by Jenny Nelson
SATURDAY
NIGHT
AT THE
MOVIES
CONTENTS
Introduction
CHAPTER 1
Carter Burwell and the Coen Brothers
CHAPTER 2
Patrick Doyle and Kenneth Branagh
CHAPTER 3
Danny Elfman and Tim Burton
CHAPTER 4
Michael Giacchino and J.J. Abrams
CHAPTER 5
Bernard Herrmann and Alfred Hitchcock
CHAPTER 6
James Horner and James Cameron
CHAPTER 7
Maurice Jarre and David Lean
CHAPTER 8
Thomas Newman and Sam Mendes
CHAPTER 9
Howard Shore and Peter Jackson
CHAPTER 10
Alan Silvestri and Robert Zemeckis
CHAPTER 11
John Williams and Steven Spielberg
CHAPTER 12
Hans Zimmer and Christopher Nolan
Notes
About Classic FM
Acknowledgements
Index
INTRODUCTION
Picture the scene: you’re in the cinema, the lights go down and you settle in, ready to be entertained, moved or challenged. A few hours to escape from everyday life and be transported to another world. The music you hear forms as much of the experience as what you see on the screen. It can take many forms – subtle and creeping or bombastic and brash – but when successful, the score is an inextricable part of the film. This book explores how some of the world’s best-loved composers and directors work together to bring a film to life by fusing sound and vision.
What is the secret to successful creative collaboration? Friendship, a shared goal, being in the right place and time – or another special ingredient that’s less easy to define?
Film directors often surround themselves with a core team of people they work with regularly, but there’s something unique about the partnership they have with a composer. Together, the two have the potential to create a seamless dynamic between what’s heard and what’s seen on the screen, enhancing the audience’s experience by building their emotional connection to the story.
Saturday Night at the Movies, Classic FM’s weekly film music programme, first explored this subject in 2014 when it was hosted by the composer Howard Goodall, and it’s one that current presenter Andrew Collins has returned to over the years. The collaboration between John Williams and Steven Spielberg is perhaps the most influential and impressive in cinema history: nearly thirty films together in over forty years. With an array of instantly recognisable themes ranging from ominous (Jaws), to heartbreaking (Schindler’s List) and triumphant (Raiders of the Lost Ark), Williams has the power to get to the heart of the story. Bernard Herrmann and Alfred Hitchcock form another iconic ‘power couple’ thanks to their combined contribution to the art of suspense, most notably with masterpieces like Vertigo and Psycho. Yet after just over a decade of working together, they had an almighty falling-out and their collaboration came to an abrupt end. Creative partnerships don’t always last forever.
As we’ll see, the secret to collaborative success is not as simple as two people getting on. Ego and trust can affect the power balance – but should a film director and composer view each other as equals in the first place? Alan Silvestri describes Robert Zemeckis as ‘the captain of the ship’, which suggests a deference to the vision of the director, but he also compares their long-standing collaboration to a marriage, in which each party respects and supports the other. Generally, it is perceived that the composer (as with all other crew members) should answer to the director, but, as Howard Goodall points out, ‘It’s also true to say that a lot of the directors in this book acknowledge the fact that the music can completely change the mood and the impact of a film. They acknowledge how important the composer’s input can be – that’s not always the case – and how it can lift the film from being quite a good film into something with a huge impact, through brilliant use of music, or a brilliant idea in the orchestration, or a brilliant way of looking at it.’
A great film composer writes music that envelops the audience, immersing them more deeply in the story unfolding on-screen. For a director to be aware of that power is one thing but for them to trust another individual to provide the musical reflection of their vision is another, especially as most successful directors are, by their own admission, control freaks. Are disagreements to be encouraged? Conflict can be a healthy part of collaboration, ensuring each delivers their most effective work, but in intense, high-pressure environments like film sets personalities can clash badly. What’s significant is whether, and how, the director and composer choose to patch things up, from Michael Giacchino and J.J. Abrams getting things out in the open with an ‘honesty pact’ to James Cameron and James Horner allowing themselves breathing space after the production of Aliens before working together a decade later on Titanic, to monumental success. Even Christopher Nolan and Hans Zimmer, who describe themselves as close as brothers, admit to fighting like cats and dogs, and the director accepts that he pushed the composer to his limits when scoring Dunkirk.
The twelve partnerships featured here are some of the most creative in the business. Some have worked together for years; others have made a significant impact with a select number of films. But they are all responsible for some of the best-loved scores in the world. It hasn’t escaped our attention that this is not the most diverse list, but it does seem that steps are being taken to broaden opportunities for aspiring composers and directors from all backgrounds.
