greco and Cinema
(Montazh, pp. 407-415; French transl. in Cinmatisme, pp. 67-73). In the second
painting in particular, View and Plan of Toledo, El Greco presents within a single image
an aerial view of the city in which an important building (the Hospital de Talavera)
has been turned and modified in size in order to better show its faade to the viewer,
notes 463
along with a plan of the city. The perspectival nature of the aerial view is therefore
combined with the orthogonal projection of the plan in order to produce a
composite image, one which is the result of a process of montage.
73. Eisenstein compares here the combination of several perspectival axes (multiple
perspectives) in Leonardo da Vincis fresco The Last Supper (LUltima Cena) with the
possibility of creating an effect of a multi-perspectival representation in the
perception of a film through the editing of shots, each of which is taken from a
different point of view and a different perspective.
74. For Eisensteins use of the term cradle, see above, n. 4.
75. Eisenstein wrote about audiovisual counterpoint in the essay Vertical Montage
(Neravnodushnaia priroda, vol. 1, pp. 84-163; Engl. transl. SW2, pp. 327-399). On the
correlation between gesture and music see the following texts, published for the first
time in the new Russian edition of Nonindifferent Nature: The Defining Gesture
(Neravnodushnaia priroda, vol. 1, pp. 164-199) and A Couple of Words on the Plastic
and Audio-Visual Composition (Ibid., pp. 522-543).
76. Exultant is the name of a medieval artistic form, examples of which can be found in
painting (exultant and enlightened wall paintings and miniatures), in architecture
(churches, dynamically shooting into the sky; stained-glass windows with their
radiant colors), in music (early polyphony and free-flowing hymns), and in genre
and comic theatrical canon, which by the end of the 13th century became the basis of
visually polyphonic genres.
77. One of the many ritual processions in Thailand is the wedding procession: the
guests dance all the way from the house of the groom to the house of the bride;
relatives and friends of the groom carry ceremonial presents a wedding goblet
Khan Moon, full of flowers, another goblet, Khan-Maak, which contains two fresh
betel nuts, 12 silver, 12 gold, and 12 copper leafs, two bags of rice seeds, two bags of
beans and two bags of sesame seeds, etc.
78. The concept of pars pro toto, one of the central concepts of Eisensteins art theory,
refers to his understanding of prelogical thinking as well as to a number of aesthetic
techniques (synecdoche in poetry, close-up in cinema, etc.). See the article Film
Form: New Problems (Metod, Volume 1, pp. 141-169; published in English in an
earlier, slightly different version, in Film Form pp. 122-149, and in yet another version
in SW3, pp. 16-46 with the title Speeches to the All-Union Creative Conference of
Soviet Filmworkers), and the note n. 19 to the text "The Heir".
79. Eisenstein lists here the leitmotifs (the Father, the Fate, the Welsungs) of Richard
Wagners opera Die Walkre (1870), of which Eisenstein directed the mise-en-scne in
1940 at the Bolshoi Theater, as part of the cultural events in Moscow and in Berlin
celebrating the Molotov-Ribbentropp Pact of non-aggression. The Welsungs are the
family of heroes in Scandinavian mythology descended from the god Odin, as
mentioned in Das Nibelungenlied [The Song of the Nibelungs]. Several characters of
Wagners tetralogy belong to this mythological family. Eisensteins notes on Wagner
and on Die Walkre can be found in the essay The Incarnation of Myth (Metod, vol.
2, pp. 192-225; Engl. transl. SW3, pp. 142-169) and in the notes for the production
of Die Walkre (Metod, vol. 2, pp. 464-488; German transl. Die Walkre, Regienotizen
464 notes
in O. Bulgakowa (ed.), Eisenstein und Deutschland. Texte Dokumente Briefe, Akademie der
Knste - Henschel Verlag, Berlin, 1998, pp. 55-64).
80. Eisenstein uses here the acronym SASSH [Severo-Amerikanskie Soedinennye Shtaty]
which was used during the Civil War to indicate the North-American United States
(NAUS).
81. The last word in the manuscript is almost illegible. Eisenstein obviously means
expressive photographs of the sky and the clouds by the American photographer
Alfred Stieglitz (1864-1946) from his Equivalent series (1925-1934). Stieglitz was
one of the first photographers to abandon staged photography in favor of working
with a small portable camera in the open air (in French, en plein air).
82. Petr Otsup (1883-1963), Russian photographer, photo-reporter during the Russo-
Japanese War, the Revolution of 1905 and the October Revolution, the First World
War, and the Civil War. Official photographer at the Kremlin between 1918 and 1935.
83. Moisei Solomonovich Nappelbaum (1869-1958), Russian photographer, author of
one of the most famous and most circulated photographic portraits of Lenin.
84. Georg-Wilhelm (Vasilii Fdorovich) Timm, the son of the mayor of Riga, was a
popular artist who recorded in his album everything that attracted his attention:
everyday types and situations, portraits of his prominent contemporaries,
celebrations, and ceremonies. His lithographic works were published, among other
places, in the journal Pictures of Russian manners [Kartinki russkikh nravov], and in the
literary miscellany Our types, drawn from life by Russian artists [Nashi, spisannye s natury
russkimi]. In 1841-42 the latter published a series of physiological sketches of
characteristic Russian types. The Physiology of Petersburg [Fiziologiia Peterburga] was the
first literary miscellany published by the poet Nikolai Nekrasov in the 1840s; it
consisted of sketches by authors such as Nekrasov, Vissarion Belinskii, and Vladimir
Dal, as well as of drawings by Georg-Wilhelm Timm and other artists.
85. Life caught unawares is an aesthetic principle first used explicitly by the
Constructivist Aleksei Gan, who made his film The Island of Young Pioneers [Iunye
pionery] (1924) in accordance with it. Dziga Vertov picked up the slogan and made it
the subtitle of his film Kino-Eye, made the same year, as well as one of the key
principles of his film practice and theory.
86. The Crystal Palace was a cast-iron and plate-glass building originally erected in Hyde
Park, London, England, to house the Great Exhibition of 1851, a vast display of
examples of the latest technology developed during the Industrial Revolution.
Designed by Joseph Paxton, the building was 564m long, with an interior height of
39m. In 1854 it was dismantled and moved to Seydenham Hill, where it stayed until
its destruction by fire in 1936. Because of the recent invention of the cast plate glass
method in 1848, which allowed for large sheets of cheap but strong glass, it was at
the time the largest amount of glass ever seen in a building and astonished visitors
with its clear walls and ceilings that did not require interior lights, thus a Crystal
Palace. Its fame spread throughout the second half of the 19th century, and became
the model for Nikolay Gavrilovich Chernyshevskys (1828-1889) description of the
ideal city in the utopian novel What Is To Be Done? (1863). Eisenstein deals with the
utopian dimension of glass architecture further developed in the 1910s by Paul
Scheerbart and Bruno Taut in his unrealized film project Glass House (1926-30,
notes 465
1948) (cf. S.M. Eisenstein, Glass House, Introduction, notes, and commentary by
Franois Albera, Dijon: Les presses du rel, 2009).
87. All these references (the Crystal Palace on the day of its inauguration in 1854, the
photograph of two girls on a see-saw in 1857, the birth of instant photography)
come from the book Victorian Snapshots by Paul Martin. The Birth of Candid Photography,
with an introduction by Charles Harvard, London: Country Life; New York: Charles
Scribners Sons, 1939. The illustrations of the Crystal Palace and the see-saw can be
found on pp. 8-9. Eisenstein owned a copy of the book, which can still be found
together with part of his library at the Eisenstein Center in Moscow.
88. Between 1844 and 1846 the English photographer William Henry Fox Talbot
published, in six installments and with the title The Pencil of Nature, the very first book
on photography, consisting entirely of photographs with short texts.
89. Puppet film animation was invented by Vladislav (or Ladislas) Starevich (1882-1965),
who in 1912 premiered the animated shorts The Beautiful Lukanida and The
Cameramans Revenge. The director and animator Aleksandr Ptushko (1900-1973)
created feature-length films that combined live action and stop-motion animation:
The New Gulliver (1935) and The Golden Key (1939).
90. This timeline is taken by Eisenstein directly from Lewis Mumford, Technics and
Civilization. New York: Harcourt, Brace and Co., 1936 (4th printing), pp. 443-445.
The date of the Phonautograph in the book by Mumford is 1858.
91. See the essay Athenss Acropolis in Montage (Montazh, pp. 116-121; Engl. transl.
SW2, pp. 59-67). In this essay Eisenstein refers to the analysis of the structure of the
Acropolis presented by Auguste Choisy in his Histoire de larchitecture (1899), and
interprets the a-symmetric positioning of the various sacred buildings on the
Acropolis as the result of a carefully constructed montage of views that are
experienced in time by a moving spectator.
92. In 1537-1539 Michelangelo designed a plan for the reconstruction of the buildings
situated on the Capitoline Hill in Rome (the renovation was completed in the 1550s).
93. On the stained glass windows of Chartres as a form of projection of three-
dimensional colour shapes in space, and as a precursor of three-dimensional
cinema, see above n. 24. In Montage Eisenstein mentions Chartres also in relation to
the sculptural groups representing the Twelve Stations of the Cross, which he saw
in several Christian cathedrals, including Chartres (cf. Montazh, p. 121; Engl. transl.
SW2, p. 67).
94. The name Gregor indicated between parentheses refers to the volume by Joseph
Gregor entitled Weltgeschichte des Theaters (Wien: Phaidon Verlag, 1933), which
contains, on p. 85, the image of a representation of a procession which looks like an
image of chronophotography. The book was owned by Eisenstein. See also The
Heir, n. 10.
95. Illustration by the Count Fdor Tolstoy for the poem by Ippolit Bogdanovich
Dushenka [Sweetheart] (1778).
96. On the drawings of Olaf Gulbransson (1873-1958), one of Eisensteins favorite
graphic artists, see the essay Odd and Even (Metod, vol. 2, pp. 163-167; French
transl. Pair-Impair in Cinmatisme, pp. 168-172), and The notes on Line and
466 notes
Ornament (Metod, vol. 2, pp. 440-441). On Olaf Gulbransson, see in this volume
The Heir, n. 18.
97. The poetics of the animal epos and its connection to ancient animist beliefs take
considerable part in the essay Disney, as well as in the Notes on the Art of Walt
Disney (Metod, vol. 2, pp. 254-295 and 506-529; Engl. transl. Eisenstein on
Disney in The Eisenstein Collection. Edited by Richard Taylor. London New York
Calcutta: Seagull Books, 2006, pp. 85-184).
98. Batrachomyomachia (Ancient Greek: , from , frog, ,
mouse, and, , battle) or the Battle of Frogs and Mice is a comic epic or parody of
the Iliad, definitely attributed to Homer by the Romans, but according to Plutarch the
work of Pigres of Halicarnassus, the brother (or son) of Artemisia, queen of Caria
and ally of Xerxes. Some modern scholars, however, assign it to an anonymous poet
of the time of Alexander the Great.
99. Ivan Krylov (1769-1844) Russian poet, famous for his fables, and therefore
considered as a successor of Aesop and La Fontaine.
100. In the Russian vernacular tradition, the term lubok indicates a kind of cheap popular
print, usually with both text and image.
101. Serafim Sarovskii (1754/59-1833) is one of the most revered Russian saints; his
hagiography has been depicted in icons, miniatures and luboks. Prince Bova (Bova
Korolevich) is a hero of Russian folklore and chivalric novella, as well as of many
luboks of the 16th century. In the 19th century one of the popular lubok stories
became the siege of Sebastopol by the Anglo-French troops during the Crimean War
(1853-56).
102. Connection with mythology: god, who became a human hero. [Note by
Eisenstein]
103. Praskovia Zaborovskaia Eisensteins housekeeper in his apartment on Potylikha
Street.
104. Matvei Platov (1751-1818) a Cossack General, a hero of the 1812-13 war against
Napoleon. Kuzma Kriuchkov (1890-1919) a Don Cossack, the most popular hero
of the First World War in Russia, a symbol of patriotism.
105. Birzhovka Birzhevye novosti [Stock-exchange News], a financial newspaper; Vecherka
Vecherniaia gazeta [literally, The Evening Newspaper]; both of them were published in St.
Petersburg until the October revolution of 1917.
106. Jos Guadalupe Posada (1851-1913) was a Mexican artist whom Eisenstein knew very
well for his politically-charged, grotesque representations of Mexican society during
the period of the dictatorship of Porfirio Diaz (the Porfiriato, which lasted, with
several interruptions, between 1876 and 1911). His posters, cartoons, and book
illustrations depicting a world populated by skulls and skeletons greatly influenced
Eisenstein in his representation of the Dia de los Muertos in the last episode
(Epilogue) of the unfinished film Que viva Mexico! (1930-32).
107. Eisenstein wrote about vasilada, a folk celebration with elements of carnival, defining
it as a mix of black humor, irony and a special type of Mexican wit, which
shows the defiance of death (Metod, vol. 1, p. 244). Cf. also the chapter entitled
Encounter with Mexico in the Memoirs (Beyond the Stars, p. 421).
notes 467
108. Reference to one of the most popular lubok of the 18th century, showing a cat being
buried by a procession of mice, and considered to be a caricature of Peter the Great.
109. The question mark is by Eisenstein; perhaps he wanted to include these observations
in the section on montage.
110. Neologism coined by Eisenstein, by which he apparently wanted to describe the
process by which the actor comes to embody (to impersonate) the character he plays.
111. In France in the Middle Ages the chambre ardente was used for special legal
procedures, mainly, for prosecuting state criminals, heretics, and poisoners; in
accordance with the punishment that awaited them burning alive the room
without windows was illuminated with flaming torches, hence the literal French:
fiery room.
113. On the transparency of glass architecture and on Le Corbusier, see the notes for the
unrealized film project Glass House (see above, n. 87), as well as the essay Rodin and
Rilke (Neravnodushnaya priroda, vol. 2, pp. 509-535; French transl. in Cinmatisme, pp.
229-254).
114. Tsarskoe Selo and Pavlovsk are two complexes of palaces and parks close to St.
Petersburg.
115. The number 999 refers to the chronological list of inventions at the end of Lewis
Mumfords Technics and Civilization, a list to which Eisenstein often refers in these
notes. On p. 438, the year 999 is indicated as the year of Painted glass windows in
England. See also above, n. 91.
116. Karagz (literally, black-eyed) is the Turkish shadow puppet theater that appeared
in the 16th century on the basis of Ancient Greek and Byzantine folk performances;
it received its name after its main character who embodied folk humor and wit.
117. On the translation of tsvetopis as color-graphy, see above, n. 26.
119. Daniele Barbaro (1514-1570), Cardinal and Renaissance scholar, known for his
writings on philosophy, mathematics, and optics, was the author of the treatise La
pratica della perspettiva [The Practice of Perspective] in 1569, which included a section
explaining how to work with a lens in a camera obscura.
120. Zacharias Jansen (1580/88-1632/38) was a Dutch spectacle-maker from Middelburg
associated with the invention of the first optical telescope. He is sometimes credited
for inventing the first truly compound microscope.
121. The Berlin scientist and educator Wilhelm Zenker (1829-99) first proposed the
principle of color selection by recording standing waves in photographic media.
This principle is often applied in modern optics.
122. The phonautograph is the earliest known device for recording sound. Invented by
Frenchman douard-Lon Scott de Martinville in 1857, it transcribed sound waves as
undulations or other deviations in a line traced on smoke-blackened paper or glass.
123. Louis Arthur Ducos du Hauron (1837-1920) was a French pioneer of color
photography. In 1864 he patented (but did not build) a device for taking and
projecting motion pictures.
124. John Wesley Hyatt (1837-1920 and ) and his brother Isaiah named celluloid in 1872
a new material of their invention, made of camphor and cellulose nitrate.
468 notes
125. Arthur Korn (1870-1945), a German-born physicist, mathematician and inventor,
was involved in the development of the transmission of photographs through the
telegraph: a system of telephotography, known as Bildtelegraph, related to early
attempts at developing a practical mechanical television system.
126. Gustave Le Gray (1820-1884) invented a technique called des ciels rapports to
represent clearly both the sea and the sky in his photograpic seascapes. The
technique was a form of combination printing using two different negatives, one
for the water and one for the sky, at a time when it was impossible to have at the
same time the sky and the sea on a picture due to the too extreme luminosity range.
127. Camille Silvy (1834-1910) was a pioneer of early photography, primarily active in
London under the patronage of Queen Victoria.
128. Guillaume-Benjamin-Amand Duchenne de Boulogne (1806-1875) was a French
neurologist whose researches dealt mainly with electrophysiology, using photo-
graphy to document his experiments on the electrification of facial muscles. His
Mcanisme de la physionomie humaine, ou analyse lectro-physiologique de ses diffrents modes
de lexpression was published in Paris in 1862.
129. Deciphering this part of the manuscript is very difficult due to the ambiguity in the
sequence of themes and examples. The fragment Towards Degradation is written
diagonally in the upper right corner, and arrows run from it to almost every other
fragment. However, it is unlikely that Eisenstein considered degradation those
experiments in combining photo negatives or in optical recording of sound that later
played such an important role in the development of cinema. Degradation cannot
refer to newspaper illustrations or aerial photography either. So with certainty this
heading can only refer to the fragments Retouche and Scenery for photography,
to which it connects in this publication.
130. Franz Seraph Hanfstngl (1804-1877) was a German painter, lithographer and
photographer, known for his lithographic and later photographic portraits of
Munich society. Antoine Samuel Adam-Salomon (1818-1881) was a French sculptor
and photographer. He studied with Hanfstngl in Munich and his photographs were
known for their chiaroscuro effects obtained with special lighting techniques.
131. Samuel Archer King (1828-1914) was a ballooning pioneer in the United States, who,
in the 1850s and 1860s, made several ascensions from New York, Pennsylvania, New
Jersey, Connecticut, Massachusetts. In 1879 he published The Balloon: Noteworthy
Aerial Voyages from the Discovery of the Balloon to the Present Time, with a Narrative of the
Aeronautic Experiences of Mr. Samuel A. King. James Wallace Black (1825-1896) was an
American photographer who in 1860, in collaboration with Samuel Archer King,
made the first aerial photographs in the United States, photographing Boston from a
hot-air balloon at 1,200 feet. He named the clearest of these photographs Boston,
as the Eagle and the Wild Goose See It, which is considered to be the first clear
aerial image of a city.
132. Henry Negretti (1818-1879) was a British photographer who in 1863 took the first
aerial photographs of London from a balloon piloted by Henry Coxwell.
133. A photograph by William McLeish entitled Misty Morning on the Wear is listed in
the catalogue of the 1882 exhibition of the Royal Photographic Society.
notes 469
134. Eisenstein devoted several enthusiastic pages in his textbook Direction. The Art of the
Mise-en-scne [Rezhissoura Iskusstvo misantsena] (1934) and in Montage (1937) to Eugne
Atget and his photography (cf Montazh, pp. 264-267; the pages are part of a section
which is not translated in SW2).
135. David Brewster (1781-1868) was a Scottish physicist, mathematician, astronomer,
inventor, writer, and university principal. Most noted for his contributions to the
field of optics, his inventions include the kaleidoscope and an improved version of
the stereoscope.
136. A little photographic book entitled Le Rve, containing 20 sequential photographs
illustrating the various events happening during the dream of its female protagonist,
can be found among the books belonging to Eisensteins library which are preserved
at the Eisenstein Center in Moscow.
137. The reference is probably to Ernest Maindrons catalogue Les programmes illustrs des
thtres et des cafs-concerts. Menus, cartes d'invitation, petites estampes, etc. (Paris: Nilsson,
1897), which was illustrated by lithographs by Toulouse-Lautrec and other well-
known artists, depicting the pleasures of Paris.
138. The term Klebebilder in German indicates little adhesive images that can be attached
onto a surface.
139. Ladies Duel At the same time, a recurring motif in the popular press since the
19th and early 20th century (see for example Duel de femmes. Lamour qui tue in
Faits Diverses Illustrs, 7 septembre 1907), and the title of a novella from the series
Russian Court Stories (Russische Hofgeschichten, 1873-74) by the Austrian writer Leopold
von Sacher-Masoch (1836-1895). These novellas represent the manners and morals
of the Russian court of the times of Catherine the Great, and depict, often
grotesquely, the luxury, the dissipation, and the unbridled passions of the beautiful,
voluptuous, and cruel empress and her clique.
140. The Arbeiter Illustrierte Zeitung [Workers Illustrated Magazine], known also as AIZ, was a
weekly German illustrated magazine published between 1924 and 1933 in Berlin,
then in Prague and finally in Paris until 1938. It was also known for the covers
displaying propagandistic photomontages by the German artist John Heartfield
(1891-1968).
141. During the first half of the 1920s, both Lszl Moholy-Nagy and Man Ray had
researched the possibility of producing photographic images without recurring to a
photographic camera. These images, produced by simply exposing the photo-
sensitive paper to the light, were called Fotogrammen or Kameralose Aufnahmen by
Moholy-Nagy, and rayographs by Man Ray.
142. La truie qui file is the name of several old French restaurants (in Paris, Chartres,
and other cities), whose sculpted signs were decorated with ingenious composite
figures.
143. In the 18th and 19th centuries it was fashionable to decorate fans and screens with
paper cut-outs, sometimes made by their owners themselves (including the poet
George Gordon Byron).
144. OST (Obshchestvo Khudozhnikov Stankovistov, Society of Easel Painting) existed in
Moscow between 1925 and 1932; its members included Aleksandr Labas, Ariadna
Tyshler, Ptr Viliams, Aleksandr Deineka, Andrei Goncharov, Iurii Pimenov and
470 notes
other young artists, as well as their teacher David Shterenberg. According to
Eisenstein the paintings of many of them displayed the influence of cinematic
language, in particular, montage.
145. The genre of the Stndebuch [The Book of Trades] was quite popular during the 16th
century and onwards. See, for example, the Stndebuch published by Jost Amman in
1568 with verses by Hans Sachs, in which each image illustrating a profession is
accompanied by a poem commenting the actions represented.
146. Eisenstein discusses the portraits of Kabuki actors by Sharaku in several texts,
explaining the apparent lack of proportion among the different parts of the faces
represented as a form of montage of different points of view on the same faces.
Cf. Beyond the Shot (1929) (IP, vol. 2, pp. 283-296; Engl. transl. SW1, pp. 141-43);
The Dramaturgy of Film Form (1929) (SW1, p.165, where he refers to the
interpretation of such disproportion by Julius Kurth in his volume Sharaku of 1922);
An Attack by Class Allies (1933) (Kino, June 22 and 28, 1933; Engl. transl. SW1, p.
264).
147. In the text El Greco and cinema (Montazh. pp. 426-427; French transl. in
Cinmatisme, p. 85) Eisenstein gives examples of paintings that reproduce the illusion
of movement: fighting cockerels from Greek vase painting and flying birds from the
scroll 100 Geese by the Chinese (not Japanese) painter Ma Fen, end of the 13th or
beginning of the 14th century. See also The Heir, n. 9
148. Phases of movement overlapping in the same space on Greek vases and in
Japanese woodcuts, schematically drawn here by Eisenstein, are juxtaposed to the
analogous technique in compositions by Daumier and Tintoretto in Montage
(Montazh, pp. 159-ff.; SW2, pp. 111-ff.).
149. See the essay Berninis Baldachin in the book Montage (Montazh, pp. 121-134; Engl.
transl. SW2, pp. 68-75).
150. Eisenstein discusses the forms of montage used in the newspapers of 1905 in
order to comment upon the revolutionary events without being targeted by Tsarist
censorship the strategy of publishing vignettes and captions containing political
comments dividing them among different issues of the newspapers, and inviting the
reader to put them back together in a form of remontage in a section of Montage
(see Montazh, pp.175-180; Engl. transl. SW2, pp. 124-129).
151. The reading of this phrase, written almost in shorthand, is conjectural. Eisenstein
probably means here intellectual phrases in the film October, about which he wrote
in the article Perspectives (1928) (see above, n. 39), and on which he later
commented in Method (Metod, vol. 1, pp. 63-82).
152. Here Eisenstein introduces for the first time the work of the French artist Constantin
Guys (1802-1892) in relation to the notion of cinematographism [kinematografism].
Guys was a French and English war correspondent during the Crimean War, and a
renowned critic of the morals of the Second Empire (see Baudelaires essay The
Painter of Modern Life, 1863). The notion of the flow, of a persistent change of
moods and impressions, was added by Eisenstein to the idea of montage as conflict
between shots in his theory of composition, and was later explored more fully in
the work Nonindifferent Nature.
153. Adolph Menzel (1815-1905) was a German realist painter and illustrator.
notes 471
154. About this see Eisensteins work The History of the Close-Up (Metod, vol. 2, pp. 8-
131) and its drafts (Ibid., pp. 110-112, 409-411).
155. Daniel Nikolaus Chodowiecki was a German painter, Polish by birth, reknown as a
book illustrator; he usually depicted the everyday life of the bourgeoisie, and scenes
from the life of common people (e.g., At the Joiners, At the Tailors, At the Printers, etc).
156. See materials for the essay about Edgar Degass cycle Les Baigneuses in Method
(Metod, vol. 2, pp. 338-348).
157. Eisenstein was probably going to quote from George Slocombe, Rebels of Art: Manet to
Matisse. New York: Robert M. McBride & Company, 1939.
158. Eugne Fromentin (1820-1876) was a French artist, writer, art critic, and an author
of genre paintings, which were popular during his lifetime. He is famous now
primarily for his much-translated book The Old Masters of Belgium and Holland (Les
Matres dautrefois, 1876; the first Russian edition was published in 1913). The book
was composed on the basis of notes and letters written when Fromentin visited
museums of Belgium and Holland in 1875. Mme Howland, ne Hortense de la
Perrire (1835-1920) was an acquaintance of many artists and intellectuals of the
second half of the 19th century, including Fromentin.
159. Loe Fuller (1862-1928) was a pioneer of both modern dance and theatrical lighting
techniques. Her work attracted the attention of many French artists and scientists,
including Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec, Auguste Rodin, Stphane Mallarm, and
Marie Curie.
160. This phrase refers to the opening of Aleksandr Pushkins article Notes on popular
drama and on M. P. Pogodins Martha, the Governors Wife (1830): Dramatic art was
born in the public square for the entertainment of the people (Pushkin on Literature,
selected, translated and edited by Tatiana Wolff, London: The Athlone Press;
Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1986, p. 263).
161. Phineas Taylor Barnum used to exhibit an elderly black woman named Joice Heth,
claiming that she was the 161-year-old former wet nurse of George Washington.
162. Also known as Kholstomer, a short story by Leo Tolstoy.
163. Sight and Sound, British film review.
164. See above, n. 162.
165. Theater and Scaffold [Teatr i eshafot] is the title of a lecture given for the first
time by theater director and playwright Nikolai Evreinov (1879-1953) in Odessa
during the Civil War in 1918. From this lecture he developed a book with the same
title, Teatr i eshafot, later published in a collection of documents entitled Mnemozina:
Dokumenty i fakty iz istorii russkogo teatra XX veka [Mnemosyne: Documents and Facts from
the History of Russian Theater of the 20th Century], Moscow: Artist Rezhissr Teatr, 1996.
166. The French term funambules stands for funambolists, tightrope dancers. A
theater named Thtre des Funambules was built in 1816 in the Boulevard du Temple
in Paris, where it remained open until 1862. Apart from tightrope dancers, jumpers,
and clowns, it was famous for its mime Jean-Gaspard Deburau, especially popular
with the audience and the critics alike in the role of Pierrot. Jules Janin dedicated his
book Deburau. Histoire du Thtre Quatre Sous (1832) to Deburau and his theater (see
below).
472 notes
167. The Great God Bogus is a manifesto written by the American film critic Gilbert
Seldes in support of Charles Chaplin and popular arts in general. It was published
in Gilbert Seldes, The Seven Lively Arts, New York: Harper and Brothers, 1924.
168. Most likely, Eisenstein is referring here to the first book written by Georges Sadoul
about Mlis (Georges Sadoul, An Index to the Creative Work of Georges Mlis. London:
British Film Institute, 1947). Sadouls monograph Georges Mlis was published only
in 1961 (Paris: ditions Seghers).
169. The Nickelodeon was the first type of indoor exhibition space dedicated to showing
projected motion pictures. Usually set up in converted storefronts, these small,
simple theaters charged five cents for admission and flourished from about 1905 to
1915. The term Panoptikum indicates the name of the first German wax museum,
built in Hamburg in 1879 by Friedrich Hermann Faerber (1849-1908). It should not
be confused with the projection instrument named Panoptikon invented in 1895 by
Woodville Latham, later named Eidoloscope. (See T. Ramsaye, A Million and One
Night. A History of the Motion Picture, New York, Simon & Schuster, 1926, pp. 167, 176-
191; Georges Sadoul, Histoire gnrale du cinma, Tome 1, lInvention du Cinma, Paris,
Denol, 1946, pp. 165-171). Ventriloquism was a popular attraction executed without
technical devices.
170. Cannonneers was the common name for street and fair photographers who often
used painted backdrops.
171. None of the names in this sentence (except Deburau) is clearly legible. It is clear,
however, that Eisenstein is talking here about mass entertainment to which high
or official art was opposed.
172. Boulevard du Crime [Boulevard of Crime] is the nickname that was given during
the 19th century to the Boulevard du Temple in Paris, because of all the crimes that
were represented every evening in its numerous theaters, among which we may
recall the Thtre-Lyrique, Thtre de lAmbigu, Cirque-Olympique, Folies-
Dramatiques, Gat, Funambules, Dlassements-Comiques, Thtre des Pygmes,
Petit-Lazari, as well as many cabarets and caf-concerts. Boulevard du Crime is also
the name of the place where the film Les Enfants du paradis (1945) by Marcel Carn is
set.
173. Oberammergau is the name of a German town where every year, since 1633, the
population is engaged in a representation of the Passion.
174. Bi Sheng (990-1051) was the inventor of the first known movable type technology.
His system was made of Chinese porcelain and was invented between 1041 and 1048
during the Song Dynasty in China.
176. Nicolas-Toussaint Charlet (1792-1845), French designer and painter, especially of
military subjects, contributed to the elaboration of a Bonapartist iconography.
Auguste Raffet (1804-1860), French illustrator and lithographer, student of Nicolas
Toussaint Charlet, specialized as well in the representation of Napoleonic subjects.
177. Eisenstein mentions here the four-volume work of the English lawyer, sociologist,
and journalist Henry Mayhew (1812-1887) London Labour and London Poor (1861), and
the book by William Blanchard Jerrold (1826-1884) London: A Pilgrimage (1872), with
notes 473
illustrations by Gustave Dor (1832-1883). In his engravings the artist depicted the
old men, the orphans, the lame, and the blind.
178. Eisenstein writes llamentos instead of lamentos.
179. Pavel Timofeevich Gorgulov (1895-1932) was a Russian migr, poet, nationalist,
who in 1932 assassinated the French President Paul Du Maire.
180. Malmaison a palace situated at 20 km from Paris served from 1799 to 1802 as the
official residence of Napolon and Josephine Bonaparte. In 1906 it became a
museum dedicated to the Napoleonic era, with a number of portraits and artifacts
including the Emperors throne, his death mask, and the camp bed on which he
died. A popular scene in wax museums represented a Malmaison room with
Napoleon taking rest.
181. Eisenstein is referring to the film LAssassinat du duc de Guise [The Assassination of the
Duke of Guise] (1908) by Charles le Bargy and Andr Calmettes featuring the stars of
the Comdie Franaise, who performed in costumes and decorations closely
approximating the epoch of Henry III of France.
182. The two most famous of the four gigantic panoramic paintings of the Polish artist
and poet Jan Styka (1858-1925) are Golgotha, also known as The Crucifixion
(1894), and The Martyrdom of Christians in Neros Circus (1897). Siege of
Sebastopol (1905) is a museum panorama by Franz Roubaud (1856-1928) that
depicts the Battle of Malakoff, one of the major battles of the Crimean War of 1853-
56. It was created to commemorate the 50th anniversary of the defense of
Sebastopol.
183. With the phrase the mass Leningrad spectacles of the beginning of the Revolution
Eisenstein is probably referring to mass spectacles such as the one staged in 1920 by
Nikolai Evreinov with the title The Storming of the Winter Palace: a re-enactment,
performed in front of one hundred thousand spectators, of that crucial moment of
the October Revolution on the date of its third anniversary, the 7th of November
1920. Spectacles such as this were a very important reference for Eisenstein while he
was shooting the film October in 1927-28.
184. This museum was known as Salon de cire.
185. The Voguls, today better known as the Mansi, are an indigenous people living in
KhantyMansia, an autonomous area within the region of Tiumen Oblast in
Russia.
186. In Russian literature Journey is a term used to describe travelogues: the most
famous is the one of the merchant Afanasii Nikitin to India (A Journey Beyond the Three
Seas or Khozhdenie za tri moria, 1468-1474).
187. Daniel of Kiev (the Pilgrim) (Daniil Palomnik) was an Orthodox hegumen; the first
Russian pilgrim to visit the Holy Land (in 1104-1106) and leave the description of his
travels.
188. Eisenstein here refers to the German literary movement Sturm und Drang [Storm and
Stress], which formed between the end of the 18th and the beginning of the 19th
century.
189. The writer and historian Nikolai Karamzin (1766-1826) described his travels to the
revolutionary France of 1789-90 in the book Letters of a Russian Traveler, which many
scholars consider to have laid the foundations of modern Russian literature.
474 notes
Aleksandr Pushkins essay A Journey to Arzrum at the Time of the 1829 Campaign
(1829) reflected his illegal trip to the seat of the Russo-Turkish war in Transcaucasia,
where some of his friends, participants of the December revolt of 1825, had been
exiled.
190. In Aleksandr Pushkins novel in verse, Eugene Onegin, the main character is overcome
by the desire to change places (okhota k peremene mest) a Russian
counterpart to the German Wanderlust, typical of Romantic heroes.
191. In 1858 the Paris house of Prince Napolon (Napolon Joseph Charles Paul
Bonaparte, 1822-1891), the son of Jrme Bonaparte, was decorated as a Pompeian
villa, creating an illusion of the journey to the Ancient Rome.
192. The name Kempinsky could be the reference to one of the pictorial atmospheric-
romantic decorations in one of the Kempinsky hotels.
193. In 1841, P.T. Barnum bought Scudders American Museum (later renamed Barnums
American Museum) and replaced the wax figures with living dwarfs and giants, fake
monsters (mermaids, centaurs, and other freaks), as well as circus
performers. He also invited the famous Swedish singer Jenny Lind (18201887)
for 150 concerts with the fee of $ 1,000 per concert. The tour of the Swedish
nightingale and its financial terms were accompanied by a ballyhoo campaign
advertising the international sensation.
194. Chalet Suisse an international network of hotels and restaurants decorated in the
Swiss style.
195. Etienne Carjat (1828-1879) was a French photographer who produced a number of
portraits of painters, writers, and musicians (Rimbaud, Baudelaire, Courbet, Corot,
Rossini, etc.).
196. See above, n. 144.
198. H.Th. Bossert, H. Guttmann, Aus der Frhzeit der Photographie 1840-70. Ein Bildbuch
nach 200 Originalen, Societts, Frankfurt a. M. 1930. This is the same book to which
Walter Benjamin refers repeatedly in his Little History of Photography (1931). A copy of
this book was owned by Eisenstein and can be found at the Eisenstein Center in
Moscow.
199. Bespredmetnost, non-objectivity, a crucial notion in Kazimir Malevichs Suprematist
aesthetics.
200. Eisenstein is referring to the movement of factography, represented emblemati-
cally by Aleksei Gan and some other participants of the journal LEF [Levyi front
isskustv Left Front of the Arts] (in particular, Sergei Tretyakov), which according to
him neglected the role of the image [obraz] in the name of purely documentary
images aimed at recording life as it is [zhizn kak ona est].
201. This is a reference to an idea formulated by Viktor Shklovsky and Sergei Tretyakov,
and often mentioned in the discussions of the Russian Futurists in LEF.
202. For the meaning of factographic, see above, n. 203.
203. In the text only s is written; it has been tentatively identified as socialism.
204. In his article entitled On the laws of construction of Eisensteins films (Sovetsky
ekran, n6, 1929), written after having seen the film October, Viktor Shklovsky accused
notes 475
Eisenstein of thingism [veshchism], that is, of giving priority to things, to
objects, over narration.
205. The French expression un ours mal lch [a bear badly educated] indicates a person
who doesnt like to be in the company of other people, and whose behavior is
considered vulgar and bad-mannered.
206. Eisenstein is referring to Jean Renoirs films Toni (1935) and La Bte humaine [The
Human Beast] (1938).
207. The mark xx in Eisensteins manuscripts usually means important; xxx very
important.
208. The title of the painting by Degas to which Eisenstein refers here is Mme. Jeantaud
at the Mirror (1875).
209. Georges Rivire, Mr Degas (Bourgeois de Paris), Floury, Paris 1935.
210. See above, n. 157.
211. From Petrarchs poem I Trionfi [The Triumphs] (1339), part I Trionfo damore, III.
The English translation of the poem is contained in Eisensteins notes.
212. Word-play with the title of Darwins work. In this case, Eisensteins project was that
of reconstructing the evolutionist genesis of the historical-documentary genre (what
Eisenstein calls the cine-chronicle) in Soviet cinema.
213. Eisenstein refers here to Konstantin Stanislavsky and to the realism based on the
truth of relived experiences that was at the base of his acting system.
214. Eisenstein staged this agit-guignol play based on Sergei Tretyakovs Gas Masks
(1923) at the Moscow gas plant. It was his last theater production before the move to
cinema with the film Strike (1924).
215. Naplyvy [dissolves or dissolving views] was a term used to describe the smooth
passage from an image projected by the Magic Lantern to the following one, in order
to produce in the spectators an impression of movement: a technique which, with
the flow of the film photograms in front of the projector, would become the
fundamental technique of cinema.
216. LEnfer (Hell). A cabaret that is unique in the world. Every evening from 8pm to 2am.
Diabolical attractions. The torture of the damned. The circle of the witches. La
Chaudire, the Metamorphoses of the damned, etc. etc.
217. The program quoted by Eisenstein in his notes reads as follows: The Sky. Illusions,
visions. The Cabaret of the Sky (Heaven). 53, Boulevard de Clichy. Art and Fun. Every
evening from 8 and 1/2 pm to 1 and 1/2 am. Humoristic preaching. The Dickinsons
Sisters, the Women Cameleons. Dream of a monk (heavenly scenes). The
Mimoscope (unique creation), The Spring, the Confession. Aerial visions, Celestial
acrobatics. Transformation in an Angel of a Spectator of good will.
218. Eisenstein is referring here to the film shot in July 1905 for Path by Lucien Nonguet
with the title Les vnements en Russie. Les vnements dOdessa. Georges Sadoul writes
about it in his Histoire gnrale du cinma II, les Pionniers du cinma 1897-1909, Paris,
Denol, 1947, pp. 330-333. In his book, Sadoul also explains how Mlis in his
studio reconstructed events from world history.
219. Here Eisenstein is referring, without a full quotation, to the volume by Maurice Bessy
and Lo Duca, Georges Mlis Mage et Mes Mmoires par Mlis, Paris, Prisma, 1945.
476 notes
220. Moralit, a French term written here in Cyrillic, refers to a theatrical genre staging
vices and virtues.
221. The corrido is a popular narrative song and poetry form, a ballad. The songs are often
about oppression, history, daily life of peasants, and other socially important
information, and were particularly popular during the period of the Mexican
Revolution.
222. Abram Markovich Efros (1888-1954), Russian and Soviet art and theater critic, poet
and translator. In the second half of the 1940s he worked in the Institute of Art
History and taught theater history in the State Institute of Theater Art and MKhATs
Studio School.
223. Here Eisenstein uses Leonardo da Vincis The Last Supper as an example of successful
combination in one space of several perspectival axes, which correspond to several
points of view on a crowd scene.
225. Eisenstein quotes a famous quatrain from the poem To the Memory of the Painter
Orlovskii, written in 1832 or 1833 by Count Ptr Viazemskii and dedicated to
Aleksandr Osipovich Orlovskii (1777-1832), Romantic painter and graphic artist.
226. Cf. The General Line. Figures the quantity of members of the cooperative around the
separator grow in scale. Brothers BROTHERS in Potmkin etc. etc. [note by
Eisenstein]. See the chapter The Milk Separator and the Holy Grail of the section
Pathos of Nonindifferent Nature (Neravnodushnaia priroda, vol. 2, pp. 62-68; Engl. transl.
Nonindifferent Nature, pp. 38-57).
227. Eisenstein quotes the French edition of John K. Winklers book William Randolph
Hearst, Paris: Gallimard NRF, 1931 first published in English in 1928 by Simon and
Schuster as William Randolph Hearst, an American phenomenon. The original reads: And
war was declared. Then came a new outburst of typographical violence. Brisbane
introduces block letter headlines into the Evening Journal. Some of these were four
inches high. The Evening World followed suit. Sometimes the entire front pages of
both papers were simply a medley of headlines. (p. 158); The day Deweys victory
at Manila was announced, May 2, 1898, the Journal issued a stream of extras and
circulation reached a new record mark of 1,600,000. The influence of the
typographical violence brought about by the Journals use of spread-eagle type in the
war is shown in practically every American paper today. (p. 162).
228. The note is accompanied by a clipping from the weekly magazine Ogoniok (Issue 2,
1948) with the article The 225th Anniversary of the Russian Printed Newspaper
and Eisensteins marginalia: NB. Forerunner of Hearst!*.
229. The problem of time in painting and The problem of space should have been,
according to Eisenstein, two important parts of his introductory volume to the whole
project of a General History of Cinema. What we are left with in the manuscript, though,
only contains the heading of these two sections, followed by two blank spaces,
which Eisenstein never filled with text.
230. The French graphic artist and caricaturist Paul Gavarni (Sulpice Guillaume
Chevalier, 1804-1866) became famous for his series of elegant and ironic drawings
from Parisian life, often accompanied by witty captions. The Russian painter Pavel
notes 477
Fedotov (1815-1852), one of Eisensteins most favorite artists, invented pointed titles
for his satirical paintings.
232. On these two variants, see El Greco and cinema (Montazh, pp. 424-425; French
transl. in Cinmatisme, pp. 82-83).
233. Eisenstein is here referring to the ballad The Norfolk Gentleman his last Will and
Testament. / Who Committed the keeping of his Children to his own Brother, who dealt most
wickedly with them, and / how God plagued him for it (1686-88, republished in various
editions throughout the 19th century).
234. C.H. Firth, Ballads and Broadsides, in Shakespeares England (Oxford, 1910), vol. II,
pp. 510-538.
235. The reference is to the article Dickens, Griffith, and We [Dikkens, Griffit i my]
(originally published in Amerikanskaia kinematografiia: D.U. Griffit. Moscow, 1944 and
translated in English as Dickens, Griffith, and the Film Today by Jay Leyda in Film
Form, New York: Harcourt, Brace and Co., 1949, pp. 195-255). The greatly expanded
version has since been published under the title The History of the Close-Up
[Istoriia krupnogo plana] in Metod, vol. 2, pp. 8-132 (especially pp. 47-49). The
English translation by William Powell, based on an intermediary publication in IP,
Volume 5, pp. 129-180 (especially pp. 159-161) and entitled Dickens, Griffith, and
Ourselves, was published in SW3, pp. 193-238.
236. The term counter-relief was used by Vladimir Tatlin to name a series of his
sculptures consisting of structures made of wood and iron hanging in wall corners.
237. Attached to this note is an excerpt (ll. 75-76) from the German edition of Isadora
Duncans memoirs: (Duncan I. Memoiren. Zrich-Leipzig-Wien: Amalthea-Verlag,
1928. S. 91), which corresponds to the following passage in the original American
edition:
Rodin was short, square, powerful, with close-cropped head and plentiful beard.
He showed his works with the simplicity of the very great. Sometimes he murmured
the names for his statues, but one felt that names meant little to him. He ran his
hands over them and caressed them. I remember thinking that beneath his hands
the marble seems to flow like molten lead. Finally he took a small quantity of clay
and pressed it between his palms. He breathed hard as he did so. The heat streamed
from him like a radiant furnace. In a few moments he had formed a womans breast
that palpitated beneath his fingers.
He took me by the hand, took a cab and came to my studio. There I quickly changed
into my tunic and danced for him an idyll of Theocritus which Andr Beaunier had
translated for me thus:
Pan aimait la nymphe Echo
Echo aimait Satyr, etc.
Then I stopped to explain to him my theories for a new dance, but soon I realized
that he was not listening. He gazed at me with lowered lids, his eyes blazing, and
then, with the same expression that he had before his works, he came towards me.
He ran his hands over my neck, breast, stroked my arms and ran his hands over my
hips, my bare legs and feet. He began to knead my whole body as if it were clay,
while from him emanated heat that scorched and melted me. My whole desire was to
478 notes
yield to him my entire being and, indeed, I would have done so if it had not beeen
that my absurd up-bringing caused me to become frightened and I withdrew, threw
my dress over my tunic and sent him away bewildered. What a pity! How often I have
regretted this childish miscomprehension which lost to me the divine chance of
giving my virginity to the Great God Pan himself, to the Mighty Rodin. (Isadora
Duncan, My Life, New York: Boni and Liveright, 1927. 90-91)
238. The transition from touching with ones fingertips to a fully developed Raumkunst
[art of space] is shown in Ill. 1, p. 22.
239. Count Fdor Tolstoy himself transformed his drawings for Bogdanovichs poem
Dushenka [Sweetheart] into engravings, thereby achieving a new graphic effect. See
also The Heir, n. 17.
240. Sergei Mikhailovich Lifar (Serge Lifar, 1905-1986), choreographer and dancer, was
the author of Serge Diaghilev (first published in Russian in 1939), which was one of
the last books Eisenstein read before his death. The description of Vatslav Nijinskys
choreography and dancing in the ballet Laprs-midi dun faune (The Afternoon of a Faun)
from this book served as an inspiration for Eisensteins series of drawings Daprs
son livre.
241. Harry Houdini, The Unmasking of Robert-Houdin. Together with a Treatise on Handcuff
Secrets, 1909.
242. On Benvenuto Cellinis views on the superiority of sculpture compared to painting,
see also above, n. 35.
243. The Amur or Heilong Jiang is the worlds tenth longest river, forming the border
between the Russian Far East and Northeastern China. Eisenstein here means the
Amur region of Russia.
244. F. Adama van Scheltema, Die altnordische Kunst: Grundprobleme vorhistorischer
Kunstentwicklung, Mauritius Verlag, 1924.
245. Phyllis Ackerman, Ritual Bronzes of Ancient China, The Dryden Press, 1945.
246. See also Eisensteins essay Rodin and Rilke (Neravnodushnaia priroda, vol. 2, pp.
509-535; French transl. in Cinmatisme, pp. 229-254).
3. Revelation in Storm and Thunder

