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Complete article and discography as published in Film Comment, Sept.-Oct. 1976.
With new introduction by the author.
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Introduction
1976 was America's Bicentennial, a year for celebrating all that was best in
American values. Behind the celebration lurked the savage imagery and memories
of Vietnam. The Flower Children of the "Peace and Love" movement had moved on
to disco. The "Generation Gap" was ripping further apart every day as
continuing glimpses into the abyss made life less and less comprehensible. On
one hand, Stallone's Academy Award winning "Rocky" epitomized the cherished
American fantasy that the underdog would always come out on top. Scorsese's
unrelenting "Taxi Driver," on the other hand, perfectly exposed the dark
underside of the American psyche just waiting to explode in all its apocalyptic
fury. And Bernard Herrmann had just died.
I grew up in the 50's and 60's with most of Herrmann's film scores etched in my
mind---the classic Hitchcock's and all those wonderful fantasy and sci-fi films
that are still a thrill to watch today. Brian DePalma had just resurrected
Herrmann's stalled career with "Sisters" after a long hiatus when "pop" scores
replaced the symphonic score. Herrmann was more and more in demand by the new
"film school" directors who grew up with his music and understood his unique
contributions as a composer. Then, right after finishing "Taxi Driver," he's
gone. Somehow that wonderful saxophone main theme harkening back and carrying
on the Gershwin/Bernstein New York ethos perfectly epitomizes just why Bernard
Herrmann was such an American original.
There wasn't much attention paid or space given to serious examination of "Film
Music As Art" back in those days. Tony Thomas, Paige Cook, and Royal S. Brown
did what they could with their reviews and essays on Herrmann's expanding
discography. I was so shocked and saddened by Herrmann's passing that I decided
to write a detailed retrospective of his film career. Although I hadn't majored
in music or film in college, I felt that my enthusiasm and reporting skills
would keep things balanced. As synchronicity would have it, I worked in a
typeshop where "Film Comment" Magazine was prepared for publication. One day, I
got up enough chutzpah to show the article to then-editor Richard Corliss. He
liked it enough to publish it.
Looking back on the article now, there are probably many things I would like to
change (now that more exhaustive research has corrected some of my assumptions,
i.e., "The Egyptian") and sections I would like to expand. Although "Vertigo"
was held in high esteem back then (usually placing second or third in lists of
all-time greatest films), it was not available for viewing or including a
cue-by-cue description. The article was meant more to whet one's appetite than
to be exhaustively complete.
So, here we are twenty years later. Biographies have been published. Fred
Steiner and Christopher Palmer have provided a solid framework and example for
the dissection and illumination of film scores. Mobile Fidelity has remastered
"The Fantasy Film World of Bernard Herrmann" on 24k gold CDs. And thanks to
Kurt Gjerde, this is
one of the very few web sites devoted to any film composer.
Can Steiner, Newman, Korngold or Rosza be far behind?
P.S.: As to complete discography: There was a special, final compilation LP
issued by RCA with all the unused cuts from the Gerhardt "Film Music" series.
Not only do you get all the major studio fanfares and Dimitri Tiomkin's
brilliant suite from "The Thing," there is also a stunning cut from Herrmann's
"King of the Khyber Rifles." Listen to it carefully. Then pull out Jerry
Goldsmith's "The Wind and the Lion," and listen to the main title theme. Very
interesting.
--John Broeck, 1996
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"A composer's first job is to get inside
the drama. If he can't do that he
shouldn't be writing music at all."
--Bernard Herrmann |
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ncompromisingly attuned to the demands of the film medium,
Bernard Herrmann always got inside the drama. When none was
there, he created it.
His film career, beginning in 1941 with
Citizen Kane and ending at his
death in 1975 with
Taxi Driver, is marked by
consistency of style and continual experimentation with
orchestral coloring. Each of his forty-eight film scores
evinces a remarkable understanding of the responsibilities of
the soundtrack toward the spectator. Never intruding upon, but
always reinforcing the cinematic image, Herrmann wrote a body
of music which, divorced from its visual element, has enough
strength and durability to stand on its own merit. Listening to
a complete soundtrack recording reveals the similarity between
film scores and the scores for ballet: illustration of story
line. Most ballet scores have been able to transcend the
pragmatic categorization of dance music, and much of Bernard
Herrmann's work transcends the medium for which it was
initially written.