The collaborators in this book all have different ways of working but one universal exercise is the spotting session, when a rough cut of the film has been assembled and the two watch it together, discussing which scenes need music and what sort of music is required. More often than not, the film will have been put together with a temporary, or ‘temp’, score, a compilation of other music to give the composer a steer. This can be helpful to provide an idea of tone or style, but can also be limiting because it does not offer a blank canvas to the composer, and thus risks imitation. In the case of Peter Jackson and Howard Shore, the director used cues (tracks from specific scenes that make up a film score) from the composer’s previous films to temp his initial footage of The Lord of the Rings. On seeing how well the visuals matched the music, Jackson invited Shore to join the team and the composer created a sound world using specific musical themes, known as leitmotifs, to represent the vast array of characters and cultures that inhabit Tolkien’s universe.
Communication between the director and composer is crucial. The director needs to be able to convey their artistic objectives but while they may be fully confident of articulating their vision, it’s not always easy to describe music with words. Goodall is not convinced that it helps if the director is musical: ‘Most composers would say they don’t care either way but they want to have responsibility for the musical choices that take place. I think if they were being undiplomatic they would say a director who really knows what they want from the movie is more important to them than a director who can say, “Can it sound a bit like Vaughan Williams or Shostakovich?” When you have the vocabulary of music, you have a vocabulary that is very full of jargon and specifics, and that doesn’t always translate itself to people who come from other fields. I think it’s probably more helpful for a composer that the director is very sure of the overall effect that they’re trying to go for, and that the composer uses that information to turn it into their response musically.’
Whether or not a director is musically literate, they will of course be well versed in the technicalities of film-making. Goodall believes th
at ‘one of the reasons that the relationship between composer and director has become a unique one in film history is because of the coming together of two technical worlds that they both are completely immersed in. They’re not the same, but they interlock. There’s no sense that they’re competing with each other but they can make each other better.’ That lack of competition may be important in the highly pressured world of film-making, with its fierce deadlines and equally fierce financial demands. Many composers in this book praise their directors for shielding them from these pressures and giving them the space to create – because it takes time to come up with the perfect theme to elevate a story.
Communication, mutual respect and a shared desire to get to the heart of the story are just some of the key factors that will crop up throughout this celebration of director–composer collaborations. Interviews and behind-the-scenes stories offer an insight into their working methods as well as the wider film-making process, and if reading the book is anything like writing it, prepare to feel the urge to watch or re-watch some of the finest movies ever made, from Lawrence of Arabia to Titanic, Inception to E.T., Skyfall to Back to the Future – perhaps with a keener ear than before. There is a suggested playlist at the end of each chapter and you can find a selection of the music at classicfm.com/snatm – just in case you want to listen along to the film scores as you read!
There are movies and then there are Coen Brothers movies. Joel and Ethan Coen have written, directed, produced and edited seventeen films in over three decades and each one is unique, with characters, settings and plot twists that are unlikely to be found elsewhere at the cinema. This is precisely what defines their work: their films are stand-alone oddities that may be funny or gruesome or unpredictable – often all three at the same time – as they jump between genres and play with cinematic conventions. From cult favourites such as The Big Lebowski and Raising Arizona to box-office hits like True Grit and the Academy Award-winning Fargo and No Country for Old Men, Joel and Ethan – working so closely they have been referred to as the ‘two-headed director’ – make films that can entertain and baffle in equal measure. When accepting the Oscar for Best Director, Joel described their early attempts at filming with a Super 8 camera in the local shopping mall when younger brother Ethan was eleven or twelve, declaring, ‘Honestly, what we do now doesn’t feel that much different from what we were doing then’, before acknowledging their standing within the left field of Hollywood: ‘We’re very thankful to all of you out there for letting us continue to play in our corner of the sandbox.’
Whether comedy, film noir, western or a gangster movie, composer Carter Burwell has joined them in the sandbox for fifteen films, with T Bone Burnett taking over the music supervisor and producer roles on the folk and country-music soundtracks for O Brother, Where Art Thou? and Inside Llewyn Davis. Since getting his break on their debut feature, Blood Simple, in 1984, Burwell has gone on to score around a hundred films. He received his first Academy Award nomination in 2016 for Todd Haynes’s Carol, and his second followed soon after in 2018 for Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri directed by Martin McDonagh.
Describing the composer, Ethan – generally the more upbeat of the two – has said, ‘By Hollywood terms, he’s unbelievably normal and well balanced. It’s almost alarmingly normal.’ Joel, with his more sombre and laconic delivery, agreed: ‘He’s refreshingly not a lunatic.’ Ethan continued, ‘We were talking about musicians and T Bone was talking about a drummer called Bill Maxwell and he said, “Bill is never the problem.” You so much know what he means because everyone else always can be. Carter is never the problem.’
Carter Burwell met the Coen Brothers through another long-standing collaborator, Skip Lievsay, who has served as sound editor on all of their feature films. The brothers were preparing to make their first feature, Blood Simple (1984), a violent and stylish black comedy starring Frances McDormand, who would go on to appear in many more of their films (and who married Joel the year the film came out). According to Joel, ‘Carter at the time was not a practising movie composer, or really a music composer of any sort. He had a musical background but at the time I think he may have been, or had been, working in a science lab in Long Island, which is one of his other interests. But Skip said, “This guy could definitely do this”, and of course, we were all just kids at the time! We met Carter, we went over to a loft that he had, with this big old peeling [piano] and talked about what we were doing, or what we wanted to do, and Carter went off from there.’
