by Jenny Nelson
At one point during the making of Psycho, Hitchcock apparently toyed with the idea of not using any music at all but incorporating solely sound effects, an experiment he tried with his next film, The Birds, considered by many to be his last great masterpiece. Herrmann was involved as a sound consultant and the avant-garde electronic sounds were created by Remi Gassmann and Oskar Sala on a device called a trautonium. The sounds are atmospheric and desolate, offering no explanation as to why the birds attack Bodega Bay, if anything creating more uncertainty.
A year later, the two worked together on Marnie, which would be their final completed collaboration. Described on the posters as a ‘suspenseful sex mystery’, the psychodrama starred Sean Connery and the current ‘Hitchcock blonde’, Tippi Hedren, as the eponymous heroine, a thief who trades on her looks to win the trust of employers, then robs them and changes her identity. The production was troubled for both director and composer, as Herrmann was separating from his second wife and Hitchcock’s behaviour towards the lead actress was becoming too controlling. Marnie is not considered to be their finest film and it had a lukewarm reception on release, yet the music is well worth exploring for its confident, and at times complex, cues.
Herrmann recruited a much smaller ensemble than for Vertigo, a score that Marnie’s is often compared to, perhaps owing to their roles of conveying anxiety and inner turmoil. He paired the wind players and had four horns, harp and strings – the exact instrumentation of The Trouble with Harry, forming an unwitting symmetry to his work with Hitchcock. He composed themes that would serve to intensify or mirror the visual motifs on the screen, such as the colour red. Instead of creating leitmotifs to represent the characters, his themes portrayed emotions such as desire or jealousy. The ‘Trauma’ theme features in flashbacks to explain Marnie’s mental state, used effectively in ‘Red Flowers’, when she sees a bouquet of red gladioli, and it is repeated to differing degrees of intensity throughout the film. The director provided one musical steer in the script, for the first horse-riding scene. Riding is Marnie’s passion and Hitchcock wanted a crescendo of the main theme to show the ‘real Marnie’ – one that is passionate and warm, unlike her usual persona. It is reported that he wanted the music to ‘surpass the quality of the Spellbound theme’, referring to his earlier film, also about psychoanalysis. The Prelude starts in a tormented frame of mind before becoming more typically romantic, and there appears to be a struggle between anxiety and calm during the short cue, which ends with a return to the torment.
The film studio had asked for a hit tune to go with the score, as was the fashion at the time, because it was a useful way of marketing and bringing in extra publicity and revenue, but this was not Herrmann’s style. When Hitchcock raised the matter, the composer was surprised and frustrated that the director was so willing to comply with the studio’s demands. He managed to convince him otherwise, but Marnie’s poor box-office returns not only intensified the pressure on Hitchcock to deliver a hit, but may have added to a growing resentment towards Herrmann.
There are various stories about the showdown between the director and composer but here’s what we know: for Hitchcock’s next film, the Cold War thriller Torn Curtain, he needed a box-office success. He succumbed to studio pressure to cast big stars Paul Newman and Julie Andrews, and yet again there was the demand for a hit song in the score, following in the successful footsteps of ‘Lara’s Theme’ by Maurice Jarre for Doctor Zhivago (1965).
The times they were a-changing, and by the mid 1960s there were shifting expectations from both studios and audiences about what a film score should sound like. Pop sensibilities were filtering into traditional, sweeping scores and Herrmann’s music for Marnie had not helped to draw in the crowds. Hitchcock wrote to him about his new project and, displaying an acute awareness about the new industry demands with regard to film scores, stated the need for ‘a beat and a rhythm’. He asked the composer to be open to these new musical styles, with an ominous ‘If you cannot do this then I am the loser.’ Despite this seemingly clear message, there was evidently a lack of understanding between the two, which can’t have been helped by the fact they were communicating via telegrams or intermediaries.
Hitchcock asked for a beat theme; Herrmann stuck to orchestral. To make matters worse, the director stipulated – again – that he did not want any music for the murder scene. What did the composer do? He attempted to repeat the tactic that had been so successful in Psycho and wrote a cue for the killing of the security officer Gromek. Whether Herrmann went against instructions owing to impudence, ego or sheer creative will, we’ll never know, but for Hitchcock, this was the last straw.