It seems fitting that Herrmann's first film work was done with
Orson Welles. Having known each other from Mercury
Theatre on CBS Radio (Herrmann was musical director), they
developed a working relationship that must have been close to
ideal: Welles editing his film to Herrmann's incisive
vignettes; Herrmann choreographing Ivesian Americana against
Welles' grandiose vision of a crumbling American dream.
Try to remember the scores to other 1941
films---Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, How
Green was My Valley, Blood and Sand, Sergeant York.
Against the mainstream of Max Steiner and Erich Wolfgang
Korngold, Herrmann seems positively anarchic. No leitmotifs, no
easily-remembered melodies, no title cuts (like Steiner's
"Tara's Theme" from
Gone with the Wind), nothing on
which the audience can get an easy grasp. Yet his intuitive
comprehension of the conventions of storytelling enabled him to
compose music which binds the audience into the forward-moving
action of the film. Think of the ominous bass chords as the
camera ascends the fortifications of Xanadu, or the
disintegration of Kane's first marriage mirrored against key-
and tempo-changing waltz scherzos, and you realize how
appropriately Herrmann pinpoints the musical equivalent of the
pictorial image while strengthening the audience's own
response.
Herrmann's musical education was perfect for a composer of film
scores: radio. After a stint as an assistant conductor to John
Green, Herrmann became a staff conductor at CBS. He composed,
arranged, and conducted over 1,200 radio programs---an enormous
amount of work requiring quick skill and ingenuity. Each
program needed character themes, mood and transition music, and
a multitude of special effects. This "quick-study" form
of writing enabled Herrmann to compose each complete film
score, including his own orchestrations, in two to three weeks.
While conducting for the Columbia Workshop and Invitation to
Music, Herrmann championed the works of Paul Hindemith,
Aaron Copland, Gustav Theodore Holst, Charles Ives, and Cyril
Scott---associations reflected in his musical tastes and
conducting choices for recordings in the late Sixties and early
Seventies. Since scores were required to delineate different
places and social milieus, Herrmann developed an ingenious
technique, evoking definite periods in history by approximating
the musical style of that period, thus increasing audience
empathy directly from memory association. Although these past
"influences" are sometimes discernible, Herrmann's scores
are in no way derivative: he evokes the sense of music instead
of plagiarizing specific scores.
Herrmann's assimilation of musical styles and periods is bound
together by orchestrations that are unmistakably his own. Solo
turns by various instruments in rhythmic counterpoint display
his virtuoso command of the range of each instrument. Listen
for the harmonic inventiveness of the eight solo harps in
Beneath the 12-Mile Reef; or the
use of celesta, sleighbells, vibraphone, and glockenspiels to
suggest the miniature sphere in
The Three Worlds of Gulliver; or
the brass and bass volcanics of
Journey to the Center of the
Earth. Listen for the understanding of the
individual instrument in its relationship to the whole, as
in
Psycho, utilizing only the string
section of the orchestra, or creating the paranoia of the
unknown with the eerie Theremin in
The Day the Earth Stood Still.
This comprehension of the range of the individual instruments
when played against each other is Herrmann's chief hallmark.
Throughout his career, Herrmann was fond of composing
variations on themes he had already written---a gradual
refinement through progressive forms and a liberation from
constricting social mores. This ceaseless quest for self-renewal
imparts a linearity to Herrmann's work matched only by the
symphonic Weltanschauung of Korngold. Herrmann recasts
the main credit for Brian DePalma's
Sisters as a grotesque elaboration
of the sacred and profane theme for the Cyclops in
The Seventh Voyage of Sinbad. For
the old woman gladly dying in the flames of her precious books
in
Fahrenheit 451, Herrmann
rearranges the subtle sonorities of
Vertigo's main credit to provide
an eviscerating catharsis. Even the grisly murder in
Sisters transcends Marion Crane's
last bath (purification) in
Psycho simply because the change
in times and social values allowed him greater musical freedom.
