Tag: Max Steiner

A few days ago, I finished my second reading of Steven C. Smith’s Bernard Herrmann biography, “A Heart at Fire’s Center.” This return engagement, after nearly thirty years, was prompted by Smith’s recent bio of film composer Max Steiner.

First of all, if you’re a Bernard Herrmann fan or a classic movie buff, and for some reason you haven’t gotten around to it, the book is self-recommending. But if yours is a more casual interest, and you are looking for a good read, I would suggest you pick up the Steiner bio first.

Not that both books are not well-written, but the layout of the Steiner is more easily digestible. It looks less “dense,” for one thing, with more welcoming fonts, distinguishing narrative and lengthier quoted passages. Also, it’s organized into shorter chapters, with a shrewdly-crafted teaser at the end of each, drawing you into the next. I do much of my reading in bed, and while I could generally get through a chapter of Steiner before beginning to nod, I found the longer form of the Herrmann a bit more challenging. Not that you can’t put it down mid-chapter, but I’m an anal reader.

I should add that I’m also a slow reader, and if I feel I am not in the proper mindset to get everything out of a book, I will put it down until I know I am alert. Again, this is no reflection on the quality of the book. Smith proves himself to be a fine and engaging writer in both volumes, though it is possible, and hardly surprising, that he’s become even better over three decades.

I did find more errors in the Herrmann book than I did in the Steiner. I own the original, hardcover edition of “A Heart at Fire’s Center,” from 1991, and not the paperback reissue from 2002, so these may have been corrected. Perhaps the layout has been tweaked, as well. In any case, I don’t want to suggest that it is a shoddy piece of work. It is not!

The other reason I recommend reading the Steiner biography first is simply that Steiner was an all-around nicer guy. The man was not without his flaws – I have a hard time forgetting one particular act of domestic violence, though I can understand the circumstances that made him susceptible to it – but he comes across, for the most part, both anecdotally and through his own writings, as a happy, playful personality. Not without his stresses and complications, certainly, but loving his work and doing whatever he could to help others.

Herrmann, on the other hand, was extremely high maintenance. EXTREMELY. There is not a person who knew him for any length of time – and too often that could mean only a few seconds – that was not the focus of insult and verbal abuse. Cumulatively, we are made to realize that this was an unfortunate defense mechanism (Herrmann is not wholly unsympathetic), and that once he blew his stack or became more comfortable, he would often warm up considerably – provided the object of the initial tirade hadn’t already withered away. Herrmann behaved like this with friend and foe alike, and then he wondered why nobody wanted to be around him.

This is particularly sad, since Bernard Herrmann was possibly the greatest genius at film scoring that ever was. Composers like Max Steiner were monumentally important in establishing the form, pioneering the techniques, and really thinking about the art behind the craft. But Herrmann grasped that music could function on a much deeper level – as more than music, almost. He looked beyond a leitmotivic approach inherited from Wagner – and embraced by Steiner, Korngold, and others – to ponder, probe, and push the boundaries of film itself. He understood not only that music could help the pace of a picture, playing with an audience’s sense of time, he also grasped the psychological depths a score could attain, lending an almost subliminal dimension to the storytelling. He was a master of nuance and tension, and his orchestrations were the most experimental in Hollywood. From “Citizen Kane” to “Taxi Driver,” Herrmann was the king.

Is he my favorite film composer? No. I admit, on an average day, Korngold and John Williams are more my style. But do I respect Herrmann’s art and marvel at everything he touched? Oh yes. Yes, I do.

My biggest qualm with the book, and this cannot be changed, is the subject himself. It’s simply exhausting to read account after account of Herrmann blowing his stack and making things worse and worse for himself, as he alienates employers, colleagues, friends, and wives. It’s a horrible flaw in a great artist.

As a composer, he was always spot-on. His contributions enhanced the films of Orson Welles, Alfred Hitchcock, Ray Harryhausen, Francois Truffaut, Brian DePalma, Martin Scorsese, and many others. Before that, he was a master of music for radio drama (as music director at CBS), and later, he pursued sidelines as a concert conductor (really his dream) and a recording artist.

Readers with an interest in classical music are also offered glimpses into the broad and unusual repertoire he introduced to American audiences through his radio broadcasts (he was particularly fond of English music), his performances with some of the great symphony orchestras, his relationships and correspondence with Charles Ives, Leopold Stokowski, and John Barbirolli, among others, and the creation of his own concert works, especially his opera, “Wuthering Heights.”

Herrmann was a man who was suspicious of everything. He certainly didn’t suffer fools. But his hair trigger could be appalling. It’s interesting that so many of those who found themselves at Ground Zero later admitted that Herrmann’s reactions, while extreme, were often not without merit. In artistic and professional matters, he was usually right. A good many of those interviewed even manage to retain a genuine affection for the man. They just couldn’t stand to be around him.

Remarkably, the Steiner biography does not simply follow the same ground, which makes both volumes worth reading. The composers were different enough, both as people and as artists, and their experiences largely varied, so that both books are absolutely recommended. Smith does a great job of bringing both subjects to life. But if you want to dip a toe in, I’d say start with Steiner.

Above all, when you watch the movies, pay attention to the music. Composers are not always in total control of what makes it to the screen or how it’s used, but Herrmann was luckier – and more demanding – than most. He also insisted on doing everything himself, from orchestrations to recording. He and Steiner were both dynamos, and, like Steiner, Herrmann lived mostly for his work.

I must add, for as prickly as he could be around people, Herrmann had infinite patience for animals, and he loved them all. He kept one of his old cars just because the neighborhood squirrels had made it their home. For this alone, I would forgive him everything.

PHOTOS: Two sides of Herrmann, with two editions of his biography (paperback at top)