THE GHOST AND THE DARKNESS (1996)

With the immense diversity found in composer Jerry Goldsmith's music across his career as a film composer, it sometimes can be an entertaining game to guess how he might have scored the same film at a different time.  Often it's the genre pictures - science fiction, fantasy, action/adventure - that provide the most intriguing subjects and I think that 1996's THE GHOST AND THE DARKNESS fits the bill.   In listening to the album recently, I decided to devote a post to my thoughts on it.  While it's not in my top ten list of Jerry Goldsmith scores overall, I happen to consider it one of the highlights of his projects in the Nineties. 

The movie, directed by Stephen Hopkins, is based on a strange and harrowing event in 1898, when a construction engineer, named John Patterson, from the British Army is dispatched to East Africa to build a bridge across the Tsavo River in Kenya.  During the project, two lions terrorize the workforce, proving themselves man-eaters immediately.  The lions are named "The Ghost" and "The Darkness" by the locals.  Eventually, Patterson, played in the film by Val Kilmer, tracks and kills the two lions, however in the movie he is aided by a hunter originally from the States, played by Michael Douglas.  While the film itself may not be well-remembered or highly regarded, for sure the music is an element that warrants attention.  I wanted to examine this score in its proper filmic context but also look it in the context of Goldsmith's overall oeuvre.

 

Interestingly, Goldsmith's score orbits around three central ideas, which are often combined for maximum effect.  His main melody is broad and bold, voiced by brass in an English major mode, while rhythmic counterpoint is provided by a jaunty Irish motif on flutes.  The third element are sampled African voices, singing, calling and shouting, punctuating in both motivic and percussive gestures.  Essentially, the first two musical ideas represent Patterson, an Irishman working for the British East African Railway, his own persistence working in concert with the bullish confidence of 19th century Great Britain, all the while immersed in the striking and exotic wilds of East Africa.  In a way, it's comparable to Goldsmith's three-part musical summation of General George S. Patton in the 1970 hit PATTON.  There, he characterized the complicated and contradictory Patton through echoplexed trumpet triplets (representing his belief in reincarnation), organ chorale (representing his faith) and the famous march (representing his life in the military).  This approach to one individual seems to be expanded to summarize an entire movie's plot in THE GHOST AND THE DARKNESS.

Now, returning to play the game of how Goldsmith might have scored this movie at different points in his career, let's first travel back twenty years earlier.  Examining his projects in 1976, we find Goldsmith building to one of his most inspired periods, the late Seventies.  THE OMEN, THE WIND AND THE LION and LOGAN'S RUN are brilliant, unique works from this specific year, each one a highwater mark of its respective genre with long-lasting effects on subsequent scores. Had THE GHOST AND THE DARKNESS emerged as a project then, I imagine it would have more in common with those aforementioned scores, still being fully orchestral, perhaps bolstered by exotic percussion but with the harsh dissonance heard in much of his music of the era.  Outside of ALIEN in 1979, that dissonant quality eventually was supplanted by the Romanticism he explored later in the decade and the first half of the Eighties. 

 

By 1986, electronics had more fully entered his palate.  They had been a part of his music for quite some time, but beginning with UNDER FIRE in 1983 the synth element shifted more prominently to the forefront.  Goldsmith had even composed his first all-electronic score with RUNAWAY.  At this time, main themes, motifs and ostinatos were often carried by synthesizers instead of the orchestra, though his music was still just as complex and engaging.  Had THE GHOST AND THE DARKNESS been scored in '86, I think the attacking lions might have been characterized by odd electronic sounds, akin to what we heard in his music for GREMLINS and LEGEND, bolstered by the adventuresome orchestral quality of KING SOLOMONS MINES.  One could argue that with the story being a period piece set in the 19th century that only an acoustic score might fit, but in the 1980's Goldsmith still seemed fascinated with applying synths to any genre, as found in the medieval tale LIONHEART and the 50's era basketball drama HOOSIERS.

Suffice to say, that if the movie had indeed been produced twenty or even ten years earlier, it wouldn't have looked or sounded as it did in 1996.  Plus, Goldsmith wasn't one to provide the same sound for each film, even within the same genre or series, but I still find it interesting to wonder nonetheless, just going by his changing musical focus each year.  His growth as an artist all while still applying his talent and craft to movies over forty-five years make for a fascinating study, especially since his own voice is clear from the outset.