The stifling romanticism of the Fifties becomes the
bloodthirsty despondency of the Seventies. Without this
continuity and growth, Herrmann would have subsided into the
ranks of interesting but negligible composers.
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"There's no difference between being a
composer for the theater or concert hall
and being one for the cinema. You have
a career as a composer no matter what
you write for."
--Bernard Herrmann |
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he majority of films scored by Bernard Herrmann fall into
three categories: Fantasy (or Sci-Fi), Americana, and
Psychological. There are, however, no hard and fast boundaries
dividing these classifications. Orchestrations and themes shift
back and forth from film to film depending on the aural image
they are projecting.
Citizen Kane (1941),
The Magnificent Ambersons (1942),
and William Dieterle's
All That Money Can Buy
[aka The Devil and Daniel Webster] (1941)
belong in the Americana category. Ivesian sensibilities
(Herrmann was one of Ives's earliest advocates) find their way
into every frame. The scores for
Kane and
Ambersons abound in short, terse
themes that reflect the fluidity of the editing. Music and
editing work hand in hand through the emphasis created: ragtime
with its haughty tempos paralleling the growth of Kane's first
newspaper; the flighty piccolo scherzo for the fast-paced
opening montage of
Ambersons. These themes and solos
act as counterparts to the editing in that they create a
rhythmic sense naturally attuned to the visual image while
"editorializing" on that same image. Susan Kane's
operatic debut juxtaposes the lowering of her esteem (personal
failure) against Kane's disillusionment at money's not being
able to buy happiness. Herrmann composes a recitative and aria
where the heroine (alias Susan) implores her husband to kill
her to relieve her shame (presumably her failure to hide her
lover from her husband).
The editorial butchering of
The Magnificent Ambersons also
applies to the score: there are distinct passages which in no
way relate to Herrmann's orchestral style. Once the film had
been criminally re-edited, it was necessary to score the new
transitions while dumping Herrmann's contribution. What remains
of Herrmann (and Welles) can be found in the penetrating
montages that comprise the film: Georgie's (and the town's)
rise to notoriety, the elegant ball at the Amberson mansion,
and the boisterous sleighride where Morgan's newfangled car
won't start. When George walks through the streets of the town
he no longer recognizes (and which refuses to recognize him),
Herrmann underscores the montage with gloomy bass chords
prefiguring similar sequences (and scoring) for Martin
Scorsese's
Taxi Driver.
In
All That Money Can Buy, Herrmann
deifies Ives: the constant clang of laughing sleighbells,
unearthly hailstorms that ravage the countryside, and a
heartpounding Virginia reel. Here the music is fleshed out,
becoming episodic in structure (theme/motive/theme/resolve) and
in mood. Motifs are built around ascending and descending chord
progressions with key changes (solo turns often follow this
pattern). The montage where Miser Stevens is waltzed to death
and transformed into a moth is motivated by a languid waltz
that descends further and further, quite similar to the
enveloping main credit for
Vertigo. Every theme in the score
has a tinge of the supernatural that has solidly evolved from
our American folk tradition. It is rooted both in the
empathetic "real" and the alienating (albeit fascinating)
unknown at the same time---a quality Herrmann used to great
advantage in many of his later fantasy films.
Joseph Mankiewicz's
The Ghost and Mrs. Muir (1947) was
Herrmann's first full-fledged fantasy score and one of his most
romantic. It has the coloration of Debussy's La Mer as
if it had been reorchestrated by Pierre Boulez---an impression
of the mystical unknown walking hand-in-hand with everyday,
waking reality. The enchanting R.A. Dick novel about a ghost
(formerly a sea captain) eventually falling in love with a
live and beautiful widow, resonates with its
associations from the sea. Herrmann provides the sea on the
soundtrack: a surging, symphonic score, rushing in, engulfing
and soothing the audience within the complex variety of
string quartet-style orchestrations (harps that resemble the
glimmers of sunlight on ocean waves, and pizzicato violins
leaping over crushing bass chords to conjure up the gulf of the
unknown). From the yearning of the main credits to the ecstatic,
romantic fulfillment of the ending (walking through clouds into
heaven, cf. Mahler's Eighth Symphony, Part II), Herrmann
balances Mrs. Muir's struggle for survival against the
peaceful, eternal reassurance of the sea.
