The combination of Spock with “Where’s Waldo?” is a million-dollar idea. Too bad it appears I didn’t get there first. But even if I did, I probably would have thrown it away for free on Facebook or tossed it off as a quip to entertain my friends, like I do with so many of my other million-dollar ideas, and then leave it out in the sun to blanch with the rest of my cavalier creations. If only I had a Boswell to follow me around and document my genius, or a sheepdog to nip at my shanks and corral me into actually doing something with them.
Be that as it may, this post isn’t about me; it’s about Spock. I’m not quite sure why “Star Trek III” (1984) bears the subtitle “The Search for Spock.” It’s not like nobody knows where he is. The big question, once it’s figured out WHY he is, is how to get him back. Undoubtedly, this conundrum will be addressed as part of our conversation this week, when we talk about the film on “Roy’s Tie-Dye Sci-Fi Corner.”
Spock, of course, nobly sacrificed himself at the climax of the greatest of the “Star Trek” movies, “Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan.” “Kahn” was popcorn entertainment with resonance, the installment that proved, after a lumbering start to the celluloid franchise, that “Star Trek” could successfully make the leap to the big screen, with an exciting adventure story and compelling characters (Ricardo Montalban, clearly making use of his gym membership), and still honor its sacred roots.
I remember at the time there was a lot of behind-the-scenes wrangling, with Leonard Nimoy wanting to leave the series. After all, this is the guy who titled his autobiography “I Am Not Spock.” (He later recanted with a second memoir, titled “I Am Spock.”) Clearly, this was a guy who was conflicted about his legacy. But he never played Spock, in whatever incarnation of “Star Trek,” without great integrity. Perhaps it’s for this reason that Spock remains, arguably, the most fascinating (you see what I did there?) character in the entire “Star Trek” canon.
Anyway, that tension hung over “Star Trek II,” and, in those days before the internet, fandom was abuzz with the question, “Will Spock die?” Kirk even tosses off a coy remark, early in the film: “Aren’t you dead?” “Star Trek III” continues to play with audience expectations by not listing Nimoy among the actors in the opening credits. But hey, he directed the film, and his character’s name is right there in the title. He had better come back!
“Star Trek III” hopes to replicate some of that “Kahn” magic by coming up with another sacrifice to equal the emotional wallop of Spock’s loss, and I’m sure it’s one that hit hardcore Trekkers where they live. But come on, it ain’t Spock. At the end of the day, when the fanboy tears dry, what’s sacrificed can be easily replaced, and has been, how many times?
But looking back, as someone who graduated from high school in 1984, the loss takes on a certain loaded significance, I admit, as, like the crew of the Enterprise, my ongoing mission to seek out new life and new civilizations would never again be quite the same. The life would be there, but where’s the joy in uncovering new civilizations without the comfort of old, familiar things?
Roy and I will reflect on this and other matters, as we take a nostalgic trip back to “Star Trek III: The Search for Spock,” for the 40th anniversary of its release. We’ll be joined by our friends, Mike & Marybeth of SciFi Distilled, who certainly know a thing or two about “Trek.” In fact, one of them will be joining us from the Star Trek Original Set Tour in Ticonderoga, NY. Without their kind assistance, no doubt, Roy and I would run long and perspire.
We’ll be searching for you in the comments section for a group mind meld, on the next Roy’s Tie-Dye Sci-Fi Corner. To miss it would be illogical, as we livestream on Facebook, YouTube, etc., this Friday evening at 7:00 EDT!
Before John Williams, there was Erich Wolfgang Korngold.
Korngold’s music for “The Adventures of Robin Hood” (1938) was every bit as influential to me, in terms of introducing me to the wonders of orchestral music, as the score to “Star Wars.” Clearly, it also impacted John Williams, as the music for his biggest blockbusters adheres to the Korngold template of leitmotifs, lush orchestration, and swashbuckling action cues.