By 1996, after mainly steering clear from action/adventure films for several years, he was beginning a renaissance of sorts within the genre.   He had streamlined his sound.  The electronics were mostly dialed back to provide only color or pace as he composed for a more standard symphony orchestra arrangement.  He now showcased a preference for sweeping, major key themes, voiced broadly by strings and horns, perhaps awakened by his success with his music for RUDY in 1993 or just studios requesting further accessibility for general audiences.  Regardless, THE GHOST AND THE DARKNESS provided him an exciting and expansive canvas on which to musically paint with these new hues.

While some long-time fans of the composer felt unmoved by Goldsmith's scores of the Nineties, I happen to love a great deal of it.  This score in particular is an absolutely entertaining slice of his new predilections, combined with slices of his experimental side.  His thoughtfulness emerges in how he mixes the Irish, English and African musical idioms together, then pits them against the hollow, sometimes rattling sounds characterizing the lions.  Just as twenty years earlier, when music from that 1976 pointed to even greater examples closing out that decade, Goldsmith followed up THE GHOST AND DARKNESS with some marvelously engaging scores to cap off the Nineties.  THE EDGE, AIR FORCE ONE, LA CONFIDENTIAL, THE THIRTEENTH WARRIOR and THE MUMMY all display the best qualities of his then-current style with aspects of what was well-established for him.   In a funny way, this somewhat reflects the story of THE GHOST AND THE DARKNESS as well, in which modern bridges are built across well-traveled lands and new techniques combined with old wisdom prove potently successful.

In a neat twist of fate, when I moved to Chicago in 1998 and visited their renowned Field Museum, I was able to see the actual lions, which are on permanent display there.  Narration before the end credits mentions this fact, but at the time I had no clue that two years later I'd be see "The Ghost" and "The Darkness" up close and personal.   

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ucokjaOlr0I 

CINEMA SEPTET (1993)

It's been a longer delay than planned between blog posts, but I hope to get myself back on track with this one!

Twenty years ago I spent the Summer at an internship in Los Angeles  I expected the experience to have fast-tracked a career in the film business once I graduated college the following year, but that never materialized.  Instead, upon my homecoming to North Carolina to start my senior year, I was more confused about my future than ever.  Thankfully, a circuitous route finally deposited me back in L.A. in 2007, but I wanted to share a highlight in the realm of movie music from that Summer of '94, one that can still echo fondly among my current life every so often.  It concerns meeting and interviewing composer Christopher Young.  Of course, this is tied  to a soundtrack to mark the experience and in this case it's a 2-CD set called CINEMA SEPTET, featuring music by Mr. Young from seven of his early films.

Released as a special, limited edition promo by Intrada Records in 1993, CINEMA SEPTET collected previously unavailable and often never heard before TV and film scores composed by Christopher Young.  I learned about all these details, but my disposable income still hovered at impoverished college student levels so I had to let it pass.  I'd been collecting albums of Young's music since HELLBOUND in 1989.  I found his music absolutely hypnotic, engaging and even beautiful, in a melancholic fashion.  I'd wondered about his inspirations and approach to scoring films, but interviews with him were as rare as finding his albums on record store shelves.  Little did I imagine I'd be spending time in his studio only some months later with the chance to talk at length on these topics and more. 

My declared major at UNC-Chapel Hill was listed as Film & Television.  It actually wound up as the final year it was offered as such before being merged with the Communications department.  One day during the '94 Spring semester, I crossed the bustling campus and encountered an acquaintance of mine, Shane.  He and I had met earlier during orientation for junior transfers and both planned for the same field of study, but we never met up again until that afternoon.  This proved to be a fortuitous meeting as Shane explained to me how UNC offered a Summer internship program and evening classes in Los Angeles specifically for juniors and seniors, all for school credit.  That very day was the last for sign up.  I immediately took his direction, tracked down whomever was in charge and tossed my proverbial hat into that ring.  Who knew how many others I competed against, as only ten students would be chosen. 