This is the first of Herrmann's scores to fixate on the
"aspiring to death" syndrome, where death (the unknown)
imparts such a poetic release (purification) that the soul
rushes headlong to the eventual joining. To gain a true
consciousness of being, one's identity must be given over to
the transcendent state.
Vertigo and
Fahrenheit 451 also have this
quality. The unknown is made so musically appealing and
entrancing (Herrmann creates immediately reminiscent musical
environments) that you are transported onto a different plane
in which you feel comfortable enough to remain forever---an
out-of-this-world quality that is one of Herrmann's unequaled
musical characteristics.
In the early Fifties, Herrmann exiled himself to England. He
had become fed up with the lack of creativity he found in
Hollywood. His long-running association with 20th Century-Fox
came to a standstill---no doubt owing to what went on over the
score for Michael Curtiz'
The Egyptian (1954). Two possible
theories arise: Herrmann could not finish the score and Alfred
Newman stepped in, or Newman (more probably Darryl Zanuck)
hated the score and decided to fix it himself (themselves). The
second theory seems more likely despite Zanuck's expressed
admiration of Herrmann's score for
Beneath the 12-Mile Reef and
despite Newman's singular recognition of Herrmann's talent. It
is possible that Herrmann could not write an epic score (epic
enough for Zanuck)
[for the real story see Steven C. Smith's book
A Heart at Fire's Center - The Life and Music of Bernard Herrmann].
Coupling what must have been a touchy
situation with Herrmann's lack of conducting assignments made
the move all the more desirable. Herrmann has the kind of
eccentric---and stubborn---genius which has never been
tolerated in Hollywood, whereas England relishes such talent
with open arms. Since Herrmann readily identified with esoteric
English composers (Holst, Cyril Scott, John Ireland, Sir Arnold
Bax), England would be the natural choice.
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"The motion picture soundtrack is an
exquisitely sensitive medium. With
skillful engineering, a simple bass flute
solo, the pulsing of a bass drum, or the
sound of muted horns can often be far
more effective than half a hundred
musicians playing away."
--Bernard Herrmann |
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he "English" period found Herrmann at his most prolific.
First an association with Hitchcock (and later with Truffaut
and DePalma) that labels him "Hitchcock's composer."
Second a series of fantasy films for Nathan Juran and Ray
Harryhausen at Columbia Pictures (based in England and Spain).
Hitchcock elicits Herrmann's most transparent creations; Juran
capitalizes on Herrmann's skill as a musical storyteller.
Herrmann's score for the
The Seventh Voyage of Sinbad
(1958) more than exceeds Juran's "A"-grade aspirations: a
lushly symphonic treatment with more inventive pastiche than
Miklos Rozsa ever summoned up for
The Thief of Bagdad (1940). The
main credit borrows freely from Bizet's Carmen; there
are uncannily appropriate leitmotifs for the dragon, the
cyclops, even a two-headed bird; and a frenzied xylophone gone
wild for an avenging skeleton (cf. Disney's
Skeleton Dance).
The Three Worlds of Gulliver
(1960) bountifully displays Herrmann's musical knowledge---the
redefinition of familiar musical motifs into a cohesive whole
by contrasting orchestral colors. The score so perfectly
matches the visual image as to make them inseparable.