1. Revelation in Storm and Thunder is the title of the book Nikolai Aleksandrovich
Morozov (1854-1946) wrote after being condemned by the tsarist court to life in
prison in the Schlisselburg Fortress (from where he got his nickname, the
Schlisselburger). In the book, Morozov explained the apocalyptic visions of John
the Evangelist of Patmos as metereological phenomena. Eisenstein used the title of
this book just for fun, not intending a serious parallel between the contents of his
ideas and Morozovs theme.
The three fragments that follow were first published under this title in 1992 in
volume 15 of the journal Kinovedcheskie zapiski (pp. 188-203). They were written when
Eisenstein was simultaneously continuing his work on the book Nonindifferent Nature.
It is possible that these sketches were written with the view to include them in this
fundamental treatise about the fate of montage counterpoint at the new stage. For
example, they could become the basis of the chapter in which the a-synchronism of
sound and image is viewed not in relation to the authors concept, but in the context
notes 479
of natural phenomena and of the mythological concepts that they had given birth to.
This could explain their relative readiness and thoroughness in comparison to other
drafts in the same set. The title and the subheading were given by the journals
editors, but are based on the authors text.
2. Eisenstein has here in mind an ancient instrument of torture, known as the Phalaris
bull. There is a remark later in the manuscript: Sound as [suggestion] (the
reproduction of impressions) of the landscape. According [to the book Anna and the
King of Siam] where fiffres* [in French: flutes] expressed in sound where (the places
through which) the processions were going.
3. For the use, in these Notes, of the term (cradle), or (at
the cradle), to mean the origin, the source, see in this volume the text entitled
Dynamic Mummification Notes for a General History of Cinema, n. 4.
4. Here in the manuscript there is a remark in parentheses: On a piano, the bass clef
is on the lower staff line, and the melodic violin on the upper.
5. Eisenstein made a note on this on a separate piece of paper: A Symphony of Sirens
(the column of air replaced by a column of steam) by Arsenii Avraamov (as remarkable
regressive reproduction)*, Moscow, 1923. With my moral support! His very own
regression of the piano to the stage of its reversed return to a vertical, multi-
stringed harp, struck not with hammers, but with the hand itself a piano turned
on its side. I believe Singing Fountains are instruments by Heron of Alexandria in
antiquity and somewhere in the XVI and XVIII centuries. Look in Boehme, Der Tanz,
in the section on fountains. [Der Tanz in der Kunst. Die bedeutendsten Tanzbilder von der
Antike bis zur Gegenwart, mit einer Einleitung von F. Bhme, herausgegeben von Curt
Moreck, Seifert, Stuttgart-Heilbronn 1924]
6. On the same page there is a remark: On the lyrical Uzbek. Refer to what I learned
in connection with the Fergana Canal, with the longing for the water and the fight for
it. On the unrealized film project The Great Fergana Canal see the English translation
of the script by Sergei M. Eisenstein and Ptr Pavlenko published in Studies in Russian
& Soviet Cinema, vol. 5, 2011, n. 1, pp. 123-155 (ed. by R. Taylor, preceded by an
Introduction by Naum Kleiman and followed by a commentary by Eisenstein on his
unrealized film project).
7. The Robber-Nightingale (Solovei-Razboinik) is a forest monster of East Slavic
folklore. It possessed a deadly whistle to attack travellers. The epic hero Ilia
Muromets defeated him, showed him to the Kievan prince and then killed him. It is
possible that the prototype of the mythical creature was a real person, a prince who
demanded tribute from travelers on the way from Northern Rus to Kiev, so that the
Kievan prince had to send Ilia to punish the robber.
8. Batu Khan (c. 1207-1255) was a Mongol ruler and founder of the Ulus of Jochi (or
Golden Horde), the sub-khanate of the Mongol Empire.
9. The karnay is a long trumpet with a mouthpiece. It is used in the musics of Iran,
Tajikistan, and Uzbekistan, where it is considered a national instrument
10. Eisenstein means Paul I (Pavel I), the Russian Emperor, the son and heir to
Catherine II, for whom the Prussian king Friedrich II was the ideal ruler. To emulate
him Paul I reformed the Russian military forces, including their uniform, attributes,
and music.
480 notes
11. Eisenstein had in mind the ironic nature of stringed instruments of a symphony
orchestra as tools for extracting sounds using the sinews of slain animals, taken
from the American novelist Ambrose Bierce (1842-1914).
12. Gap in the manuscript.
13. There are no references to the earth instrument that interested Eisenstein in the
book by the American pilot Faustin E. Wirkus, The White King of La Gonave: The True
Story of the Sergeant of Marines Who Was Crowned King on a Voodoo Island, New York, 1931.
The source of this information has not been located.
14. This idea of a-synchronous color montage is at the basis of Eisensteins unrealized
film project on Pushkin, entitled Love of a Poet (Pushkin), as it is documented by his
notes written in 1940 and in the chapter of the Memoirs entitled Poets Love
(Pushkin), in Beyond the Stars, pp. 712-724.
15. Eisenstein is here referring to Chapter 10 of Morality and Rights. Equality, the first
part (Philosophy) of Friedrich Engelss book Anti-Dhring.
16. Eisenstein writes about this screening in one of Rigas oldest film theaters in his
memoirs (see Beyond the Stars, p. 699).
17. Bill (William) Hayes, postmaster and creator of the infamous Hayes Code, which
regulated the morality of Hollywood film production, was in fact a censorship
board, marked by extreme conservatism. In the manuscript, Eisenstein made a note
in the margins: List the details. Eisenstein wrote about the reasons for his break
with the Paramount company in the Memoirs (See Colleagues in Beyond the Stars, pp.
329-ff. There is also a detailed account of the reigning atmosphere in Hollywood at
the beginning of the 1930s and the Hayes Code in an article by Eisenstein from 1932,
Catch Up and Overtake (in the journal Proletarian Cinema, 1932, no. 15-16, pp. 20-
32).
19. The always imitative laughing saxophone in comic music its both yes and no
(both person and non person) par excellence [note by Eisenstein]. In the
manuscript of the third fragment, mostly covered by notes, there is the following
plan: Shake up You and Heredity* [by Amram Scheinfeld (1939)]. 1. Imitation. 2.
Early virtuosity and the inheritance of musical abilities.
20. A lens with a focal length of 28mm was, at the end of the 1920s, the shortest-focus
lens available, allowing deep definition within the shot. Sequences from the film The
General Line (later renamed Old and New), like Marfa in the Kulaks Courtyard and
The Bulls Wedding, were structured on the opposition of the different foreground
and the oblique shortened background that Eisenstein emphasizes. A series of
reflections on the aesthetic and ecstatic qualities of the 28mm lens can be found in
the essay El Greco i kino (Montazh, pp. 407-415; French transl. El Greco y el cine, in
Cinmatisme, pp. 106-107).
21. A letter from Eisenstein to the director of photography Vladimir Nil'sen has been
preserved. In the middle of the 1930s, Nil'sen was working on a system of
transparent shots (shots on the background of a transparent screen with
projections of previously shot action on the other side of the screen so-called
rear-projection). In this letter, the director established the possibility of reverse
perspective in film (as in icon painting and in Byzantine frescos), and invited Nilsen
notes 481
to shoot double exposures for Bezhin Meadow, so that in the episodes The Fathers
House and The Sons Murder the face or the body of the Father were larger than
the figure of the Son in front of him. Eisenstein subsequently achieved the desired
effect in Ivan the Terrible, however not with the help of rear-projection, but by using
frescoes of the royal chambers and cathedral.
22. The same effect of reverse perspective Eisenstein wanted to achieve in other shots
of Bezhin Meadow, for example, in the scene of the haymaking mentioned here after
the kolkhoz workers attempt at lynching the kulaks supporters, the cart with
Stepok and the bearded kolkhoz worker had to seem smaller than the faces of the
singing women with scythes.
23. This is in all likelihood the theatre and film director Aleksei Granovskii (1890-1937),
famous for his film Jewish Luck (1925).
24. Zholtik was the name of a dog in Eisensteins dacha in Kratovo.
25. The expression flight Intra-uterin[e] refers to one of the main themes discussed in
the book Method, that of the sinking back into the mothers womb, or
Mutterleibversenkung, often abbreviated by Eisenstein with the acronym MLB (see
Metod, vol. 2, esp. pp. 296-349; 530-581; French transl. of texts referring to the same
theme in S.M. Eisenstein, MLB. Plonge dans le sein maternel, transl. and presented by
Grard Conio, Paris: Hobeke, 1999).
26. Eisenstein has in mind William Wylers film Wuthering Heights (1939), based on Emily
Bronts novel.
27. The following note is attached to the manuscript: For the history of cinema die ganze
Lehre vom Ausdruck* [in German: the entire doctrine of expression] is good. The word-
gesture als Vorstufe Audio-Visual Contrapunto* [in German and English: as preliminary
step in audio-visual counterpoint].
4. In Praise of the Cine-chronicle

1. In Praise of the Cine-chronicle, laid out in draft form in November 1947, is
connected by its methodology and problematics to the studies that were to make
up the second half of the book Method, even though it also pertains to the body of
material on the general hystory of cinema. The tongue-in-cheek reference to In
Praise of Folly by Erasmus of Rotterdam was nothing more than a witticism
characteristic of Eisenstein, and has no bearing on the deeply serious nature of his
concern with the documentary reflection of reality in film. For the modern-day
researcher, this sketch offers a multitude of contexts for consideration. It is not only
the historical aspect, but also the theoretical aspect that is important: it allows us to
compare anew Eisensteins position with the contemporary views of Andr Bazin
and Siegfried Kracauer, as well as with the later ideas of semiotics and structural
anthropology. No less interesting is its futurological aspect: Eisenstein keenly
picked up on the significance of both Italian Neo-Realism (as a new synthesis of
acted scenes and actuality), and the coming role of television. Attached to the
manuscript of In Praise of the Cine-chronicle are notes on the ornament and its
role in the formulation and development of art.
2. In Which We Serve (1942, dir. Noel Coward).
3. Films of Jean Renoir: La Bte humaine (1938), Toni (1934), Nana (1926).
482 notes
4. Roma, citt aperta [Rome, Open City] (1945, dir. Roberto Rossellini).
5. The Vow (1946, dir. Mikhail Chiaureli), The Young Guard (1948, dir. Sergei Gerasimov).
6. A reference to Eisensteins essay On Stereo Cinema, written in 1947, shortly before
his death (See IP 3, pp. 433-484. In English: Stereoscopic Films. Eisenstein,
Sergei. Notes of a Film Director. Moscow: Foreign Languages Publishing House, 1959,
pp. 129-137. See also, n. 9 to Text 2).
7. A reference to one of the documentary films of Aleksei Gan, shot using the life
caught unawares method, later adopted by Vertov as well, of which Eisenstein was
critical. See also, in this volume, the text entitled Dynamic Mummification. Notes for a
General History of Cinema, n. 69.
8. Saul Steinberg (1914-1999) was a popular American cartoonist and illustrator.
Eisenstein writes about his work in his book Nonindifferent Nature.
9. Lotte Reininger (1899-1981) was a director of animated silhouette films, in which
she brought the techniques of Chinese shadows to the screen.
10. The two are key-terms of Dziga Vertovs theory of cinema.
11. Tabarin (real name Antoine Girard, 1584-1633) was a French actor in the popular
theatre who performed sketches of his own composition.
12. Ernst Kretschmer (1888-1964) was a German psychologist and psychiatrist whose
research posited a relationship between body type and the psychological properties
of human beings. On this basis he proposed a typology of characters. Copies of his
main books were in Eisensteins library, and are preserved at the Eisenstein Center
in Moscow.
13. Robert J. Coldwater, Primitivism in Modern Painting, Harper & Brothers, New York
London, 1938.
14. Your Maks was the signature of Maxim Shtraukh in a state of exhaustion.
15. In the end of Aleksandr Pushkins story The Queen of Spades its hero, Hermann,
who had gone mad, returns no answer to questions put to him but mutters over
and over again, with incredible rapidity: Three, seven, ace! Three, seven, queen!
(Pushkin, Aleksander. The Queen of Spades: The Negro of Peter the Great: Dubrovsky: The
Captain's Daughter. Translated with an Introduction by Rosemary Edmonds. London:
Penguin, 2004, p. 183).
16. Wilhelm Worringer (1881-1965) was a German art historian whose best-known
work, Abstraktion und Einfhlung [Abstraction and Empathy] (1907), distinguished art
forms based on the principle of abstraction (for example, German prehistoric or
Islamic art), and art forms based on the principle of empathy (for example, classical
Greek or Renaissance mimetic realism). Worringers analysis of the inorganic and
the crystalline in the tradition of abstract art was perceived by some of his
contemporaries as close to the aesthetics of the German Expressionists.
17. The German title bergang zur Television marks a new part of this article, one that was
unfortunately left in a draft form. Nevertheless, we can speculate with some
confidence as to how Eisenstein would have continued. In an introduction to a
volume of his articles in 1946 he wrote: In the first stage in the line of the evolving
forms of acting there is the actor clown, who passes along to the viewer, through the
immediateness of his emotions, the content of his thoughts and feelings. This actor
will reach out to the person who embodies the highest forms of future acting. The
notes 483
cinema wizard of television, who will be fast as a flash of thought or a leap of an eye,
will be juggling different points of view of the cameras and different lenses. He will
be sending directly and immediately to the millions of viewers his own unique
interpretation of an event, in the moment in which it happens, in the moment of the
happening of the event. The expressive cinema-magician of television refers
immediately to the main theme of Metod: the magic of art. It is evident that for
Eisenstein the TV newscast had to evolve from the primitive tracing over of reality to
the treatment of it by multi-camera shooting with different lenses and with montage.
The proto-image of this is not only the actor who improvises, but also the epic poet
(see in Montazh examples from Homer and Whitman). Yet another precursor could
be the ornament stage of the development of art.
18. Great Days (1947) is the title of a play by Nikolai Virta based on his screenplay for The
Battle of Stalingrad and staged in 1947 in the Moscow Drama Theater.
19. This comparison with the French classicist tragedy of Jean Racine has a double
meaning: Eisenstein repeatedly wrote that his film Battleship Potmkin, although
documentary in its material and visual style, had the classical structure of a five-act
tragedy. At the same time, a slightly ironic intonation underlines the assertion that
Eisenstein expressed already at the moment of the films international triumph:
there is no further movement along the line of Potmkin!.
20. See in this volume the text entitled Dynamic Mummification. Notes for a General History of
Cinema, n. 9.
5. The Place of Cinema in the General System of the History of

the Arts
1. This short text is one of the last drafts for the General History of Cinema. Its goal
was, it seems, to summarize the main motifs and themes of the prospective
introductory volume. The probable sequence of these motifs already becomes
visible here, although it is most certainly not a plan of the volumes composition.
What seems to be a matter of principle is the fact that, having dispensed with
roughly drafted compulsory propagandistic phrases, Eisenstein begins with
mans psychological apparatus, with the structure of the viewers consciousness as
a prototype for the structure of cinema, its phenomenon and means of expression.
This directly relates not only to ideas expressed in Metod, on which Eisenstein had
been working for many years, but also to his first manifesto, The Montage of
Attractions (1923) (Engl. transl. in SW1, pp. 33-38), in which the audience was
proclaimed to be the basic material of art. The text was originally published in
Kinovedcheskie Zapiski 36/37, pp. 100-103.
2. GIK stands for State Institute of Cinematography, later VGIK.
3. Gap in the manuscript.
4. On Eisensteins use of the term cradle, see in this volume the text entitled Dynamic
Mummification. Notes for a General History of Cinema, n. 4.
5. The text reads fiziokotras for what was surely fizionotras. Invented by Gilles-Louis
Chrtien in 1783-84, the physiognotrace (or physionotrace) was an instrument designed
to trace a persons profile in the form of a silhouette, in order to study his or her
484 notes
physiognomy. The instrument was a descendant of the pantograph, a drawing device
that magnified figures.
6. Walter Benjamin mentions this same Chinese legend in the 1934 version of his Berlin
Childhood around 1900, in Benjamin, Selected Writings, Volume 3: 1935-1938
(Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2002), p. 393.
6. Pioneers and Innovators