Weeks later the news was delivered.  Happily, both Shane and I turned up on the list and were now set to spend part of the Summer in sunny So Cal.  It seemed the most exciting springboard to a life I'd always imagined and couldn't arrive fast enough.  Preparatory meetings and mixers soon occurred among the ten of us selected.  Internship options announced included a script reader for STAR TREK and post-production slot for the NBC TV series "Unsolved Mysteries".   Unsurprisingly, STAR TREK was my number one choice, but alas I was informed that the producers requested either a woman or a minority.   So instead, "Unsolved Mysteries" would end up gaining my distinctly minimal skills as an intern. 

I then reached out to Lukas Kendall, who at that time self-published the magazine Film Score Monthly, and alerted him of my good news.  He and I had corresponded by phone and letters since 1990, so it wasn't uncommon to catch up now and again.  This time, however, I had a favor to ask - could he put me in contact with a composer out in L.A. that I might interview for the magazine?  Lukas asked for a name and I replied "Christopher Young".  He shared his contact info and following a few days of anxiety over making this call, I dialed Mr. Young's number on a weekday evening.  It felt positively surreal to actually be speaking with one of my favorite movie composers, as if he were some historical figure brought back to life.  Mr. Young proved to be incredibly amiable and chatty,  graciously inviting me to visit his studio in Venice Beach once I'd made the Westward journey.

Life in L.A. for our eager platoon of UNC students consisted of weekdays at our respective internships, supplemented by an evening class twice a week.  We resided at the infamous Oakwood Apartments on Barham, a complex well worn by late night talk shows who scout for gullible subjects.  The evenly split group of five guys and five girls were crammed into dual two-bedroom apartments, a living situation which wore out its novelty after the first weekend as everyone struggled for privacy.  On my first Saturday, I made plans to visit Chris Young at his studio.  Since I had no car of my own, I naively ordered a cab from Burbank to Venice Beach.  I promptly realized upon arrival that I was supremely short of cash.  Embarrassingly enough, my first in-person encounter with Chris involved me sheepishly explaining that I couldn't pay the driver.  He amazingly paid the man the remaining amount without complaint, proving what a generous person he is.  To my surprise, this wound up being the first of three visits to his studio during that Summer and I took the opportunity to learn all I could.   I also took the opportunity to learn the L.A. bus system as a cheaper means of travel.

We chatted about what makes a film score truly memorable and how even the music of classic-era stalwarts Max Steiner and Franz Waxman may not always be considered quality every single time. Chris shared much about his experiences in the industry up until that time, both inspiring and frustrating.  The key trick was balancing art and commerce, as this industry was both the composer's livelihood and their muse.  One half of him operated from a need to write a theme which could be known by everyone while the other half was simply more interested in the esoteric, avant garde side of scoring.  To me it seemed as though he felt better suited to stay constantly struggling rather than accept he had achieved anything worthwhile, but maybe this mindset is for any artist.  I remember one funny anecdote he said then was that when stuck for inspiration, listening to Jerry Goldsmith's score for DAMIEN: OMEN II would often kick start the creative juices, reminding him to reach for more creative solutions.  

In the years prior to this, I was a self-taught aficionado of movie music.  Education materials consisted of album liner notes, infrequent composer interviews in magazines and the "by-fans-for-fans" publication Film Score Monthly.   There were even a few pen-pal letters with other fans.  Yet in a way, this was akin to auditing a class at USC or UCLA, with Chris as my unofficial professor.  He talked about his strongest influences - Bernard Herrmann, Jerry Goldsmith, Alex North - and where he thought their sounds could be discerned in his.  Over lunches in Venice, I tried to memorize every insight and anecdote imparted and was glad to have recorded it partially to cassette for possible publication.  Chris also relayed some unfortunately disheartening stories of working in the industry, the harsh reality of casual betrayals and fickle natures of many.  It was an honest assessment of Hollywood and I appreciated it, but silently wondered whether I'd be able to manage it.  I became a bit disillusioned by Summer's end, admittedly, unsure if I was prepared to plan the permanent move after graduation. 