Herrmann confirms his encyclopedic prowess at indigenously
English music by resurrecting the feel of the period. The
animated main credit is an upward pan starting at a man's shoes
(Gulliver) and working its way up his body to his head. Each of
the three worlds is established with ease: a properly pompous
theme for brass and bass to represent eighteenth-century
England (safety, home); celesta and sleighbells conveying the
delicacy of the Lilliputians; and tuba, contrabassoon, and bass
for the giant Brobdingnagians. One by one the themes resolve
into each other, eventually returning to the eighteenth-centuy
motif as we see the smile on Gulliver's face. The chief musical
threads have been woven. For a scene where Gulliver walks to
his apothecary shop in Wapping, Herrmann devises a stately
minuetto in the Mozartian mode: strings and woodwinds
contrasting with vibraphone and bass fiddles.
Gulliver's ship has been destroyed in a storm which washes him
ashore on an island. A beautiful young woman (the Princess)
dressed in a chiffon gown appears, running along a beach chased
by her lover (the Prince). Sleighbells and celesta delicately
jingle-jangle back and forth in an allegro presto
matching their movements. This theme and its orchestration
suggest smallness by having lighter instruments (in miniature)
contrast each other. The audience sees no change in
environmental perspective, yet the music creates such a change.
Suddenly the same theme replayed by a tuba with massive bass
chords, startles the viewers and the characters onscreen as a
skyscraper-sized Gulliver looms up from behind some large rocks
along the shore. The Lilliputians become the protagonists with
Gulliver as the antagonist.
When the King's Henchmen are routed (with the horses' nostrils
flaring) by Gulliver, their escape music is a fast and furious
chase with celesta and trumpet trying to outrun each other.
Note the stunning glockenspiel run used for the resolve. And
what could be more appropriate for a King's entrance music than
a marche miniature? Reminiscent in style to Gabriel
Pierne's ballet score Cydalise et la Chèvre-Pied
(Cydalise and the Goat-footed Satyr), the march has a
light, martial regality as if it were meant to be performed by
animated tin soldiers.
When Gulliver helps uproot a forest, bass violas and bass
fiddles roll back and forth in a vast Elgarian processional
that suggests strength and power on a Victorian scale. One of
the most charming sequences in the film has the Young Prince
challenging a pretender to the throne by balancing objects
(representing affairs of state) while walking a tightrope over
a reflecting pool. They must perform various balancing feats of
stamina with the camera cutting back and forth among the
antagonist, the protagonist, and the audience around the pool
watching them. Herrmann connects the intercut images with a
string of orchestral baubles for harp, miniature piano,
pizzicato strings, flute, and piccolo having the intensitv of
Bartok's allegro from Music for Strings, Percussion, and
Celesta (second movement). These themes harken back to
similar motifs in
The Magnificent AMbersons and
reappear as the "birthday cake" music in
Sisters.
Once Gulliver arrives in Brobdingnag, the roles become
reversed. Gulliver assumes the musical protagonist role with
the Brobdingnagians as the antagonists. In a chess game where
Gulliver has to shift around towering chess pieces, the tuba,
contrabassoon, and serpent (one of Herrmann's favorite esoteric
instruments) lumber against each other in ascending and
descending chord progressions.
With Gulliver and his love ensconced in a fairy-tale doll's
house, the music cues images of home: an early-English
pastorale similar in style to the work of Ralph Vaughn Williams
or Edward MacDowell and thematically close to Samuel Barber's
Adagio For Strings. The yearning for home becomes an
orchestral descent that climaxes in an openended English
resolve; their love is represented as being "at home."
When Gulliver and Elizabeth escape from the King into the
forest and are threatened by ravenous squirrels and weasels,
Herrmann recasts the former Lilliputian chase music as a
cavernously barbaric bass whirlwind with the action enveloping
Gulliver. By reorchestrating the theme into one of basic power
and tension, Herrmann evokes his incredible ride through hell
from Nicholas Ray's
On Dangerous Ground (1950)---
terror and fright on all sides with no possible escape.
Suddenly Gulliver awakens on a beach. The main credit theme
establishes their arrival back in England---a cunningly
symmetrical resolve.