1. This short text belongs to the set of drafts written by Eisenstein for History of Soviet
Cinema, the project that was the official aim of the Cinema Section within The
Institute of Art History. We have deemed it appropriate to include it in the
publication of the Notes for a General History of Cinema primarily because in it
Eisenstein tried, in his own words, to [t]race here the general genealogy of the
progressive development of Soviet cinema, together with the individual develop-
ment of the main principles and aims of the young innovators, who entered
cinema in the mid-1920s, following the pioneers of the new art. The title of the
text, which is published here in its entirety for the first time, was given by Eisenstein.
2. Eisenstein used this designation (I in Spanish) for his memoirs, which, after
beginning as an aimless stroll through the past, soon grew into one of the
segments of his sphere-shaped book, where he traces how the general patterns
of his theory of creativity are refracted in the personality and biography of the
author. Apparently, that is why this particular note is given the same title: here
Eisenstein is concerned with the genealogy of his position in film and the roots
of his colleagues work (Vsevolod Pudovkin and Dziga Vertov).
3. In childhood letters from Riga to his mother in Petersburg, Eisenstein admitted that
he loved cinematic views of various countries, films on scientific and technical
themes, and documentary films about real events, etc. more than detective stories. In
the beginning of the 1920s in the USSR, where an enormous portion of the
population was illiterate, film was seen as a means of enlightenment of the people,
and popular science films were an intrinsic part of film screenings. German
Kulturfilm, playing in Soviet distribution, was exemplary of this trend. It is known,
for example, that the technical film about how peat is processed by water
treatment was highly valued by Lenin as propaganda of technological progress in a
backward country. The deputy director of the Agitation and Propaganda Section of
the Central Committee of the VKPb, Kirill Shutko (the husband of Nina
Agadzhanova Eisenstein worked with her on the script of 1905, from which
Potmkin grew), proposed changing the term Kulturfilm for the concept political-
enlightenment cinema. It is not surprising that Shutko supported none other than
Eisenstein with his idea of using art for displaying the mechanisms of history (in
1928 this tendency would bring Eisenstein to the theory of intellectual film with the
goal of teaching the worker to think dialectically). It would be interesting to know
which predecessors of both documentaries, and of these types of scientific and
technical film (that is, which early types of enlightenment activities) he had in mind
in the note of 1 January 1948.
notes 485
4. Eisenstein writes about this in detail in the chapter With a premeditated intention
(Montage of attractions) in his book Method (Metod, vol. I, pp. 49-62). In English:
How I Became a Director in SW3 pp. 284-90.
5. Even as early as when Battleship Potmkin was screened for approval, Eisenstein was
being officially reproached with not showing the organizing and leading role of the
Communist Party in the Revolution. October brought on even more criticism.
Although the film is preceded by an epigraph a quotation by Lenin, sent by the
Institute of the History of the Party, about the iron leadership of the Party (what
should have been), in reality all the politicians in the film (including Lenin) look
more like marionettes of history. It was likewise with The General Line the Party-
controlled revolutionizing of the countryside is not depicted, which led to a partial
remake of the film and the name change to Old and New. In the beginning of the
1930s Eisenstein labeled the change in Soviet film from the first revolutionary
stage to the Party stage.
6. Counterplan was a film by Fridrikh Ermler and Sergei Iutkevich about an old worker
who had arrived at the principles of socialist production and put forward a
counterplan of work that was more intensive and productive. The film was
supported by the authorities and the official critics and was soon declared one of the
first victories of Socialist Realism.
7. MKhAT stands for Moskovsky Khudozhestvenny Akademichkiy Teatr, the Moscow
Art Theater.
8. Eisenstein ironically writes the word pesa (drama) as piesa, with the aesthetic
spelling and pronunciation of the end of the 19th century. This is a response to his
long-lasting argument with the academic theater: for the author of montage of
attractions, the true material of theater is not the play, but the spectator.
9. The two films Eisenstein is referring to are Death Ray (Lev Kuleshov, 1925) and
Mother (Vsevolod Pudovkin, 1926).
10. The innovators of the 1920s repudiated the stylistics of prerevolutionary film
(traditional types of plot, melodramatic style of acting, etc.) that reigned in films
of the greatest entrepreneur of Russian film, Aleksandr Khanzhonkov. Eisenstein
supposed that Pudovkin, at first under the influence of the old cinema, overcame it
by being vaccinated by the epic cinema of Griffith and the influence of Strike.
11. Vladimir Petrovs film was released only in 1949. Eisenstein probably saw an early
version at the studioand precisely understood the aesthetic of Panoptikum,
which became manifest in ceremonial Soviet post-war films.
12. Mikhail Gelovani was the main player of the role of Stalin. Maksim Shtraukh played
Lenin for many years.
13. What is meant here are the rare cases of rebirth of the innovative poetics of the
1920s in the following era in particular, the film Three Songs about Lenin (1934) by
Dziga Vertov, which returned to the screen the principles of his Lenins Kino-Pravda
(1924) and developed them in sound cinema.
486 notes
Part Two Essays
1. Ada Ackerman, What Renders Daumiers Art So Cinematic for

Eisenstein?
1. This text is derived from my PhD research, which has been published in the
following book: Ada Ackerman, Eisenstein et Daumier. Des affinits electives (Paris:
Armand Colin, 2013). I thank Lindsey Muniak for her generous help in the editing of
this text.
2. Dynamic Mummification: Notes for a General History of Cinema, here, p. 125
3. Ibid., p. 142
4. Ibid., p. 143
5. The Heir, here, p. 111
6. Sergei Eisenstein, A Dialectic Approach to Film Form [1929], in Film Form: Essays in
Film Theory, ed. and trans. Jay Leyda (New York: Harcourt Brace and World, 1949),
pp. 45-63; Laocon (1937), in Towards a Theory of Montage, in Sergei M. Eisenstein,
Selected Works, Volume II: Towards a Theory of Montage, 1937-1940, ed. Michael Glenny
and Richard Taylor, trans. Michael Glenny (London: I.B. Tauris, 2010), pp. 109-202
(hereafter Selected Works [4 vols.] is abbreviated as SW); The Short Fiction Scenario
[1941], in The Eisenstein Collection, ed. Richard Taylor (New York: Seagull Books,
2006), pp. 336-399.
7. Eisenstein, The Short Fiction Scenario, pp. 342-344.
8. Gotthold Ephraim Lessing, Laocon [1766], trans. Ellen Frothingham (New York:
Noonday, 1957), p. 92.
9. See, for example, Sergei M. Eisenstein, Laocon, in SW 2, pp. 113-114.
10. Auguste Rodin, Rodin on Art and on Artists: Conversations with Paul Gsell, trans. Romilly
Fedden (New York: Dover, 1983), p. 33; Auguste Rodin, LArt. Entretiens runis par Paul
Gsell [1911] (Paris, Grasset, 1986), p. 70.
11. Eisenstein asserts that, from a teleological stance, cinema is the final phase of
human artistic development the highest and the most evolved of the arts.
Consequently, cinema has the capacity to facilitate a better understanding of
previous artistic forms. Scholars have labeled Eisenstein's theoretical project of
studying the various arts through a cinematic lens, relying on montage as a point of
orientation, cinmatisme. Eisenstein himself, however, never used this neologism,
which was derived from the French cinmatique. In his texts, Eisenstein instead
speaks of kinematografichnost, which may be translated by cinematographicity.
However, since the term cinematism has become widespread in Eisensteinian
studies, we will continue to use it here.
12. Sergei Eisenstein, Recidiv, in Metod, ed. Naum Kleiman, 2 vols. (Moskva: Muzei
kino, Eizenshtein-tsentr, 2002),. vol. 1, pp. 69-71 (my translation).
13. Vsevolod Meyerhold, Svadba Krechinskogo, in Meierhold repertiruet, ed. M.
Sitkovskaia (Artist, 1993), vol. 2, p. 9 (my translation).
14. Alfred H. Barr, Russian Diary, 1927-1928, October 7 (Winter 1978), p. 46.
15. Sergei Eisenstein, The Kangaroo, in Nonindifferent Nature, ed. Herbert Marshall
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987), p. 183.
notes 487
16. Unit 881, fund 1923, opus 2, Russian State Archive of Literature and Art (RGALI),
Moscow.
17. Alma Law and Mel Gordon, Meyerhold, Eisenstein and Biomechanics: Actor Training in
Revolutionary Russia (Durham: McFarland, 1996), p. 86.
18. Sergei Eisenstein and Sergei Tretiakov, Expressive Movement, trans. Alma Law,
Millennium Film Journal 3 (1979), pp. 30-38.
19. The music of landscape and the fate of montage counterpoint at a new stage, in
Eisenstein, Nonindifferent Nature, p. 283.
20. Sergei Eisenstein, Montazh (Moskva: Muzei kino, 2000), pp. 157-169.
21. Eisenstein, Laocon, in SW 2, p. 110.
22. Ibid., p. 111.
23. Ibid., pp. 110-111.
24. Ibid., pp. 120-121.
2. Franois Albera, The Heritage We Renounce: Eisenstein in