Carter Burwell (right) with sound editor Skip Lievsay at the Tribeca Film Festival, 2015, discussing ‘The Sound of the Coens’.
The composer has a slightly different recollection: ‘Years later I asked Joel why they had hired me or what that process had been like . . . He said he had done a lot of interviews with composers and they were looking for someone who knew what they were doing. That would not have been me at the time, I had no experience of film music and no knowledge of it!
‘He said that these are still among the strangest interviews that he’s ever done. They’ve auditioned hundreds of actors over the years but he felt that the composers were the oddest bunch, so I guess apparently out of that odd bunch I count as being normal! . . . Joel and Ethan and I see each other as having the same sensibilities, coming from a similar view of cinema and humour, so in that sense we see each other as normal. We simply have similar tastes and we’ll see the same awful story and laugh at it, and that’s important in their films to be able to do that.’
With simple piano motifs and electronic effects, the score for Blood Simple could be described as ‘minimal’, although Ethan is quick to clarify ‘minimal by choice and by necessity ’cos there wasn’t any money!’ It remains one of Burwell’s favourite scores, ‘partly because I didn’t know what I was doing, so I just ignored the entire film-making process and wrote some little pieces of music that I liked. I can’t really do that any more because I’m now expected to be a film composer, but with Blood Simple I didn’t know how it was supposed to work, and Joel and Ethan didn’t really know how it was supposed to work, so there’s a certain innocence that comes with that that you can’t really recapture.’
The Coens’ roster of long-time collaborators includes cinematographers Barry Sonnenfeld and Roger Deakins, set decorator Nancy Haigh, production designer Dennis Gassner, co-editor Tricia Cooke, storyboard artist J. Todd Anderson, costume designer Mary Zophres, and Peter Kurland, who has worked in the production sound department of all of their films. With their ‘hands-on’ approach to film-making, it’s no surprise that the brothers stick to working with people they trust, and over the decades they have built up a select group of actors who have made regular appearances in their films, such as John Turturro, John Goodman and Steve Buscemi.
Burwell, meanwhile, has formed regular partnerships with other directors. He has worked with Bill Condon on six films, including Mr Holmes and Gods and Monsters, and with Spike Jonze, Todd Haynes and Martin McDonagh on three. You could argue that the quirky style of In Bruges by McDonagh or Jonze’s Being John Malkovich isn’t a million miles away from Coen Brothers’ fare, but Burwell has proved he can also turn his talents to mainstream blockbusters, scoring three of the five films in the teen vampire-romance franchise Twilight.
The Burwell–Coen partnership is the only trio collaboration within this book, and Carter notes the effect of an additional person on the dynamic: ‘It does balance out the ego a little bit, the fact that there are two of them. They generally present themselves almost as being one mind, but that’s easily overstated because in fact they’re very individual people and I’ve seen the two of them disagree about the music in the films, about the role of it or what it should be doing, so it’s not exactly true that they always come from one place. But by the time I’m involved, they’ve written the film together, and they generally have a clear understanding and agreement of what they’re trying to make.’
On the balance of egos between composer and director, Bur
well is typically down to earth: ‘Well, I know that I’m not the best composer in the world, so it’s not that difficult for me! But I certainly know film composers who have egos, so it is possible to have an ego and still be a successful film composer. For myself, I really feel I’m still learning all the time . . . and taking that point of view brings a certain humility with it.’
The Burwell–Coen relationship seems pretty secure but, even with a hit rate of fifteen out of seventeen films, they still approach collaboration on a film-by-film basis. As Joel points out, ‘There’s a sort of distinction that has to be made between most of the movies. Almost every one of the movies that we’ve made, we’ve made with Carter. The exceptions are that we’ve made a number of movies that have minimal score or no score, and are essentially driven by source music or performed music in the movie itself. With those movies we often have at least a partial idea of what the music is going to be because it’s drawn from either popular music or folk music. With the stuff with Carter, it’s a little different. Sometimes we know in a general feeling kind of way and sometimes we don’t.’
The composer describes the general pattern of the scoring process: ‘It always starts with a script. They’ll give me a script sometimes well in advance of their shooting – it could be more than a year before they shoot – but if they have good reason to believe it’s actually going to get shot, they’ll give me a script so if nothing else we can at least talk about budgets because it helps them formulate one if we decide it’s four players, or it’s eighty players. But we’ll also throw around ideas about what the music is going to do . . . most of the time, there’s no expectation that we’re really going to figure it out at the script stage, but other times the problem of the music is a big one and is something we really do throw around early on.’