Williams has cited Korngold’s main title music for “Kings Row,” in particular, as one of his inspirations for “Star Wars.” The bold, opulent, classic Hollywood imprint is obvious. Listeners coming cold to “Kings Row” detect the influence immediately. Which is interesting. It’s there in the orchestration, of course, and in the bold fanfares, but it isn’t so blatant as some of the other, more brazen allusions that occur throughout Williams’ score, which I’m sure I’m not alone in contending is a post-modern masterpiece. It’s only little minds that scream theft. Good artists copy; great artists steal! (I believe Stravinsky stole that from Picasso.)
In case you are unfamiliar with his backstory, years before he came to Hollywood, Korngold was a child prodigy, the toast of Vienna. Gustav Mahler declared him a genius, and Richard Strauss claimed he was terrified by the amount of talent exhibited by one so young. His works were championed by the most esteemed musicians of the day. He was especially highly-regarded for his operas, with “Die tote Stadt” (“The Dead City”), given a double premiere in Hamburg and Cologne, the high-water mark of his success.
Korngold first came to Hollywood to assist Viennese theatrical impresario Max Reinhardt in bringing “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” to the big screen for Warner Bros. This is the version with James Cagney, Olivia de Havilland, and Mickey Rooney (as Puck). So impressed was Warner with the score, freely adapted from the music of Mendelssohn, that they didn’t want to let this world-class composer go. He was a particularly nice fit for the pageantry and swagger of the Errol Flynn classics.
Fortunately, Korngold was at work on “Robin Hood” when the Nazis marched into Austria. He and his family found refuge in the company of many other notable European exiles on the paradisal West Coast of the United States. But the luster soon dulled. Korngold vowed to compose no concert music while Hitler remained in power. After the war, he produced a Violin Concerto, which was savaged by one critic as “more corn than gold,” and a heart-breaking Symphony in F-sharp, which exudes longing for a lost world. Both assimilated themes from his film scores.
He never lived to see his reputation rebound. However, since the 1970s, the popularity of his film music and critical esteem for his concert music have been on an upward trajectory.
I’ve always loved “Kings Row,” even though the film is something of a curate’s egg. It’s actually a very grim story, anticipating the work of David Lynch, in some respects, as it gradually reveals the dark underbelly of small-town life in the Midwest. But it’s nowhere near as dark as the source material, a bleak-as-hell novel by Henry Bellamann.
“Kings Row,” the book, is a massive downer. Somehow, it also became a runaway bestseller.
Interestingly, Bellamann also had a musical background. Following his graduation from Westminster College (unrelated to the Princeton institution) in his hometown of Fulton, Missouri, he studied piano at the University of Denver. He went on to teach music at several girls’ schools in the South, while in the summers, he continued his studies in Europe with Charles-Marie Widor and Isador Philipp. Bellamann would hold several prominent administrative and teaching positions in the U.S., including director of the Juilliard Musical Foundation, dean of the Curtis Institute of Music, and professor of music at Vassar College.
As you can imagine, the book caused quite a stir in Fulton, but not because of its success. Rather, a few too many people and institutions recognized themselves in the extremely unflattering narrative! Allegedly the book was banned from the town library, and Bellamann was the target of at least one indignant editorial in the local newspaper.
“Kings Row” is one of the most subversive films of Hollywood’s golden age. How it managed to get around the Hays Code is anybody’s guess, but I’m putting my money on Korngold’s score, which breathes uplift and hope into what could have been an unrelentingly bleak story (as it is in the novel). Also, the ending was changed, such an obvious overcompensation, with the climax an almost ludicrous eruption of joy. It’s a neat trick, as somehow, in the film, not only is the wicked in human nature balanced by the good, but the whole is infused with an undercurrent of nostalgia for a passing world. It’s kind of like how people choose to remember “It’s a Wonderful Life,” even though you have to go through hell before you get to heaven.
Amusingly, from the title, Korngold thought he was being assigned yet another historical adventure, which is why the theme is so wildly over the top. By 1942, Korngold could do pomp and braggadocio in his sleep. When he learned of his mistake, he just kept it. And what a happy accident! The film is so much better – and so much more bearable – than it would have been without it. After all, how much madness, suicide, amputation, and incest can one take, especially in the 1940s? It really is quite the sleight of hand. Now I want to watch it again!
