Sunday, April 3, 2016

Batman v. Superman: Dawn of Justice

Hold onto your hats, folks, this one is going to be long! And I'm just going to say spoilers, spoilers, spoilers: do not read this if you don't know and don't want to know what happens, especially at the end of the film.
There has been a fair amount of negativity about this film: others are entitled to their opinions and I to mine, and I enjoyed this film. OK, I'm coming at it more from what I think of the score and I am not for a second going to claim this it is perfect or even great. Yes, it has problems, not least some weird gaps in its logic and the fact that Wonder Woman needed about ten times the amount of screen time she got. On the other hand, I like the central idea of exploring what happens when you get two superheroes fundamentally distrusting the other's methods and motives, and although the movie's biggest problem is that it does not offer a remotely convincing explanation of how that problem is resolved, I thought the problem itself was well set up in the first part of the film. Also, I would happily watch Ben Affleck bagging groceries, so I have no issue with watching him being Batman; and even though I think Henry Cavill is funny looking, I continue to like his Superman.
Anyway, I enjoyed it and found it entertaining: I did not go to watch it to have my world view either confirmed or denied, and that is just as well, but I liked it enough to watch it twice in order to start getting to grips with the music. Alas, twice is clearly not enough as there is loads going on and I already know, despite having sworn I was done writing about superhero movies, that I am going to have to sit down with both Man of Steel and this one when it comes out on DVD and write something a bit more formal.  And even longer.
Why do I like it? Because I'm an old fashioned girl and I like a nice theme, and this has bucketloads of them, intertwined and inventive and oh my goodness, just occasionally (and perhaps significantly, especially when he shares the composer credit with someone else as he did on Batman Begins) Hans Zimmer writes a good score. BB, he co-wrote with James Newton Howard, this one with someone bearing the improbable name Junkie XL. Says the woman called Steve Halfyard.
So, themes. Well, actually, let's start with a joke because another thing I like are musical jokes. When Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent meet for the first time at Lex Luthor's party, the music playing and being sung in the background is Cole Porter's "Night and Day". Cute, huh?
Other fun stuff: Bruce Wayne, especially his nightmarish visions/dreams (oh, we are so being set up for a sequel!) is haunted by the sound of the World Engine that nearly destroyed Metropolis in the climax of Man of Steel. It reverberates through the sound design and score (again, I like the way that Zimmer and his team often make it difficult to tell which is which) at the edges of the visions, reminding us of why he hates Superman so violently. and considers him such a threat. Nice touch, gentlemen.
So, themes. Superman retains his themes from Man of Steel, or rather his theme group: several themes that all start with a rising perfect fifth, the interval of the (Super) hero as defined by - well, I was going to say John Williams but actually Beethoven got in there long before him. The group includes his emotional theme (used for his parents and for Lois) which starts with the fifth, almost always on a soft piano, and then falls back downward, a gentle little musical sigh; and his big hero theme, where the fifth is then expanded with a series of wider leaps to major sixth and seventh and finally, when he is particularly successful, to a rather beautiful octave in different harmonizations.The sense of striving and the way 'arrival' at the final musical goal is emotionally transformative as we shift into a new harmony (hurrah for the mediant shift is all I can say, and if that makes no sense to you, buy my book and read the section on Dexter in the penultimate chapter!) is my favourite part of this theme, but it also plays to the thing that many of this film's detractors do not like and which they seem to have noticed less in Man of Steel: the theme makes it clear that everything is hard for Superman. It takes effort to haul that note ever upwards, like Sisyphus and his rock, striving and yearning for the goal. Williams's Superman theme positively bounced up to its goal notes, effortless and optimistic: this one makes it hard, and the goal uncertain, especially as another theme in this group does not rise at all, but sinks from a rising fifth to a rising fourth, and does not make it to the top of the musical mountain poor old Clark is always having to climb.
There is also a member of his theme group that involves a high, aching series of minor seconds/ falling and rising semitones, usually heard on brass and high strings, heard at moments of particular stress and conflict. This is one of the ones I have not yet fully got to grips with and need to track its use through both films in more detail; but it is important because this is the interval that connects him to the themes of his allies in the film, Batman (eventually) and Wonder Woman (oh, hurrah, again) both of whom have themes involving prominent rising and or falling semitones.
Wonder Woman gets the most kick-ass theme of the film that then provides the bedrock of the final battle scene with the Zod-beast, or whatever it is officially called. So, she is an ancient Amazon warrior woman, and part of her theme is a 'primitive' driving drum riff of epic proportions in its volume and ferocity. You go girl, so to speak. But she is also able to present herself as thoroughly modern woman and hero, so over the top of this is a contrastingly modern but no less ferocious electric guitar riff that combines elements from Batman's group (rising minor key broken chord - tonic, minor third, perfect fifth) and Superman's semitone motif, as the broken chord is followed by a big, loud, long lean onto the tritone (so a fall of a semitone from the perfect fifth) and back up again. The timbre of the drums and guitar make this theme absolutely and unmistakably hers, but the melodic elements place her as a bridge between Batman and Superman (something that made me laugh, second time round, at the exchange at the start of the battle when Supe asks Bat "is she with you?" and Batty replies "I thought she was with you". The answer the music gives is simultaneously "yes, she is", and "no, she's with her").