Historio-graphy
1. It would be appropriate to further question the very terms of heritage and heir
Eisenstein uses in these Notes on the basis of Vladimir Ilich Lenins text, The
Heritage We Renounce (1897), in Collected Works, ed. George Hanna (Moscow:
Progress Publishers, 1972), vol. 2, pp. 491-534, and this one by Walter Benjamin: In
authentic history writing, the destructive impulse is just as strong as the saving
impulse. From what can something be redeemed? Not so much from the disrepute
or discredit in which it is held as from a determined mode of its transmission. The
way in which it is valued as heritage is more insidious than its disappearance could
ever be. Notizen und Vorarbeiten zu den Thesen ber den Begriff der Geschichte
[Notes and preparatory material to the theses On the Concept of History], in Gesammelte
Schriften, vol. 1, part 3 (Frankfurt: Suhrkamp Verlag, 1974), p. 1242.
2. For a presentation of the editorial criteria that have been followed for the publication
of Eisensteins Notes for a General History of Cinema, first in Russian and then in
English translation in this volume, see Editorial Criteria, here, pp. 9-11.
3. Eisenstein thus distinguished the phases of this cinema in The Middle of the
Three (Sovetskoe kino 11-12 [1934]), a complete version of which was recently
published by Richard Taylor in Studies in Russian & Soviet Cinema 1.2 (2007), pp. 211-
233; and in his Speech to the All-Union Creative Conference of Soviet Filmworkers
(1935) for the fifteenth anniversary of Soviet cinema, in Selected Works, Volume III:
Writings, 1935-1947, ed. and trans. Richard Taylor (London: I.B. Tauris, 2010), pp.
16-26. (Hereafter Selected Works [4 vols.] is abbreviated as SW.) One might add
interventions such as The Most Important (Izvestia, January 6, 1935); One and
Indivisible (Thoughts on the History of Soviet Cinema) (1947), published
posthumously in SW 3, pp. 341-348; or, more punctual still, Give Us a State
Plan (Kinofront 14-15 [1927]), What We Expect from the Party Conference on
Matters of Cinema (Sovetskii ekran 1 [1928]), Twenty (20th Anniversary of Soviet
Cinema [1940]), etc.
4. The cultural continuity of so-called cinema specificity [spetsifika kino] from other
contiguous art forms is now more clearly recognized than ever. The theory of the
488 notes
spontaneous generation [samozarozhdenie] of cinema has long been outdated.
Eisenstein, The Middle of the Three, Studies in Russian & Soviet Cinema 1.2 (2007), p.
213.
5. Im outgrowing films, he said to Hans Richter. The medium is too primitive for
me. Mary Seton, Sergei M. Eisenstein: A Biography (London: Dennis Dobson, 1978
[1952]), p. 147.
6. Thus Art, with its high destination, is something belonging to the past. It has
measurably lost for us its truth and its life. Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel,
Aesthetics (Chicago: Griggs & Co., 1885), vol. 1, p. 5.
7. Maurice Merleau-Ponty, Le philosophe et son ombre, in Signes (Paris: Gallimard,
1960). Reprinted in loge de la philosophie et autres essais (Paris: Gallimard, 1966), pp.
242-243.
8. Michel de Certeau, The Writing of History (New York: Columbia University Press,
1988), pp. 17-114.
9. Among many others, take, for example, these assertions by Jacques Deslandes: [T]
he history of cinema, that is, of films, could then begin, or From 1896 on, the
history of cinema was no longer the history of an invention, but that of an Art.
Jacques Deslandes, Histoire compare du cinma, vol. 1, De la cinmatique au
cinmatographe, 1826-1896 (Tournai: Casterman, 1966), pp. 7, 277.
10. This word, whose origin is scientific (the term cinmatique is introduced by Ampre
to designate the science enclos[ing] everything there is to say about different kinds
of movement regardless of the forces they can produce in his Essai sur la philosophie
des sciences (Paris: Bachelier, 1834), part 1, chapter 1, 3, before becoming a branch of
physiology in Marey), circulates widely in the early 1920s among theorists and critics
of French cinema such as Canudo, Moussinac, Levinson, etc. It may even refer to
film as material as opposed to artistic form (as when in the catalog of the Salon
dAutomne of 1921, in the presentation sessions Club of Friends of the Seventh Art,
one reads: To raise the intellectual level of French cinematic production). Lon
Moussinac opposed cinematic arts moving plastic to static art (primarily
painting) (A propos du dcor au cinma Cinmagazine 11 [March 17, 1922], or De
influence des peintres sur le cinema, Art et dcoration [April 1923], in particular).
11. See Rostislav Jurenev, Eisenstein, Anthologie du cinma 1 (1966), pp. 60, 62; and
Werner Sdendorf, Sergej M. Eisenstein. Materialen zu Leben und Werk (Munich: Carl
Hanser, 1975), pp. 201-202. In the Conspectus of Lectures on the Psychology of
Art (1947) reference is made to the request of Prof. Alexander Luria of Moscow
University to come and give a lecture on the psychology of art. See Eisenstein, The
Psychology of Composition (Calcutta: Seagull Books, 1987), p. 16. On relations between
Eisenstein and Luria, see below.
12. See the introduction to Potique du film. Textes des formalistes russes sur le cinma [1995],
ed. Franois Albera (Lausanne: LAge dHomme, 2008).
13. Since December 1947, the members of the department had been meeting every
Wednesday to that end. A parallel or converging enterprise was that of Georgii
Aleksandrovich Avenarius. Avenarius had supervised the transfer of the film-trophies
collected by the Red Army in Berlin and was to give impetus to the creation of the
Gosfilmofond. He too sought to write a world history of cinema based on the
notes 489
thousands of European and American films from early cinema to the 1940s, which
until then had not made it to the USSR and had been looted by the Nazis in occupied
Europe. It should be noted that one year before taking his appointment at the USSR
Academy of Sciences and inaugurating the project of a universal history, Eisenstein
at that time the vice-director of the Cinema Section of VOKS (the All-Union Society
for Cultural Relations with Foreign Countries) was already talking of a project on
the history of cinema in letters addressed to several American filmmakers (Ford,
Wyler, Capra, Welles) from a perspective quite different from that in question here
(see the publication of this correspondence by Sergei Kapterev in Studies in Russian &
Soviet Cinema 4.2 [2010], pp. 245-253). Beyond establishing closer ties and setting up
cultural exchanges, the idea was to start the edition of a serie[s] of books under the
title Materials on the History of World Cinema (the expression was repeated in all
four letters), whose first two volumes had appeared at the time (on Chaplin and
Griffith, respectively).
14. See Georgii Plekhanov, Gyrgy Lukcs, or, in art history, Arnold Hauser or Max
Raphal whom Eisenstein quotes in Nonindifferent Nature. Max Raphal, Proudhon,
Marx, Picasso: Three Studies in the Sociology of Art (Atlantic Highlands: Humanities Press,
1980 [1933]).
15. See Lev Kuleshov, Art, Contemporary Life and Cinema, in The Film Factory: Russian
and Soviet Cinema in Documents, 1896-1939, ed. Ian Christie and Richard Taylor
(London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1988), pp. 68-69.
16. According to Arnold Hauser, the Russians become the first classicists of the new
art and The works of Eisenstein and Pudovkin are really in some measure the
Homeric epics of the cinema, in The Film as a Product of Society, Sight and Sound
8.32 (Winter 1939-1940), p. 132.
17. See the reference to Nordau, who leveled the term Entartung (degeneration) at
Wagner in 1892, echoing Baudelaires expression on Manet as the first in the
decrepitude of his art (letter dated May 11, 1865). See also passages taken from Max
Raphal on Picasso in Nonindifferent Nature. We can compare this position with the
diagnosis of Walter Benjamin in The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical
Reproduction, par. XIV: The excesses and crudities of art which thus result,
particularly in periods of so-called decadence, actually emerge from the core of its
richest historical energies (Walter Benjamin, Selected Writings, vol. 4, 1938-1940,
trans. Edmund Jephcott and others, ed. Howard Eiland and Michael W. Jennings
[Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2003], p. 266). This diagnosis was
pronounced before the Second World War by Eisenstein when he wrote his Notes (see
also the preface he wrote in 1942 to Film Sense. Here he is particularly harsh
regarding the trends toward disintegration that are characteristic of the isms,
with their regression toward a zero point which Eisenstein sees in all artistic
production except for cinema).
18. Dynamic Mummification. Notes for a General History of Cinema, here, p. 148.
19. Lev Manovich, The Language of the New Media (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2001).
From this observation Manovich draws the conclusion that the theory and history of
cinema serve as the key conceptual lens through which I look at new media (pp. 8-
9).
490 notes
20. Michel Foucault, The Archaeology of Knowledge (New York: Pantheon Books, 1972
[1969]), pp. 9-10.
21. Works following in this path include those of Vanessa Schwartz, Friedrich Kittler,
Stefan Andriopoulos, Ray Beth Gordon, Patrick Dsile, Jean-Louis Dotte, etc. We
began opening this epistemic space with the proposal of an episteme 1900 and a
theory of devices (Cinema Beyond Film, ed. Franois Albera, Maria Tortajada
[Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2009]). See also First Discourses on
Film and the Construction of a Cinematic Episteme, in A Companion to Early Cinema,
ed. Andr Gaudreault, Nicolas Dulac, Santiago Hidalgo [London: John Willey, 2012],
pp. 121-140).
22. Andr Gaudreault (who, along with Tom Gunning, had borrowed from Eisenstein
the notion of attraction, before those of mise-en-cadre the placement within the
frame and mise-en-chane putting in sequence) was able to establish links between
Eisensteins filmic practice and early cinema. See Eisenstein, LAncien et le nouveau, ed.
Dominique Chateau, Franois Jost, and Martin Lefebvre (Paris: Les Presses de la
Sorbonne, 2001).
23. Jean George Auriol, Les origines de la mise en scne, Revue du cinma 1 (1946).
Carlo Ragghianti thus claimed that cinema exteriorized the time factor, which is
intrinsic to other arts. See Carlo Ragghianti, Cinema arte figurativa (Turin: Einaudi,
1952), p. 77.
24. Thanks to his network of friends, Eisenstein closely followed what was being
published. Marie Seton emphasizes Eisensteins compulsive reading in those years
and his constant requests for books to his friends in the West (Moussinac, Montagu
and Leyda, among others).
25. Maurice Bardche and Robert Brasillach, History of the Film, trans. and rev. Iris Barry
(London: George Allen & Unwin, 1938 [1935]). Eisenstein quotes a passage in How
I Learn to Draw (A Chapter about My Dancing Lesson), in SW 4, p. 579.
26. Terry Ramsaye, A Million and One Nights (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1926); Gilbert
Seldes, The Movies Come from America (New York: Charles Scribner's and Sons, 1937),
preface by Charles Chaplin (the book was subtitled Movies for the Millions). Eisenstein
also cites Seldess An Hour with the Movies and the Talkies (Philadelphia: Lippincott,
1929) and his The 7 Lively Arts (New York: Harper & Bros.,1924); Lewis Jacobs, The
Rise of the American Film: A Critical History (New York: Harcourt Brace, 1939); Iris Barry,
D.W. Griffith: American Film Master (New York: The Museum of Modern Art, 1940).
27. Georges-Michel Coissac, Histoire du cinmatographe (Paris: Cinopse/Gauthier-Villard,
1925); Franz Paul Liesegang, Dates and Sources: A Contribution to the History of the Art of
the Projection and to Cinematography (London: The Magic Lantern Society of Great
Britain, 1986 [Zahlen und Quellen: zur Geschichte der Projektionkunst und Kinematographie
(Berlin: Deutsches Druck und Verlaghaus, 1926)]).
28. See Dana Polan: This course will examine, for the first time, the history, structure
and functions of the motion picture as an art and as an industry. Various motion
pictures, cinema devices and documents bearing on the rise and evolution of the
films will be exhibited, as they may become available during the course (Scenes of
Instruction: The Beginnings of the U.S. Study of Film [Berkeley: University of California
Press, 2007], p. 94). His perspective is, however, the very example of the
notes 491
teleological default for which the first historians of cinema were reproached. For
him, The coming of the motion picture was inevitable (ibid., p. 2) and everything
heralds and prefigures it: That hole in the wall of a chamber in Hellas was the
pinhole aperture which cast a true image of the sun, and that darkened room was in
truth a camera (ibid., p. 2); Leonardo observed that if he cut a small circular hole
in a shutter of a darkened room there would be an image on the wall opposite []:
This room was in reality the camera obscura [] and it was indeed too the camera of
to-day (ibid., p. 4).
29. Ibid., p. IX.
30. Georges Sadoul, Histoire gnrale du cinma, vol. I, LInvention du cinma, 1832-1897
(Paris: Denol, 1945; 2nd ed., 1948), vol. II, Les Pionniers du cinma, 1897-1909 (Paris:
Denol, 1947).
31. This was, however, the title of a summarizing work that Sadoul published in 1949:
Histoire dun art. Le cinma des origines nos jours (Paris: Flammarion, 1949), regularly
reprinted but with the title Histoire du cinma mondial. Des origines nos jours, until
1990, as well as in paperback under the title Histoire du cinma (Paris: Jai Lu,
Connaissance 1, 1962). Unfortunately, it is this work that will be the most
frequently translated, and the one that researchers comment on (Bordwell or Lagny)
when they want to define Sadouls procedure.
32. See Franois Albera, First Discourses on Film and the Construction of a Cinematic
Episteme, in A Companion to Early Cinema, pp. 126-130.
33. The Russian Formalists (especially Eikhenbaum and Tynianov), for instance, take up
this schema.
34. In the first issue of Revue internationale de filmologie (1947). In 1951, he announced a
book about the origins and developments of the filmic syntax from 1895 to 1930.
35. Les Lettres franaises 477 (August 6, 1953), p. 5.
36. Mary Seton refers to one of these letters, whose content Sadoul must have
communicated to her. See Seton, Sergei M. Eisenstein, p. 466. The letters are kept at
the Cinmathque Franaise, but not filed; I published a few of them in Eisenstein
dans la ligne, in Eisenstein, LAncien et le nouveau, pp. 96-97.
37. Close shots of heads and objects were not so rare in the pre-Griffith film as is
generally assumed; close shots can be found used solely for novelty or trick purposes
by such inventive pioneers as Mlis and the English Brighton School (as pointed
out by Georges Sadoul). Sergei Eisenstein, Film Form (London: Dennis Dobson,
1963 [1949]), pp. 224. The note may also be found in the Italian edition, Forma e
tecnica del film (Turin: Einaudi, 1964), p. 196, as well as in Armand Panigels French
edition, Le Film: sa forme/son sens (Paris: Bourgois, 1976), p. 408, but not in the
Russian edition of the Selected Works, Izbrannye proizvedeniia v shesti tomakh, 6 vols.
(Moskva: Iskusstvo, 1964-1971), vol. 5, 129-180. The third volume of Richard
Taylors edition of the Selected Works provides another version of it: The logically
informative close-up can be found even earlier, e.g. in [Edwin] Porters The Life of an
American Fireman (USA, 1903) where the fire alarm is shot in close-up (SW 3, p. 215).
Written in 1942 and published in 1944, Dikkens, Grifft i My was revised by
Eisenstein in 1946-1947 when Leyda was preparing Film Form (see Seton, Sergei M.
Eisenstein, p. 472), as were the texts he sent to Panigel for the French edition
492 notes
published by Jacques Melot (see ibid., p. 464-465). Only a look at the manuscripts
addressed to Leyda and Panigel, respectively, would clarify the matter.
38. Dynamic Mummification. Notes for a General History of Cinema, here, p. 190.
39. Histoire gnrale du cinma, 3rd ed. (1978), vol. 2, pp. 303-304.
40. This is Maurice Bessy and Giuseppe Maria Lo Ducas book, Georges Mlis: Mage, suivi
de Mes mmoires par Georges Mlis (Paris: Prisma, 1945), which is alluded to
immediately afterward. The reference to this richly illustrated book (in color), which
features documents beyond the films proper (Mlis as a caricaturist, a conjurer, a
director at the Thtre Robert-Houdin), is in itself significant: Eisenstein quite
evidently drew from it a vindication of his expanded approach and found precise
information in the book, notably on the anticipated reconstruction of the crowning
of King Edward VII in 1902. See Bessy and Lo Duca, Georges Mlis, pp. 199-200.
41. Naissance de la photographie, Regards 262 (January 19, 1939), pp. 20-21; Les
origines du cinma amricain, Regards 267 (February 23, 1939); Le rle de la
France dans la naissance du cinma amricain, Regards 268 (March 2, 1939), p. 19;
Le cinma est parlant depuis le dbut, Regards 269 (March 9, 1939), p. 18; Les
premiers pas du cinma. Linvention des premiers appareils dessins anims. 1824-
1853, La Pense 2 (Jan.-March 1945); Lcole de Brighton (1900-1905). Les origines
du montage, du gros-plan et de la poursuite, Cinma 2 (Paris: IDHEC-Jacques Melot,
1945); Linvention du cinma, Labyrinthe 13-14 (1945) published in Geneva by
Skira, this issue appeared alongside an exhibition by the Cinmathque Franaise in
Lausanne; Georges Sadoul and Paul Reynaud, mile Reynaud peintre de films, 1844-1918
(Paris: Cinmathque Franaise, 1945); Le Fantme de lOpra, Lcran franais
(December 1945); Les apprentis sorciers. DEdison Mlis, La Revue du cinma 1
(1946); Early Film Production in England: The Origin of Montage, Close-ups, and
Chase Sequence, Hollywood Quarterly 3 (April 1946); Georges Mlis et la premire
laboration du langage cinmatographique, Revue internationale de filmologie 1 (1947);
L'Art et l'industrie du cinma au temps des pionniers, Europe 19 (July 1947); British
Creators of Film Technique (London: British Film Institute, 1948).
42. Friedrich von Zglinicki, Der Weg des Films. Die Geschichte der Kinematographie und ihrer
Vorlufer (Berlin: Rembrandt, 1956). The first thirteen chapters (out of thirty-six) are
devoted to the forerunners (Vorlufer), starting with rock paintings; a chart of the
evolution of types of images is also proposed (p. 193).
43. C.W. Ceram, Archaeology of the Cinema (New York: Harcourt Brace & World, 1965), p.
17.
44. See F. Albera, Pierre Francastel, le cinma et la filmologie, Cinmas 19.2-3 (2009),
pp. 287-316, as well as Francastels texts published in the appendix (pp. 317-331).
45. See David Bordwell and Kristin Thompson, Film History: An Introduction (New York:
McGraw-Hill, 1994); David Bordwell, On the History of Film Style (Cambridge, MA:
Harvard University Press, 1997). According to them, the Standard Version follows
the Basic Story, which is purely enumerative, and adopts a teleological perspective.
Opposed to it are Bazins Dialectical Program and Burchs Oppositional
Program. Here, taxonomic teaching is producing a real sterilization of the
historiographical material in question.
notes 493
46. Georges Friedmann, Sur une histoire du cinma, Annales 3 (1946); Andr Bazin,
Le Mythe du cinma total et les origines du cinmatographe, Critique 6 (1946); The
Myth of Total Cinema, in Andr Bazin, What Is Cinema? (Los Angeles: University of
California Press, 2004), vol. 1, pp. 17-22. See Franois Albera, Trois intrigues de
Georges Sadoul, Cinmas 21.1 (2011), p. 56.
47. See Lon Moussinac, Anticipations ncessaires, LHumanit, June 18, 1926; and
Georges Sadoul, Les Merveilles du cinma (Paris: Editeurs Franais Runis, 1957).
48. From which Erwin Panofsky took an equal distance in his famous 1934 essay, Style
and Medium in the Motion Pictures: It was not an artistic urge that gave rise to the
discovery and gradual perfection of a new technique; it was a technical invention that
gave rise to the discovery and gradual perfection of a new art (Bulletin of the
Department of Art and Archaelogy, Princeton University [1934]; reprinted in Leo Braudy
and Marshall Cohen, eds., Film Theory and Criticism: Introductory Readings, 5th ed. [New
York: Oxford University Press, 1999], p. 279). But neither Sadoul nor Eisenstein limit
themselves to this alternative between idea or artistic urge (urge being the
same term that Eisenstein uses in the Notes, as well as Ramsaye, who refers to The
urge of art and technique [A Million and One Nights, p. 5]). They take account of
the evolution of society on the economic as well as mental (ideological) level, as well
as of certain anthropological factors.
49. Louis Althusser, Philosophy of the Encounter: Later Writings, 1978-1987 (London: Verso,
2006), pp. 163-207. See Eisensteins surprising pages in his Memoirs (Beyond the Stars,
in SW 4) about the technical process of an invention (ideas, plan,
implementation). In Torito, he takes the example of Gutenberg starting from
J.-M. Montmassons Le rle de linconscient dans linvention scientifique (Paris, Alcan, 1928;
the reference is omitted in the English edition of the Memoirs) and the writings of
Gutenberg himself to examine the process from a ide fixe (fixed idea) but goes by
assemblies and extrapolations between different techniques converging toward
the development a device which is the expressed command of a social group
whose interests he shared (Beyond the Stars, in SW 4, p. 766).
50. [B]y means of photography we make factual copy-prints of the phenomena and
elements of reality refers to documentary; these copy-prints if you like
photographic reflections are combined in a certain arrangement refers to the
cinema of mise en scne (Eisenstein, The Middle of the Three, Studies in Russian &
Soviet Cinema 1.2 [2007], p. 213).
51. David-Octavius Hill (1802-1870), an Edinburgh painter, was the author of a treatise
on the reproduction of landscape paintings through engraving. With Robert
Adamson, he was one of the first to use Fox Talbots invention (negative/positive) in
many portraits and landscapes called calotypes. In Vladimir Nielsens Izobrazitelnoe
postroenie filma (with a preface by Eisenstein [Moskva: Kino Foto Izdat, 1936];
published in English as The Cinema as a Graphic Art [New York: Hill & Wang, 1936]), a
whole chapter is devoted to photography, and Hill is mentioned several times.
52. Published in the collection edited by Gaston Diehl, Problmes de la peinture (Lyon:
Confluences, 1945), the essay was reprinted in an amended version in Quest-ce que le
cinma? (1958). It was published in the USSR as to takoe kino? (Moskva: Iskusstvo,
1972) with interesting remarks by the editor. For the amended version, see Andr
494 notes
Bazin, The Ontology of the Photographic Image, in Bazin, What Is Cinema? (Los
Angeles: University of California Press, 2004), vol. 1, pp. 9-16. (Translators note: the
quotations appearing here come from the original essay published in Diehls
collection, and the translations from the French are my own.)
53. One is titled Linvention de la photographie.
54. Bazins text has a genealogy of its own: Girard-Cordonnier, Le Christ dans sa passion
rvle par le saint-Suaire de Turin (Paris: Dillen, 1935); Paul Claudel, La Photographie
du Christ, in Toi, qui es-tu? (Paris: Gallimard, 1936); and several articles on
photography in Esprit in the 1930s, including Ren Schwob, Art potique de la
photographie, on death every twenty-fourth of a second, and the superiority of
photography over the (stilled) single frame.
55. Peinture et photographie, Arts de France 19/20 and 21 (1947). This is the
transcription of a conference at Travail et Culture, where Bazin was also active.
56. This refers to Baudelaires expression in his The Salon of 1859: The Modern Public
and Photography: Daguerre was his Messiah (in Francis Frascina and Charles
Harrison, eds., Modern Art and Modernism: A Critical Anthology [London: Sage, 1982], p.
19). Bazins text manifestly echoes Baudelaires, whose condemnation he turns
round while keeping its religious isotopy.
57. These questions were debated and dismissed by Descartes with his Dioptrics.
58. See Franois Dagognet, Philosophie de limage (Paris: Vrin, 1984), p. 55.
59. Ludwig Wittgenstein, Tractatus logico-philosophicus (Seven Treasures Publications,
2009), p. 29.
60. The editors of the Memoirs situate this undated text between 1943 and 1946: cf.
Beyond the Stars, in SW 4, pp. 290-298.
61. The onlookers reflection on the daguerreotype plate is one way to understand
Baudelaires evocation as he wrote that our squalid society rushed, Narcissus to a
man, to gaze at its trivial image on a scrap of metal (Baudelaire, The Salon of
1859, p. 20.
62. Beyond the Stars, in SW 4, pp. 292-296.
63. As distinguished from the epic vs. dramatic opposition in The Dramaturgy of Film
Form (1929) in which the epic principle is associated with Pudovkin and linear
assembly, as opposed to dialectical montage based on conflict (S.M. Eisenstein,
Cinmatisme. Peinture et cinma, introduction, notes and commentary by Franois
Albera [Dijon: Les presses du rel], p. 25). On pathos, see in this volume Pathos
and Praxis (Eisenstein versus Barthes) by Georges Didi-Huberman, pp. 309-322.
64. See Sergei Eisenstein, Glass House (Dijon: Les Presses du Rel, 2009), and his text on
intellectual attraction (A.I. 28) in Franois Albera, ed., Eisenstein dans le texte, special
issue of Cinmas 11.2-3 (2001). In Pioneers and Innovators Eisenstein writes: My
limit is intellectual film (here, p. 250).
65. See Documents from Novy LEF, Screen 15.3 (1974). For the movement as a whole,
see above all the works of Maria Zalambani: LArte nelle produzione: avanguardia e
rivoluzione nella Russia sovietica degli anni 20 (Ravenna: Longo, 1998); La morte del
romanzo: dallavanguardia al realismo socialista (Roma: Carocci, 2003) (Russian edition:
Literatura fakta: ot avangarda k sotsrealismu, Sankt-Peterburg, 2006); for cinema and
literature, see Elizabeth Papazian, Manufacturing Truth: The Documentary Moment in
notes 495
Early Soviet Culture (DeKalb: Northern Illinois University Press, 2009), and for cinema,
journalism, and photography, see Aya Kawamura, La cration collective dans le
documentaire sovitique: photographie, cinma et correspondants-ouvriers, in
1895 Revue dhistoire du cinma 63 (2011).
66. Eisenstein, Psychology of Composition, p. 1.
67. Pioneers and Innovators, here, p. 250.
68. The Heir, here, p. 115.
69. Denounced in the first issue of LEF with the slogan Do not make business on
Lenin!and which will be discussed in regards to the representation of Lenin in
October, for which Eisenstein was criticized. Vertov, like Rodchenko, opposes the
living archive of the film to the dead imagery of painting and various effigies (see
Rodchenko, Protiv summirovannogo portreta za momentalnyi snimok, Novy LEF 4
[1928], p. 14; reprinted in Alexandr Rodchenko: Experiments for the Future: Diaries, Essays,
Letters and Other Writings, ed. and with a preface by Alexander N. Lavrentiev, trans. and
annotated by Jamey Gambrell, and with an introduction by John E. Bowlt (New York:
MoMA, 2004).
70. The convention, in its meeting of the 28 floral, year II (May 17, 1794), adopted a
decree concerning public festivals. Robespierre speaks of them as the most
magnificent of all spectacles, that of a great people assembled. In the national
festivals of Greece, he says, one saw a spectacle greater than the games, namely the
spectators themselves, the people who had triumphed over Asia, whose republican
virtues had sometimes elevated them above humanity. One saw great men who had
saved or brought great honor to the nation: father showing to their sons Miltiade,
Aristide, Epaminondas, Timoleon, whose presence alone was a living lesson in
magnanimity, justice, and patriotism. Cited by Ernest Lalanne in Les Ftes de la
rvolution (Paris: Socit ddition et de publication, 1900), pp. 8-9.
71. Alois Riegl, Problems of Style: Foundations for a History of Ornament (Princeton: Princeton
University Press, 1992); Stilfragen. Grundlegungen zu einer Geschichte der Ornamentik
(Berlin: Siemens, 1893).
72. This urge, this drive (Trieb) that he constantly invokes, has some proximity to the
Kunstwollen (will to art): the historical movement from close, haptic vision, to far-off,
optical vision (present in Rodin and Rilke and here in regard to the passage from
contour to tattooing and representation.)
73. In Praise of the Cine-chronicle, here, p. 225.
74. Ibid.
75. The Russian version of El Greco and the Cinema, El Greco i kino, can be found
in S.M. Eisenstein, Montazh (Moskva: Muzei kino, 2000), pp. 404-463. A French
translation with the title in Spanish El Greco y el cine can be found in Eisenstein,
Cinmatisme, pp. 65-128.
76. For Plato the visible and verisimilar image (the icon of semiology) is called eidolon
(idol). The icon (eikon) is a symbol, a rhetorical figure (like the cave in The Republic).
77. In Storm over Toledo, El Greco adopted a geographically impossible point of view to
paint the city, the Alcntara bridge, and the Tajo, imaginarily placing himself at an
impossible height. Furthermore, he changed the proportions and placements of
496 notes
various sites. Eisenstein speaks of this kind of super-figurative, eidetic task and of
the eidetic recreation of a natural landscape.
78. Initiated in 1928, Eisensteins relationship with Vygotsky and Luria, and then, after
the death of the first in 1934, with Luria alone, continued until his death. The two
psychologists were very interested in questions of psychology of art and especially
the spectators relationship with the film. (Luria opened a laboratory within GIK to
this end, with the production of experimental films and experimental that
foreshadow those of the Institute of Filmology.) Eisenstein, for his part, collected
the results of the experiments and the presentations material for teaching the
comprehension of the reception mechanisms of works of art, the function of
language, memory, and perception. He also owed to Luria his contact with Kurt
Lewin and the Gestalt psychologists during his German trip of 1929. Eisenstein was
asked by Luria to develop a course in December 1940, and on November 19, 1947,
called him to give courses on the psychology of art at the Psychology Institute
(Eisenstein, Psychology of Composition, p. 16).
79. Alexander Luria, The Mind of a Mnemonist (London: Basic Books, 1968), p. 41.
80. Sergei M. Eisenstein, Vertical Montage (1940), in SW 2, p. 368.
81. Jaenschs theories are taken up in France by Pierre Quercy (who publishes articles on
eidetism and hallucinations and is interested in the case of Theresa dAvila,
discussed by Edmond Claparde). In his Dictionnaire abrg du surralisme (cowritten
with Paul Eluard) (1938), Andr Breton takes up the definition used by Jaensch and
his French disciples. Jaensch, who claimed to be a follower of Lvy-Bruhl, took
Hitlers side early on and sought to justify Nazi racial ideology on anthropological
grounds.
82. This inferential interaction between the analyst and the patient (over some thirty
years) was analyzed by Abdelhadi Elfakir in Mmoire et autisme: de la
neuropsychologie la psychanalyse. Le cas de Cherechevski, LInformation
psychiatrique 81.9 (November 2005).
83. A whole part of Shereshevskys explications, furthermore, coincides with the
iconological program of Franois David, as he presented it in 1911 in his Nouveau
systme de composition des Scnes cinmatographiques, Cin Journal 160
(November 16, 1911). We began to present Davids astonishing pedagogical and
encyclopedic utopia in Voir le procs de pense: le cinma intellectuel de Franois
David Eisenstein (en passant par Godard), in Leonardo Quaresima, Alessandra
Raengo, Laura Vichi, eds., I Limiti della rappresentazione. The Bounds of Representation.
Censorship, the Visible, Modes of Representation in Film (Udine: Forum, 2000).
84. See the chapter entitled Montage and Architecture of Towards a Theory of Montage,
in SW 2, pp. 59-81, and the essay El Greco and the Cinema (Eisenstein, Montazh,
pp. 404-463; Eisenstein, Cinmatisme, pp. 65-128). The targeted usage of the
adjective eidetic in respect to Storm of Toledo, clarified by Lurias usage, allows for
an emphasis on the subjective aspect of this landscape. Eisenstein even speaks of a
self-portrait and takes up Zolas phrase, nature viewed through a temperament.
85. Here one approaches some of Bazins claims in The Ontology of the Photographic
Image that are made, however, from another philosophical perspective (phenom-
enology) and situate the cameras object elsewhere (to aim at the real of things
notes 497
themselves without the interference of a human who interprets and interposes
himself.)
87. Notably in Nonindifferent Nature and Metod.
89. Ibid.
90. In Praise of the Cine-chronicle, here, pp. 227-228.
91. In Pioneers and Innovators, Eisenstein writes: Kuleshov ended with the arrival
of Strike. As did Vertov (here, p. 250).
92. R. Labrusse, Dlires anthropologiques: Josef Strzygowski face Alois Riegl, in
Histoire de lart et anthropologie (Paris: INHA/Muse du Quai Branly, 2009). The
Viennese historian of art Strzygowski (who participated in Georges Bataille and Carl
Einsteins journal Documents and who shared an interest that Malraux would pursue
after the war for carrying out unexpected juxtapositions between works and periods
of art) was one of Riegls most resolute adversaries (see Georg Vasold, Riegl,
Strzygowski and the Development of Art, ARS: Journal of the Institute of Art History of
SAS 1 [2008]).
93. The references that he makes even here, as in other texts, to Nordau, are indications
as to that social pathology that he was diagnosing. In his Entartung, Nordau
stigmatizes fin de sicle immorality, particularly in the artistic domain
(degenerate art) on a supposedly scientific basis: In the fin de sicle
temperament, in the tendencies of poetry and contemporary art, in the life and
the behavior of men who write mystical, symbolic, and decadent works, in the
attitude taken by their admirers, in the tastes and aesthetic instincts of fashionable
society, one observes the confluence of two well-defined conditions of illness
familiar to the doctor, degeneration and hysteria, whose benign phase is called
neurasthenia. The book presents numerous case studies of artists, writers, and
thinkers (Ibsen, Wagner, Wilde, Nietzsche), taking as its basic idea that society is in
a state of degeneration and that art reflects that state. Eisenstein cites Entartung in
Vertical Montage (See Towards a Theory of Montage for the symbolism of colors) in
Metod, vol. 1, Grundproblem, pp. 131-134) and in his notes for a Psychology of
Art (in Psychology of Composition).
94. The term appears regularly when what Tomaso Montanari calls a vague conception
of theatricality or a hyperdecorativism emerges. See his recent Il Barocco (Turin:
Einaudi, 2012). Pierre Francastel had fought against this vague usage of the term
(Baroque et classique: une civilization, Annales 12.2 [1957], pp. 207-222.
95. Eugenio dOrs, Du Baroque [Lo Barroco] (Paris, Gallimard, 1935 [1968], p. 29). In his
The Origin of German Tragic Drama (written between 1923 and 1925), Walter Benjamin
writes for his part that like expressionism, the baroque is not so much an age of
genuine artistic achievement as an age possessed of an unremitting artistic will. This
is true of all periods of so-called decadence (London: Verso, 1998), p. 55. The use
of Riegls expression (Kunstwollen) brings Benjamin close to the author of Die
Entstehung der Barockkunst in Rom (The origin of baroque art in Rome, 1908) who had
argued harshly over these questions of decadence in the art of late antiquity with
Josef Strzygowski.
498 notes
96. Nonindifferent Nature, p. 298.
97. See David Bordwell, Eisensteins Epistemological Shift, Screen 15.4 (1974/1975).
98. DOrs, Du Baroque, p. 127.
99. Viktor Shklovskii, O zakonakh stroeniia filmy S. Ejzenshteina, Sovetskii ekran 6
(1929). Reprinted as Des lois de construction des films dEisenstein, in V.
Shklovskii, Textes sur le cinma (Lausanne: LAge dHomme, 2011), p. 185.
100. Viktor Shklovskii, Konets barokko, Literaturnaia gazeta 32 (May 12, 1932), p. 3.
101. Kenneth Clark, One Hundred Details from the National Gallery (London: National Gallery
Company, 1938).
102. Metod, vol. 2, p. 65. French translation: Les pripties de la pars pro toto, in Sergei
Eisenstein, Dickens & Griffith. Gnse du gros plan, trans. Marina Berger (Paris: Stalker,
2007), pp. 124-125.
103. Luc et Paul Haesaerts, Flandres: essai sur lart flamand depuis 1880. Limpressionnisme
(Paris: Editions des Chroniques du Jour, 1931).
104. Jens-Ferdinand Willumsen, La Jeunesse du peintre El Greco. Essai sur la transformation de
lartiste byzantin en peintre europen, 2 vols. (Paris, Crs, 1927); Maurice Legendre and A.
Hartmann, El Greco (Paris: Hyperion, 1937). See El Greco and the Cinema, and
Nonindifferent Nature, chapter 4.
105. Les pripties de la pars pro toto, pp. 124-125. Clark, in his preface, indicates that
his primary motivation in isolating a detail in a painting is its beauty, and that the
choices reflect his taste before all else. He furthermore recognizes the playful
dimension of the process (Will one recognize the detail or not?) and above all it
refreshing character.
106. Ibid., p. 128. It is indeed a fact that many magazines of the 1920s based their
iconographic layout on montage (opposition, analogy, contrast).
107. El Greco and the Cinema, (French translation El Greco y el cine, p. 90).
108. Marie-Claire Ropars-Wuilleumier, Fonction de la mtaphore dans Octobre
dEisenstein, Littrature 11 (1973), p. 125. For Ropars-Wuilleumier, syntax
montage as putting elements into relation with each other offers a metonymic base
(that of writing) with a metaphorical effect (semantic), because writing produces the
text and not the represented. Or, to put it in Jacques Derridas terms, while metaphor
subordinates the syntactic to the semantic, it is also a matter of looking to syntactic
resistance as one of the paths of the metaphors self-destruction. (La mythologie
blanche, cited by Ropars, Fonction de la mtaphore, p. 127).
109. This question deserves a development that cannot be carried out here. Let us simply
take the famous example of the three lions in Potmkin to illustrate it (this montage
sequence has been analyzed by V.F Perkins [Films as Film: Understanding and Judging
Movies (Baltimore: Penguin Books, 1972)] and Herbert Marshall [Sergei Eisensteins The
Battleship Potemkin (New York: Avon Books, 1978)] from another perspective): in
the construction of the film and the conception that governs Eisensteins aesthetics
in Strike and Battleship Potmkin, these three lions sleeping, woken up, and
frightened and standing up straight have a metonymic function. The battleship
fires on buildings that incarnate imperial power in Odessa (the opera, the general
quarter), as a reaction to the repression of the people, who had allied themselves
with the mutineers (the steps episode). The wrought-iron gates of a palace, a
notes 499
sculptural group on the opera building (a nude female figure on a chariot, pulled by
lionesses), and some cherubs are thus bombed and, in this series of imperial
emblems, the lions arrive last (three lions, just as there were, shortly beforehand,
three angels and four lionesses). The commentaries, including those by Eisenstein
in the 1930s, ascribed them the meaning of anger, the peoples revolt, in a single
animal arising (even the stones will roar), that is to say, assigned to them a
metaphorical function (the lions fear becomes a roar, from being terrified he
becomes terrifying). Eisenstein speaks in Nonindifferent Nature of sculptural
metaphor (p. 314). Unthinkable in the 1920s (dominated by constructivism: the
assemblage of fragmentary elements), this metaphorical imagery becomes
thinkable in the context of socialist realism (already in The White Eagle [1928], the
veteran Protazanov, in the scene of the suppressed demonstration in front of the
governors residence, uses five shots of lion statues, strongly integrated into the
diegesis, with a metaphorical function strength and cruelty of power). While
Kuleshov in 1926, speaks of bombing of Odessa Theater with lions scared [Will.
Tenacity. Eye, in Lart du cinma et autres crits (Lausanne: LAge dHomme, 1995), p.
136], Pudovkin, on the side of metaphor in cinema from the outset (the clock in
Mother, the disaster of the ice floes, and the May 1st demonstration), comments on
this meaning this sequence of Potemkin in his writings (see V.I. Pudovkin, Film
Technique and Film Acting [New York: Lear, 1949], pp. 87-89), and Shklovskii sees the
three lions become one who leaps and roars (Ikh nastoiashchee, 1927, reprinted in
Shklovskii, Textes sur le cinma, p. 114, and in Des lois de construction des films
dEisenstein, p. 184). Eisenstein analyzes this passage of the film as an emotional
explosion in his Memories (Beyond the Stars, in SW 4).
3. Luka Arsenjuk, The Notes for a General History of Cinema and

the Dialectic of the Eisensteinian Image
1. In his text published in this volume, Antonio Somaini insists on how the principle
according to which the Notes for a General History of Cinema are organized is nothing
other than the principle of montage: see Antonio Somaini, Cinema as Dynamic
Mummification, History as Montage: Eisensteins Media Archaeology, here,
pp. 19-115.
2. Sergei M. Eisenstein, Montage 1937, in Sergei Eisenstein, Selected Works, Volume II:
Towards a Theory of Montage, 1937-1940, ed. Michael Glenny and Richard Taylor,
trans. Michael Glenny (London: I.B. Tauris, 2010), pp. 11-58. (Hereafter Selected
Works [4 vols.] is abbreviated as SW.) See also Jacques Aumonts seminal study
Montage Eisenstein (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1987), pp. 170-84.
Aumont describes Eisensteins writings between 1937 and 1940 as one of the
most powerful and concentrated stages of all of [Eisensteins] thinking (p. 170) and
calls Montage 1937 probably the most purely theoretical text ever written by
Eisenstein, [] the most foundational. (p. 184). My essay is deeply indebted to
Aumonts study, to the extent that it can be understood as little more than a
restatement of Aumonts claim that the opposition [Eisenstein] maintained
between figuration and abstraction is not without its own dialectical force (p.
175).
500 notes
3. In what follows I will focus on Eisensteins discussion of the barricade only at the
first level, that of single-shot composition. It is worth noting, however, that the
example is also used later in a chapter called Rhythm, where an integral
composition of a scene on the barricade is discussed at the three levels of the single
shot, shot sequence, and audiovisual composition. Cf. SW 2, pp. 241-242.
4. Eisenstein, Montage 1937, SW 2, p. 25.
5. Ibid., p. 21.
6. Ibid., p. 25. Emphases of the cutting gestures in the quoted passage are Eisensteins
own.
7. Viktor Shklovsky, Art as Technique, in Russian Formalist Criticism: Four Essays, transl. and
with an introduction by Lee T. Lemon and Marion J. Reis (Lincoln: University of
Nebraska Press, 1965), p. 18.
8. Eisenstein, Montage 1937, SW 2, p. 26 (my emphasis).
9. See, however, the discussion of the dynamization of objects and the relationship
between Eisenstein and Russian Formalism in Manfredo Tafuri, The Historicity of
the Avant-Garde, in The Sphere and the Labyrinth: Avant-Gardes and Architecture from
Piranesi to the 1970s, trans. Pellegrino dAcierno and Robert Connolly (Cambridge,
MA: MIT Press, 1987), pp. 55-64. For a humorous example of Eisensteins own
statement on Shklovsky and the Formalist School, see the entry on The Comic
from February 2, 1947, in Sergei Eisenstein, Metod, ed. Naum Kleiman, 2 vols.
(Moskva: Muzei kino, Eizenshtein-tsentr, 2002), vol. 2, pp. 387-389.
10. To take the comparison with the Formalist school a bit further, we can remember
that Yury Tynyanov described the metamorphosis that the depicted objects undergo
in this type of dynamic immanence of an image in The Fundamentals of Cinema,
published in the 1927 collection of Formalist writings on film, Poetika Kino: The
picking out of material in a photograph leads to the unity of every photograph, to a
peculiar crowding relationships among all the objects or elements of a single object
within the photograph. As a result of this inner unity the relationship between the
objects or between the elements within one object, is over-determined. The objects
deform themselves (Yuri Tynyanov, The Fundamentals of Cinema, trans. L.M.
OToole, in The Poetics of Cinema [Oxford: RTP Publishing, 1992], pp. 42-43).
11. Eisenstein, Montage 1937, in SW 2, p. 25.
12. Ibid., p. 15.
13. Ibid., p. 16.
14. Ibid., p. 19.
15. Ibid., p. 20.
16. Ibid., p. 21.
17. Mikhail Iampolski, The Memory of Tiresias: Intertextuality and Film (Berkeley: University
of California Press, 1998), p. 226.
18. The image is initially defined as graphic design with the word design
understood, as Eisenstein notes, in the sense of drawing and not planning;
regardless of its material form, figuration, in its composition and construction, must
produce a design, in addition to reproducing the real. A design of what? Of what
determines the psychological content of the scene and the interrelated actions of the
notes 501
characters; in other words of an interpretation of this content (Aumont, Montage-
Eisenstein, p. 176).
19. Eisenstein makes the distinction between two kinds of mimesis in his 1929 lecture at
La Sarraz, Imitation as Mastery, in The Eisenstein Collection, ed. Richard Taylor
(London: Seagull Books, 2006), pp. 11-19.
20. Iampolski, The Memory of Tiresias, 227.
21. Sergei M. Eisenstein, Yermolova, in SW 2, p. 97 (My modified translation). See
also: Sergei M. Eizenshtein, Montazh (1937), in Izbrannye proizvedeniia v shesti
tomakh, 6 vols. (Moskva: Iskusstvo, 1964-1971), vol. 2, p. 387.
22. Eisenstein, Montage 1937, in SW 2, pp. 32-33. Emphases are Eisensteins own.
23. Aumont, Montage Eisenstein, p. 158.
24. See, for instance, his use of newspaper clipping from Newsweek, in the notes
published in this volume with the title Dynamic Mummification: Notes for a
General History of Cinema.
25. As when he deduces the necessity of cinema from a general hypothesis of
anthropological finitude, i.e., what is eternally true is human striving for eternity
(Dynamic Mummification, p. 156).
26. See a statement like Cinema begins from level zero. (The Heir, here, p. 109).
Defamiliarization can, for example, also be found in a strange subtitle of one of the
sections in an entry from December 28, 1947, where Eisenstein posits a leap From
Dionysus to Television (Dynamic Mummification, p. 169). This idea, which posits
a continuity if not direct coincidence between cultic communion and the
experience of television, by relating the two historically distant phenomena in the
text, reappears in the section bergang zum Television of In Praise of the Cine-
chronicle (here, p. 237).
4. Nico Baumbach, Act Now!, or For an Untimely Eisenstein

1. The Problem of the Materialist Approach to Form (1925), in Sergei M. Eisenstein,
Selected Works, Volume I: Writings, 1922-1934, ed. and trans. Richard Taylor (London: I.
B. Tauris, 2010), p. 64. (Hereafter Selected Works [4 vols.] is abbreviated as SW.).
2. Ibid, p. 65.
3. See Sergei Eisenstein, The Heir, here, p. 109.
4. Paul Willemen, Reflection on Digital Imagery: Of Mice and Men, in New Screen
Media: Cinema/Art/Narrative, ed. Martin Rieser and Andrea Zapp (London: BFI Press,
2008), p. 16.
5. Lev Manovich, The Language of New Media (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2001), p. 58.
6. Jonathan Beller, The Cinematic Mode of Production: Attention Economy and the Society of the
Spectacle (Hanover: Dartmouth College Press, 2006), p. 99.
7. Jan Simons, New Media as Old Media: Cinema, in The New Media Book, ed. Dan
Harries (London: BFI, 2002), p. 236.
8. Bill Seaman, Recombinant Poetics: Emergent Explorations of Digital Video in
Virtual Space, in New Screen Media: Cinema/Art/Narrative, ed. Martin Rieser and Andrea
Zapp (London: BFI Press, 2008), p. 252.
502 notes
9. See Torben Grodal, Embodied Visions: Evolution, Emotion, Culture, and Film (New York:
Oxford University Press, 2009), p. 14, and Carl Plantinga, Cognitive Film Theory:
An Insiders Appraisal, Cinmas: Journal of Film Studies 12.2 (2002), p. 18.
10. See Friedrich Kittler, Optical Media (Cambridge: Polity, 2010).
11. Jean-Louis Baudry, Ideological Effects of the Basic Cinematographic Apparatus,
trans. Alan Williams, Film Quarterly 28.2 (1974-1975), p. 46.
12. Quoted in D.N. Rodowick, The Crisis of Political Modernism: Criticism and Ideology, in
Contemporary Film Theory (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994), p. 3.
13. Serge Daney, The T(h)errorizied (Godardian Pedagogy), The Thousand Eyes 2 (1977),
p. 34.
14. Christian Metz, The Imaginary Signifier, Screen 16.2 (1975), p. 14.
15. Jacques Rancire, Film Fables, trans. Emiliano Battista (New York: Berg Publishers,
2006), p. 31.
16. Ibid.
17. See Peter Wollen, The Two Avant-Gardes, Studio International (November/December
1975), pp. 171-175.
18. Quoted in Mikhail Iampolski, The Essential Bone Structure: Mimesis in
Eisenstein, in Eisenstein Reconsidered, ed. Ian Christie and Richard Taylor (London:
Routledge, 1993), p. 171.
19. Ibid., p. 179.
20. Rancire, Film Fables, p. 31.
21. Ben Brewster, Editorial Note, Screen 15.4 (1974), p. 32.
22. Walter Benjamin, The Work of Art in the Age of Its Technological Reproducibility and Other
Writings on Media (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2008), p. 33.
23. Ibid.
24. Ibid.
25. Ibid, p. 32.
26. Sergei M. Eisenstein, The Audience as Creator, in SW 3, p. 339.
27. Ibid.
28. Dziga Vertov, Kino-Eye: The Writings of Dziga Vertov, ed. Annette Michelson and trans.
Kevin OBrien (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1984), p. 52.
29. Ibid., p. 162.
30. Sergei M. Eisenstein, Montage 1938, in SW 2, p. 309.
31. Beller, The Cinematic Mode of Production, p. 126.
32. Sergei M. Eisenstein, Montage 1938, in SW 2, p. 310.
33. Ibid., p. 311.
34. Eisenstein, The Heir, p. 112.
5. Georges Didi-Huberman, Pathos and Praxis (Eisenstein versus