By assigning motifs and then rearranging them, Herrmann
suggests a duplicity in the characters which satirizes them as
effectively as do Swift's words. Within Gulliver lies the
smallness and immensity that are activated by his environment:
he can tower over the Lilliputians' inane pettiness or he can
appear insignificant to the oafish Brobdingnagians. Herrmann's
music digs deeper than the dialogue and the visual element to
get the point across.
Henry Levin's
Journey to the Center of the Earth
(1959) contains one of Herrmann's most brilliant set pieces:
the sunrise which defines the crater Professor Lidinbrook and
his party are to enter. A five-note trumpet theme sounds
daybreak as the Professor waits expectantly on the crater's edge.
Slowly a swelling of harps and celesta signal the rays of light
rising higher and higher. An intense sunbeam pierces through a
crag in the mountain peaks, and the music explodes in an
extended chord for organ and heavy bass. Herrmann constructs a
musical synthesis rivaling Strauss's Zarathustra, used
for the opening of Kubrick's
2001.
Throughout the fantasy films, Herrmann was called upon to
anthropomusicalize creatures of the unknown: a cyclops,
taunting harpies, a seven-headed hydra, Gort the robot, even
bees the size of airplanes. One of his most ingenious solutions
was for the menacing crab (four stories high) in Cy Endfield's
Mysterious Island (1961). The
brass (mainly tympani), eight horns, and trumpet jockey about in
hacking rhythms analogous to the thumping movements of the
crab's legs. In every instance, Herrmann was able to compose
musical identities for Harryhausen's clever monstrosities.
Most of Bernard Herrmann's later scores come under the
"psychological" category:
Vertigo, Psycho, Marnie, The Bride Wore
Black0 Twisted Nerve, The Night Digger, Endless Night, Sisters,
Taxi Driver, and DePalma's
Obsession. Hitchcock's
North by Northwest is a pure
adventure score while
Fahrenheit 451, although falling
under the Sci-Fi category, is actually one of Herrmann's most
intense psychological studies.
Truffaut's
Fahrenheit 451 (1966) portrays
Bradbury's characters as impassive automatons in a sterile
society not far removed from our own. Denied cinematic
emotionality (empathy), the audience must turn to Herrmann's
Straussian score for cathartic release. The main credit, for
strings alone, is a subtle pavane that keeps repeating over and
over on a continuum until its end (the infinite quest for
knowledge). Herrmann structures introverted emotions as
ascending motifs, the bookburners as descending motifs, and the
bookmen as a straight-line lyrical pastorale; the music imparts
a heightened emotional level in stark contrast to Truffaut's
detached cinematic involvement.
Scenes of Montag's engine company traveling down the road to
its next bookburning assignment are accompanied by relentlessly
churning strings with a clanging xylophone descending into a
mechanized vortex (cf. skeleton motif in
The Seventh Voyage of Sinbad).
Linda's attempted suicide is mirrored in a waltz that begins
with a yearning for release and rises quickly into ecstasy.
When Clarisse and Montag escape to the bookmen, Herrmann
converts the "Rosebud" theme from
Citizen Kane into an elegiac motif
expressing the beauty of hope---an emotion Bradbury's society
had long since forgotten.
Hitchcock's
Vertigo (1958) and
Psycho (1960) are landmark scores
coming closest to the concept of film music as ballet music.
Try to imagine Marion's demise without Herrmann's dissonant
glissandos and violin bows plucking away faster than Mrs.
Bates's knife (originally Hitchcock wanted no music for this
scene). For the
Vertigo montages of Scottie
tailing Madeleine in his car, the music acts as a haunting
memory which propells Scottie onward---a suggestive
liebestod where the flames (mystery) are waiting to be
fully kindled (mystery solved: purification). Hitchcock must
have trusted Herrmann's talent enormously: there is more music
in
Vertigo than spoken dialogue.
The scores for
Marnie (1964) and
Sisters (1973) contain Herrmann's
most oppressive and schizophrenic music: in the former, Mark
demanding that Marnie overcome her kleptomania and frigidity;
in the latter, the repugnant, sideshow fascination of
Dominique/Danielle. Within the Wagnerian romanticism lies
hidden a Lisztian dementia waiting to strike its death knell.