So, to the Batman. He, too, has a group of themes, although his are distinct rather than interlinked the way Superman's are.This an old Batman; and this is not entirely the Christopher Nolan Batman, either so, even though Zimmer wrote the music for those films, it does not reappear here and instead Bruce/ Batman's music almost literally takes it cue from an old Batman score. At the start of the film, which turns out to be a combination of memory and dream, young Bruce is seen being lifted out of the well into which he fell by the flight of hundreds of bats around him; and as he is lifted into the light, we hear a theme so close to Danny Elfman's Bat-theme from 1989 that I refuse to believe for one second that the allusion is not intentional. One of the things that Elfman did with his five note motif was to create multiple variations of it, and the theme used in this new film is the version we hear in the 1989 film a) when Batman terrifies poor Vicki Vale in the Batcave after rescuing her from the Joker and b) in the triumphant finale. This is the version with a rising minor broken chord (see WW above), ending with a semitone rise to a minor sixth (so a semitone in the opposite direction to WW). But to anyone who knows the 1989 film well, it is unmistakably an allusion to the oldest of our film Batmans. Batmen. Hmm.
So, this is his 'character' theme; but he has two others. Firstly we have his agency theme, a three note motif (the tonic/ root in the bass, with the melody over this as minor sixth falling to minor third, rising to perfect fifth) that takes key intervals from the character theme and reorders them - but note, the minor sixth/ perfect fifth combo in both character and agency theme give us that prominent semitone interval that connects his music Superman and Wonder Woman. The agency theme is, as my name for it suggests, the theme we hear when Batman is actually doing stuff: and for most of the film, that is plotting to kill Superman, so it initially presents more as a "Batman's vendetta" theme. However, after his change of heart (of which more in a second) it continues for his participation in the battle to defeat the Zod-beast, so its meaning shifts to a more encompassing idea of Batman as man of action.
Batman's third theme is actually some of the first music we hear, a theme for the loss of his parents that has a fair amount in common with Zimmer's music for Batman Begins, especially in the use of a high voice (soprano rather than boy treble this time, I think) as a marker of innocence, loss and longing. We only hear it twice, once at the start of the film and then it is recalled at the crucial moment when Batman has the opportunity to kill Superman, but is deflected from this by Superman's revelation that if he dies, Martha will die too. This is the most problematic moment of the film, in that up to this point, both superheroes have been convinced that the other is a danger that needs to be contained and/or destroyed; and Batman's sudden decision to come over to Superman's side seems rushed and unconvincing, relying on the fact that both of them have mother's called Martha and that by inadvertently invoking Batman's mother, suddenly Batman decides Superman is a good guy after all. Huh? How does his mother's name stop him and his god-like powers from being a potential totalitarian threat?  Interestingly, on my second watching, when I was listening to the music much more actively, the sequence worked far better and more convincingly, as this theme that was first used as young Bruce watched his parents die is revisited at length alongside shots from that earlier scene; but that, alas, is not really good enough. Whilst I am all for films where you get more out of them on rewatching, that is not quite the same as a film where a gap in the logic seems less pronounced second time through - we perhaps needed some revelatory moment where they both realise that they are being manipulated by Luther and can therefore unite behind the idea that he is the true enemy, and that simple does not happen. Nonetheless, being more aware of the music second time did genuinely help this seem more logical than the first time. Alas, the same cannot be said for the process by which Lex makes the Zod-beast, but that's another story.
So, we have all out heroes' themes set up and the final battle is a marvellous melange of Wonder Woman, Batman and Superman motifs dancing around each other as the three bring down the Zod-beast together.
Superman is apparently dead at the end (didn't buy it for a second, and the final coffin shot supports that thesis) but this gives us a fabulous cue  for his death at the hands of the Zod-monster, which also dies in the process.  Because, of course, we have been here before: Superman is killing Zod for the second time. The cue revisits the music from Man of Steel for when Superman battles and eventually kills Zod the first time round (if you are interested, it's the cue "If you love these people" on the OST for Man of Steel and "This is my world" on Batman v. Superman). Both times, killing Zod is tragic: the first time because Superman has to kill the only other remaining member of his race, the second time because he has to kill himself too, both times to save humankind.
It is also the music that links him most strongly to previous filmic versions of Batman. There are several motifs and melodies in this cue: one harks back to the "big theme", almost never heard, from Batman Begins, with huge, almost unsingable leaps over a strangely baroque ground bass (read all about that here, if you wish: Link to Cue the Big theme). Another is a five note motif that is note-for-note identical to Elfman's principal Bat-theme from 1989 (if you want to recall that, just sing the first five notes of Irving Berlins's "Let's face the music and dance" specifically the ones to the words "There may be trouble [ahead]" - there is something about these five notes which seemed to speak of troubled times in darkness). It's differently harmonised and places its emphasis on the final note, where Elfman places it on the fourth one, but I just throw it out there as perhaps the archetypal motif - the museme, if you will - of the tragic, troubled (in this case, dying) superhero being superheroic nonetheless. Connecting Superman to Batman this way (not as a specific gesture of this film but revisiting one from the previous film) humanises him: he suffers, he feels pain, he sacrifices. All of which puts him a long way from the infallible and endlessly optimistic figure of  John Willams' Superman but hey, we of the 21st century live in apocalyptic times (as several people, not least the endlessly brilliant Stacey Abbott, pointed out at a conference on the 21st century horror Film at Sheffield Hallam this weekend) and our superheroes reflect that.
So: to my surprise, a rather good score. Way too much of it, of course: the ears were profoundly grateful for the relatively rare moments of musical silence, but that is the price you pay for films obsessed with spectacle over plot and character development. But that, again, is another story.

