Middle of the Road

Watching the progression of the films since this past week, it struck me how very different each of their scores were. I did enjoy High Noon, but when I heard the opening song practically every time the sheriff showed up, I really did expect the camera to come across some fellow sitting just around a corner playing his guitar and singing. Occasionally, I expected it so much that when I never saw the singer, I wanted to laugh-though there was not much comic relief in the film, period. I've come to the conclusion that this mode of thinking is drawn from what I have been taught by films I've seen over the course of my life. However, I did not experience this while watching In the Heat of the Night OR American Graffiti, though there were popular songs that showed up in (or across) both of those films. But, I've been sensitized to certain expectations, and since the actual sound effects of the film were more subtle than they generally are in films made in more recent years, I automatically figured that the song itself would somehow become more directly related to the picture (rather than being simply a leitmotif).

The part of High Noon that we watched in class before we watched the entire movie brought the showdown scene from The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly immediately to my mind. I just went back and watched that scene: although Ennio Morricone's score doesn't "match up" so obviously with the images, the change of scenes does coincide with the rhythm of the music as the camera switches from face to eyes to hand and back around again. It's a very intense sequence, slowly building to the climax of who will shoot-and be shot-first ("And then we will find out who is right . . . and who is dead." [The Princess Bride]). However, the scene is made both memorable and stunning due to Morricone's powerful score. In fact, the filming and directing is usually very basic-almost "home" style, from time to time-but the film is remembered (inarguably) as the greatest of the Spaghetti Westerns because of Ennio Morricone.

Although I had read Harper Lee's book To Kill a Mockingbird, and seen the play, I hadn't yet gotten the chance to watch the film until Tuesday. [Random thoughts: although there was a bit of comic relief in the film, since the book was able to include more events that aren't directly related to the arc of the story, the book is loads funnier. It was a pity they left out the part where Scout decided to start swearing all the time . . .] I really loved the score, and was struck by the variety of the music and styles throughout the film. I found that it worked very well-though sometimes a composer becomes a little too ambitious and decides to put together so many different musical ideas it sounds like a compilation score. As an example, I thought of Harry Gregson-Williams' score for The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. Though I have read interviews with him in which he explains why he see-saws between styles, listening to the soundtrack still feels as though he couldn't decide what kind of score he wanted to write, so he stuck all of his ideas together. Fortunately, it doesn't bother you when you're watching the movie unless you're already aware of it.

I was very happy to hear the "What Makes a Great Melody Great" speech again; I happened to misplace my notes from composition class, and hearing it once more solidified it in my brain. With any of John Williams' themes-Superman, Jurassic Park, Artificial Intelligence . . . everything is absolutely perfect. I think about this in everything I hear now (especially in The Beatles' music!) and realize that the more static a melody, the less memorable the song (or piece). [George Harrison tended to write melodies that are more conjunct in their arcs, while Lennon and McCartney generally used more leaps in their songs. Of course, I suppose that this was part of his prerogative, as he was always pursuing the ideals of Indian mysticism . . . However, I've noticed that this generally makes appreciation for his songs more limited.]

The more I think about it, the more I am convinced that the place for most of the completely dissonant music that was being performed in the concert halls throughout the later 20th century should have been-and should still be-restricted to the movie theater. While film composers may not have come up with all of their most effective scoring notions without the "classical" composers of the time, I believe that the common layman seeking to enjoy current "art" would be better served if he were exposed to the most "progressive" sorts of music in context of a film. There were a lot of pieces I did not care for while we were studying them in Music History or Theory classes-but I run out and purchase a soundtrack album in which the film composer has exploited many of these modern musical ideas.

It may seem like a strange dichotomy, but at the same time, I found myself liking certain pieces after having read or heard why they were created, or about what they had been written. One example is George Crumb's Black Angels: I find it an extremely effective, hair-raising piece, but when I listened to it for the first time, I had no idea what it was about, and found it hideous and terrifying. This is a type of 20th-century of art: art that its creators MUST explain so that the viewer or listener can appreciate it. I prefer it immensely to the art that is not actually saying anything, while missing the days when there was no need for explanation. That is, I think, my attraction to the film score as a genre: I know why it is, what it's for, and where it's been. At that point it needs no explanation, because the images have already been the explanation, and they are essentially inseparable.

This brings to mind the story of one of Beethoven's piano sonatas: he played it through. One of the listeners present at the time inquired of the composer, "Yes-but what does it mean?" Without a word, Beethoven simply played the sonata again. (I think this is a wonderful anecdote, but it also reaffirms my sense that, had I known him, I would have disliked him intensely.)