DePalma's film is clearly a parody of Hitchcock, yet Herrmann
responds with a diabolical score similar to the thundering
clamor of Schöenberg's Pelleas und Melisande. These
scores have an all-out chaotic tension unmatched in Herrmann's
catalogue.
Although
Taxi Driver (1975) was Herrmann's
final film, DePalma's
Obsession(1976) predates with its
scoring by several months. Scorsese uses the music sparingly as
if the score had not been complete. Bickle's bloodbath has no
music at all, leaving one to wonder exactly how Herrmann would
have scored this apocalyptic sequence. DePalma's variation on
Vertigo
finds Herrmann transported to Verdian heights: organs,
heavy percussion, and strings with an ethereal choir. The main
credit alternates between a two-note grief-stricken theme for
the orchestra and a haunting intonation by the choir suggesting
Michael's lost love. Both the ransom (wheelboat) and kidnapping
montages are remarkable for their aural and visual tension.
Herrmann is even called upon to score the silent moments
between the characters when words will no longer suffice. For
all its grandeur and religious bombast,
Obsession could aptly be termed
"the last great romantic score."
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"Music is the communicating link
between the screen and the audience,
reaching out and enveloping all into
one single experience."
--Bernard Herrmann |
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ooking back from 1975 to 1941 brings to mind a vision of
Bernard Herrmann springing full-blown from the head of some
modern musical Medusa.
Kane displays a musical dexterity
that is quite astonishing for a first film. And
Taxi Driver, with its definitive
film noir score, shows no diminution in Herrmann's
talent. The sensation of forever standing at the edge of a
precipice and waiting to fall off into a beguiling universe---a
going-forward, through and beyond all experience---is what
elevates Herrmann above his contemporaries.
It is ironic that after years of neglect the symphonic score
should come back in vogue just at Herrmann's death. The rush
for marketable title cuts and youth-oriented scores shoved
Herrmann into the background (Universal removed Herrmann from
Torn Curtain because his music was
deemed "unmarketable"). That the music he wrote was
oftentimes better than the films it accompanied is of no
consequence. What does remain of his scores is a fitting
testament to a man who did things his own way and, by so doing,
became a unique voice in twentieth-century music.
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CELLULOID ON VINYL:
BERNARD HERRMANN FILMMUSIC DISCOGRAPHY
Bernard Herrmann would probably have told you that the best way
to hear his soundtracks would be to watch the films they were
written for. As the prospect for this is often dim (when was
the last time
Vertigo was released?), we must
rely on recordings to transmit the music.
The following is a listing of the film scores that have been
released. Only Jerry Goldsmith and Henry Mancini are better
represented on recordings. Since a re-evaluation of Herrmann's
work is now in progress, the re-recording (or issuing of the
master tapes) of several film scores is most necessary.
Complete recordings of
Vertigo, Citizen Kane, North by
Northwest, Gulliver, and
Fahrenheit 451 (possibly done by
Charles Gerhardt with RCA's superlative sound) would provide a
framework for further study and enjoyment.
The Battle of Neretva (London Philharmonic conducted by
Herrmann, Entr'Acte Recording Society ERS6501ST): Although
Herrmann appears uncomfortable with the war film genre, this
original soundtrack has many fine motifs reminiscent of
Journey to the Center of the
Earth.
Citizen Kane (National Philharmonic conducted by Charles
Gerhardt, RCA Red Seal ARL1-0707): Side One includes the chase
from Nick Ray's
On Dangerous Ground, a suite from
Citizen Kane including the Susan
Kane opera performance and several cuts from
Beneath the 12-Mile Reef. Side Two
contains the complete "Concerto Macabre" from
Hangover Square and various cuts
from
White Witch Doctor. The stereo (or
quad) recording is phenomenal.
Citizen Kane (Conducted by LeRoy Holmes, reconstructed
orchestrations by Paul Swain, United Artists UA-LA372G): This
studio re-recording includes most of the cuts found in the film
plus the "March of Time" newsreel music.