Saturday, March 12, 2016

Music in Cult TV: an introduction


Hurrah - well, it's finally happening: my book on music in cult tv is coming out next month and is currently available to preorder via Amazon. It's all a bit useless at the moment as they both have the blurb I wrote as part of the proposal about 5 years ago and the book has changed significantly since then, not least because Hannibal aired whilst I was writing and utterly blew me away. Oh, and the U.K. site cannot spell music.....! So the actual blurb is below, and these are the links to the two sites. Currently half the price ($14 rather than $28) in the US than it will be after publication, no idea why!
US site: http://www.amazon.com/Music-Cult-TV-An-Introduction/dp/1784530298
UK site: http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/1784530298







Friday, January 8, 2016

Star Wars VII: The Force Awakens

Star Wars VII: The Force Awakens
Composer: oh, who do you think, John Williams, of course!

So, the bad news is that I have suddenly come down with a cold and feel absolutely blinking awful. The good news is that this week I finally saw Star Wars VII: The Force Awakens, a film I can happily admit to loving with a fiery passion. In fact, I saw it twice, and musically speaking, that was an interesting experience in and of itself.  Spoilers ahead: for crying out loud, why are you reading this if you haven’t seen the film already? Do you know how much time I have spent avoiding on the internet since December 17th?
At my first viewing, I failed to notice a single new theme (and there are three big significant ones for Rey, Kylo Ren and the Alliance, as well as various smaller others). All I noticed, musically, was the old themes: The Luke/ main title theme; the ‘triumph’ chords that so often punctuate action in the original trilogy; the Force theme; Leia’s theme, and the Leia/Han love theme. Each one jumped out at me and my ears greeted it like a long-lost, much-loved friend, starting with the main title (grin the size of a slice of watermelon on my face), then the triumph chords as we see the Millenium Falcon for the first time (hello, Millenium Falcon!), the Force theme as Han remembers Luke, the Leia theme as we see the lovely General for the first time, transforming into the Han/Leia version as they talk to each other; even a quick blast of Darth Vadar’s Imperial March as we see the remains of his ruined mask on Kylo Ren’s little altar. Oh, my lovelies, how I’ve missed you! But new themes utterly passed me by: I was aware of the recurrence of these themes throughout but otherwise, was just too busy watching the film.
Second time round, out they started popping, as well as other things, such as the first time we get the Luke/ main title theme in the score is when Finn makes the decision that effectively sets the narrative rolling and tells Poe Dameron that he is going to help him escape – some of Luke’s agency in that moment seems to be passed on to Finn, a fascinating character who has had rather less attention as the first major black character of the franchise (do not get me started on Lando Calrissian) than its first female hero, Rey. However, I am going to focus in particular on Rey and Kylo Ren or we’ll be here forever.