To this day, I waver as to whether Korngold or Williams is my favorite film composer. There are others I may revere more than either of them, but these two give me the most pleasure.
May I obey all your commands with equal pleasure, Sire! Happy birthday, Erich Wolfgang Korngold!
“Kings Row”
John Williams talks Korngold with Leonard Slatkin
Good nine-minute primer on E.W.K.
Violin Concerto
Music as good as spring itself: the Sinfonietta, composed at 15
What did I learn from watching “Ennio” (2021), director Giuseppe Tornatore’s epic love letter to his regular musical collaborator, the late Ennio Morricone? A lot, actually. At some points, perhaps even too much.
I always knew the composer was a little exasperated by his continued association in many people’s minds with “spaghetti westerns.” Of course, he’d written music for dozens of them, but they were a mere fraction of his overall output of some 500 film and television scores. What I didn’t know is that, according to him, both he and Sergio Leone disliked the music for his revolutionary score to “A Fistful of Dollars.” You know, the one that changed movie music forever, certainly that for westerns and especially Italian westerns. The artists seemed to like it well enough in the moment, but by the time they got around to working on the sequels, they were over it. Good thing Ennio pushed through to compose the music for “The Good, the Bad and the Ugly,” which is quite simply one of the most recognizable film scores ever written. Right up there with “Psycho” and “Jaws” in terms of instant identification by your average person on the street.
Morricone and Tornatore’s working relationship began with “Cinema Paradiso,” which the composer agreed to score at a time when he was one of the most famous in the world (with 350 of his scores already written) and the director was only just starting out. Decades later, when Morricone talked retirement, he specifically cited Tornatore’s films as being among the few projects that could ever entice him back. Sort of like John Williams with Steven Spielberg. But to my knowledge, Williams never was so divided about his occupation or so vocal about his reservations.
If you’re a filmmaker and you hire Ennio Morricone, in the names of all saints in Heaven, do not tell him what to do! Unquestionably, he has his own ideas. Send him a script and let him watch the movie, and then get out of the way. Otherwise, like Oliver Stone, you’ll get a taste of his testiness and understand in no uncertain terms that you are an idiot.
Not that Morricone is at any point discourteous to anyone. He just has strong convictions about what a specific film requires. He has his vision, and he is unwavering in the drive to realize his musical ideas.
We also learn how sensitive he is. He talks with palpable ambivalence, describing his longtime struggle to come to terms with his chosen profession. He so desperately craved the approval and acceptance of his father, his teacher, and his colleagues in the world of classical music. Even all these years later, his emotional and psychological struggles are evident.
According to Roland Joffé, when he first showed him “The Mission,” Morricone dissolved into tears, he found it to be so moving. He asked Joffé what he could possibly want from him. The movie required no music, he said; it was perfect as it was. Then he went home, and later the motif for “Gabriel’s Oboe” popped into his head. The score went on to become one of Morricone’s most recognized and revered. He was robbed of the Academy Award for Best Original Score that year when the Oscar went to “Round Midnight,” the soundtrack of which consisted mostly of preexisting classics by established jazz artists. It could be argued that it didn’t even belong in the same category. But Herbie Hancock, who provided what little original music there was in the film, accepted the award, and he was and remains an outspoken Morricone admirer.
Morricone would be nominated for – and lose – the Oscar five times before the Academy finally gave him an honorary award in 2007. Then he went on to win a competitive Oscar in 2016, at the age of 88, for his music for Quentin Tarantino’s “The Hateful Eight.” That he would remain so long underappreciated by the Academy is unfathomable. But he did live through an era when the competition was much stronger than it is now (“Round Midnight” aside).
The most revelatory parts of the documentary come in the first half hour, when we learn about Morricone’s early years, following in his father’s footsteps as a working musician, as opposed to an artist, earning the family bread using the cheapest secondhand trumpet his dad could find, playing gigs in orchestras and dance bands. Then his pursuit of excellence as a classical musician, and a composer, studying with Goffredo Petrassi. And after that, wandering further into avant-garde experimentation, first in Darmstadt, the epicenter of plinks, planks, and plunks, and then with the group he himself formed, Il Gruppo di Improvvisazione Nuova Consonanza (G.I.N.C.) .
