Before we had cinema as we know it today, before we were being wowed and won over by the spooling, reeling speeches of our favourite cinematic figures, we had music. We all know that films used to be silent, that we would learn the intentions of characters through exclamative intertitles. As their mouths moved and distorted, we expected a full length speech to show up on screen and so, when a few words flashed across the cinema, we were understandably baffled. When we think about silent cinema we forget the fact that, actually, it wasn’t silent at all. Early films were typically screened in music halls and therefore, came equipped with orchestras or organs. Meaning was added to the often incomprehensible film narratives by the presence of a live musical accompaniment. We became so attached and continue to be drawn towards silent films precisely because the music gave it dimensions that just wasn’t there before.
When we think about cinema, we often think about the film directors or actors who shape the stories we come to love so deeply. We applaud the majesty of the writing, or the depth of focus or range of colour and rarely consider that there could be something else there, shaping our understanding of cinema. Film music is possibly cinema’s most unsung hero. Whilst we all know a handful of the major names, we often forget about the other people who shape our cinematic experiences. John Williams, John Barry and Hans Zimmer have become so beloved because the type of films which they scored were naturally overblown and dramatic. We paid attention to the music because, somehow, it elevated the film.
What about the rest, then? What about the other film composers, who continue to alter our cinematic experiences, often without our realisation? Never fear, they have not gone unnoticed and, following this article, will have a few more people in their corner, shouting for their names to be heard.
In the world of animation, there is no one better than Hayao Miyazaki and Studio Ghibli. What a tragedy, then, when it was announced that this year’s The Wind Rises was set to be Miyazaki’s last. Whilst the film world mourned the passing of one cinematic movement, they forgot to realise that without Miyazaki, we would hear a lot less of Joe Hisaishi’s work. The composer at Miyazaki’s right hand, Hisaishi was responsible for scoring many of his most beloved films. His most recent work for The Wind Rises was particularly breathtaking; sensitive, musically intelligent and genuinely surprising, Hisaishi’s work is unique as the films for which it is created. Whilst the music sounds exactly as if it has been created for Miyazaki’s work, it is equally musically experimental. Taking influence from perpetually building minimalism, electronic experiments and classical Japanese styles, Hisaishi’s work is truly a wonder to behold and be heard.
Moving to a beat of a slightly different tune is John Lurie, front man of The Lounge Lizards and sometime-collaborator with cinematic hipster god, Jim Jarmusch. Man behind the music of Stranger than Paradise, Mystery Train and the wondrous Down by Law, Lurie’s sound encapsulates the eery coolness of Jarmusch’s film world. Using accents of cool jazz, blues and grunge, Lurie’s music is the kind of thing you would put on after a long night out. The sound is tinged with the aftertaste of whisky and the stale scent of second hand smoke. If ever there were a composer more unassuming, I am yet to hear of them. Bow down to John Lurie, father of the nihilistically cool.
Most recently, Jonathan Glazer’s remarkable Under the Skin has wowed its audiences with its arresting mix of psychedelic visuals and offbeat narrative. Whilst the film’s composer, Mica Levi, may not be to everyones’ tastes, there’s no denying that the sound is packed full of experimentalism and musical intelligence. Taking inspiration from musical heavyweights John Cage, Giacinto Scelsi and Iannis Xenakis, you would be forgiven for thinking that Levi’s film score was taken from the back catalogue of a classical experimental number. And yet, her sound balances perfectly with the beauty of Glazer’s film. There’s plenty of melodic pieces which are alarmingly eerily and beautiful. With composers like Levi, film audiences are coaxed gently into a wider musical world and shown that musical experiments can be just as incredible as our favourite film scores.
The Artist was a film beloved by all, none more so than this writer. Hearkening back to the silent film era, it enabled thousands of film goers to experience a type of film so often lauded as antiquated and irrelevant. Like the original silent films, Ludovic Bource captured perfectly the light witticism of the film, enhancing the movie’s visual effects without coming off as too slapstick or overwrought. Whilst Bource shot to fame following his award winning score for The Artist, his name goes relatively unspoken in film music circles. Responsible for opening up the eyes and ears of another cinematic generation, Bource’s music and name is something which we should hear all the more often.
Best known for his work in the hugely successful band Radiohead, British composer Jonny Greenwood has since branched out somewhat into classical and cinematic scoring. Most notably working alongside Paul Thomas Anderson in his recent works, Greenwood’s scores can be increasingly found in film soundtracks across the world. Like Levi, Greenwood’s musical style is a little less than conventional. Unafraid to experiment with jarring sounds and offbeat rhythms, Greenwood’s work threatens to be more interesting than the film for which it is created. And surely that is how we must conceive of film music. Whilst it is created to enhance a piece of cinema, it is a work of art in its own right and should not be contained to the film for which it was written. Composers who challenge the way in which we think of film music should be the ones we herald today. Watch out, composers of the past, a new group’s in town and they’re shaking things up.