Kylo Ren’s theme
Kylo Ren has a classic ‘label’ theme of the type that Adorno and Eisler detested, seeing it as the musical lackey announcing the person we can all very well see is there. But the general stasis of this five note motif which we repeatedly hear in basically identical form throughout the film actually does quite a lot of work. It’s short and unchanging – this unchanging nature reflects his rigidity, his desire to hold to his path and I could make a possibly slightly fanciful argument about this being how he hears himself, the aural image of what he wants to be, sternly foreboding, a musical anchor that pulls him back to the dark side from that oh so tempting path of light. The motif is angular and chromatic – sorry, my notation software is up the spout, so I shall have to do it by description. Five notes: G, F sharp, C , E flat, G again, an octave down from where it started. So, we start with a falling minor second (G to F sharp), which then falls to the tritone  (F sharp to C) symbol of musical evil, the diablous in musica – no villain is a proper villain without a nice tritone in his theme; then rising by a minor third (C to E flat) before dropping down a minor sixth (E flat to C). It is almost entirely descending and therefore a theme for the dark side: heroic themes, by contrast, tend to be primarily ascending, constantly pushing upwards towards ever higher goals (e.g. the Luke/ main title theme and indeed the Force theme: nice bit of analysis here that demonstrates the idea well: http://www.filmmusicnotes.com/john-williams-themes-part-1-the-force-theme/). All the intervals in KR’s theme are either minor or chromatic – again, culturally coded towards the negative end of the spectrum, compared to the major key and unchromatic  Main title and Force themes.

Rey’s theme
Rey, by contrast, has a very long theme made up of several motifs; the opening rapid figure is derived from the (as you will learn!) all-important last three notes of the melody of the main motif. That main motif (6 notes in all) is the opening of a long winding melody that meanders all over the place, shifting and slipping into different keys, the melody becoming submerged in the textures and then re-emerging again: note already, therefore, the extreme contrast to the rigid brevity of Kylo Ren’s theme. Rey is unfixed, unformed at this point: unawakened!
Rey’s motif appears in so many different keys that I’m going to give it here in the version that best makes my point about its relationship with Kylo Ren’s. This gives us a theme that goes: C, E flat, G, C, F, G . [C up to E flat, down to G, back up to C, then up again to F and G]. So: the last three notes of KR’s theme are the first three of Rey’s; where his sinks down to the low G at the end, her’s rises up to the high one; where his motif starts with a chromatic fall from G to F sharp that in turn produces the tritone, her’s ends with the rising, non-chromatic F natural to G. There is both a reversal of the order of phrases and of the direction of the two notes at the start of KR’s and the end of Rey’s, which means that where his theme has only one ascending interval, her’s has only one descending one. These motifs are so astoundingly mirrored around each other that I do not believe for a second that its just one of those coincidences, because our John is altogether rather too clever for that.