The documentary does a great job of showing how these influences carried over into his music as an arranger for pop singers, and it’s hilarious, once it’s pointed out, to grasp just how crazy – and inspired – his choices were, in terms of including extramusical effects in these hit songs. So the spaghetti western sound of whip cracks, whistles, and nonsense choruses did not develop in a vacuum. At a point, Morricone brings some pretty hardcore avant-garde experimentation to bear on his film scores, with the G.I.N.C. improvising in some 40 films, until the suits finally pull him aside and say, Hey, Ennio, enough already!
There’s lots of great, rarely-seen footage of young Morricone in his nerd glasses, looking, as someone describes, all the world like a Peanuts character. But there’s so much, it seems like an awfully long time passes before we finally get to the spaghetti westerns that made him so famous. At that point, of course, even the most casual Morricone fan will sit up and take notice.
Then there will likely be a dip in interest, except perhaps for diehards and fans of international cinema, as there are discussions of films many Americans will be unfamiliar with, save perhaps something like “The Battle of Algiers,” which was regarded as significant enough that it made it to U.S. theaters. But many of the directors Morricone worked with were major players in world cinema, and a number of these are included among the talking heads.
One of the weaknesses of the documentary is its assumption that its audience really knows its stuff, to the extent that many of those who offer their onscreen commentary are not really identified beyond their names. So you have to fill in the blanks a little bit, in terms of who was a director or a work associate or a fan from another genre of music you might not be so familiar with. Again, if you’re really into Morricone and world cinema in general, you will likely recognize just about everyone, but I was relieved when there was finally some footage that explained who Alessandro Alessandroni (Morricone’s whistler and guitarist) and Edda dell’Orso (who provided the haunting vocalises for classic scores like “Once Upon a Time in the West”) are.
Also, are there any subtitles in this movie? For a documentary about a figure of international appeal, with so many of the onscreen participants speaking different languages, you would assume that there would be English subtitles. That well may be the case, but if so, for some reason they were not showing up on my print (I streamed it on Prime), so I wound up having to resort to closed captioning.
What comes across loud and clear, in whatever language, is that Tornatore loves Morricone. And why wouldn’t he? He enjoyed the privilege of being favored by one of the greatest geniuses of his art form. However, it is possible he loves him just a little too much. He is so close to his subject, he can’t seem to look away. While unquestionably a feast for Morricone admirers, the film, I’m sure, could be tightened by a good half hour. The running time is 150 minutes, nearly as long as “The Good, the Bad and the Ugly” itself (which I rewatched the next night). There’s a lot of repetition in the commentary of the talking heads, and I wonder if some of them even had to be there at all.
Perhaps partly it was a question of securing funding, or at any rate audience identification. If you can get Bruce Springsteen to come on and say he loves Morricone, great, but he really offers nothing substantial, certainly no insights. And then once you’ve got him to participate, you’ve got to have him in there enough to make it worthwhile. There are several such witnesses included. I found it much more interesting when the guy from Metallica shows up to offer a few remarks and we see him play “The Ecstasy of Gold” in concert. That was awesome. Really, between that and Morricone’s own concert footage, anyone will walk away understanding that the composer himself enjoyed the status of a rock star. At the end of his life, he toured everywhere, selling out arena after arena all over the world.
Tornatore began filming the documentary while Morricone was still alive, so we’re very lucky to have so many clips of the composer recollecting everything, including his work on so many of his major scores. For a guy who worked so much (there were years when he composed more than 20 scores), he seems to remember every musical phrase. Most shocking admission by the composer: that he hates melody! But I think we can take that with a grain of salt. These segments are gold.
And by the time we get to “Days of Heaven,” anyone who lived through the era realizes what a golden age it was. In the late ‘70s and 1980s, Morricone quietly revivified even American movies.