On that fateful recording session in March 1966, Hitchcock arrived – there is some debate as to whether he was invited or expected – and, unsurprisingly given his request for a more stripped-back score, he did not react well to seeing a full fifty-seven-player ensemble. An argument broke out between Hitchcock and Herrmann in front of the orchestra, who had earlier burst into spontaneous applause after recording the film’s title music, a show of support that, considering what happened next, must have been some solace to the composer. The director berated him, telling him it wasn’t the sort of score he’d asked for, and cancelled the recording session. Herrmann wanted Hitchcock to listen to what they had already recorded, but he refused, making the unheard-of decision to shut down the sessions halfway through: the musicians would need to be paid anyway, so logic would dictate they might as well record the rest. Herrmann, with his characteristic temper and damaged pride after this public dressing-down, did not give up without a fight. The confrontation continued over the phone, sealing the end of the collaboration.
Hitchcock then hired Surrey-born composer John Addison, who had scored Lucky Jim, A Taste of Honey and Tom Jones, to take over scoring duties, and the new Torn Curtain main theme does indeed sound younger, with hints of John Barry, but the film was neither a critical nor commercial success, and the music could not have rescued it. You can now watch the film with either Herrmann’s or Addison’s scores and compare the two, which is well worth doing if you ever need reminding how music can influence your perception and enjoyment of a film. Herrmann’s prelude is a solidly rousing affair, immediately pulling the audience in with its pace and intrigue – no wonder the orchestra applauded at the recording sessions – and for a cue that was specified not to be composed, ‘The Killing’ was certainly written with some gusto.
Some stories claim that Hitchcock and Herrmann never spoke again, but Norma Herrmann, the composer’s third wife, recalls meeting the director in Universal Studios in the late 1960s or early 1970s and that her husband gave Hitchcock a copy of his opera of Wuthering Heights. That sounds like an attempt at a truce, but apparently Herrmann admitted to his wife that he had been pleased by the scaled-back appearance of the director’s offices, as that indicated his reduced status at the studios, and the composer was said to be delighted whenever a later film of Hitchcock’s was a flop. In a telling tale about their personalities, when Hitchcock was giving a talk at the University of Southern California and was asked whether he would work with Herrmann again, he said, ‘Yes, if he’ll do as he’s told.’
After a galling dry period when the studios rejected him in favour of ‘running with the kids’, as in the younger composers with their hit songs and beat scores, Bernard Herrmann would find further success. In 1976, rising star director Brian De Palma wanted to make a Hitchcockian film, Obsession, and who better to score it than Herrmann? Soon, the young directors were chasing the creator of scores that had influenced their formative film-going experiences. Martin Scorsese hired Herrmann for Taxi Driver, he was in talks with Steven Spielberg shortly before he died – and he delighted in turning down the studios when they called him up to ask him back, telling them he had ‘decided to run with the kids’.
The kids continue to show their admiration for Herrmann. Danny Elfman is a self-proclaimed fan – he’s referred to the composer as ‘my god’ and he scored H
itchcock (2012), the biopic about the making of Psycho, while Quentin Tarantino used the ominous whistle from Twisted Nerve (1968) in Kill Bill (2003). Elmer Bernstein, a friend of Herrmann’s, used some of the rejected Torn Curtain score in Martin Scorsese’s remake of Cape Fear (1991), along with some of his music for the original 1962 film. Somewhat controversially, the ‘Scene d’Amour’ from Vertigo was used at length in the multi-Oscar-winning silent film The Artist (2011), so Herrmann continues to find new audiences and is still widely considered a master of film scoring.
Hitchcock meanwhile remains the master of suspense and all self-respecting directors owe him a debt. He released three films after the split with Herrmann – Topaz (1969), Frenzy (1972) and Family Plot (1976). He worked with Maurice Jarre on Topaz, to middling results, and dismissed Henry Mancini’s score for Frenzy, replacing the composer with Ron Goodwin. None of the final three would match his earlier successes.