The lack of chromaticism and the primarily ascending contour give Rey’s motif  much more potential as a heroic signifier. However, at the start of the film, it just ain’t heroic: its actually pretty softy-sweetie-girlie, in terms of its Hollywood cultural musical coding. Lots of woodwind and strings, nice overall sense of up-and-back down phrase shaping in the cue as a whole, smooth, legato feel – all things that good ol’ Philip Tagg (where would I be without him) identified as female coded musical characteristics in his 1987 study, which you can find here if you have never read it: http://tagg.org/articles/xpdfs/tvanthro.pdf
But her motif has potential to be heroic: its has the kind of open intervals around tonic and dominant (the C and G) that are commonly found in Williams’ hero themes; it is ascending; and it is strongly linked (as I am not the first to notice) to the force theme, in that it has identical harmonic movement and several similar intervals (he actually juxtaposes them in the final minute of the end credits cue, just in case you hadn’t noticed, something that brought another watermelon grin to my face as I stood by the exit door to let the poor ushers clean the cinema! Having working in one, I am acutely aware that people who stay to the end of the credits are pretty annoying for the ushers). The identical harmonic movement means that in the more extended Rey theme (going beyond her first six notes into the second part of the theme) both this and the Force theme move from a minor tonic chord to the major subdominant (so here, from C minor to F major). Technically, in C minor, the subdominant should be F minor, so the brightening of the shift into a major chord gives it a sense of hope (A New Hope! The Force Awakens! Woohoo!) that again pushes this toward the heroic.
And that latent heroism and the force awakening in Rey gets its musical realization in the final battle scene between her and KR, which you can hear here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YnvaA984uIc
I will confess that I was getting mightly frustrated by the end of the film: we got the Force theme with the heroic bras (solo horn) mostly when people were talking about Luke -  when it was used for Rey, back came the strings and woodwinds;  and her own motif also kept on coming back on strings and woodwind. For crying out loud, John (I was thinking) when are you going to let her be a hero? And then, hurrah, in this cue, we finally get both the Force theme and her motif transformed into a properly brass-led heroism as she comes into her own and takes down KR. I may have cried a little at the sound of massed brass around 2.40 in the above clip.

And so, to the crazy speculation. Why do Rey and KR essentially share a (mirrored) theme? Why is the very first thing Leia does when she meets Rey is to clasp her in a fierce embrace? Could they all be – gasp – related??? I seriously do not know how I am going to get through a year and nine months without knowing the answers to these questions.

Friday, November 6, 2015

The Martian

I am clearly on a roll: second post in the same week!
I'm afraid I'm going to be really rather picky about this film because I really liked but it was not quite as good a film as it might have been on the musical front. Matt Damon  turns in an impressive and engaging performance as the guy accidentally left for dead on Mars, reminding me of just what a jolly fine actor he is, and which he needs to be as a lot of the film is just him and his potatoes and a lot of red dust. The film starts with some semi-subtle allusions to 2001: A Space Odyssey, with a planetary sunrise set to some low drones sounds that recall, perhaps, some of the Ligeti in Kubrik's compilation score; and then the first obviously musical sounds we hear are a rising open fifth, à la Strauss Thus Spake Zarathustra, but then the music and visuals leave that particularly vision of space behind (and undoubtedly a good thing too, but I enjoyed the nod).
Things start out promisingly musically, and after Mark, our hero, is abandoned, the music and sound design initially do a good job constructing his subjective experience as the only man on Mars. In particular, the sound design gives a range of slightly disconcerting hums, some evidently ambient, some more ambiguous; a lovely little tinnitus moment when Mark more or less blows himself up in the process of trying to grow his potatoes; plus there is some fabulously incongruous disco music which is the only music he has access to, a fact that causes him at one point to declare that he is definitely go to die here if he has to keep listening to this. The fact that he does keep listening to it suggests, probably quite rightly, that when you are completely alone on a planet, 100s of 1000s of miles and potentially four years from anyone else, any music is better than nothing. But here in lie the seeds of the problem. By my calculations, Mark is actually on his own for about two years, and by the end he is definitely starting to go a little crazy, but the underscore music rather undermines this by being pretty much wall to wall through most of the film. The film's makers might have chosen to use musical silence and sound design to help us understand his isolation and the constant threat of death that he is under, and to encourage us to see the ways in which Mark starts to fall apart, a process that begins when his crops are destroyed. Damon is acting his socks off but the music actually makes his performance of a man holding on to his sanity by his fingertips toward the end seem kinda cute, and that seems to me to do his acting a disservice both here and elsewhere: the music does too much work for us in glossing his emotions into something generally simple and easy to identify with, whereas the situation is astoundingly complex and not something I imagine most of us can begin to think ourselves into. The sounds design is, frankly, also acting its socks off: the sounds of the various storms and the sense of the habitat pods being under constant  threat of destruction really begs for more musical silence in which to make itself felt, but instead I cannot remember the last time I was so conscious of being emotionally manipulated by a score (Oo, will he die? Hurrah, he's ok! Can he make it work? yes, he can! He's so plucky - cue the Kleenex). I am not blaming the composer: Harry Gregson Williams will have written music for where he was told to write it, doing what he was told to make it do; but the film ended up too cosy for me, like a revisiting of  Apollo 13 as a fun adventure film, or Mission to Mars with a happier ending. He's complete alone on a planet and is an odds-on favourite to perish! It is genuinely scary! A wee bit more silence now and then, a dose of the uncanny, would have made this an altogether less comfortable and frankly better film. It's a good film; it has great acting; but the musical strategy plays it too safe in how it directs the audience toward emotion and away from allowing them to glimpse how completely terrible it would be for someone to spend two years on their own on Mars with no guarantee at all of rescue.