Barthes)
1. Ernst Bloch, Heritage of Our Times [1935], trans. Neville Plaice (Cambridge: Polity,
2009), p. 3.
2. Walter Benjamin, What Is Epic Theater? [second version, 1939], in Understanding
Brecht, trans. Anna Bostock (London: Verso, 2003), p. 21.
notes 503
3. Lev Vygotsky, The Psychology of Art [1925] (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1971); Thorie
des motions. tude historico-psychologique (1931-1934), trans. Nicolas Zavialoff and
Christian Saunier (Paris: LHarmattan, 1998).
4. Roland Barthes, The Eiffel Tower and Other Mythologies, trans. Richard Howard (Los
Angeles: University of California Press, 1997).
5. Roland Barthes, Shock-Photos, in The Eiffel Tower and Other Mythologies, trans.
Richard Howard (Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1997), pp. 71, 73.
6. Roland Barthes, The Great Family of Man, in Mythologies, trans. Annette Lavers
(New York: Farrar, Strauss and Giroux, 1972), pp. 100-102. See also The Family of
Man, ed. Edward Steichen (New York: The Museum of Modern Art, 1955). On the
exhibition, itself memorable, see Edward Steichen, A Life in Photography (London: W.
H. Allen, 1963), ch. 13 [no pagination]; The Family of Man. Tmoignages et documents
(Luxembourg: Centre national de laudiovisuel-ditions Artevents, 1994); Eric J.
Sandeen, Picturing an Exhibition: The Family of Man and 1950s America (Albuquerque:
University of New Mexico Press, 1995); Paul di Felice and Pierre Stiwer, eds., The 90s:
A Family of Man? (Luxembourg: Casino Luxembourg-Forum dArt contemporain,
1997); Jean Back and Viktoria Schmidt-Linsenhoff, eds., The Family of Man, 1955-
2001: Humanism and Postmodernism: A Reappraisal of the Photo Exhibition by Edward
Steichen (Marburg: Jonas Verlag, 2004).
7. Steichen, The Family of Man, pp. 138-141, 146-149.
8. Barthes, The Great Family of Man, in Mythologies, pp. 100, 101.
9. Robert Antelme, The Human Race [1957], trans. Jeffrey Haight and Annie Mahler
(Marlboro/Evanston: The Marlboro Press/Northwestern University, 1998).
10. Barthes, Shock-Photos, in The Eiffel Tower and Other Mythologies, pp. 72, 73.
11. Roland Barthes, The Rustle of Language, trans. Richard Howard (Berkeley: University
of California Press, 1989), pp. 141-148.
12. Barthes, Shock-Photos, in The Eiffel Tower and Other Mythologies, pp. 73.
13. Roland Barthes, The Third Meaning, in Image Music -Text, trans. Stephen Heath
(New York: Hill and Wang, 1978), p. 54.
14. Barthes, The Third Meaning, in Image Music Text, p. 56. Translators note: the
italics are not Roland Barthess. They were added in the English edition of the text.
15. Barthes, The Third Meaning, in Image Music Text, pp. 56-57.
16. Alain Bergala, Le pendule (la photo historique strotype), Cahiers du cinma
268-269 (1976), pp. 45-46.
17. Vladimir Mayakovsky, Cinema and Cinema, Kino-Fot 4 (5-12 October 1922), p. 5.
Reprinted in The Film Factory: Russian and Soviet Cinema in Documents, 1896-1939, ed.
Ian Christie and Richard Taylor, trans. Richard Taylor (London: Routledge and
Kegan Paul, 1988), p. 75.
18. Sergei Eisenstein, Nonindifferent Nature, trans. Herbert Marshall (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1987), p. 14. Translators note: the second part of the
quotation appears first in Eisensteins text in the existing English translation. Also,
the italics used in the text of the same English translation are presumably
Eisensteins own.
504 notes
19. Sergei Eisenstein, Le cinma et la littrature (de limagicit) [1933], in Le
mouvement de lart, ed. Franois Albera and Naum Kleiman (Paris: Le Cerf, 1986), p.
28.
20. Victor Hugo, Les Misrables, in uvres compltes. Roman, II, ed. A. Rosa (Paris : Robert
Laffont, 1985), p. 834.
6. Jane Gaines, Eisensteins Absolutely Wonderful, Totally

Impossible Project
1. For what it might mean to ask about the theoretical implications of the historical
turn, see Jane M. Gaines, What Happened to the Philosophy of Film History?,
Film History 25.1-2 (2013), pp. 70-80. For an overview of the historical turn and
introduction to essays in a special issue of Cinema Journal, see Sumiko Higashi, In
Focus: Film History, or a Baedeker Guide to the Historical Turn, Cinema Journal 44.1
(Fall 2004), pp. 94-100; On the expectations for new film history see Thomas
Elsaesser, The New Film History, Sight and Sound 55.4 (1986), pp. 246-251.
2. Louis Althusser and tienne Balibar, Reading Capital, trans. Ben Brewster (London:
Verso, 1979), p. 103.
3. For a comprehensive overview that throws a wide net in attempting to find the
roots of the new philosophy of history, see Frank Ankersmit, Bibliographical
Essay, in A New Philosophy of History, ed. Frank Ankersmit and Hans Kellner
(Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1995), pp. 278-283. For a configuration of the
field most influenced by poststructuralism see Keith Jenkins and Alun Munslow,
Introduction, in The Nature of History Reader, ed. Keith Jenkins and Alun Munslow
(London: Routledge, 2004), pp. 1-18. For an outside overview of the debates, see
Geoffrey Roberts, Introduction: The History and Narrative Debate, 1960-2000, in
The History and Narrative Reader, ed. Geoffrey Roberts (London: Routledge, 2001), pp.
1-21.
4. Annette Kuhn and Jackey Stacey, Screen Histories: An Introduction, in Screen
Histories: A Screen Reader, ed. Annette Kuhn and Jackey Stacey (Oxford: Clarendon
Press, 1998), p. 2.
5. But in Derrida, the hyphenated im-possible turns out to be, as he says, everything
but impossible (Jacques Derrida, Deconstructions: The Im-possible. In The Nature
of History Reader, eds. Keith Jenkins and Alun Munslow. London and New York,
Routledge, 2004, 229). And the invention to which he refers in this article is
deconstruction itselfa proper invention must invent the impossible (ibid., p.
233).
6. Jenkins and Munslow, Introduction,, pp.12-15.
7. I take this from Part Three, Deconstructionism, of Keith Jenkins and Alun
Munslow, eds., The Nature of History Reader (London: Routledge, 2004), in which they
have reprinted excerpts from, among others, Walter Benjamin, Hayden White, and
Derrida, although, I should note, the editors never explain what Derridas talk from
2001 has to do with how one might go about becoming a deconstructionist
historian. For an example of historical work in this vein, see Carolyn Steedman,
who argues, The very search for what is lost and gone [] alters it, as it goes along,
so that every search becomes an impossible one (Dust: The Archive and Cultural History
notes 505
[New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 2002], p. 77 ). However, historians tend
to privilege one Derrida text Archive Fever: A Freudian Impression. (Chicago: University
of Chicago Press, 1996) over others.
8. Andr Gaudreault, Film and Attraction: From Kinematography to Cinema, trans. Timothy
Barnard (Champaign-Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2011), p. 12. The article by
Comolli referred to by Gaudreault can be found in Jean-Louis Comolli, Technique
and Ideology: Camera, Perspective, Depth of Field, in Cahiers du Cinma, 1969-72: The
Politics of Representation, ed. Nick Browne (Cambridge: Harvard University Press,
1990). It was translated by Diana Matias from Technique et Idologie: Camra,
perspective, profondeur de champ, Cahiers du Cinma 229 and 230 (May-June and
July 1971), and first appeared in English in Film Reader 2 (January 1977), pp. 128-40.
The series continue in Cahiers du Cinma 231 (Aug.-Sept. 1971); 233 (Nov. 1971); 234-
235 (Dec. 1971/Jan.-Feb. 1972); 241 (Sept.-Oct. 1972).
9. See Thomas Elsaesser, Is Nothing New? Turn-of-the-Century Epistemes in Film
History, in A Companion to Early Cinema, ed. Andr Gaudreault, Nicolas Dulac, and
Santiago Hidalgo (Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell, 2012), pp. 604-605, on the new
film history and the shift from the history of films (the earlier classical histories
of Maurice Bardche and Robert Brasillach and Georges Sadoul, for example) to
cinema history, by which he means the context of spectators and institutions.
Francesco Casetti says if there is no more history of cinema, there may still be
histories in which cinema figures (Theory, Post-theory, Neo-theories: Changes in
Discourses, Changes in Objects, Cinmas 17.2-3 [Spring 2007], pp. 38-39).
10. Comolli, Technique and Ideology, p. 241.
11. David Bordwell and Kristin Thompson, Linearity, Materialism and the Study of
Early American Cinema, Wide Angle 5.3 (1983), p. 6.
12. Foucault, taking genealogy from Nietzsche, claims it as a productive part of his
own method: Genealogy does not resemble the evolution of a species and does not
map the destiny of a people. On the contrary, to follow the complex course of
descent is to maintain passing events in their proper dispersion; it is to identify the
accidents, the minute deviations or conversely, the complete reversals the errors,
the false appraisals, and the faulty calculations that gave birth to those things that
continue to exist and have value for us; it is to discover that truth or being does not
lie at the root of what we know and what we are, but the exteriority of accidents
(Michel Foucault, Nietzsche, Genealogy, History, in The Foucault Reader, ed. Paul
Rabinow [New York: Vintage Books, 2010], p. 81).
14. Dynamic Mummification: Notes for a General History of Cinema, here, p. 157.
15. Ibid.
16. Comolli, Technique and Ideology, pp. 226-227.
17. Elsaesser, Is Nothing New?, p. 591.
18. Giovanna Fossati, From Grain to Pixel: The Archival Life of Film in Transition (Amsterdam:
Amsterdam University Press, 2009), p. 51.
19. Hayden White, The Fiction of Narrative, ed. Robert Doran (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins
University Press, 2010), p. 316.
506 notes
20. D.N. Rodowick, The Virtual Life of Film (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press,
2007), pp. 12-13.
21. Jacques Rancire, The Names of History: On the Poetics of Knowledge, trans. Hassan
Melehy (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1994), p. 77. Here Rancire
says of history that [i]t is the science that becomes singular only by playing on its
own condition of impossibility, by ceaselessly transforming it into a condition of
possibility, but also by marking anew, as furtively, as discreetly as can be, the line of
the impossible.
22. Although Reinhart Koselleck (Futures Past: On the Semantics of Historical Time, trans.
Keith Tribe [New York: Columbia University Press, 2004]) is the most dedicated to
asking What is historical time? others, such as F.R. Ankersmit, think of historical
time as a cultural construct rather than a concept basic to a philosophy of history.
The new philosophy of history commentators include neither Koselleck nor
Althusser and Balibar on Outline of a Concept of Historical Time. See Althusser
and Balibar, Reading Capital, pp. 99-106, also as quoted in Jean-Louis Comolli,
Technique and Ideology: Camera Perspective, Depth of Field. Edited by Nick
Browne, Cahiers du Cinma, 1969-72: The Politics of Representation. Cambridge: Harvard
University Press, 1990, p. 247. Beyond association with historical time, Koselleck,
Althusser, and Balibar make strange bedfellows.
23. Hayden White, Figural Realism: Studies in the Mimesis Effect (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins
University Press, 1999), pp. 2-3.
24. White and others, following what is widely called the linguistic turn, have
continued to argue that historians do not think about the language that they use, a
position which continues to be controversial within departments of history, but not
is not an issue in film and media studies and other fields that have been impacted
significantly by poststructuralism.
25. This alternation in which past, present, and future take the place of one another is a
variation on Koselleck, Futures Past, following his understanding of the relative
location of the three modes, something I find in Rancire as well, although the new
philosophy of history has not recognized his interest in the relativity of the
modalities of time. See Jacques Rancire, The Names of History: On the Poetics of
Knowledge. Translated by Hassan Melehy. Mineapolis: University of Minnesota Press,
1994, ch. 2.
26. Martin Heidegger, Being and Time [1927], trans. Joan Stambaugh (Albany: SUNY
Press, 1996), p. ix. See especially Part 2, Ch. V, Temporality and Historicity.
27. Althusser and Balibar, Reading Capital, p. 103.
28. See Masha Salazkina and Natalie Ryabchikova, Sergei Eisenstein and the Soviet
Models for the Study of Cinema, 1920s-1940s, here, pp. 405-414.
29. Jean-Luc Godard and Youssef Ishaghpour, Cinema: The Archaeology of Film and the
Memory of a Century, trans. John Howe (New York and Oxford: Berg, 2005), p. 93.
30. Ibid., p. 23.
31. Thomas Elsaesser, The New Film History as Media Archaeology, Cinmas 14.2-3
(2004), p. 105.
32. To give only a few examples: Tom Gunning, Re-newing Old Technologies:
Astonishment, Second Nature, and the Uncanny in Technology from the Previous
notes 507
Turn-of-the-Century. in Rethinking Media Change: The Aesthetics of Transition, ed. David
Thornburn and Henry Jenkins (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2003); Francesco Casetti
and Jane M. Gaines, eds., Dall'inizio alla fine/In the Very Beginning, at the Very End:
Proceedings of the XVI International Film Studies Conference, Udine, Italy (Forum, 2010), and
the papers delivered at the 16th International Film Studies Conference (Dall'inizio
alla fine/In the Very Beginning, at the Very End) held in Udine, Italy, in 2009.
33. Paolo Cherchi Usai, The Death of Cinema: History, Cultural Memory and the Digital Dark
Age (London: British Film Institute, 2001), p. 89.
34. Rancire, The Names of History, p. 31.
35. Andr Bazin, What is Cinema?, trans. Timothy Barnard (Montreal: Caboose, 2009),
vol. 1, p. 17.
36. Michel Foucault, Power/Knowledge: Selected Interviews and Other Writings, 1972- 1977, ed.
Colin Gordon (New York: Pantheon Books, 1980), p. 82.
37. Tom Gunning, The Cinema of Attraction(s): Early Film, Its Spectator and the
Avant-Garde, Wide Angle 8.3-4 (1986), p. 66. For the comprehensive overview of how
Gaudreault and Gunning originally formulated the cinema of attractions as well as
cases of the productive utility of the concept, see Wanda Strauven, ed., The Cinema of
Attractions Reloaded (Amsterdam: Amsterdam Press University, 2006).
38. Dynamic Mummification, here, p. 172.
7. Abe Geil, Dynamic Typicality

1. Dynamic Mummification: Notes for a General History of Cinema, here, p. XX.
2. Sergei M. Eisenstein, Theatre and Cinema [1934] in Selected Works, Volume III:
Writings, 1935-1947, ed. and trans. Richard Taylor (London: I.B. Tauris, 2010), p. 11.
(Hereafter Selected Works [4 vols.] is abbreviated as SW.)
3. Ibid., 11.
4. Sergei M. Eisenstein, Speeches to the All-Union Creative Conference of Soviet
Filmworkers [1935], in SW 3, pp. 17-18.
5. Denise Youngblood, Movies for the Masses: Popular Cinema and Soviet Society in the 1920s
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), p. 91.
6. As it happened, this return was ill-fated. While Eisenstein was working on the
production of Natan A. Zarkhis play Moscow 2 for the Theater of the Revolution,
Zarkhi was killed in a car accident and the production was shut down. Eisensteins
successful return to the stage would not occur until his production of Wagners Die
Walkre at the Bolshoi Theater in 1940.
7. Eisenstein, Theatre and Cinema, p. 9.
8. Ibid., 8.
9. Ibid., 9.
10. Ibid.
11. Ibid.
12. Quoted in Peter Brooks, The Text of the City, Oppositions 8 (1977), pp. 7-11.
13. For a survey of nineteenth-century caricature in the French context, see Judith
Wechsler, A Human Comedy: Physiognomy and Caricature in 19th Century Paris, foreword
by Richard Sennett (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1982), p. 29.
508 notes
14. For an illuminating discussion of Eisensteins affinity with Daumier, see Ada
Ackerman, What Renders Daumiers Art so Cinematic for Eisenstein? in this
volume.
15. Theodor Adorno, letter to Walter Benjamin [1939], reprinted in Walter Benjamin,
Selected Writings (Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press, 2003), vol. 4, p. 203.
17. Revelation in Storm and Thunder, here, p. 101.
19. In Praise of the Cine-chronicle, here, p. 112. Emphasis mine.
21. This slogan concludes Eisensteins celebrated essay on Kabuki theater which, it is
worth recalling, begins with a polemic against the common dismissal of Kabuki
based on its extreme conventionalism. See Sergei M. Eisenstein, An Unexpected
Juncture [1928], in SW 1, p. 122.
22. Sergei M. Eisenstein, Perspectives [1929] in SW 1, p. 159.
23. Sergei M. Eisenstein, The Mistakes of Bezhin Meadow [1937], in SW 3, p. 102.
24. Ibid., 101. Emphasis mine.
25. Mikhail Iampolski, Censorship as the Triumph of Life, in Socialist Realism without
Shores, ed. Evgenii Aleksandrovich Dobrenko and Thomas Lahusen (Durham: Duke
26. Ibid.
27. Ibid.
28. Ibid., p.174.
29. Jacques Aumont has also noted that the presuppositions of typage are very closely
related to the concept of the global image [obraz]. See his Montage Eisenstein
(London: BFI, 1987), p. 141.
30. As Naum Kleiman points out in a foreword to the English translation of Montage, the
text cannot finally be assimilated into the aesthetics of Socialist Realism: Had it
[Montage] been published at the end of the 30s, it could not have avoided accusations
of Formalism. And no quotations or formulations, navely framing Eisensteins
theoretical text, would have saved it. Naum Kleiman, On the Story of Montage
1937, in Towards a Theory of Montage, in SW 2, p. xx.
31. Sergei M. Eisenstein, Montage 1937 [1937], in Towards a Theory of Montage, in SW
2, p. 27.
32. Francis Galton, Inquiries into Human Faculty and Its Development (London: Macmillan,
1883), p. 342, quoted in Allan Sekula, The Body and the Archive, October 39 (Winter
1986), p. 44.
33. For example, if the total exposure was to last ten seconds and there were ten images
in the sample, then each image would get an exposure time of exactly one second.
Jonathan Finn, Capturing the Criminal Image: From Mug Shot to Surveillance Society
(Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2009), 22.
34. Francis Galton, On Generic Images, in the Proceedings of the Royal Institution 9
(1879), p. 166, quoted in Sekula, The Body and the Archive, p. 47.
35. Ibid. Emphasis mine.
36. Ibid.
notes 509
37. Galton, Inquiries into Human Faculty, p. 7.
38. Sergei M. Eisenstein, Beyond the Shot [1929], in SW 1, p. 141.
39. Ibid., p. 142.
40. Sergei M. Eisenstein, How I Became a Director [1945], in SW 3, p. 286.
41. Eisenstein, Speeches to the All-Union Creative Conference of Soviet Filmworkers,
p. 27.
42. Eisenstein, Montage 1937, p. 36.
44. Eisenstein, Montage 1937, p. 34.
45. Dynamic Mummification, pp. 158 and 176.
47. Ibid.
48. Sergei Eisenstein, On Disney [1940-1944], in The Eisenstein Collection, ed. Richard
Taylor (London: Seagull Books, 2006), p, 124.
49. Ibid., p. 127.
8. Vinzenz Hediger, Archaeology vs. Paleontology: A Note on

Eisensteins Notes for a General History of Cinema
1. Cited in Jean-Louis Leutrat and Monique Cresci, Traces That Resemble Us:
Godards Passion, Substance: A Review of Theory and Literary Theory 15.3 (1986), p. 36.
2. Stanley Cavell, Must We Mean What We Say? (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
2002), p. xxxvi.
3. Noel Burch, Qu'est-ce que la Nouvelle Vague?, Film Quarterly 13.2 (1959), pp. 16-
30.
4. Seth Rachlin, for instance, characterizes the nouvelle vague as a film revolution:
Cf. Anatomy of a Film Revolution: The Case of the Nouvelle Vague, Poetics 21.5
(1993), pp. 429-442.
5. Colin MacCabe, Godard: A Portrait of the Artist at Seventy (New York: Faber and Faber,
2003), p. 110.
6. Haidee Wasson, Museum Movies: The Museum of Modern Art and the Birth of Art Cinema
(Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005); Caroline Frick, Saving Cinema: The
Politics of Preservation (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001).
7. Maurice Bardche and Robert Brasillach, Histoire du cinma (Paris: Les Editions
Denol et Steele, 1935).
8. Mary Jean Green, Fascists on Film: The Brasillach and Bardche Histoire du cinma,
South Central Review 6.2 (1989), pp. 32-47.
9. Hans Richter, The Film as an Original Art Form, College Art Journal 10.2 (1951), p.
157. See also Yvonne Zimmermann, Hans Richter and the Politics of Producing
Film History, paper delivered at the NECSEuropean Network for Cinema and
Media Studies conference in Prague, June 22, 2013; Malte Hagener and Yvonne
Zimmermann, Viking Eggeling and the European Film Avant-Garde, in The Cultural
History of the Avant-Garde in the Nordic Countries, 1925-1950, vol. 2, ed. Benedikt
Hjartarson, Andrea Kollnitz, Per Stounbjerg, Marianne lholm, and Tania rum
(Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2014).
10. Richter, The Film as an Original Art Form, p. 157.
510 notes
11. Film luft in der Zeit ab, er vollzieht sich in einem Gebiet, das im Akustischen von
der Musik seit Tausenden von Jahren bearbeitet wird. [Film is a temporal process.
Film develops in an area that in the acoustic mode music has been working on for
thousands of years.] Gabriele Jutz and Peter Tscherkassky, Peter Kubelka (Vienna: PVS
Verleger 1995), p. 70. The books cover shows a Filmtableau of Kubelkas 1960
film Arnulf Rainer and contains multiple illustrations of Filmtableaus.
12. See, in particular, James Goodwin, Eisenstein, Cinema and History (Urbana: University
of Illinois Press, 1993).
13. Cf. Antonio Somaini, Kino als Mummifizierung und Geschichte als Montage,
Zeitschrift fr Medienwissenschaft 4.1 (2011), p. 139.
14. Sergei Eisenstein, Dickens, Griffith and Film Today, in Sergei Eisenstein, Film
Form: Essays in Film Theory, ed. and trans. Jay Leyda (New York: Harcourt Brace and
World, 1949), p. 185.
15. William F. Van Wert, Eisenstein and Kabuki, Criticism, 20.4 (1978), pp. 403-420.
Cf. also Ernest Fenollosa, The Chinese Written Character as a Medium for Poetry: A Critical
Edition (New York: Fordham University Press, 2009), p. 196.
16. Kayo Adachi-Rabe, Film und japanische Kunst. Eisenstein-Rezeption bei Terada
Torahiko, Imamura Taihei und Takahata Isao, Japonica Humboldtiana 9 (2005), p.
173.
17. Alexander Etkind, Internal Colonization: Russias Imperial Experience (Cambridge: Polity
Press, 2011), pp. 26 and 24.
18. Alexander Etkind, Eros of the Impossible: The History of Psychoanalysis in Russia (Boulder:
Westview Press), p. 318.
19. Irving Lavin, Bernini and the Unity of the Visual Arts (Oxford: Oxford University Press,
1980).
20. Dieter Thom, Totalitt und Mitleid. Richard Wagner, Sergej Eisenstein und unsere ethisch-
sthetische Moderne (Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 2006).
21. Walter Benjamin, ber den Begriff der Geschichte, in Walter Benjamin, Gesammelte
Werke, ed. Hermann Schweppenhuser and Rolf Tiedemann, Band I/2 (Frankfurt am
Main: Suhrkamp, 1991), pp. 690-708. English translation: On the Concept of
History, in Walter Benjamin, Selected Writings, Vol. 4 (1938-1940), trans. Edmund
Jephcott and others, ed. Howard Eiland and Michael W. Jennings (Cambridge, MA:
The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2003), pp. 389-400.
22. Norbert Bolz, Friedrich Kittler and Georg Christoph Tholen, eds., Computer als
Medium (Mnchen: Fink, 1994), p. 131.
23. Fr den Film gibt es keine Beschrnkungen, keine Fesseln; alles lsst sich filmisch darstellen
(Hans-Heinrich Campen, Industriefilm als wirksames Mittel der Information,
Krupps Mitteilungen 46 [1962], pp. 179-180). Significantly, Campen uses the term
darstellen.
24. Siegfried Kracauer, Theory of Film: The Redemption of Physical Reality (Princeton:
Princeton University Press, 1997), p. 38.
25. Cf. Charles Higham and Joel Greenberg, Interview with Fritz Lang, in Fritz Lang,
Fritz Lang: Interviews, ed. Barry Keith Grant (Jackson: University of Mississippi Press,
2003), p. 125.
notes 511
26. Cf. my A Cinema of Memory in the Future Tense: Godard, Trailers and Godard
Trailers, in Forever Godard, ed. James Williams, Michael Temple, and Michael Witt
(London: Black Dog Publishing, 2004), pp. 141-159.
9. Mikhail Iampolski, Point Pathos Totality