Clashing egos, miscommunication, buckling under studio pressures or simply a case of all good things coming to an end? Whatever ultimately led to their separation, at the height of their powers Hitchcock and Herrmann created some of the most influential and revered critical, commercial and artistic successes. Neither could recreate the magic with anyone else, yet both were too stubborn to make amends.
The key to their collective alchemy, spanning just over a decade together, was their awareness of the power of music to bind the audience to the film. It was said they could read each other’s minds to achieve the required results that would test the viewers by enhancing the emotional depth of a scene and adding elements of tension and unease. Together, they shifted the audience’s perceptions about what music should, and could, add to a film.
In these aspects, they were ahead of their time, and Herrmann may have been even more pioneering in his attempt to assert himself on an equal footing with Hitchcock in an era when the director’s word was law. This book shines a spotlight on so many contemporary collaborations in which the director and composer welcome an honest, two-way dialogue, but that relationship was rare in Hitchcock’s and Herrmann’s day. The composer made real headway because he was so confident of his talents and of what his music could bring to a film that he didn’t accept every direction he was given. This is evident in game-changing successes such as Psycho, but ultimately led to the breakdown of a remarkable creative partnership.
Collaboration History
The Trouble With Harry (1955)
The Man Who Knew Too Much (1956)
The Wrong Man (1956)
Vertigo (1958)
North by Northwest (1959)
Psycho (1960)
The Birds (1963), with Herrmann credited as Sound Consultant
Marnie (1964)
Torn Curtain (1966), rejected score
Suggested Playlist
The Trouble With Harry, Overture
The Trouble With Harry, A Portrait of Hitch
The Trouble With Harry, Autumn Afternoon
The Man Who Knew Too Much, Concert Overture
The Wrong Man, Prelude
The Wrong Man, Sanitarium
Vertigo, Prelude
Vertigo, Rooftop
Vertigo, Scène d’amour
Vertigo, The Nightmare
North by Northwest, Overture
North by Northwest, The Wild Ride
North by Northwest, Conversation Piece
Psycho, Prelude
Psycho, The City
Psycho, Temptation
Psycho, The Murder
Marnie, Prelude
Marnie, Marnie
Marnie, The Storm
Marnie, The Hunt
Torn Curtain (rejected score), Prelude
Torn Curtain (rejected score), Valse Lente
Torn Curtain (rejected score), The Killing
* Herrmann’s favoured half-diminished seventh is a minor seventh chord, with the fifth flattened, e.g. C – E flat – G flat – B flat. Tension and dynamism is driven by the embedded tritone (C – G flat), while consonance and stability is provided by the minor third (C – E flat) and the perfect fifth (E flat – B flat).
Director James Cameron and composer James Horner collaborated on just three films, but their partnership made a seismic impact on the world of film-making, breaking box-office records and redefining expectations of film scoring. They worked together on a film a decade and each has had considerable influence: Aliens (1986) is consistently ranked as one of the finest sequels ever made, while Titanic (1997) boasts the best-selling primarily orchestral soundtrack of all time and held the record as the highest-grossing film of all time – that is, until the release of their final project, Avatar (2009). This was the first movie to earn more than $2 billion worldwide, a feat later achieved by its predecessor following its re-release in 2012 to mark the centenary of the sinking of the RMS Titanic.
The staggering successes of this assorted triptych is the reason why this chapter focuses on Horner’s partnership with Cameron, despite the composer’s vast back catalogue – over a hundred film scores – including regular collaborations with other directors, such as Mel Gibson and Ron Howard. There will be a brief detour to assess Horner’s seven film scores for Howard, in order to explore further his approach to film scoring, but if you’re looking for a collaboration in which both individuals push themselves to their respective limits, that story belongs to Jim and James.
Sadly, following Horner’s death at the age of sixty-one, their association as director and composer will only ever comprise Aliens, Titanic and Avatar. Horner’s S-312 turboprop aircraft crashed into the Los Padres National Forest in California on 22 June 2015. An avid pilot, he was the sole person on board. His death was ruled an accident.