Tuesday, November 3, 2015

Crimson Peak (2015)

Director: Guillermo del Toro
Music: Fernado Velazquez
Sound design: Randy Thom


It is an incredibly long time (literally, years) since I blogged about film music but today, in celebration of finishing the proofing on my cult TV book, I went to see Crimson Peak and for the first time in a very long time I am inspired to write. Not much has inspired me in film music of late. Crimson Peak is a marvellous gothic romp of a film, with ghosts literally coming out of the woodwork (and the floorboards) and more blood than you can shake a stick at: even the opening titles are drenched in a wash of red, and the film takes its name from the fact that the red clay of the hill on which haunted house is built turns the snow bright red in winter. The titles are accompanied by the sound of a child's voice singing an unaccompanied, haunting and slightly creepy song amidst massive electronically manipulated reverberation. Immediately, we are pointed toward horror: children's voices often feature in horror soundtracks where the film concerns a child in danger, so that the sound of a child singing from the soundtrack paradoxically indicates the threatening evil as much as the innocent child victim. Here, it's an interesting double bluff: in the first scene after the title we meet our heroine, Edith, as a ten year old at her mother's funeral, so the winsome child's voice is, we might suppose, Edith herself, the girl in peril at the centre of the narrative. But no, it's cleverer than that - oh, I do so love a clever score! Spoilers ahead. Much later in the film, we hear the same melody being played as a Chopinesque piano fantasia by Lucille, Edith's new sister in law, who turns out to be the  agent behind the evil and the horror driving the narrative. Lucille reveals that the melody is a lullaby she used to sing to her brother (now Edith's husband) when they were children; and near the end we learn that as a child, Lucille murdered their mother with a gigantic cleaver she has kept ever since as a memento of that happy occasion. The child's voice we hear in the titles is therefore arguably Lucille's and rather than the voice representing Edith, the child in danger that it usually does (for example, Alien 3, Sleepy Hollow), we belatedly discover that it is the voice of evil itself, the voice of Lucille as a child.

The other really interesting thing about the music of this film is that we effectively have two scores. On the one hand we have a sumptuous orchestral score that represents all things to do with the real world and the living, no matter how horrible, and the lullaby slips from diegetic to non-diegetic music throughout. On the other hand, we have sound design operating as music, using electronic sounds and electronically manipulated noises (drips, knocking sounds) to represent the Otherness of the many and various ghosts. The first appearance of this other sound world, when Edith's mother returns after the funeral to warn her about Crimson Peak (unfortunately, she should have warned her about Allerdale Hall as Crimson Peak is just a local nickname and Edith has already married and moved in before she hears it for the first time). In this first haunting, the sound design is at its most overtly composed, with very little obviously real sounds, and lots of electronics, but it establishes the extreme difference of the ghostly soundworld. In other haunting sequences, the boundary between sound design and musical composition is much less clearly defined, and the sound operates both as the sound of the ghosts themselves as they bump and slither around the house, and as a musical atmosphere and ambience for their presence. There is even, in the credits, a member of sound design team credited with "atmospheric sound design". This duality in the scoring strategy is itself a marvellously gothic construction: if the classic gothic castle is a site of decadent domesticity above with dank and dangerous cellars below in which God alone knows what lurks, then here the orchestral music presents us with the sumptuous world of the living 'above' and the noisy, unnatural and manipulated sound design of the dead 'below'. I really enjoyed this film: it's silly, over the top, quite revolting in places and having rather too much fun with itself at times but Mia Wasikowska as Edith does a knock up job of not just being a victim in need of being rescued (and turns out to be handy with shovel) and I could happily watch Tom Hiddleston reading the telephone directory, so watching him being tragic, bad and tormented all at the same time is a joy. And the music/ sound was deeply satisfying: inventive, interesting and rewarding to listen to. Hurrah!