The Devil and Daniel Webster (London Philharmonic
conducted by Herrmann, Unicorn UNS237): Side One contains
various cuts from Dieterle's
The Devil and Daniel Webster. Side
Two contains "Welles Raises Kane," a symphonic suite
based on themes from
Citizen Kane and
The Magnificent Ambersons.
The Egyptian (Composed by Bernard Herrrnann and Alfred
Newman, Hollywood Symphonic Orchestra and Chorus conducted by
Newman, Decca DL-79014): Just being able to tell who wrote
what is difficult. Newman's music is quite distinctive, but
sometimes you do hear glimmers of Herrmann's orchestrations.
The Fantasy Film World of Bernard Herrmann (National
Philharmonic conducted by Herrmann, London Phase 4 SP44207):
Side One contains various cuts from
Journey to the Center of the Earth
("Sunrise" and the main credit music are awesome) and
three cuts from
The Seventh Voyage of Sinbad. Side
Two contains
The Day the Earth Stood Still and
four cuts from
Fahrenheit 451.
The Ghost and Mrs. Muir (Conducted by Elmer Bernstein,
Elmer Bernstein's Filmmusic Collection FMC4): A surprisingly
adept and stylistically faithful recreation of most of the
score from the film.
Music From Great Film Classics (London Philharmonic
conducted by Herrmann, London Phase 4 SP44144): Side One
includes cuts from
Jane Eyre and
The Snows of Kilimanjaro. Side Two
contains various cuts from
Citizen Kane and
The Devil and Daniel Webster.
Music From The Great Movie Thrillers (London
Philharmonic conducted by Herrmann, London Phase 4 SP44126):
Side One contains the main credit from
North by Northwest, the main
credit, nightmare, and love music from
Vertigo, and a charming suite
based on the
The Trouble with Harry. Side Two
contains symphonic suites based on
Psycho and
Marnie with most major themes
included.
Marnie (Music from the soundtrack conducted by Herrmann,
Sound/Stage Recordings 598): A pirated recording with atrocious
sound and tape hiss.
The Mysterious Film World of Bernard Herrrmann (National
Philharmonic conducted by Herrmann, London Phase 4 SPC21137):
Side One has cuts from
Mysterious Island and
Jason and the Argonauts. Side Two
includes the majority of cuts from
The Three Worlds of Gulliver.
Obsession (National Philharmonic conducted by Herrmann,
Thames Choir conducted by Louis Halsey, London Phase 4
SPC21160): Non-stop Herrmann with Verdi's Requiem overtones.
Turn up the sound on this recording.
Psycho (National Philharmonic conducted by Herrmann,
Unicorn RHS336): A re-recording of the complete score in
sequence. Herrmann's conducting contains slightly different
tempos and sound dynamics; Arbogast's murder is more frightening
than Marion Crane's. But this is one of the few recordings
to offer a complete cue-by-cue transcription of a film score.
Invaluable.
The Seventh Voyage of Sinbad (Conducted by Muir
Mathieson, United Artists (British) UAS29763-Mono): A reissue
of the original Colpix soundtrack album with practically every
cut in the film.
Sisters (Conducted by Herrmann, Entr'Acte Recording
Society ERQ7001ST): The original quad soundtrack of the complete
score in sequence from DePalma's film.
Taxi Driver (Arista Records AL4079): Side One contains
Herrmann's music as rearranged and conducted by Dave Blume.
Side Two includes Herrmann conducting the title and credit cuts
plus several montage sequences.
Vertigo (Conducted by Muir Mathieson, Mercury GM20384):
This original soundtrack (mono, 1958) is an expensive
collector's item that's next to impossible to locate or buy
(going price $250). There is also a pirated version of this
soundtrack released on Sound/Stage Recordings 2301 with
inferior and hissing sound.
Copyright © 1976 by The Film Society of Lincoln Center.
New introduction copyright © 1996 by John Broeck.
All rights reserved.
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