He had been due to start work scoring the Avatar sequels later in the year. Looking back at his illustrious career composing for the cinema, it began and ended with Cameron.
Born just over a year apart, director and composer both earned their cinematic stripes with the independent film-maker Roger Corman – ‘the Pope of Pop Cinema’. Corman’s B-movies and horror films, made on tight time frames and low budgets, have acquired a cult appeal, and the people who worked their way through the ranks of Corman’s studios have left an indelible mark on film history: he nurtured directors Francis Ford Coppola and Martin Scorsese and gave career breaks to aspiring actors such as Jack Nicholson, Peter Fonda, Sandra Bullock and Robert De Niro.
Speaking in 2015, James Horner admitted he hadn’t known much about film scoring before working with Corman. His background was in classical music and academia, having studied at the Royal College of Music in London and UCLA, although he had gained some experience working at the American Film Institute, which first sparked his interest: ‘I never had any love of film, I never had any desire to be a film composer by any means. I was going to be a serious music composer, and just by accident I was asked to do one of these AFI films and I agreed to do it and fell in love with writing for film.’
Corman’s world of low budgets and short deadlines was a learning curve for Horner, who picked up ‘the very basic rudiments of film-making and what’s expected of you music-wise, and in the course of it, I met Ron Howard who was an editor and also a director, and Jim Cameron who was a cameraman at that point’. Horner’s and Cameron’s first project together was Battle Beyond the Stars in 1980, a sci-fi adventure movie billed as ‘The Magnificent Seven in outer space’ – an intriguing bookend in the light of Horner’s final score, released posthumously, for the 2016 remake of The Magnificent Seven.
Sara Horner, James’s widow, also worked at Roger Corman’s New World Pictures and spoke to Classic FM in 2017 about her memories of the composer and director at this stage in their careers: ‘They were similar in that they were very bright, very creative and very willing to follow their own vision and put it out there. They had a sense of themselves and they knew they were creative. They had strong egos and there seemed to be very little self-doubt in either of them.’
James Cam
eron, who received his first pay cheque for Battle Beyond the Stars, worked on art direction, special photographic effects and miniature design. His first break as writer and director was The Terminator in 1984, which topped the American box office for two weeks and opened the door to Aliens to him. Horner’s big film-scoring break was in another sci-fi realm, for Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan in 1982, which established him as a more mainstream composer. He proved himself capable of following on from Jerry Goldsmith’s much-loved music for Star Trek: The Motion Picture and created a score which is still highly regarded within the Star Trek canon. Horner composed the next film, Star Trek III: The Search for Spock, in 1984 and the following year he scored his first movie for Ron Howard, Cocoon. By the time Aliens came calling, he was mapping out a career that would allow him to compose for a broad cinematic canvas, encompassing thrillers, action, drama, children’s movies, romance and sci-fi across the decades.
By all reports, it is unlikely that James Horner would have predicted that Aliens would be the first of three successful collaborations with James Cameron. It is well documented that Cameron is a driven director who throws everything into his films and expects the cast and crew to do the same. Combine his passion and temper with a meticulous composer, throw in some serious deadlines, and sparks will inevitably fly.
The sequel to Ridley Scott’s 1979 masterpiece – pitched to studios as ‘Jaws in space’ – Aliens is more of a combat and action movie than out-and-out horror. Widely circulated stories indicate it was a fraught production: Cameron faced hostility from the British crew, who viewed him as an inexperienced substitute for Scott, and refused his entreaties to watch The Terminator, which had not yet been released in the UK, by means of proving his worth as writer and director. The biggest threat to the production was time, as Horner recalled: ‘Working in the UK was not as speedy as working in the US, and things got bogged down a bit. I was sent over there to ostensibly start writing the score, and they were still editing the movie and had not even looked at the last two reels of the film – and I had sessions booked! I was in this very precarious place of being between Jim, who I had to give space to – I mean, I couldn’t ask him for film that wasn’t even edited yet – and the studio, who thought he had finished editing and had sent me over to go do the music, to write it.’