Thursday, October 4, 2012

Anna Karenina



Yikes, it’s been a while: sometimes, life just catches up and there’s no time for thinking about it. Which I supposed (caution: glib segue ahead!) is Anna Karenina’s problem.  I am having mixed feelings about this film overall: mostly, I liked it very much, but it looses its way at the end and (I don’t often say this) probably needed to be about 20 minutes longer. One minute, Anna has left her husband and is living with Vronsky; there is some vague mention of her wanting a divorce; within about 10 minutes, she’s addicted to morphine, become a raving paranoiac and suddenly throws herself under a train for no clear reason. And poor old Vronsky is a bit of an empty space: he’s very pretty but one doesn’t have a clue if there is anything going on between his ears, nor what he actually feels for Anna – his love for her is oddly unconvincing. So, sorry Mr Stoppard, but somewhere between what you wrote and whatever happened to your script in the edit, characters got a little thin and plot got a little rushed.
But the thing you cannot get away from is the beauty of the production. The majority of the action is filmed in a 19th century theatre, which they constantly redress to provide us with various people’s homes, workplaces, ballrooms, streets, railway stations, tea rooms, ice rink, even a race-course at one point. Oh, and every now and then it gets to be a theatre. It’s very Brechtian, especially at the start, the stage machinery quite literally revealed, with the result that we are very aware that we are watching a narrative, a story told by actors, the self-conscious artifice of it keeping us at an emotional distance – it’s a game, a process, a story with a very visible frame (sometimes, literally, the proscenium arch of the theatre). And the music works as part of this as well. There are two basic types of music in the film: dance music, which draws attention to itself, and more conventional underscore, although the two cross over in significant places. The dance music predominates at the start – it’s quirky, hints of the Shostakovich jazz suites, self-consciously stylized in the same way that the action is at the start. As one scene ends, we make a transition from this, set in Anna’s brother’s offices, to him and his friend Konstantin going to dinner in a restaurant. The office workers strip off the top players of their clothing, and are transformed into waiters; the actors move scenery and props out of the way and bring in screens to create the restaurant; the camera, in a long tracking shot, follows all this as we move from one side of the theatre space to another (or do we just go around in a circle?) and as the camera tracks, so various musicians – a clarinettist, a tuba player, a singer, pass in and out of view, making clear that the music we are hearing is not simply underscore but is also within the scene as well. It is overtly theatrical: I spent the first 15 minutes of the film wondering why they’d bothered to make a film at all, rather than doing this on stage. The music by Joe Wright’s usual composer, Dario Marianelli) has a very Brechtian role in defining and drawing attention to the narrative space: later, after Konstantin has made his failed proposal to Princess Kitty (yes, that really is what she is called), he leaves her salon, where a ball is beginning, and climbs up onto the gantries above the stage: this is the ‘street’, outside the salon which occupies the stage. The music follows him: in the salon, the violin melody was that of a somewhat vibrato-heavy waltz; as he climbs to the catwalks, populated by the common people, it is transformed into something folkish, Klezmerish. From the catwalk, he looks back down into the salon, and as the camera follows his gaze, the violin seamlessly moves back to the elegant waltz.
And then the music stops for a while, and we have a series of scenes, in which we first meet Anna, where there is a great deal of conversation and musical silence, as if to try and say “OK, we have established that, for budgetary reasons, we are shooting this whole damn thing in a theatre rather than on location, and it’s all very arch and camp, sorry about that, but we had to make the theatre thing work somehow; but now we want to get on with the real story and get you emotionally engaged with it so no more music, let’s have some proper acting”. And I am in two minds whether it really works: the Brechtian distancing that arises from spending a lot of our time visibly in a theatre makes it a little difficult to really engage with the story, to start seeing the characters rather than the actors. It is apparent that we ‘see’ the theatre and its machinery much less clearly in the scenes involving Anna, Karenin and Vronsky on their own – there is a definite attempt to avoid distracting (alienating) us with the frame when we are with these characters.
Musically, the central theme is the waltz heard at the fateful ball where Vronsky dances with Anna and throws over Kitty. Here, obviously, the music is diegetic – everyone is dancing to it so obviously they can hear it, although there is no visible sign of the orchestra. But here again, they play a lot of games with theatrical artifice: when Vronksy persuades Anna to dance with him, all the other dancers freeze as they take to the floor, and only come back to life as the couple pass them; and the dancing itself is gorgeous and bizarre, made up of languidly nonsensical hand and arm gestures more than anything else, as if the dancers are becoming physically entwined, tied in knots that they weave and then extricate themselves from – it is graceful yet suggests an underlying anxiety, a highly stylized, abstracted set of gestures that might have started out as some kind of fight.  The waltz theme then becomes the love theme for Anna and Vronsky, sliding from ‘real’ diegetic music at the ball into the nondiegetic undescore; and seems to suggest that their tale is, like the choreography, a convoluted, anxious, elegant but unsettled dance that we know will not have a happy ending.
The only happy ending is the one for Kitty and Konstantin, who do finally get married and go to live in the countryside. They are also the only ones who ever seem to escape the theatre into the real world: Konstantin at one point literally walks out of the theatre onto a snow covered landscape, and pretty much all the location work concerns him  - he has an actual house (rather than a home created out of a corner of the theatre); and he and Kitty also have proper non-diegetic underscore, as if they are the only conventionally 'real' people in the whole film - they do not want to be part of the performance, but to get on with life away from the labyrinthine workings of the theatre that Anna singularly fails to escape.