The verdict: “Ennio” is definitely worth seeing, most of all for Morricone fans; then for those that love the movies in general; and then for anyone who is curious about the fascinating path an artist’s career can take, and how expertly Morricone navigated the then-divergent fields of classical, avant-garde, popular, and film music. He really was forward-looking in his embrace and mastery of different forms, anticipating the now common practice of hurdling barriers that used to stand impenetrable between genres.
The trailer is superb. Whoever edited it should have put together the movie.
“Ennio,” a solid three out of four stars. Indispensable for lovers of Morricone and, more broadly, film music, and an interesting watch, if a long one, for everyone else.
In paying such lavish tribute to Victor Herbert yesterday, on the 100th anniversary of his death, I failed to notice until later in the day that two notable American composers of our own time only recently passed.
One was Richard M. Sherman, of the famous Sherman Brothers, the super-successful songwriting team whose work graced such childhood classics as “Mary Poppins,” “Chitty Chitty Bang Bang,” “The Jungle Book,” “The Aristocats,” “Bedknobs and Broomsticks,” “The Slipper and the Rose,” “Snoopy Come Home,” and “Charlotte’s Web,” among many, many others. For Disney’s theme parks, they wrote “It’s a Small World (After All).”
I saw all of these films as a kid, and many of them in the theater. Another that I remember, which I caught on vacation in Wildwood, NJ, with my family, was an adaptation of “The Adventures of Tom Sawyer,” starring little Johnny Whitaker of “Sigmund and the Sea Monsters” fame. It featured songs by the Shermans and arrangements by John Williams, presumably hired on the basis of his Academy Award winning work on “Fiddler on the Roof.” Two years later, everyone would think twice about wading into the surf, thanks in large part to Williams’ music for “Jaws.”
Richard Sherman was preceded in death by his brother, Robert B. Sherman, in 2012. Together they received nine Academy Award nominations (with two wins, for “Mary Poppins,” including one for Best Original Song for “Chim Chim Cher-ee”), two Grammy Awards, and 23 gold and platinum certified albums.
Richard Sherman was 95 years-old.
The other notable American composer is Paul Schoenfield, who died in Jerusalem on April 29.
While his “Café Music” became something of a popular hit, I’ve also always been fond of his “Klezmer Rondos” for flute, baritone and orchestra. Equally, “Four Parables,” for piano and orchestra, is a wackily attractive piece, in a funhouse mirror sort of way.
In addition to his achievements as a composer, Schoenfield was also a talented pianist. Among his discography as a performer is a collection of the complete works for violin and piano of Béla Bartók, recorded with Sergiu Luca.
Although he composed much that is immediately accessible, Schoenfield clearly tended toward an introspective disposition. He was enthralled by mathematics and Talmudic studies. He moved to Israel following his retirement as professor of music at University of Michigan in 2021. (He was born in Detroit in 1947.)
I’m sorry he had to pass during such a turbulent time. Schoenfield was 77 years old. R.I.P.
“Café Music”
“Klezmer Rondos”
The first of Schoenfield’s “Four Parables”
Richard Sherman talks about being tasked with coming up with “It’s a Small World”
There’s more to Memorial Day than burgers, beaches, and beer. Take some time today to reflect on the sacrifice of those who laid down their lives for the greater good. Our security and freedom have been purchased and maintained at an exorbitant cost.
It’s been a while since I’ve revived one of my Classic Ross Amico crossword puzzles, formulated during lockdown, a period that provided all of us with an opportunity for a little undisturbed introspection. That said, I used to come up with most of my crossword clues while doing the dishes!
Test your knowledge of war songs, commemorative works, and composers who served. To fill out the puzzle, follow the link and select “solve online” at the bottom of the page. You’ll then be able to type directly into the squares. Once you feel you’ve exhausted the puzzle, you’ll find the solutions by clicking on “Answer Key PDF.”
Then, if you’ve a quiet moment, search for some of the musical selections online. I’m sure audio files for many of them have been posted, and they are all suitable for the day.