1. Here one may fully apply the Marxist scheme describing development from a certain
organic labor process by means of the division of labor and alienation to the
restoration of unity in nonalienated communist labor. But this can also be a
religious model of the movement from the heavenly completeness of being through
the Fall toward redemption.
2. Dynamic Mummification: Notes for a General History of Cinema, here, p. 159.
3. Ibid., p. 161.
4. Ibid., p. 143.
5. Eisenstein took Second Baroque to mean avant-garde art of the first decades of the
twentieth century. See Viacheslav V. Ivanov, Izbrannye trudy po semiotike i istorii kultury
(Moskva: Iazyki russkoj kultury, 1999), vol. 1, p. 200: A favorite thought of
Eisensteins, repeated many times, was the assertion that, in cinema, everything that
the art of the Second Baroque of the first decades of the twentieth century stopped
at will manage to be accomplished. The spatial experiments of cubism, the
attractions of leftist theater, surrealist visions, the internal monologue of Joyce
Eisenstein viewed all of these projects and attempts of the newest art movements as
approaches to cinema. Eisenstein considered the fact that these movement tried to
solve problems which only cinema was capable of fully addressing a shortcoming
which had a ruinous effect on said movements.
8. Ibid., p. 202.
9. Sergei M. Eisenstein, Nonindifferent Nature, ed. Herbert Marshall (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1987), p. 21.
10. Ibid. Eisenstein examined montage in detail in accordance with the principle of the
golden section and with the principle of bricklaying in his analysis of the ending of
Pushkins The Bronze Horseman. See: Sergei Eisenshtein, Final Mednogo
vsadnika, Kinovedcheskie zapiski 42 (1999), pp. 106-128. A special section devoted to
the principle of bricklaying is found in the section Montazh tonfilma in the study
entitled Montage 1937, in Sergei M. Eisenstein, Montazh (Moskva: Muzei kino,
2000), pp. 311-326. Bricklaying appears constantly in Metod: see, for instance,
Sergei M. Eisenstein, Metod, ed. Naum Kleiman, 2 vols. (Moskva: Muzei kino,
Eizenshtein tsentr, 2002), vol. 2, p. 159.
11. The construction of the futurist paintings visible to you arose from the discovery of
a plane of points, such that the location of real objects, when torn apart or put
together, would have generated the greatest speed. The discovery of these points can
be made independently from the physical law of naturalness and perspective. This is
why, in futurist paintings, we see the appearance of clouds, horses, wheels and other
objects in places not corresponding to nature (Kazimir Malevich, Sobranie sochinenii
v piati tomakh [Moskva: Gileia, 1995], vol. 1, p. 45).
512 notes
12. Pavel Florenskii, Sochinenija v chetyrkh tomakh (Moskva: Mysl, 1996), vol. 2, p. 584.
13. Ibid., pp. 584-585.
14. Wassily Kandinsky, Point and Line to Plane (1926) (New York: Dover, 1979), p. 25.
15. Ibid., pp. 26-27.
16. On the notion of inner sound, see Wassily Kandinsky, On the Spiritual in Art, ed.
Hilla Rebay (New York: Solomon R. Guggenheim Foundation, 1946), pp. 13, 27, 49,
56, 72.
17. Schopenhauer wrote: [A]ll of them objectify the will only indirectly, in other words,
by means of the Ideas. [] [M]usic, since it passes over the Ideas, is also quite
independent of the phenomenal world, positively ignores it, and, to a certain extent,
could still exist even if there were no world at all, which cannot be said of the other
arts. Thus music is as immediate an objectification and copy of the whole will as the
world itself is, indeed as the Ideas are, the multiplied phenomenon of which
constitutes the world of individual things. Therefore music is by no means like the
other arts, namely a copy of the Ideas, but a copy of the will itself, the objectivity of
which are the Ideas. For this reason the effect of music is so very much more
powerful and penetrating than is that of the other arts, for these others speak only of
the shadow, but music of the essence (Arthur Schopenhauer, The World as Will and
Representation [New York: Dover, 1969], vol. 1, p. 257).
18. The Fourth Dimension in Cinema, in Sergei M. Eisenstein, Selected Works, Volume I:
Writings, 1922-1934, ed. and trans. Richard Taylor (London: I.B. Tauris, 2010), pp.
185-186. (Hereafter Selected Works [4 vols.] is abbreviated as SW.) In a draft
manuscript of the article there is a footnote, in which what is discussed is called
deindividualization of the nature of feeling: see Eisenstein, Montazh, p. 575.
19. Eisenstein traces his endeavors directly to Kandinsky, whose method he describes in
the following manner: The method employed here is clear: to abstract inner
tonalities of all external matter. Such a method consciously attempts to divorce all
formal elements from all content elements; everything touching theme and subject is
dismissed, leaving only those external formal elements that in normal creative work
play only a partial role (Sergei M. Eisenstein, Color and Meaning, in Film Sense,
ed. and transl. by Jay Leyda [New York: Meridian Books, 1957], p. 117).
20. Ibid., 344.
21. Kandinsky. Point and Line to Plane, p. 36.
22. In the English translation by Herbert Marshall, the title of this chapter is
Superconcreteness (Eisenstein, Nonindifferent Nature, pp. 165-177).
23. Aristotle, Metaphysics (1022b, 15-22) (Grinell: The Peripatetic Press, 1979), pp. 94-95.
24. Michel Meyer, Philosophy and the Passions (University Park: Pennsylvania State
25. Ibid., p. 67.
27. Ibid., pp. 25-26.
28. Ibid., p. 26.
29. Ibid.
30. Ibid.
notes 513
31. partir de la flicit des mouvements, il est possible de fixer un point vertigineux
cens intrieurement contenir ce que le monde recle de dchir, l'incessant
glissement de tout au nant (Georges Bataille, LExprience intrieure, in uvres
compltes [Paris: Gallimard, 1973], vol. 5, p. 137).
32. In Florensky, the point is precisely the symbol of the Unified.
33. Lexprience lextrme du possible demande un renoncement nanmoins: cesser
de vouloir tre tout (Bataille, LExprience intrieure, p. 34).
34. Eisenstein, Nonindifferent Nature, pp. 178-179.
35. Ibid., p. 179.
36. Comment donc la vie est-elle prsente dans lart? La rponse de labstraction:
jamais comme ce que nous voyons ou croyons voir sur le tableau mais comme ce que
nous ressentons en nous lorsquune telle vision se produit (Michel Henry, Voir
linvisible. Sur Kandinsky [Paris: PUF, 2005], p. 207).
38. Ibid., p. 183.
39. Sergei M. Eisenstein, A Dialectic Approach to Film Form, in Film Form: Essays in
Film Theory, ed. and transl. by Jay Leyda (New York, London: Harcourt Brace
Jovanovich, 1949) p. 45.
40. Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel, Lectures on the History of Philosophy (London: Kegan
Paul, Trench, Trbner, 1896), vol. 3, p. 273.
41. Ibid., p. 288.
42. See Pierre Macherey, Hegel ou Spinoza (Paris: Editions de la Dcouverte, 1990).
43. Eisenstein, A Dialectic Approach to Film Form, p. 45.
44. Ibid., p. 46.
45. Sergei M. Eisenstein, The Montage of Attractions, SW 1, p. 34.
46. Ibid.
47. Sergei Eisenstein and Sergei Tretyakov, Expressive Movement, in Meyerhold,
Eisenstein and Biomechanics, ed. Alma Law and Mel Gordon (Jefferson: McFarland,
1996), p. 185.
48. Sergei M. Eisenstein, Laocon, in Towards a Theory of Montage, in SW 2, p. 111.
49. Here is the method formula as a formula of dialectics: The effectiveness of a
work of art is built upon the fact that there takes place in it a dual process: an
impetuous progressive rise along the lines of the highest explicit steps of
consciousness and a simultaneous penetration by means of the structure of the
form into the layers of profoundest sensual thinking (Film Form: New Problems,
in Film Form, pp. 144-145).
50. Eisenstein, Metod, vol.1, p. 204.
51. Ibid., p. 205.
52. Eisenstein, Metod, vol. 2, pp. 174-175.
53. Ibid., p. 175.
54. Charles Taylor, Hegel (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1975), p. 130.
55. See the Eisensteinian explanation of the pars pro toto transition to dialectics:
Eisenstein, Metod, vol. 2, pp. 68-69.
56. Jacques Rivelaygue, Leons de mtaphysique allemande (Paris: Grasset, 1990), vol. 1, p.
435.
514 notes
57. Eisenstein, Metod, vol. 2, p. 445.
58. Ibid., p. 445.
59. Ibid., p. 442.
60. Ibid., p. 443.
61. This resistance to the Spinozian substance underlines the correctness of Florenskys
argument, which indicates that the point sweeps space clean of any reality
whatsoever. In the end, it is precisely the point which allows for recognizing any
given as false.
10. Arun Khopkar, Distant Echoes

1. Dhvani in Sanskrit literally means sound. But it is also a technical term in Indian
poetics, meaning suggestion or suggestive poetry. The term for echo is prati-
dhvani literally counter-sound. Eisenstein uses perezvon for suggestion in his
aesthetic discourse. I would actually like to call this article Prati-dhvani in Sanskrit
or Perezvon in Russian, which would mean both an echo and a suggestion.
2. Anandavardhan was a ninth-century Kashmiri author and literary critic. He is most
famous for his treatise Dhvanyaloka, which revolutionized the mainstream of
Sanskrit poetics.
3. Abhinavagupta was one of the greatest authorities on Indian theater, literary
criticism, and aesthetics, as well as on Kashmir Shaivism. He lived toward the end of
the tenth and the beginning of the eleventh century. He considered the aesthetic
experience of a connoisseur on the same level as that of the religious experience of a
mystic.
4. Sergei M. Eisenstein, Beyond the Stars, in Sergei M. Eisenstein, Selected Works, Volume
IV: Beyond the Stars: The Memoirs of Sergei Eisenstein, ed. Richard Taylor, trans. William
Powell (London: BFI, 1995), pp. 507-509. (Hereafter Selected Works [4 vols.] is
abbreviated as SW.)
5. An attraction (in our diagnosis of theater) is any aggressive moment in theatre, i.e.,
any element of it that subjects the audience to emotional or psychological influence,
verified by experience and mathematically calculated to produce specific emotional
shocks in the spectator in their proper order within the whole. These shocks provide
the only opportunity of perceiving the ideological aspect of what is being shown, the
final ideological conclusion. [] Emotional and psychological, of course, in the
sense of direct reality as employed, for instance, in the Grand Guignol, where eyes
are gauged our or arms and legs are amputated on stage (Sergei M. Eisenstein,
The Montage of Attractions, in SW 1, p. 34).
6. Kathakali is a form of theater practiced in Kerala, a state that lies on the western
coast of the Indian peninsula lying between the Arabian Sea and the western
mountain range. Kathakali is one of worlds richest theatrical forms. It uses
elaborate costumes, plastic masks, and an orchestra capable of producing sound
effects from the gentlest to the most violent. It has an acting style that can depict a
wide range of rhythms from rapid-fire action to only a movement of eyes in slow
motion. It has an emotional range that covers not only the entire spectrum of human
emotions, but also animal rage and power. It is capable of providing an intense
physical as well as a deeply spiritual experience.
notes 515
7. Many of the traditional theatrical forms use the vast repertoire of stories and
substories provided by the two epics, Ramayan and Mahabharat. The stories are
known to the audience; that allows it to concentrate on the refinements in the mode
of presentation, rather than on the development of plot. A connoisseur judges the
value of a performance, or of an artist, with reference to his memory of earlier such
performances of the same story.
8. Kathakali is one of the few theatrical forms that use scenes of bloodshed as
attractions in its repertoire. Natyashastra, attributed to the sage Bharata, is the key
text guiding the theory and practice of theater in India; it prohibits display of blood
and depiction of death on the stage.
9. K. Bharatha Iyer, Kathakali: The Dance Drama of Malabar (New Delhi: Dev Publishers,
2011), p. 92.
10. Sergei Eisenstein, Stereoscopic Films, in Notes of a Film Director (New York: Dover,
1970), p. 129.
11. I have discussed this aspect of Eisensteins thinking in greater detail in my paper on
mise-en-scne. See Graphic Flourish: Aspects of the Art of Mise-en-scne, in
Eisenstein Rediscovered, ed. Ian Christie and Richard Taylor (London: Routledge, 1993),
pp. 145-159.
12. Many of them are from a standard repertoire of the Jataka tales, or Panchatantra, and
common to many other cultures. They characterize humans as brave like a lion, wily
like a fox, slimy like a snake, and so on. Eisensteins use of them is not very
different.
13. The performance of Mei Lan Fang was one event that seems to have made not only a
deep impression on the finest artists of the West, but left a lasting impact. Chaplin
had suggested to Eisenstein that he should watch him. This resulted in that
profound essay, A lenchanteur du verger aux poires, in Sergei Eisenstein,
Cinmatisme. Peinture et cinma, trad. Anne Zouboff, intro., notes, and comments by
Franois Albera (Paris: Complexe, 1980), p. 137. Brecht acknowledged his debt to
the Chinese Theater in formulating his Verfremdungseffekt or V-effekt, after he watched
Mei Lan Fang in Moscow in the spring of 1935. In all likelihood, Meyerhold and
Stanislawski also watched this performance. So, there was a whole galaxy of artists
that was influenced by the Chinese Opera.
14. Antonin Artaud, On the Balinese Theater, in Antonin Artaud, Selected Writings, ed.
and intro. Susan Sontag (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1988), p. 215.
15. Its dating, like that of many ancient Indian texts, is problematic. It can only be
placed in a wide range as between 400 AD and 1000 AD. It is a sprawling text
covering a vast range of topics. Its most important part for the visual arts is
Chitrasutra.
16. The dialogue is in a traditional mode of discourse in which the disciple poses
questions to a wise sage, who replies to them or asks him questions that lead to his
enlightenment.
17. Visnhudharmottara-purana, III. 2.1, quoted in Citrasutra, foreword by Kapila Vatsyayan
(New Delhi: Indira Gandhi National Centre of the Arts, 2001), p. viii.
18. Neravnodushnaia priroda, vol. 1, p. 13.
19. Genesis, 1.26.
516 notes
20. Naum Kleiman provides us with a passage of Eisenstein in his notes to the
Psychology of Composition that goes even further and links the organic world to
the inorganic one: In Metod, Eisenstein analyzes the embodiment in art of the
kingdoms of nature which separate from each other at a certain stage of evolution:
In order for a representative of each kingdom to take shape in a work of art, it
must take on the form of a representative of the preceding kingdom! In order to
enter art, i.e. in order to find an image, in order to join in form and style: a plant
borrows the structure of a mineral; an animal of a plant; a human of an animal; a
divinity the form of a human! (The Psychology of Composition (Calcutta: Seagull,
1987), p. 107, n. 28.
21. Sergei Eisenstein, On Disney, in The Eisenstein Collection, ed. Richard Taylor
(Calcutta: Seagull, 2006), p. 117.
22. Ibid., p. 119
23. Perhaps we can look at the success of the Lord of the Rings films in the same light.
And the Harry Potter books and films, too.
24. Eisenstein, On Disney, p. 119.
25. Ibid., p. 119.
26. Je dirai par reconnaissance que jen dois la plus grande partie Pilpay, sage indien
(Jean de la Fontaine, uvres compltes [Paris : Hachette, 1883-1892], vol. 7, p. 59).
27. Originating in the fourth century or even earlier, the Panchatantra is a collection of
fables illustrating the Indian doctrine of the statecraft. These fables have been
translated into Pahlavi, Greek, Hebrew, Arabic, and practically all major languages.
It is also the origin of several stories in Arabian Nights, Sindbad, and many Western
nursery rhymes and ballads.
28. The lowest time limit that can be ascribed to this collection is first century BC.
29. Even the first avatars, or incarnations of God, are not human in form. They are
matsya (fish), kurma (tortoise), varaha (boar), narasimha (half-lion and half-man) and
waman (a dwarf). In passing, it is interesting to note that according to this sequence,
life begins in water and then assumes the form of an amphibian, then an animal,
then a half-lion, half-man, and finally a dwarf, resembling a sketchy outline of
evolution!
30. Ajantrik (Ritwik Ghatak, 1958). The original language of the film is Bengali. It is also
known in English as The Mechanical Man, The Pathetic Fallacy, and The Unmechanical.
31. I am referring to the famous Statement on Sound, published in izn Iskusstva
(August 5, 1928) signed by Eisenstein, Pudovkin, and Alexandrov and reproduced in
Sergei Eisenstein, Film Form: Essays in Film Theory, ed. and trans. Jay Leyda (New York:
Harcourt Brace and World, 1949). Eisensteins later detailed analysis of the music in
Alexander Nevsky relies on the specifics of the notation for the Western classical
music, as pointed out by Michel Chion and others.
32. See Sergei Eisenstein, The Film Sense, ed. and trans. Jay Leyda (New York: Harcourt
Brace and World, 1942), especially the chapters Synchronization of Senses (pp.
69-112) and Colour and Meaning (pp. 113-156).
33. The earliest form of Indian music that can still be heard through an unbroken oral
tradition is that of the Rig-Veda. It is a collection of hymns, in praise of various
notes 517
deities, many of which are phenomena like the dawn or forces of nature like the five
elements.
34. The coming of electricity has, of course, changed this picture to a certain extent. But
most of the artists still adhere to this system. Even film music, which has been using
Western orchestration, has been basing its melodies on the ragas, making use of
their associative power for the audience. Even electronic/digital sound for the
background score and raga-based melodies is not an uncommon combination, even
today.
35. Attempts have been made by painters to give specific situations and characters to the
ragas and raginis in a series of paintings called Ragamala paintings. Some of them are
excellent paintings, but the musical system of correspondence, with its response to
changing light, is far subtler.
36. It is a thirteenth-century text, which is the most comprehensive text after Bharatas
Natya Shastra, referred in note 8. It is a text followed by the North Indian as well as
Carnatic Art Music.
37. Sangitaratnakara of Sarangadeve, trans. K.K. Shringy, under the supervision of Prem
Lata Sharma (Munshiram Mahoharlal Publishers, 2007), vol. 1, pp. 42-43.
38. Eisenstein, Beyond the Stars, p. 501.
39. Eisensteins use of the image of passage from the womb and ejection in the last part
of Ivan the Terrible, when Vladimir goes to meet his death is too well known to need
discussion. Eisenstein had asked his set designer to remove all angularities from the
set.
40. The exhibition was on view in June 2011.
41. Eisenstein, Cinmatisme, p. 249.
42. Tantra uses sexual union as a means of experiencing the Supreme Bliss of the cosmic
union. The great Indologist Heinrich Zimmer says the following about Tantra. In
the Tantra, the manner of approach is not that of Nay but of Yea. [] [T]he world
attitude is affirmative. [] Man must approach through and by means of nature, not
by rejection of nature (Urban Hugh, Tantra: Sex, Secrecy, Politics, and Power in the Study
of Religions [Berkeley: University of California Press. 2003], p. 168).
43. Raniero Gnoli, The Aesthetic Experience According to Abhinavagupta, Serie Orientale Roma
XI (Roma: Is. M. E. O. 1956), p. xxiii.
44. Ibid., p. 51.
45. Ibid., no. 8, p. 72,
46. Sergei M. Eisenstein, Montage 1938, in SW 2, pp. 308-309.
11. Pietro Montani, Synthesis of the Arts or Friendly

Cooperation between the Arts?
2. Ibid., p. 110.
3. Ibid., p. 109.
4. Ibid., p. 110.
5. Cf. the three parts of Towards a Theory of Montage: Part One: Montage in Single Set-
Up Cinema, in Sergei M. Eisenstein, Selected Works, Volume II: Towards a Theory of
Montage, 1937-1940, ed. Michael Glenny and Richard Taylor, trans. Michael Glenny
518 notes
(London: I.B. Tauris, 2010), pp. 11-108 (hereafter Selected Works [4 vols.] is
abbreviated as SW); Part Two: Montage in Multiple Set-Up Cinema, in SW 2,
pp. 109-226.
6. On which see my Introduction to S.M. Eizentejn, La natura non indifferente
(Venezia: Marsilio, 1981), and also P. Montani, Pathos. Lestetica dellultimo
Ejzentejn, in Fuori campo: studi sul cinema e l'estetica (Urbino: Quattro Venti, 1993),
pp. 9-60.
7. See the brilliant analysis given by Martin Heidegger in his Nietzsche, v. 1: The Will to
Power as Art (New York: Harper Collins, 1991).
8. See particularly, Pietro Montani, Introduction to S.M. Eizentejn, La regia. Larte
della messa in scena (Venezia: Marsilio, 1989); Pathos. Lestetica dellultimo
Ejzentejn, in Fuori campo, pp. 45-60.
9. See, for example, the diverging diagnoses framed within altogether different
philosophical perspectives, and therein even more interesting offered by Emilio
Garroni, Estetica. Uno sguardo-attraverso (Milano: Garzanti, 1992); Arthur C. Danto, The
Philosophical Disenfranchisement of Art (New York: Columbia University Press, 2004);
and Yves Michaud, L'art l'tat gazeux: essai sur le triomphe de l'esthtique (Paris: ditions
Stock, 2003).
10. See P. Montani, Bioestetica. Senso comune, tecnica e arte nellet della globalizzazione (Roma:
Carocci, 2007); French trans. Bioesthtique. Ses commun, technique et art lge de la
globalisation, trans. Jean-Christophe Cavallin (Paris: Vrin, 2014); ibid., Limmaginazione
intermediale. Perlustrare, rifigurare, testimoniare il mondo visibile (Roma-Bari: Laterza,
2010).
11. Sergei M. Eisenstein, The Montage of Attractions, in SW 1, p. 34.
12. I am referring here to the two texts from 1923 and 1924, in which such a concept is
referred first to theater and then to cinema (cfr. Eisenstein, The Montage of
Attractions, pp. 34-38; and Sergei M. Eisenstein, The Montage of Film
Attractions, in SW 1, pp. 39-58). The different theoretical commitment of the
two texts is evident and can be already noticed by comparing their lengths. One can
suppose that only when Eisenstein thinks about this concept with respect to cinema,
the montage of attractions fully shows its implications, among which a certain
resistance to conforming with the ideal of the synthesis.
13. See Vittorio Stradas Introduction to Letteratura e rivoluzione, ed. Giorgio Kraiski
(Bari: Laterza, 1967). The idea that the Russian-Soviet avant-gardes did nothing else
but prepare the ground for the art of the Stalinist regime is very widespread within
the field of the historiographic and critical literature devoted on that subject matter.
For a recent resumption of such a perspective, see Tzvetan Todorov, The Limits of Arts:
Two Essays, trans. Gila Walker (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2010).
14. It is precisely such a hybridation that Dziga Vertov considered as unforgivable in
Strike. See Dziga Vertov, Kino Glaz o Stachke, in Stati i vystupleniia, ed. D.V.
Kruzhkova (Moskva: Eizenshtein-Tsentr, 2008), pp. 96-97.
15. I discussed this thesis in the book Limmaginazione intermediale, mentioned above.
notes 519
12. Philip Rosen, Eisensteins Mummy Complex: Temporality,
Trauma, and a Distinction in Eisenstein's Notes for a General
History of Cinema
1. Dynamic Mummification: Notes for a General History of Cinema, here, pp. 119-
120.
2. Sergei M. Eisenstein, Laocon, in Towards a Theory of Montage, in Sergei M.
Eisenstein, Selected Works, Volume II: Towards a Theory of Montage, 1937-1940, ed.
Michael Glenny and Richard Taylor, trans. Michael Glenny (London: I.B. Tauris,
2010), p. 117. (Hereafter Selected Works [4 vols.] is abbreviated as SW.)
3. The verse Verweile doch, du bist so schn appears in Johann Wolfgang von Goethe,
Faust. Der Tragdie zweiter Teil, V, 11582. The translation Stay, you are so beautiful is
one of the possible translation of this verse, which has also been translated as Stay
a while, you are so beautiful or Linger on, thou art so fair!
4. I have elaborated at length on this antinomy in the temporality of modernity in Philip
Rosen, Change Mummified: Cinema, Historicity, Theory (Minneapolis: University of
Minnesota Press, 2001).
5. Television is mentioned several times in the Notes for a General History of Cinema: see
Dynamic Mummification, pp. 123, 147, 158, and 169, and In Praise of the Cine-
chronicle, here, pp. 225, 237, and 238.
6. But see the contribution by Antonio Somaini to this volume (Cinema as Dynamic
Mummification, History as Montage: Eisensteins Media Archaeology, here, pp.
19-105) for a consideration of historical method in other Eisenstein writings in
relation to the Notes for a General History of Cinema.
7. Dynamic Mummification, p. 119. The idea of a universe in perpetual transforma-
tion is one found in other of his writings, sometimes with reference to Engelss
Dialectic of Nature. See Nonindifferent Nature.
8. VIEM stands for Vsesoiuznyi Institut eksperimentalnoi meditsiny, or All-Union
Institute for Experimental Medicine.
9. Perhaps the most substantial text where he explained this notion was his 1935
speech to the All-Union Creative Conference of Soviet Filmworkers. See Sergei M.
Eisenstein, Speeches to the All-Union Creative Conference of Soviet Filmworkers,
in SW 3, pp. 16-46. A more polished but condensed version is Film Form: New
Problems in Sergei Eisenstein, Film Form: Essays in Film Theory, ed. and trans. Jay
Leyda (New York: Harcourt Brace and World, 1949), pp. 122-149.
10. See Dynamic Mummification, pp. 120: 1. the reproduction of an event or person
(dynamically), or 2. the mummification of a person or event, or, if you like, a third
way: 3. the recording by the means of a sign (from a pyramid to a gravestone, or the
inscription on a cross in a cemetery. Concerning the first category, Eisenstein adds:
According to the norms of sensuous thinking (primary logic), the image of an
ancestor is the ancestor and the reenacted mystery is the actually reoccurring event.
11. Ibid., p. 115.
12. Ibid., p. 120.
13. Ibid.
14. Ibid.
520 notes
15. Ibid., p. XXX. These notes are dated December 28, 1947.
16. Ibid., p. 156.
17. Ibid., p. 123
18. Through Theater to Cinema, in Eisenstein, Film Form, p. 5.
19. See supra, n7.
20. Dynamic Mummification, here, p. 120.
21. Peter Wollen, Signs and Meanings in the Cinema (Bloomington: Indiana University
Press, 1973), ch. 3 and ch. 4.
22. Andr Bazin, Ontologie de limage photographique, in Gaston Diehl, Les problmes
de la peinture sous la direction de Gaston Diehl (Paris: Confluences, 1945), pp. 405-414.
23. Andr Bazin, What Is Cinema?, trans. Hugh Gray (Berkeley: University of California
Press, 1967), vol. 1, pp. 12, 9.
24. Martin Lefebvre, Eisenstein, Rhetoric and Imaginicity: Towards a Revolutionary
Memoria, Screen 4.4 (2000), pp. 349-368.
13. Masha Salazkina and Natalie Ryabchikova, Sergei Eisenstein

and the Soviet Models for the Study of Cinema, 1920s-1940s
1. Rostislav Jurenev, Sergej Ejzentejn, 1930-1948 (Moskva: Iskusstvo, 1988), pp. 293-295.
2. For more on Eisensteins pedagogic methods published in English, see Vance
Kepley, Eisenstein as Pedagogue, Quarterly Review of Film and Video 14.4 (1990);
Vladimir Nizhny, Lessons with Eisenstein (New York: Hill and Wang, 1969); Jay Leyda,
Sergei Eisenstein: Film Essays, with a Lecture (London: Dennis Dobson, 1968).
3. Marat Vlasov, ed., K istorii VGIKa. Kniga I (1919-1934) (Moskva: VGIK, 2000), pp. 208-
209.
4. Ibid., p. 20.
5. See Jurenev, Sergej Ejzentejn, p. 171.
6. Kinovedeskie Zapiski 36/37 (1997-98), p. 96. The state film archive Gosfilmofond
was established in 1948; the museum of cinema was not established until the 1980s.
7. Sergej Ejzentejn, Plan rabot kino-sektora, 1948, Kinovedeskie Zapiski 36/37 (1997-
98), p. 98.
8. Vlasov, K istorii VGIKa. Kniga I, p. 24.
9. Rostislav Jurenev, Byla ni byla!, in K istorii VGIKa. Kniga II (1935-1945), ed. Vlasov
Marat (Moskva: VGIK, 2004), p. 296; 302-303.
10. See, for example, S. Gurevi, Vokrug Potiki kino: Zubovskij osobnjak, 20e gody,
in Poetika kino. Pereityvaia Potiku kino (Sankt-Peterburg: RIII, 2001).
11. http://www.museikino.ru/about/.
12. Vlasov, K istorii VGIKa. Kniga I, pp. 179-180.
13. Nikolaj Lebedev, O nauno-issledovatelskoj rabote v oblasti kino, Sovetskoe kino 10
(1934), p. 43.
14. Vlasov, K istorii VGIKa. Kniga II, p. 79.
15. Leon Mussinak, Rodenie kino, trans. S. Mogulskij and T. Sorokina (Leningrad:
Academia, 1926).
16. Malte Hagener, Moving Forward, Looking Back: The European Avant-garde and the Invention
of Film Culture, 1919-1939 (Amsterdam: University of Amsterdam Press, 2007).
notes 521
17. Cristophe Dupin, The Postwar Transformation of the British Film Institute and Its
Impact on the Development of a National Film Culture in Britain, Screen 47.4
(2006), p. 444.
18. Ibid., 446.
19. Alan Williams, Republic of Images: A History of French Filmmaking (Cambridge, MA:
Harvard University Press, 1992), p. 276.
20. For more on Sadoul and the Institut de filmologie, see Valrie Vignaux, Georges
Sadoul et l'Institut de filmologie: des sources pour instruire l'histoire du cinema,
Cinmas 19.2/3 (2009), pp. 249-267.
21. Ernesto G. Laura, CSC dal fascismo allo stato democratico, Bianco e nero 36.5-6
(1975), pp. 4-29.
22. See Masha Salazkina, Soviet-Italian Cinematic Exchanges, 1920s-1950s, from Early
Soviet Film Theory to Neorealism, in Global Neorealism: The Transnational History of a
Film Style, ed. Robert Sklar and Saverio Giovacchini (Jackson: University of
Mississippi Press, 2011), pp. 37-51.
23. See Christel Taillibert, L'Institut International du cinmatographe ducatif (Paris:
LHarmattan, 1999), and Zoe Druick, Reaching the Multimillions: Liberal
Internationalism and the Establishment of Documentary Film, in Inventing Film
Studies, ed. L. Grievson and H. Wasson (Durham: Duke University Press, 2008), pp.
67-92, and The International Educational Cinematograph Institute, Reactionary
Modernism, and the Formation of Film Studies, Revue canadienne dtudes
cinmatographiques 16.1 (2007), pp. 80-97.
24. For more on Arnheims role, see Jurgen Wilke, Cinematography as a Medium of
Communication: The Promotion of Research by the League of Nations and the Role
of Rudolf Arnheim, European Journal of Communication 6.3 (1991), pp. 337-353.
25. Druick, The International Educational Cinematograph Institute, p. 88.
26. For details, see Stefano Pisu, LUrss e lOccidente: IUnione Sovietica alla Mostra
del cinema di Venezia negli anni Trenta, Bianco e nero 567 (March-August 2010), pp.
93-109, and Salazkina, Soviet-Italian Cinematic Exchanges, pp. 37-51.
27. Jay Leyda, who was Eisensteins student in VGIK in the 1930s, was directly involved
in the development of MOMAs film library and a number of its other film-related
projects. See Haidee Wasson, Museum Movies: The Museum of Modern Art and the Birth of
Art Cinema (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005), p. 81.
28. For a discussion of the Russian Formalists in the context of the history of systematic
discourse of film theory, see D.N. Rodowick, An Elegy for Theory (Cambridge, MA:
Harvard University Press, 2014). I thank David Rodowick for sharing his work with
me before it was published.
29. Quoted in Jurenev, Sergej Ejzentejn, p. 294.
30. See Rjadom s Ejzentejnom, Kinovedeskie Zapiski 25 (1995), pp. 229-243, quoted in
Jamie Miller, Educating the Filmmakers: The State Institute of Cinematography in
the 1930s, The Slavonic and Eastern European Review 45.3 (2007), p. 482.
31. Sergei M. Eisenstein, The Place of Cinema in the General System of the History of
the Arts, here, p. 241.
32. Ibid.
522 notes
33. Peter J. Bloom, Refiguring the Primitive: Institutional Legacies of the Filmology
Movement, Cinmas 18.2-3, pp. 169-182.
34. Anne Nesbet, Savage Junctures: Sergei Eisenstein and the Shape of Thinking (New York: I.B.
Tauris, 2003); Masha Salazkina, In Excess: Sergei Eisensteins Mexico (Chicago: University
of Chicago Press, 2009).
notes 523
Index of names
NB
The page numbers indicated in bold refer to the texts and the notes written by
Eisenstein
The page numbers not indicated in bold refer to the introductions and the critical
essays
Abhinavagupta 373, 382, 383, 515 Amengual, Barthlmy 436