Monday, July 9, 2012

Well, I was kidding myself if I ever thought I'd post anything in May or June, the two busiest months of my year. However, have managed to see a few films, several of which I have enjoyed very much (Avengers, Cabin in the Woods, even Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter) and some of which I have not (Snow White and the Huntsman, Red Lights). The Abraham Lincoln film was on one level enjoyable hokum and on another rather distasteful (it's fine that all the confederate troops were slaughtered at Gettysburg because they weren't actually men at all, you see, they were naughty vampires trying to take over America). Musically, nothing much has grabbed my attention in a big way (The Hunger Games rather spoilt me, raised my expectations too high). Nice little love theme for Abe and his missus, which is then picked up near the end for the Union troops getting killed on the first day at Gettysburg, which worked rather well, and a rollicking hero theme for Abe swinging his axe at the vampires. The Avengers has another lovely hero theme from Alan Silvestri, working very much with the classical trope with its rising open fifth, and in the minor key as tends to be the norm these days (superheroes can't afford to be too happy, you know: this superheroing tends to leave you all moody and conflicted); and it was a damn fine film with some killer dialogue (Doth mother know thou wearest her drapes?) that had the audience in stitches both times I saw it. Cabin in the Woods had fantastically forgettable music for the most part, although there was a lovely little sequence where the scary old loner from the gas station was on the phone to the scientist techies in the underground bunker, speaking in dark and menacing tones of doom and sacrifice with suitably ominous music, which suddenly cuts as he says "am I on speaker phone?" (which he is, and the three scientist are all cracking up listening to him). They apologise, tell him he's off speakerphone, and he continues his monologue, the music resuming: and then it cuts again as he says "I'm still on speakerphone, aren't I?", which of course he is. Anyway, that made me laugh. The whole film made me laugh, as well as making me feeling rather ill (I don't do slasher horror well, not even Joss Whedon's postmodernly funny slasher horror). Snow White was turgid and paint-dryingly dull at times, and Bella Swan (or whatever the girl's name is) CANNOT ACT. The final scene was horrific: her coronation, where she stood in her pretty dress holding a symbolically flowering tree branch (i.e. large twig) and the expression on her face mostly seemed to be "I feel ridiculous". And she looked it, too. Struth. And just don't get me started on Red Lights: killer cast, diabolically bad film. Anyway, I have a summer of superheroes ahead of me: more Batman, more Spider-Man, I'm happy. Having been quite disappointed with the music of The Dark Knight after the fabulous score for Batman Begins, I am only dimly hopeful that Mr Zimmer will have bothered to do more than phone in his score for the last film, but you never know. The all new Spider-Man (didn't we just have one of those?) has a James Horner score which means it might be interesting (he has not done a big superhero franchise score before, although he's done lots of fantasy and lots of hero scores) - I shall just have to find out later on this afternoon! And then I'm off to the utter joy that is the biennial conference of the Whedon Studies Association, where I will be delivering a paper on the music of Dollhouse. Whoop whoop!