Showing posts with label alexandre desplat. Show all posts
Showing posts with label alexandre desplat. Show all posts

Friday, January 9, 2015

film score friday!

2014 was a rich year for song-driven soundtracks (particularly thinking of Wild, A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night, and Boyhood) but there have also been some gems in original scores.

Here are some of my favorites.







This was one of the more riskier scores (and movies) of the year. Basically a crashing melee of splashy drums and subtle moments of background stringscapes (the movie also includes some well-known classical pieces). The music continuously halts and jerks around to the chaos of a theater production and the pitter patter of the main character's turmoil and roiling psyche.













Touches of menace and mystery abound in this rich orchestral score of bass dirges, winds (clarinets weave in and out), prickly, rubbery string sounds (spiders are a visual motif), and the hits of timpanis and oddball percussion.














Here's a score that is pretty much perfection and because the film is so shifty tonally, likely exceptionally tricky to have composed. The muted marimbas and itchy static distortions in "Sugar Storm" and the clue unraveling scenes are now familiar Reznor & Ross territory, but I was struck in particular by the pretty swaths of slow chord changes in the flashbacks that recalled the vibe of Angelo Badalamenti, especially "Twin Peaks." When a grisly murder scene occurs, the repetition of loud, devilish drone tones synced with blazing fade-out edits, brilliantly becomes an aural and visual shock to the senses in a score and film that is otherwise so quietly sly.  














It's pretty remarkable how productive Desplat has been over the last decade and a half. His music for milquetoast flicks (like this year's The Imitation Game) is always quietly sturdy and reliable, but his recent collaborations with Wes Anderson seem to shake loose something in him that gives way to more adventurous instrumentation and melodies. His score for Grand Budapest Hotel is super sprightly, winsome, and madcap (love the little snare drum moments) and perfectly pitched to Anderson's painterly pastel mis-en-scene. 














I've never been a huge fan of Howard's usually too-on-the-nose, intrusive (and often, melodically unmemorable) movie scores. As expected, I ran hot and cold with his work on Nightcrawler which was often too loud, frenetic, cloying and more apt for his defining decade of 90s action flick film music than what this moody thriller needed. But he may have been the perfect choice to offer up a darkly comic main theme (thrumming electric guitar and all) that recalls the simultaneously urgent and uplifting cheese of local news music.













The main theme from this movie has been going through my head since I've seen it. The fragile music box melodic strain mimics the lead character's starlet dreams and the electro tuned 80s VHS horror vibes are well-suited to the movie's aura. Luckily, Waxwork is planning an album release. This week I reviewed this underrated horror indie here.













Joe Hisaishi's gorgeous music adds intensely to the joy and deep melancholy of this elegantly animated Studio Ghibli fable. The often plaintive score ultimately bursts into a soaring, major-keyed song of "Celestial Beings"--a stirring resolution to this film's unique journey. 












Like Enemy, Under the Skin relies more on imagery and atmosphere than dialogue. Levi's mesmerizing score provides a swirly, unbalanced background of distorted strings and synth beds and in the surrealistic "death" sequences, slides into the creepiest, crawliest violin riffs since Herrmann's Psycho.




Thursday, August 5, 2010

the powerful and the powerless



Ewan McGregor plays "the Ghost" (his name, fittingly, is never revealed) assigned to the memoirs of British Prime Minister Adam Lang (Pierce Bronson) in this atmospheric thriller from Roman Polanski based upon a controversial novel, The Ghost by Robert Harris. Taking the place of a previous ghost writer who died mysteriously, McGregor is sent to a house on a remote beach in wintry Massachusetts to begin his work. Meanwhile Lang is under intense scrutiny from the public and media for potential involvement in war crimes. McGregor finds his life in jeopardy as he uncovers unusual connections with people from Lang's past.

Polanski's films often deal with seemingly affable people committing the worst crimes against humanity. His best films (Rosemary's Baby and Chinatown) are foreboding ones, where innocent characters are seemingly unaware in how much danger they are in, the film carefully building suspense (though events seem to be happening in a seemingly loose manner) until it reaches a striking conclusion. The tensions that lie within the controversies of Polanski's real life are applicable to the mise-en-scène. Edited in final stages while Polanski was in a Swiss prison, this project takes on a creepy, claustrophobic air. Filmed in Germany, it often looks bleak and other-worldly, as if it exists at the edge of the earth. Polanski's filming is stylish and gripping--meshing realism (the topical nature of the news stories) with artifice (a look-alike Condeleezza Rice appears). The house set design is a marvel: a glassy, ironic dwelling, with huge open windows to the sea, yet so closed off from the outside world. Here, Lang's quirky mix of assistants (a well-played Kim Catrall among them) have established their mode and routines. A brilliant Olivia Williams, with a gray streak of stress in her hair, plays Lang's oblique and hardened wife, who is housing secrets of her own.

As in any adult thriller, the script is prone to melodrama. Although the dialogue is at times awful, the whole affair is tamed by a subtle, well-honed performance by McGregor and Polanski's gorgeously overcast visuals. Unintentional or not, the obvious parallels to Tony Blair and distressing, Bush era malaise (though the clouded ramifications of war seem unending) are less intriguing than the stylish look of the film itself. Like Michael Clayton, the movie is less a specific political statement and more a universal rumination on the powerful and the powerless. In Polanski's film, the powerful are weakened and isolated which leads them to be dangerously bitter and vengeful towards the powerless.

Alexandre Desplat (one of the finest film composers working today) recalls Bernard Herrmann with his brooding score, a kinetic and stormy myriad of bass clarinets and minor tones, adding to the gloomy but riveting atmosphere. In an interview, Desplat notes that Polanski wants the "music to mislead, to boost the energy in a scene, to create an invisible world and make it visible." ***1/2


-Jeffery Berg