Ackerman, Ada 7, 255-265, 431, 441, Amman, Jost 471
487, 508 Ampre, Andr-Marie 489
Ackerman, Phyllis 208, 210, 479 Anandavardhan 373, 382, 383, 515
Adachi-Rabe, Kayo 511 Andersen, Hans Christian 57, 116, 153,
Adam 43, 103 161
Adam-Salomon, Antoine Samuel 159, Andrew, Dudley 432, 433, 445
469 Andrievskii, Aleksandr 455
Adamson, Robert 458, 494 Andriopoulos, Stefan 491
Adonis 64 Ankersmit, Frank 505, 507
Adorno, Theodor 337, 508 Antelme, Robert 314, 504
Aeschylus 190 Anthony, Norman 197
Aesop 56, 116, 153, 467 Arasse, Daniel 287
Agadzhanova, Nina 485 Archipenko, Alexander 96
Agrippa 33 Arendt, Hannah 352
Akhmatova, Anna 430 Ariadne 38
Albera, Franois 7, 9, 267-288, 355, Aristarco, Guido 410, 412
429, 431-433, 436, 437, 441-444, Aristophanes 190
448, 455, 459, 466, 488, 489, 491- Aristotle 37, 244, 273, 362, 512
495, 505, 516 Arkin, David 42
Aleksandrov, Grigory 55, 517 Arnheim, Rudolf 410, 411, 412, 522
Alexander the Great (of Macedonia) Arnolfini, Giovanni 127, 145, 191, 461
467 Arp, Hans 450
Alhazen (Ibn al-Haytham) 176, 244 Arsenjuk, Luka 7, 8, 289-298, 500
Alpatov, Mikhail 42 Artaud, Antonin 375, 435, 516
Alschuler, Rose H. 197 Artemisia (of Caria) 467
Altekamp, Stefan 436 Arvatov, Boris 279
Althusser, Louis 276, 323, 329, 494, Atasheva, Pera 13, 14, 16
505, 507 Atget, Eugne 57, 147, 161, 172, 182,
Altman, Rick 432 188
525
Attis 64 Bely, Andrei 49
Auerbach, Erich 319 Benckendorff, Alexander 71
Aumont, Jacques 433, 439, 443, 500- Benjamin, Walter 15, 24-25, 34, 36, 38,
502, 509 66, 77, 80, 84-91, 278, 304, 305,
Auriol, Jean George 272, 491 309, 310, 324, 365, 436, 437, 447-
Avenarius, Georgii Aleksandrovich 489 449, 475, 485, 488, 490, 498, 503,
Avraamov, Arsenii 480 505, 508, 511
Bacchus 113 Bergala, Alain 318, 504
Back, Jean 504 Bergson, Henri 300
Bacon, Roger 176, 244 Bernini, Gian Lorenzo 169, 353, 455
Bakhtin, Mikhail 15, 270, 430 Bessy, Maurice 476, 493
Balzs, Bla 66, 410 Bharata 515, 518
Balibar, tienne 323, 329, 505, 507 Bharatha Iyer, K. 516
Balla, Giacomo 55, 67, 463 Biebl, Sabine 432
Balzac, Honor de 34, 67, 76, 122, 125, Bierce, Ambrose 211, 373, 481
161, 336, 337, 452, 455 Bismarck, Otto von, 269
Barbaro, Daniele 157, 244, 325, 468 Black, James Wallace 160, 469
Barbaro, Umberto 410 Bloch, Ernst 30, 85, 86, 309, 435, 447,
Bardche, Maurice 21, 272, 274, 326, 503
350, 432, 491, 506, 510 Bloom, Peter J. 413, 522
Barnum, Phineas Taylor 26, 58, 172, Boborykin, Dmitrii Petrovich 142, 462
178-181, 332, 472, 475 Bcklin, Arnold 62
Barr, Alfred 258, 487 Bode, Rudolf 260
Barry, Iris 350, 491 Bogdanovich, Ippolit 453, 466, 479
Barthes, Roland 309, 313-318, 504 Bhme, Fritz 480
Bataille, Georges 30, 309, 319, 364, Bolter, Richard 433
435, 498, 512 Boltianskii, Grigori 408
Batu Khan 210, 480 Bolz, Norbert 355, 511
Baudelaire, Charles 125, 457, 471, 475, Bonaparte, Napolon Joseph Charles
490, 495 Paul 177-179, 181, 474, 475
Baudry, Jean-Louis 301, 503 Bonaparte, Jrme 475
Baumbach, Nico 7, 8, 299-307, 502 Borchardt, Rudolph 88
Bazin, Andr 15, 24, 77, 80, 81-83, 85, Bordina, Alessandro 433
275-277, 303, 331, 347, 348, 402- Bordwell, David 304, 326, 435, 438,
404, 432, 445, 446, 482, 493-495, 443, 492, 493, 499, 506
497, 508, 520 Borgia, Alexander 71
Beardsley, Aubrey 116, 453 Borglum, John Gutzon 454
Beato, Felice 160 Bosch, Hieronymus 56, 166
Beaunier, Andr 478 Bossert, Helmuth Th. 475
Beauregard, Georges de 349 Botticelli, Sandro 143, 256, 358, 462
Becker Lennon, Florence 123, 457 Bourke-White, Margaret 313
Belinskii, Vissarion 465 Bowlt, John E. 496
Beller, Jonathan 300, 306, 502, 503 Brady, Matthew 147, 150, 160, 182
Belting, Hans 433 Bragaglia, Anton Giulio 410
526 index of names

Brasillach, Robert 21, 272, 274, 326, Cartwell, Van H. 222
350, 432, 491, 506, 510 Caselle, Anthony 158, 325
Bratu Hansen, Miriam 432 Casetti, Francesco 8, 431, 433, 441,
Braudy, Leo 494 447, 506, 507
Bravo, Alvarez 313 Catherine the Great (Catherine II of
Brecht, Bertolt 301, 302, 304, 309, 310, Russia) 470, 480
313, 516 Cavalcanti, Alberto de Almeida 412
Brenez, Nicole 448 Cavell, Stanley 348, 349, 350, 355, 356,
Breton, Andr 435, 497 510
Brewster, Ben 304, 503 Cellini, Benvenuto 98, 127, 191, 202,
Brewster, David 161, 470 459, 479
Briggs, Anthony 462 Ceram, C.W. (Kurt Wilhelm Marek)
Brik, Osip 279 434, 493
Brisbaine, Arthur 194, 477 Cerf, Bennett 222
Bront, Emily 482 Cervini, Alessia 8, 436
Brooks, Peter 508 Chabrol, Claude 347, 349
Brueghel the Elder Pieter 56, 166 Chambure, Augustin de 188
Brnnhilde 49 Chaplin, Charles 173, 174, 251, 473,
Bruno, Giuliana 449 490, 491, 516
Buddha 76, 122, 378 Charcot, Jean-Martin 461
Buffalo Bill (Cody, William Frederick) Charles, Jacques 244
173 Charlet, Nicolas-Toussaint 176, 473
Bulgakowa, Oksana 435, 436, 439, 440, Chateau, Dominique 491
442, 449, 452, 465 Chegodaeva, Natalia Mikhailovna 131,
Bullock, Marcus 449 460
Burch, Noel 349, 433, 493, 510 Cherchi Usai, Paolo 508
Busch, Wilhelm 112, 452 Chernyshevsky, Nikolay Gavrilovich
Byron, George Gordon 166, 470 465
Callot, Jacques 58, 73, 115, 166, 171, Chesterton, Gilbert Keith 460
185, 280, 452 Chevallier, Kurt W. 446
Calmettes, Andr 474 Chiarini, Luigi 410
Cameron, Julia Margaret 147, 150, 181, Chiaureli, Mikhail 483
182 Child, Christian 275
Campen, Hans-Heinrich 511 Chion, Michel 517
Canguilhem, Georges 275 Chodowiecki, Daniel Nikolaus 170,
Canudo, Ricciotto 489 185, 472
Capra, Frank 83, 490 Choisy, Auguste 152, 466
Caran dAche (Poir, Emmanuel) 274 Chrtien, Gilles-Louis 57, 243, 484
Careri, Giovanni 449 Christ 43, 47, 54, 64, 92, 120, 175, 186,
Carjat, tienne 150, 181, 475 190, 198, 397, 454, 456
Carn, Marcel 473 Christie, Ian 490, 503, 504, 516
Carroll, Nol 433 Christophe, Henri 27
Carroll, Lewis (Dodgson, Charles iurlionis, Mikalojus Konstantinas 49,
Lutwidge) 123, 153, 182 54, 146, 461
index of names 527

Claparde, Edmond 497 Danto, Arthur C. 519
Clark, Kenneth 287, 499 Darwin, Charles Robert 38, 51, 159, 476
Claudel, Paul 495 Daumier, Honor 54-56, 67, 89, 111,
Cleopatra 151 126, 142, 143, 168, 170, 197, 255-
Coccia, Emanuele 8 265, 337, 358, 368, 451, 462, 463,
Cocteau, Jean 347 471, 508
Cohan, George M. 222 David, Franois 497
Cohen, Marshall 494 Davis, John M. 456
Cohen-Sat, Gilbert 414 Davy, Humphrey 244
Coissac, Georges-Michel 272, 274, 49 de Baecque, Antoine 446
Coldwater, Robert J. 483 de Brosses, Charles 243
Comolli, Jean-Louis 324, 326, 506, 507 de Certeau, Michel 489
Confucius 244 de Chirico, Giorgio 61
Conio, Grard 8, 482 De Feo, Luciano 411
Conte, Pietro 8 de Gaetano, Roberto 8
Corday, Charlotte 58, 178 de Gaulle, Charles 347
Cordonnier, Grard 495 de Lamballe, Princesse (Maria Teresa
Cornaro, Federico 353 Luisa di Savoia) 178
Corot, Jean-Baptiste Camille 354, 475 Deburau, Jean-Gaspard 174, 472, 473
Courbet, Gustave 475 Degas, Edgar 171, 182, 184, 185, 188,
Coward, Noel 225, 237, 284, 482 220, 333, 472, 476
Coxwell, Henry 469 Deineka, Aleksandr 470
Cramer, Michael 7 Delaroche, Paul 159
Crangle, Richard 434 Delaunay, Robert 54, 127, 139, 142,
Crary, Jonathan 271, 442 145, 202, 255, 256, 263-265, 359,
Cresci, Monique 510 459, 462
Curie, Marie 472 Deleuze, Gilles 300, 371, 507
Custance, Gloria 434 Dell, Jeffrey 222
Cutting, James Ambrose 458 della Porta, Giambattista 244, 275
dAvila, Theresa 497 Demen, Georges 82
DOrs, Eugenio 116, 285, 286, 453, Dotte, Jean-Louis 491
498, 499 Derrida, Jacques 324, 328, 499, 505,
da Vinci, Leonardo 54, 62, 139, 145, 506
186, 191, 244, 273, 354, 359, 461, Descartes, Ren 378, 495
464, 477, 492 Dsile, Patrick 491
Dagognet, Franois 495 Deslandes, Jacques 489
Daguerre, Louis-Jacques-Mand 147, Dewey, George 194, 477
150, 156, 158, 181, 244, 277, 325, Diaghilev, Sergei 201
457, 458, 495 Diaz, Porfirio 30, 467
Dahnke, Hans-Dietrich 443 Dickens, Charles 351
Daire, Jol 448 Diderot, Denis 40, 45-47, 52, 59, 110,
Dal, Vladimir 465 122, 187, 450, 451, 456
Daney, Serge 301, 503
Dante Alighieri 54, 71, 462
528 index of names

Didi-Huberman, Georges 7, 309-321, El Greco (Theotokpoulos, Domnikos)
431-433, 435, 443, 444, 446, 447, 35, 54, 62, 69, 89, 139, 144, 168,
449, 461, 495, 503 198, 199, 220, 287, 359, 461, 463,
Diehl, Gaston 80, 445, 494, 495, 520 496
Dionysus 23, 25, 46, 47, 52, 59, 63, 64, El Maragato (Piero, Pedro) 54, 452
95, 101, 105, 120, 155, 169, 177, 187, Elfakir, Abdelhadi 497
242, 281, 397, 399, 442, 449, 454, Elsaesser, Thomas 327, 330, 355, 433,
502 434, 449, 505-507
Disney, Walt 34, 57, 63, 116, 345, 377, Eluard, Paul 497
436, 453 Emerson, Caryl 430
Dixon, Thomas 452 Emmer, Luciano 272
Dobrenko, Evgenii Aleksandrovich 509 Endzina, Galina 14
Dobrovolskii, Ivan 192 Engell, Lorenz 446
Donn, Alfred 158, 325 Engels, Friedrich 37, 45, 216, 439, 481,
Doran, Robert 506 520
Dor, Gustave 176, 474 Epstein, Jean 82, 86, 446, 448
Dostoevsky, Fyodor 191 Erasmus of Rotterdam 482
Dovzhenko, Alexander 251 Ermler, Fridrikh Markovitch 247, 486
Druick, Zo 522 Ermolova, Maria 54, 461
Du Maire, Paul 474 Ernst, Max 61
Dubois, Philippe 8, 433, 436 Etkind, Alexander 352, 511
Duchenne (de Boulogne), Guillaume- Eubanks, Ivan 459
Benjamin-Amand 159, 357, 469 Eugeni, Ruggero 8
Ducos du Hauron, Louis Arthur 158, Europe 43, 179
325, 468 Eve 43
Dulac, Germaine 411 Evreinov, Nikolai 58, 59, 174, 281, 456,
Dulac, Nicolas 491, 506 472, 474
Duncan, Isadora 200, 478, 479 Fabricius, Hieronymus 244
Dupin, Cristophe 409, 521 Fabricius, Johan 460
Durant, Will 127, 458 Faerber, Friedrich Hermann 179, 473
Drer, Albrecht 57, 243 Fahle, Oliver 2, 8, 446
Dymshits, Nina 13 Faure, Elie 86, 447
Eastman, George 150, 158, 326 Fawkes, Guy 177
Ebeling, Knut 436 Fdida, Pierre 461
Edison, Thomas 21, 60, 151, 158, 274, Fedotov, Pavel 197, 478
283, 325, 326 Felice, Paul di 504
Edmonds, Rosemary 483 Fenollosa, Ernest 352, 511
Edward VII (of the United Kingdom) Fenton, Roger 160
493 Ferenczi, Sandor 63, 442
Efros, Abram Markovich 191, 477 Fetscher, Iring 437
Eikhenbaum, Boris 492 Fieschi, Giuseppe 178
Eiland, Howard 436, 490, 511 Figes, Orlando 462
Einstein, Carl 309, 498 Fimiani, Filippo 8
Finn, Jonathan 509
index of names 529

Firth, Charles Harding 478 Gill, Andr 337
Fliescher, Mira 449 Gillette, William 222
Florensky, Pavel 15, 53, 359, 360, 364, Giovacchini, Saverio 522
441, 512, 513 Glenny, Michael 487, 500, 518, 519
Fokine, Mikhail 201 Gnoli, Raniero 518
Ford, Charles 274 Godard, Jean-Luc 279, 302, 329, 330,
Ford, John 490 347-351, 354, 356, 497, 507
Fossati, Giovanna 506 Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von 37, 66,
Foucault, Michel 271, 275, 324, 332, 75, 90, 101, 179, 357, 394, 437, 443,
491, 506, 508 450, 454, 519
Francastel, Pierre 275, 493, 498 Gogol, Nikolai 129, 238, 459
Frascina, Francis 495 Goncharov, Andrei 470
Freud, Sigmund 32-34, 38, 39, 76, 78, Goncourt, Edmond Huot 184
196, 319, 352, 436, 437 Goodwin, James 434, 511
Frick, Caroline 510 Goppelsrder, Fabian 449
Friedmann, Georges 275, 494 Gordon, Mel 259, 488, 513
Friedrich, Caspar David 317 Gordon, Ray Beth 491
Friedrich II (of Prussia) 211, 480 Gordon, Colin 508
Fromentin, Eugne 171, 472 Gorgulov, Pavel Timofeevich 177, 474
Fuller, Loe 56, 172, 472 Gorin, Jean-Pierre 330
Gaines, Jane 7, 323-332, 431, 434, 447, Gorky, Maxim 63, 249
505, 508 Gould, Stephen Jay 437
Gall, Franz Joseph, 179 Gounod, Charles 127, 458
Galton, Francis 340-342, 509 Goya, Francisco 54, 58, 73, 111, 115,
Gambrell, Jamey 496 143, 170, 256, 263, 280, 358, 451,
Gan, Aleksei 226, 279, 465, 483, 475 452, 462
Gardin, Vladimir 73, 407, 453 Grabar, Igor 16, 268, 405, 406
Gardner, Alexander 182 Grandville (Grard, Jean Ignace
Garfield, James Abram 178 Isidore) 337
Garroni, Emilio 519 Granovskii, Aleksei 221, 482
Gaudreault, Andr 324, 432-434, 491, Grant, Barry Keith 511
506, 508 Grauman, Sid 245
Gauguin, Paul 128 Gray, Hugh 432
Gavarni, Paul (Chevalier, Sulpice- Green, Mary Jean 510
Guillaume) 197, 477 Greenberg, Joel 356, 511
Geil, Abe 7, 298, 333-345, 508 Gregor, Joseph 111, 152, 452, 466
Geimer, Peter 450 Grvin, Alfred 180
Geisel, Ted (Dr. Seuss) 197 Grierson, John 409
Gelovani, Mikhail 250, 486 Grieveson, Lee 522
Gerasimov, Sergei 483 Griffith, David Wark 29, 30, 54, 173,
Gershenzon, Mikhail 460 174, 183, 199, 232, 249, 250, 337,
Gershwin, George 71 347-352, 354, 436, 452, 486, 490,
Ghatak, Ritwik 379, 517 492
Ghirlandaio, Domenico 69 Grodal, Torben 300, 502
530 index of names

Grosz, George 57, 165, 335 Hill, David Octavius 126, 147, 150, 161,
Grusin, Jay David 433 181, 188, 276, 357, 458, 494,
Gsell, Paul 257 Hippolytus 64
Guerin, Marcel 171 Hitler, Adolf 497
Gulbransson, Olaf 116, 153, 453, 466, Hjartarson, Benedikt 510
467 Hochmuth, Dietmar 436, 452
Gunning, Tom 433, 491, 507, 508 Hogarth, William 54, 111, 143, 256,
Gurevic, Stella 521 263, 358, 452
Gutenberg, Johannes 62, 176, 245, 494 Hokusai, Katsushika 56, 99, 170, 200,
Guttman, Heinrich 475 226, 264, 454, 455
Guys, Constantin 170, 471 Holbein, Hans 243
Hadrian (Emperor of Rome) 33 Hlderlin, Friedrich 320
Haeckel, Ernst 38, 437 Homer 71, 73, 115, 280, 459, 467, 484
Haesaerts, Luc and Paul 287, 499 Hopwood, Avery 222
Hagener, Malte 510, 521 Houdini, Harry 202, 479
Hals, Frans 140 Hugo, Victor 127, 161, 182, 317, 320,
Hampeln, Karl 192 505
Hanfstngl, Franz Seraph 159, 469 Huhtamo, Erkki 434
Hanna, George 488 Husserl, Edmund 267
Harries, Dan 502 Huysmans, Joris-Karl 184
Harrison, Charles 495 Hyatt, John Wesley and Isaiah 152, 158,
Hartmann, Alfred 287, 499 325, 468
Harvard, Charles 466 Iampolski, Mikhail 7, 294, 296, 303,
Hattwick, La Berta W. 197 339, 340, 357-371, 438, 439, 447,
Hauser, Arnold 490 501-503, 509, 511
Hayes, Bill (William) 217, 481 Ibsen, Henrik 498
Hearst, William Randolph 194, 195 Igor, Prince of Novgorod-Seversk 452
Heartfield, John 57, 165, 166, 470 Iordanskii, Mikhail 408
Hediger, Vinzenz 2, 7, 8, 347-356, 431, Ishaghpour, Youssef 329, 330, 507
434, 439, 446, 447, 510, Iutkevich, Sergei 486
Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich 242, Ivan the Terrible 181, 250
276, 270, 353, 355, 366, 367, 370, Ivanov, Semion 49, 455
371, 439, 489, 513 Ivanov, Sergei Vassilievich 203
Heidegger, Martin 329, 507, 519 Ivanov, Viacheslav V. 512
Heinlein, Robert A. 326 Jacobi, Moritz von 158, 325
Henry, Michel 364, 513 Jacobs, Lewis 21, 432, 491
Henry III (of France) 474 Jaensch, Erich Rudolph 282, 497
Herder, Johann Gottfried von 37, 437 James, William 39, 343
Heron of Alexandria 480 Janet, Pierre 286
Heth, Joice 332, 472 Janin, Jules 174, 472
Hidalgo, Santiago 491, 506 Jansen, Zacharias 157, 468
Higashi, Sumiko 505 Jeanne, Ren 274
Higham, Charles 356, 511 Jefferson, Thomas 454
Jenkins, Charles Francis 158, 326
index of names 531

Jenkins, Keith 505 Koselleck, Reinhart 329, 507
Jenkins, Henry 507 Kozintsev, Grigori 410
Jennings, Michael W. 436, 449, 490, Kozlov, Leonid 13
511 Kracauer, Siegfried 24, 66, 77-80, 85,
Jephcott, Edmund 490 355, 356, 432, 445, 447, 482, 511
Jerrold, William Blanchard 473 Kraiski, Giorgio 519
John the Evangelist of Patmos 479 Kretschmer, Ernst 235, 483
Jones, Keith 298 Kristeller, Oskar 447
Jost, Franois 491 Kriuchkov, Kuzma 154, 467
Joubert-Laurencin, Herv 445, 446 Kruzhkova, Daria 519
Joyce, James 35, 49, 258, 459, 512 Krylov, Ivan 57, 153, 467
Jurenev, Rostislav 489, 521, 522 Kubelka, Peter 351, 509
Jutz, Gabriele 510 Kubrick, Stanley 379
Kandinsky, Wassily 360, 361, 364, 369, Kuhn, Dorothea 443
512, 513 Kuhn, Annette 505
Kapoor, Anish 381, 382 Kuleshov, Lev 101, 127, 249, 250, 280,
Kapterev, Sergei 490 334, 410, 457, 458, 486, 490, 498,
Karamzin, Nikolai 180, 474 500
Kartashov, Vitya 336 Kurth, Julius 245, 342, 471
Kataeva, Olga 7, 8, 431, 438 lHerbier, Marcel 409
Kawamura, Aya 496 La Fontaine, Jean 56, 116, 153, 377,
Keaton, Buster 29, 30 378, 467, 517
Kellner, Hans 505 Labarthe, Andr S. 349
Kepley, Vance 521 Labas, Aleksandr 470
Kerny, Carl 442 Labrusses, Rmy 284, 498
Khanzhonkov, Aleksandr 486 Lacan, Jacques 314
Khmelv, Nikolai 456 Ladwig, Perdita 443
Khokhlova, Aleksandra 458 Lagny, Michle 434, 492
Khopkar, Arun 7, 373-383, 515 Lahusen, Thomas 509
Khrushchev, Nikita 281 Laksmana 374
King, Samuel Archer 160, 469 Lalanne, Ernest 496
Kircher, Athanasius 273 Lan Fang, Mei 516
Kirchmayr, Raoul 443 Lang, Fritz 349, 350, 356, 511
Kittler, Friedrich 301, 355, 442, 491, Langlois, Henri 347, 348, 350, 446
503, 511 Lanier, Jaron 300
Kleiman, Naum 3, 7-11, 13-17, 31, 42, Lapkina, Marfa 250, 335, 336
311, 429, 431, 432, 434-436, 442, Larrat, Jean-Claude 446
449, 455, 480, 487, 501, 505, 509, Latham, Woodville 473
512, 516 Laura, Ernesto G. 521
Kleiman, Vera 7, 9 Lavater, Johann Caspar 56, 57, 227,
Koerner, Michelle 298 243, 343
Kollnitz, Andrea 510 Lavin, Irving 511
Korn, Arthur 101, 158, 469 Lavrentiev, Alexander N. 496
Korostin, Alexei Fedorovich 191 Law, Alma 259, 488, 513
532 index of names

Lawrence, D.H. (David Herbert) 435 Loyola, igo Lpez de (St. Ignatius of
le Bargy, Charles 474 Loyola) 364
Le Corbusier (Jeanneret, Charles- Ludwig, mile 34, 436
douard) 35, 56, 96, 156, 468 Lukcs, Gyrgy 355, 490
Le Gac, Franck 7 Lumire, Auguste and Louis 15, 21, 58,
Le Gray, Gustave 158, 276, 469 82, 272, 277, 281
Le Matre, Barbara 434 Lundemo, Trond 2, 7
Le Secq, Henri 150, 182 Luria, Alexander 9, 10, 32, 282, 283,
Lebedev, Nikola 9, 16, 272, 406, 408, 489, 497
521 Lutter, Christina 449
Lefebvre, Martin 404, 491, 521 Ma Fen 471, 169
Legendre, Maurice 287, 499 Macaire, Robert 260, 261
Lemon, Lee T. 501 MacCabe, Colin 510
Lenin (Ulyanov, Vladimir Ilich) 29, 30, Macherey, Pierre 513
104, 329, 435, 485, 486, 488, 496 MacKay, John 8, 447
Lon, Benjamin 8 Maindron, Ernest 470
Lesser, Sol 78 Malevich, Kazimir 358, 359, 362, 475,
Lessing, Gotthold Ephraim 257, 351, 512
355, 459, 487 Malki, Aduan 313
Leutrat, Jean-Louis 510 Mallarm, Stphane 146, 459, 472
Lvi-Strauss, Claude 270 Malraux, Andr 81, 287, 403, 446, 498
Levin, Thomas Y. 447 Man Ray (Rudzitsky, Emmanuel) 57,
Levinson, Andr 489 165, 182, 183, 243, 470
Lvy-Bruhl, Lucien 31, 44, 87, 413, 414, Manet, Edouard 171, 354, 490
435, 448, 497 Mannoni, Laurent 434, 441
Lewin, Kurt 497 Manovich, Lev 271, 300, 490, 502
Leyda, Jay 365, 412, 430, 436, 445, 478, Marabello, Carmelo 8
487, 491, 493, 511, 513, 514, 517, Marat, Jean-Paul 58, 178, 179
520-522 Marek, Kurt-Wilhelm (C.W. Ceram)
Liesegang, Franz Paul 272, 491 275
Lifar', Sergei Mikhailovich (Serge) 479 Marey, tienne-Jules 55, 158, 169, 325,
Lincoln, Abraham 195, 454 357, 463
Lind, Jenny 181, 475 Marie-Antoinette (d'Autriche) 58, 177,
Lindbergh, Charles 219 178
Lindsay, Vachel 272, 273 Marion, Philippe 433
Lipps, Theodor 48, 110 Markandeya 376
Lissitzky, El (Lazar) 90, 449, 450 Marker, Chris 302
Lo Duca, Giuseppe Maria 476, 493 Marshall, Herbert 437, 487, 499, 512
London, Jack 173 Martin, Paul 150, 161, 182
Lorant, Stefan 195 Marx, Karl Heinrich 112, 150, 331
Louis XVI 58, 177, 178 Matias, Diana 506
Louverture Toussaint 27 Matisse, Henri 235
Lvgren, Hakan 439 Mauriac, Claude 273
Mauss, Marcel 309, 319
index of names 533

Mauthner, Fritz 128, 459 Moorhead, J.K. 437
Mayakovsky, Vladimir 71, 320, 504 Morin, Edgar, 279, 413
Mayhew, Henry 176, 473 Morozov, Nikolai Aleksandrovich 218,
Mayorov, Nikolai 440 479
McLeish, William 160, 469 Moskvin, Ivan 456
Medvedkin, Aleksandr 302 Moussinac, Lon 20, 272, 276, 408,
Megrue, Roi C. 222 409, 412, 432, 489, 491, 494, 521
Meissonier, Jean-Louis Ernest 183 Mukhina, Vera 42
Mlis, Georges 174, 273, 274, 476, Mlder-Bach, Inka 432
492 Mumford, Lewis 60, 101, 157, 272, 325,
Mellan, Claude 186 344, 442, 466, 468
Melot, Jacques 493 Munch, Edvard 54, 140,146, 235
Memling, Hans 54, 143, 256, 358, 462 Muniak, Lindsey 487
Mengoni, Angela 8, 433, 447 Munslow, Alun 505
Menzel, Adolph 170, 286, 471 Munsterberg, Hugo 301, 412, 442
Merleau-Ponty, Maurice 267, 489 Muradeli, Vano 430
Mersch, Dieter 449 Muraov, Jurij 439
Metz, Christian 301, 503 Musner, Lutz 449
Meyer, Michel 362, 365, 512 Musser, Charles 433
Meyerhold, Vsevolod 248, 258, 337, Mussolini, Benito 177, 411
410, 487, 516 Mussorgski, Modest 61
Michal, Holquist 430 Muybridge, Eadweard 78, 79, 82, 143,
Michaud, Philippe-Alain 8 150, 357, 463
Michaud, Yves 519 Nadar (Tournachon, Gaspard-Flix)
Michelangelo (Michelangelo di 127, 147, 150, 160, 182, 455, 456,
Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni) 56, 62, 458
103, 152, 466 Nagel, Alexander 433
Michelson, Annette 437, 447, 503 Nalvet (Abb Nalvet) 244
Mihailova, Mihaela 7 Nappelbaum, Moisei Solomonovich
Miller, Jamie 522 148, 465
Misler, Nicoletta 441 Narcissus 457, 495
Mitry, Jean 274 Negretti, Henry 160, 469
Mnikh, Daniil (Daniel of Kiev [Daniil Nekrasov, Nikolai 465
Palomnik]) 180 Nero (Emperor) 33
Moholy-Nagy, Lszl 57, 86, 90, 165, Nesbet, Anne 522
182, 183, 243, 309, 411, 448, 470 Neyrat, Cyril 448
Moiso, Francesco 443 Nicole, Didier 260
Molotov, Vyacheslav 464 Nielsen, Vladimir 494
Montagu, Ivor 412, 491 Nipce, Nicphore 82, 150, 158, 181,
Montanari, Tomaso 498 244, 277, 325
Montani, Pietro 7, 385-391, 431, 439, Nietzsche, Friedrich Wilhelm 46, 319,
443, 449, 518, 519 388, 440, 498, 506
Montmasson, Joseph-Marie 62, 442, Nijinsky, Vatslav 201, 479
494 Nikitin, Afanasii 474
534 index of names

Nil'sen, Vladimir 481 Petrarch (Petrarca, Francesco) 186, 476
Nirnsee, Ernst Richard 453 Petrov, Vladimir 486
Nizhny, Vladimir 521 Pharmakos 64
Nonguet, Lucien 274, 476 Philipon, Charles 197, 337
Nordau, Max 110, 286, 451, 490, 498 Phoenix, J. 199
Nordegraaf, Julia 434 Phoenix 113
Novalis 356 Picasso, Pablo 130, 186, 202, 270, 309,
Odello, Laura 443 490
Oedipus 120, 261 Pigres of Halicarnassus 467
Oldenburgskii, Alexander Petrovich Pilpay 378, 517
444, 454 Pimenov, Iurii 470
lholm, Marianne 510 Pinotti, Andrea 8, 431, 443
Olivero, Massimo 7, 8 Pipinashvili, Konstantin 145
Orlovskii, Aleksandr Osipovich 191, Piranesi, Giovanni Battista 69
477 Piretto, Gian Piero 8
Orozco, Juan Manuel 140, 461 Pisu, Stefano 522
rum, Tania 510 Pitassio, Francesco 8, 435
Osiris 64, 113 Plantinga, Carl 300, 502
Ossang, Frdric-Jacques 448 Plateau, Joseph 273
Ostuzhev, Alexander 367, 389 Plato 496
Otsup, Ptr 148, 465 Platov, Matvei 154, 467
Otto, Regine 443 Plekhanov, Georgii 490
Ovid 345 Pliny the Elder 76, 444
Paech, Joachim 433 Plutarch 467
Pani, Dominique 8 Polan, Dana 491
Pallotto, Manuela 7 Porter, Edwin 492
Panigel, Armand 492, 493 Posada, Jos Guadalupe 80, 154, 179,
Panofsky, Erwin 412, 494 467
Papazian, Elizabeth (Liz) 298, 496 Poujaud, Paul 171
Parikka, Jussi 434 Pound, Erza 352
Pasolini, Pier Paolo 319 Priestley, Joseph 244
Paul I (of Russia) 211, 480 Prinzhorn, Hans 235
Pavlenko, Ptr 480 Prokofiev, Sergei 71, 219, 430
Paxton, Joseph 465 Prometheus 46, 120
Peirce, Charles Sanders 402 Protazanov, Yakov 249, 500
Peisistratos 281 Proteus 67
Pentheus 64 Ptushko, Aleksandr 151
Perkins, Victor F. 499 Pudovkin, Vsevolod 55, 249, 250, 334,
Perrire, Hortense de la (Mme 410, 466, 485, 486, 495, 500, 517,
Howland) 171, 472 Pushkin, Aleksandr 49, 56, 58, 71, 113,
Pesenti Campagnoni, Donata 441 129, 131, 142, 146, 174, 180, 249,
Ptain, Philippe 409 359, 459, 472, 475, 481, 483, 512
Peter the Great (Peter I of Russia) 57, Quaresima, Leonardo 8, 497
77, 155, 179, 242, 468
index of names 535

Queen Elizabeth (of Great Britain) 71, Rivelaygue, Jacques 370, 513
199 Rivire, Georges 185, 274, 476
Queen Victoria (of Great Britain) 123, Roberts, Geoffrey 505
149, 242, 469 Roberts Rinehart, Mary 222
Quenedy, Edm 243 Robertson (Robert, tienne-Gaspard)
Quercy, Pierre 497 275
Rabb, Jane M. 456 Robespierre, Maximilien de 58, 178,
Rabelais, Franois 15 496
Rachlin, Seth 510 Robinson, David 274
Racine, Jean 237 Robinson, Henry Peach 161
Raengo, Alessandra 497 Rocha, Glauber 319
Raffet, Auguste 176, 484 Rodchenko, Aleksander 57, 168, 310,
Ragghianti, Carlo 272, 491 311, 496
Rajewsky, Irina O. 433 Rodin, Auguste 67, 73, 74, 89, 200,
Ramos Monteiro, Lucia 433 204, 257, 472, 478, 487
Ramsaye, Terry 20, 35, 273, 432, 473, Rodowick, David N. 301, 328, 503, 506,
491, 494 522
Rancire, Jacques 302, 303, 328, 331, Roget, Peter Mark 273
503, 507, 508 Rohmer, ric 347
Rank, Otto 63, 442 Roosevelt, Franklin Delano 57, 77, 242,
Ranke, Leopold 85 454
Raphal, Max 490 Roosevelt, Theodore "Teddy", Jr. 197
Rebay, Hilla 512 Ropars, Marie-Claire 288
Rebecchi, Marie 8, 431, 435 Ropars-Wuilleumier, Marie-Claire 499
Reininger, Lotte 227 Rorschach, Hermann 204
Reis, Marion J. 501 Rosen, Philip 7, 393-404, 446, 519, 520
Rejlander, Oscar Gustave 159, 161, 188, Rossellini, Roberto 284, 483
357, 483 Rossini, Gioachino 475
Rembrandt (Rembrandt Harmenszoon Rotha, Paul 410
van Rijn) 116, 126, 243, 348, 457 Roubaud, Franz 474
Renoir, Jean 184, 225, 432, 482 Rouch, Jean 279
Renoir, Jean 430, 476 Rousseau, Jean-Jacques 180
Reynaud, Paul 493 Rublev, Andrei 53
Ribbentrop, Joachim von 464 Ryabchikova, Natalie 3, 7, 9, 298, 405-
Richer, Paul 461 414, 431, 507, 521
Richter, Hans 350, 351, 352, 489, 510 Saba, Cosetta G. 434
Riegl, Alois 38, 66, 74, 98, 281, 283, Sacher-Masoch, Leopold von 470
444, 449, 496, 498 Sachs, Hans 471
Rieser, Martin 502 Sadoul, Georges 15, 21, 60, 80, 174,
Rilke, Rainer Maria 73, 74, 204, 444 190, 273-277, 326, 409, 412, 430,
Rimbaud, Arthur 49, 475 432, 442, 473, 476, 492-494, 506,
Rimsky-Korsakov, Nikolai 219 521
Ripa, Cesare 282 Salazkina, Masha 7, 329, 405-414, 431,
Riskin, Robert 245 434, 507, 521, 522
536 index of names

Salis, Rodolphe 274 Shklovsky, Viktor 286, 393, 475, 499-
Salome 69 501
Salt, Barry 433 Shohl Rosen, Margo 3, 7, 471
Sandeen, Eric J. 504 Shostakovich, Dmitri 430
Sanson, Charles-Henri 178 Shterenberg, David 471
Sarangadeva 380 Shtraukh, Maksim (Your Maks) 235,
Sarovskii, Serafim 154, 467 236, 250, 483
Sasse, Sylvia 443 Shub, Esfir 279
Scheerbart, Paul 465 Shumiatsky, Boris 406
Scheiner, Christoph 215, 244 Shutko, Kirill 485
Scheinfeld, Amram 481 Silvy, Camille 159, 469, 486
Schifano, Laurence 8, 434 Simmel, Georg 66
Schinkel, Karl Friedrich 153 Simonov, Konstantin 71
Schlosser, Julius 82, 446 Simons, Jan 300, 502
Schmidt-Linsenhoff, Viktoria 504 Sinclair, Upton 27, 78
Schffer, Peter 176, 245 Sitkovetskaya, Maa 487
Schnberg, Arnold 350 Sklar, Robert 522
Schopenhauer, Arthur 361, 513 Slocombe, George 171
Schrter, Jens 433 Smith, Eugene 313
Schulze, Johann Heinrich 244 Smith, Gary 436
Schwartz, Vanessa 491 Somaini, Antonio 3, 7-11, 19-105, 344,
Schwob, Ren 495 472, 429, 434, 435, 439, 441, 443,
Scott de Martinville, Edouard-Lon 60, 449, 500, 511, 520
151, 158, 325, 468 Sondervan, Jeroen 8
Scriabin, Alexander 40, 45, 49, 110 Sontag, Susan 516
Seaman, Bill 300, 502 Sopin, Artm 7, 9
Seavey, Lafayette W. 159 Souriau, tienne 413
Sekula, Allan 509 Spinoza, Baruch 366, 367
Seldes, Gilbert 473, 491 Spottiswoode, Roger 410
Semper, Gottfried 66 Stacey, Jackey 505
Sennett, Richard 508 Staiger, Janet 433
Septimius Severus 33 Stalin (Jughashvili) Joseph 16, 44, 319,
Serov, Valentin 54, 145, 359, 461 486
Serra-Capriola, N. 192 Stanislavsky, Konstantin (K. S.) 35, 52,
Servan-Schreiber, Jean-Jacques 347 59, 128, 187, 241, 440, 459, 476, 516
Seton, Mary 489, 491-493 Starevich, Vladislav (Ladislas) 151
Shakespeare, William 58, 67, 71, 73, Steedman, Carolyn 505
95, 115, 120, 349, 397, 459 Steichen, Edward 313, 314, 504
Sharaku, Tshsai 36, 168, 342 Steinberg, Saul 226, 466
Sharma, Prem Lata 518 Stelzer, Otto 448
Sheng, Bi 176, 245, 473 Stepanova, Varvara 57, 168, 483
Shereshevskii, Solomon Veniaminovich Sternberg, Josef von 148
(Comrade S.) 282, 497 Stieglitz, Alfred 147, 465
Shipulinskii, Feofan 407, 408 Stiwer, Pierre 504
index of names 537

Stounbjerg, Per 510 Tintoretto 56, 67, 89, 111, 143, 168,
Strachey, Lytton 123 256, 257, 263, 264, 358, 368, 451,
Strachey, James 436 463, 471
Strachey, Giles Lytton 456 Tiss, Eduard 280, 456
Strada, Vittorio 519 Todorov, Tzvetan, 519
Strauss, Johann 71 Toeplitz, Jerzy 274
Strauven, Wanda 355, 434, 449, 508 Tolstoy, Leo 56, 67, 115, 128, 249, 471,
Stroheim, Erich von 251 459, 462, 472
Stryzgowski, Josef 284, 498 Tolstoy, Fdor Petrovich 153, 201, 453,
Stuart, Mary 177 466
Styka, Jan 177, 474 Tortajada, Maria 355, 433, 441, 491
Sdendorf, Werner 489 Toulouse-Lautrec, Henri de 171, 182,
Surikov, Vasily 363, 364 188, 220, 470, 472
Surpanakha 374 Trauberg, Leonid 410
Sutton-Thompson 173 Treml, Martin 443
Tabarin (Girard, Antoine) 229 Tretyakov, Sergei 260, 279, 440, 475,
Tafuri, Manfredo 501 476, 488, 513
Taillibert, Christel 522 Tribe, Keith 329
Taine, Hippolyte 378 Troshin, Aleksandr 13, 14
Talbot, William Henry Fox 58, 147, 150, Truffaut, Franois 347
158, 182, 244, 245, 325, 458, 466, Tscherkassky, Peter 510
494 Tsivian, Yuri 440, 447
Tatlin, Vladimir 62, 96, 478 Turner, Joseph Mallord William 128,
Taut, Bruno 465 459
Taylor, Richard 11, 431, 452, 480, 487, Tussaud, Marie (Madame Tussaud) 58,
488, 490, 492, 500, 502-504, 508, 177, 178, 180
512, 515, 517-519 Tylor, Edward B. 435, 446
Taylor, Charles 369, 513 Tynyanov, Yuri 268, 492, 501
Tchaikovsky, Pyotr 219 Tyshler, Ariadna 470
Teitelbaum, Matthew 437 Uits, Bela 42
Temple, Michael 511 Upchurch, Alan 432, 460
Tench Coxe, Brinton 3, 7 Usai, Paolo Cherchi 331
Theocritus 478 Utamaro, Kitagawa 168
Thiry, Natacha 448 Vacche, Angela Dalle 431, 433
Tholen, Georg Christoph 355, 511 Vajra 376
Thom, Dieter 353, 440, 511 van Eyck, Hubert 131, 132, 135, 136,
Thompson, Kristin 324, 493, 506 359
Thornburn, David 507 van Eyck, Jan 54, 131-133, 135, 136, 138-
Tiepolo, Giambattista 243 140, 146, 309, 458, 460, 461
Timm, Georg-Wilhelm (Vasilii van Gogh, Vincent 139, 461
Fdorovich) 148, 465 van Scheltema, F. Adama 203
Timoshenko, Serguei 410 Van Wert, William F. 511
Varchi, Benedetto 202, 479
Vasold, Georg 498
538 index of names

Vatsyayan, Kapila 516 Weigel, Sigrid 443
Veiller, Bayard 222 Weissfeld, Ilya 435
Venetsianov, Alexey Gavrilovich 192 Weizscker, Carl Friedrich von 443
Veneziano, Domenico 243 Welles, Orson 490
Verlaine, Paul 141, 309, 462 Wesley, John 152
Vermeer, Johannes 354 Whistler, James Abbott McNeill 160
Verneuil, Henri 349 White, Hayden 328, 329, 505-507
Vertov, Dziga (Kaufman, David) 58, 86, Whitman, Walt 250, 278, 459, 484
250, 279, 280, 284, 301-303, 305, Wilde, Oscar 330, 498
306, 334, 356, 437, 447, 465, 483, Wilke, Jurgen 522
485, 486, 496, 498, 503, 519 Willemen, Paul 300, 502
Viazemskii, Ptr 191, 477 Williams, James 511
Vichi, Laura 497 Williams, Alan 521
Vignaux, Valrie 521 Willumsen, Jens-Ferdinand 287, 499
Viliams, Ptr 470 Wingler, Hans M. 448
Villard, Oswald Garrison 194 Winkler, John K. 194, 477
Vincent, Carl 274 Winterstein, Alfred 64, 442
Virgil 378 Wirkus, Faustin E. 212
Virta, Nikolai 237 Witelo, Erazmus Ciolek 244, 481
Vishnevskii, Veniamin 408 Witt, Michael 511
Vitellio 176 Witte, Georg 8, 439
Vitruvius 244 Wittgenstein, Ludwig 277, 495
Vlasov, Marat 521 Wolff, Tatiana 472
Vogman, Elena 8, 431, 438 Wlfflin, Heinrich 38, 66, 437
Voss, Christiane 446 Wollen, Peter 303, 402, 403, 503, 520
Vygotsky, Lev 32, 282, 311, 497, 504 Wood, Christopher S. 433
Wagner, Richard 40, 45, 48, 110, 219, Worringer, Wilhelm 236, 281
269, 353, 387, 388, 440, 451, 464, Wotan 49
490, 498, 508 Wright, Frank Lloyd 96, 483
Wallon, Henri 413 Wunberg, Gotthart 449
Wang Wei 243 Wundt, Wilhelm 32
Wankmller, Rike 443 Wyler, William 482, 490
Warburg, Aby 15, 24, 61, 68, 69, 77, 80, Xerxes (of Persia) 467
82, 92-94, 270, 309, 319, 365, 433, Young, Thomas 151, 158, 325
435, 443, 446 Youngblood, Denise 508
Warhol, Andy 348 Zaborovskaia, Praskovia (Aunt Pasha)
Washington, George 58, 172, 331, 332, 154, 467
454, 472 Zakim, Eric 298
Wasson, Haidee 510, 522 Zalambani, Maria 495
Watt, James 244 Zaldivia, Pedro de 54, 452
Watteau, Antoine 67, 116 Zapp, Andrea 502
Wechsler, Judith 508 Zarkhi, Natan A. 508
Wedel, Michael 355 Zenker, Wilhelm 158, 325, 468
Wedgwood, Thomas 244 Zeus 64
index of names 539

Zeuxis 127, 166, 243 Zimmer, Heinrich 518
Zglinicki, Friedrich von 274, 493 Zimmermann, Yvonne 510
Zhdanov, Andrey 390 Zola, mile 182, 184, 482, 497
Zielinski, Siegfried 434 Zoshchenko, Mikhail 430
540 index of names

Contributors
The Editors
Naum Kleiman
Naum Kleiman was one of the founders of the Moscow Cinema Museum and its
director for over twenty-five years. He has been internationally known for more
than four decades for his editions of Eisensteins texts and for his studies on
Eisensteins oeuvre and on the history of Russian and Soviet cinema. He is edi-
tor-in-chief of the Russian film studies journal Kinovedcheskie zapiski, in which
many texts by and about Eisenstein have been published over the years. Among
his publications are the collection of essays Formula finala. Stati, vystupleniia, bese-
dy (Moskva: Eisenstein Centre, 2004) and the editions of the following works by
Eisenstein: Memuary [Memories], 2 vols. (Moskva: Muzei kino and Eisenstein
Centre, 1997); Montazh [Montage] (Moskva: Muzei kino and Eisenstein Centre,
2000); Metod [Method], 2 vols. (Moskva: Muzei kino and Eisenstein Centre,
2002); Neravnodushnaia priroda [Nonindifferent nature], 2 vols. (Moskva: Muzei
kino and Eisenstein Centre, 2004).
Antonio Somaini
Antonio Somaini is professor of film, media, and visual culture theory at the
Universit Sorbonne Nouvelle Paris 3. In 2014-15 he was senior fellow at Interna-
tional Research Institute for Cultural Techniques and Media Philosophy (IKKM)
in Weimar. Among his recent publications, are the book Ejzentejn. Il cinema, le
arti, il montaggio [Eisenstein: Cinema, art history, montage] (Turin: Einaudi,
2011; forthcoming in English translation with the University of Illinois Press and
in French translation with CNRS ditions), several essays on issues in film, me-
dia, and visual culture theory, and the following edited volumes: S.M. Eisenstein.
Leons mexicaines. Cinma, anthropologie, archologie, together with Laurence Schifano
(Paris: Presses universitaires de Paris Ouest, 2015); Sergue M. Eisenstein, Notes
pour une Histoire gnrale du cinma, together with Franois Albera and Naum Klei-
man (Paris: AFRHC, 2013); Walter Benjamin, Aura e choc. Saggi sulla teoria dei media
[Aura and schock: Essays on the theory of media], together with Andrea Pinotti
(Turin: Einaudi, 2012); Lszl Moholy-Nagy, Pittura Fotografia Film [Painting
photography film] (Turin: Einaudi, 2010).
541
The Authors of the Critical Essays
Ada Ackerman
Ada Ackerman is a CNRS researcher working within the THALIM laboratory in
Paris. An art historian and specialist in Sergei Eisensteins work, she focuses on
cultural translations between Russia and other countries (France, the United
States) and on the relations between cinema and the other arts. She has pub-
lished a book derived from her PhD dissertation, Eisenstein et Daumier. Des affinits
lectives (Paris: Armand Colin, 2013). She has taught art history at the Universit
Paris Ouest Nanterre La Dfense and at the cole Normale Suprieure de Lyon.
She has also worked for the Muse dArt et dHistoire du Judasme in Paris and
the Centre Pompidou in Metz. She is currently preparing two new books about
Sergei Eisenstein.
Franois Albera
Franois Albera is professor in the Department of Film History and Aesthetics at
the University of Lausanne (Switzerland), and editor of the film studies journal
1895: Revue dhistoire du cinma. He is the author of the books Eisenstein et le construc-
tivisme russe (Lausanne: Lge dHomme, 1990); Albatros, des Russes Paris (1919-
1929) (Milan: Mazzotta, 1998); LAvant-garde au cinma (Paris: Armand Colin,
2005); the coeditor of Stop Motion/Fragmentation of Time (Lausanne: Payot, 2002);
and the editor of the special issues of the journal Cinmas entitled Eisenstein dans le
texte (2001) and La Filmologie, de nouveau (2009), and of the volumes Cinema beyond
Film (Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2010) and Cin-dispositifs: spectacles,
cinma, tlvision, littrature (Lausanne: Lge dHomme, 2011). He has also edited
French translations of texts by Eisenstein, Kuleshov, Barnet, and the Russian
Formalists on cinema.
Luka Arsenjuk
Luka Arsenjuk received his PhD from the Program in Literature at Duke Univer-
sity in 2010 and is currently an assistant professor of film studies at the Univer-
sity of Maryland, College Park. His interest is in the intersections between cine-
ma, politics, and philosophy. He has published essays on Jacques Rancires
concept of politics, cinema as mass art, Eisensteins idea of intellectual montage,
Alexander Kluge and the filming of Marxs Capital, as well as on how to survive
encounters with the specters of cinema. He is currently working on a book about
Sergei M. Eisenstein.
Nico Baumbach
Nico Baumbach is an assistant professor of film at Columbia University in New
York City. His essays have appeared in Artforum, Film Comment, New Review of Film
542 contributors
and Television, Comparative Critical Studies, and Discourse. He is currently working on
two books: a study of the relation between cinema and politics in the work of
contemporary Continental philosophers and a monograph titled The Anonymous
Image.
Georges Didi-Huberman, philosopher and art historian, teaches at the cole des
Hautes tudes en Sciences Sociales (EHESS) in Paris. Among his publications are
Invention de lhystrie. Charcot et liconographie photographique de la Salptrire (Paris:
Macula, 1982; English translation: Invention of Hysteria: Charcot and the Photographic
Iconography of the Salptrire, 2004); La Peinture incarne (Paris: Minuit, 1985); Fra
Angelico. Dissemblance et figuration (Paris: Flammarion, 1990); Devant limage. Ques-
tions poses aux fins dune histoire de lart (Paris: Minuit, 1990; English translation:
Confronting Images: Questioning the Ends of a Certain History of Art, 2009); La Ressem-
blance informe, ou le gai savoir visuel selon Georges Bataille (Paris: Macula, 1995); Devant
le temps. Histoire de lart et anachronisme des images (Paris: Minuit, 2000); LImage
survivante. Histoire de lart et temps des fantmes selon Aby Warburg (Paris: Minuit,
2002); Images malgr tout (Paris: Minuit 2004; English translation: Images in Spite
of All: Four Photographs from Auschwitz, 2012); La Ressemblance par contact. Archologie,
anachronisme et modernit de lempreinte (Paris: Minuit, 2008); Lil de lhistoire Tome
1: Quand les images prennent position (Paris, Minuit 2009); Lil de lhistoire Tome 2:
Remontages du temps subi (Paris: Minuit, 2010); Lil de lhistoire Tome 3: Atlas, ou le
gai savoir inquiet (Paris: Minuit, 2011); and Lil de lhistoire Tome 4: Peuples exposs,
peuples figurants (Paris, Minuit, 2012).
Jane Gaines
Jane Gaines is professor of film theory at the School of the Arts of Columbia
University in New York City. A founder of the conference cycle Visible Evidence:
Strategies and Practices in Documentary, she previously taught at Duke University,
where she founded the film program and was Luce Distinguished Professor at
Vassar College as well as Kersten Hesselgren Honorary Chair at the University of
Stockholm. She is the award-winning author of two books: Contested Culture: The
Image, the Voice, and the Law (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press,
1991), and Fire and Desire: Mixed Race Movies in the Silent Era (Chicago: University of
Chicago Press, 2001), both of which received the Katherine Singer Kovacs prize
from the Society for Cinema and Media Studies. She received an Academy of Mo-
tion Picture Arts and Sciences Scholarly Award for her forthcoming book on early
cinema, Historical Fictioning: Women Film Pioneers, and for work on the Women
Film Pioneers digital archive published by Columbia University Libraries in 2013.
She has written articles on intellectual property and piracy, documentary theory
and radicalism, feminism and film, early cinema, fashion and film, and critical
race theory that have appeared in Cinema Journal, Screen, Cultural Studies, Framework,
contributors 543
Camera Obscura, and Women and Performance. Most recently, she has been engaged
in a critique of the historical turn in film and media studies.
Abe Geil
Abe Geil is assistant professor of film studies at the University of Amsterdam,
where he is also a research fellow in the Amsterdam School for Cultural Analysis
(ASCA). He received his PhD from the Program in Literature at Duke University
in 2013. He is the coeditor of Memory Bytes: History, Technology, and Digital Culture
(Durham: Duke University Press, 2004) and has published essays on Jean Ep-
steins conception of cinematic movement and Jacques Rancires theory of spec-
tatorship. He is currently developing a book manuscript on the uses and abuses
of the human face as a privileged site of recognition in the history of film theory.
Vinzenz Hediger
Vinzenz Hediger is professor of cinema studies at the Goethe Universitt Frank-
furt and a cofounder of NECS European Network of Cinema and Media Studies
(www.necs.org). His publications include Nostalgia for the Coming Attraction: Amer-
ican Movie Trailers and the Culture of Film Consumption (forthcoming from Columbia
University Press) and Epistemic Screens: Science and the Moving Image, with Scott Cur-
tis and Oliver Gaycken (forthcoming with Amsterdam University Press). He coe-
dited Films That Work: Industrial Film and the Productivity of Media, with Patrick Von-
derau (Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2009), and Preserving and
Exhibiting Media Art: Challenges and Perspectives, with Julia Noordegraaf (Amsterdam:
Amsterdam University Press, 2013).
Mikhail Iampolski
Mikhail Iampolski is professor of comparative literature, Russian & Slavic studies
at New York University. Among his publications are Visible World (Moscow: Kino-
vedcheskie sapiski, 1993), Babel/Babel, with A. Zholkovsky (Moscow: La Carte
Blanche, 1994), Daemon and Labyrinth (Moscow, 1996), Amnesia as a Source (Mos-
cow, 1997), The Memory of Tiresias (Oakland: University of California Press, 1998).
Arun Khopkar
Arun Khopkar has been a filmmaker, scholar, and teacher of film theory and
practice for over four decades. He trained at the Film and Television Institute of
India as a film director. He was a student of the legendary filmmaker Ritwik
Ghatak. He was on the governing body of the FTII for over fifteen years. He has
made several short films on various artforms and artists (Figures of Thought, 1990;
Sanchari, 1991; Colours of Absence, 1993; Pravahi, 2004; Volume Zero: The Work of
Charles Correa, 2009), which have won national and international awards. His fea-
ture film A Tale of Two Ganpatraos (1994), based on a Gogol story, has been shown
in various international festivals. He was a Homi Bhabha fellow and has contrib-
544 contributors
uted seminal papers on film aesthetics to various international journals. His
book on the Indian director Guru Dutt, Guru Dutt: A Tragedy in Three Acts (Penguin
Books India, 2012), won the National Award for the best book on cinema.
Pietro Montani
Pietro Montani, philosopher, is professor of aesthetics at the University of Rome
La Sapienza. He is currently working on the influence of new technologies on
imaginative processes and common sense. He is the editor of the Italian multi-
volume edition of Eisensteins theoretical works (Venice: Marsilio, 1981-on-
going). His latest books are Limmaginazione intermediale [The intermedial imagi-
nation] (Rome: Laterza, 2010) and Tecnologie della sensibilit. Estetica e
immaginazione interattiva [Technologies of sensibility: Aesthetics and interactive
imagination] (Milan: Cortina, 2014).
Philip Rosen
Philip Rosen is professor of modern culture and media at Brown University,
where he is also affiliated faculty in the departments of American Studies and
English. He is author of Change Mummified: Cinema, Historicity, Theory (Minneapo-
lis: University of Minnesota Press, 2001) and editor of Narrative, Apparatus, Ideol-
ogy: A Film Theory Reader (New York: Columbia University Press, 1986). He has
published articles and essays on a wide range of topics in film and media studies,
including work on nationality and globality in cinema, and work on the history of
film theory.
Natalie Ryabchikova
Natalie Ryabchikova is a doctoral candidate in the interdisciplinary Film Studies
Program at the University of Pittsburgh, where she is currently working on a
dissertation entitled Sergei Eisenstein in Europe and the Americas. She has
published articles on early Russian and Soviet film history in the journals Kino-
vedcheskie zapiski and Studies in Russian and Soviet Cinema and recently wrote a chap-
ter on ARRK and the Soviet transition to sound for the volume Sound, Speech,
Music in Soviet and Post-Soviet Cinema, ed. Lilya Kaganovsky and Masha Salazkina
(Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2014). She also contributed commentary
for the Hyperkino edition of Sergei Eisensteins Strike (Ruscico, 2010).
Masha Salazkina
Masha Salazkina is research chair in transnational media arts and culture at Con-
cordia University, Montreal. Her work incorporates transnational approaches to
film theory and cultural and institutional history with a focus on Soviet Union,
Latin America, and Italy. She is the author of In Excess: Sergei Eisensteins Mexico
(Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2009) and coeditor of Sound, Speech, Music
in Soviet and Post-Soviet Cinema (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2014).
contributors 545

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EDITED BY NAUM KLEIMAN & ANTONIO SOMAINI

FILM THEORY FILM THEORY

An iconic figure in twentieth-century cinema, Ser- NAUM KLEIMAN is a film his-

Series editors: Prof. Dr. Vinzenz Hediger (Goethe University Frankfurt,

Editorial Board Members:

Film Theory in Media History is published in cooperation with the Permanent

Translations from Russian

by Margo Shohl Rosen, Brinton Tench Coxe, and

Amsterdam University Press

OAPEN (Open Access Publishing in European Networks) is a collaborative initia-

Cover design: Suzan Beijer

ISBN 978 90 8964 283 7 (paperback)

Creative Commons License CC BY NC ND

The authors / Amsterdam University Press B.V., 2016

Part One Notes for a General History of Cinema

Part Two Essays

1. What Renders Daumiers Art so Cinematic for Eisenstein? 255

Naum Kleiman and Antonio Somaini

10 naum kleiman and antonio somaini

IP (followed by the volume number) for Sergei M. Eizenshtein, Izbrannye

In 1997, on the eve of Eisensteins centenary, Aleksandr Troshin, Nina Dymshits,

Eisenstein worked on the project for a general history of cinema during a

eisensteins media archaeology 21

eisensteins media archaeology 23

eisensteins media archaeology 25

1. Cinema, Montage, and the Vertical Column of History

eisensteins media archaeology 27

Let us enumerate these elements:

eisensteins media archaeology 29

eisensteins media archaeology 31

The dialectic of a work of art is constructed upon a most interesting dyad.

eisensteins media archaeology 33

2. Theory, History, Creation: A Flash in Slow Motion through

On Balzac descended the unitary conception of the Comdie Humaine

It is as if alea iacta est.* The Presidium of the Academy of Sciences has

eisensteins media archaeology 35

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3. Heir and Synthesis: The Place of Cinema in the History

For sculpture cinema is a chain of changing plastic forms, bursting, at long

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Ill. 2 Synthse (Eve, Europe, Jsus, Torero), 12 May 1931

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In my studies, I have never accepted the idea of a distinction between strata

Reinterpreting it according to his own perspective, Eisenstein found in the no-

An exact representation of the universe, of its evolution, of the development

Considered within the framework of all the various definitions of synthesis

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The lightplays experimented by Eisenstein in the staging of the Valkyrie a crucial

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Eisensteins understanding of cinema as a synthesis of the arts cannot there-

4. Cinemas Forerunners: The History of Cinemas Expressive

Apparently, the topic is lining up:

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1. The first history mentioned in Eisensteins outline The history of the

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The most complex problem, because it is the most fundamentally significant

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