Before I departed L.A., he presented me a gift of several albums of his music, including the aforementioned, pricey-for-1994, 2-CD promo CINEMA SEPTET along with other rare, not-available-in-stores items.  I was overwhelmed, not expecting anything like this and he even signed the liner notes, which became my first composer autograph.   For a poor college student with a frequently expensive hobby, these CD's became and remain treasured items in my collection.   Sadly, after hours spent transcribing my recorded interview with Chris, it failed at being published.  However, this disappointment never diminished my recollections told to friends and family.

While it ended up taking thirteen years until I finally replanted myself out here, I made up for lost time by diving into the film music community through various concerts, composer panels, signings and all manner of gatherings.  Friendships have been forged and I've had the privilege of connecting with great talents throughout the town, even reconnecting with Mr. Young.  Granted, my return didn't involve me actually working where I thought I would, nevertheless, living in L.A. is still the best place for me to be.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fszF-CA1ekk

STAR TREK GENERATIONS (1994)

This year marks the twentieth anniversary of the release of 1994's STAR TREK GENERATIONS, an event that is more momentous for me than it might be for others.  It was also twenty years ago that my father passed away suddenly.  Oddly enough, these two events are connected.  Not only did they occur within weeks of each other, but my dad should have been there in the theater alongside me, watching the new STAR TREK film when it premiered.   Instead, the movie emerged as a bittersweet touchstone, now always reminder of this major turning point in my life and one that is special to me more so than for other fans.

When STAR TREK: THE NEXT GENERATION premiered in 1987, it quickly became a program that my family all watched together each Saturday.  My parents had been casual fans of the original 1960's series and the movies that began a decade later.  I say casual, in that for mom and dad it existed primarily as viewed entertainment which they thoroughly enjoyed, but this never expanded out into the big world of TREK conventions, books, action figures or collectibles of any kind, though this would all eventually populate my world.  In fact, my dad wasn't normally a sci-fi kind of guy when it came to entertainment, as he was mainly interested in the genres of war, spies and sports.  Nevertheless, if the story and characters appealed to him, then he was all in, starships or not.

In Summer 1988 we moved from Durham to Rocky Mount.  When the new TV season ramped up in the Fall, THE NEXT GENERATION was nowhere to be found on any of our local networks.  It was a syndicated series and thus local stations had the option of whether or not to add it to their schedules.  My father actually penned letters to the editor of the Rocky Mount newspaper stating what a quality program this new TREK series was, how we as a family watched it together and that it deserved to be broadcast.  I remember reading his letter in the paper, surprised that he went to such lengths, as I didn't realize it had meant that much to him.  Maybe it was simply the fact that the show had become a weekly ritual for us.  Maybe he just hoped to see more of the exotic, raven-haired cast member Marina Sirtis every Saturday.  I'll never know if this had any effect on the TV station or if the wheels already were in motion, but fairly soon THE NEXT GENERATION was broadcast in Rocky Mount.

The series wrapped up in June 1994.  I was home from college for the Summer, having completed my junior year at UNC-Chapel Hill.  The 2-hour final episode was a much-anticipated event in the household.  For me, it felt like the end of an era as the show's seven-year run had accompanied me through high school and all but my last year of college.  Those years of major life changes were always brightened by the presence of this series.  It helped me personally and I loved that it had been a constant companion for my family too, providing us memorable shared memories.  When the finale ended, in beautiful fashion I might add, the one consolation was the fact that the cast's transition to the big screen would occur in November, only several months away.  Funny enough, I recall my dad noting to me that THE NEXT GENERATION had actually eclipsed the original in his opinion, becoming his favorite.  I think he might have found a kindred spirit in the learned, thoughtful character of Captain Picard (played by Patrick Stewart) and I can't say I blame him.   

I remember November 5th being a crisp Saturday.  Finally, I had decided to attend one of UNC's football games, seeing as how I'd yet to use my student pass.   For some reason, I left the game at halftime and not long after arriving back at my dorm, my mom called. Something terrible had happened to my father.  She said it was like a stroke.  Paramedics were with him now and headed to the hospital.  With no further details, I jumped into my car and began the ninety minute drive towards home.  In my own thoughts during the drive, I never once considered the possibility that he wouldn't recover.  It just seemed too far-fetched, really. 

Finally at the hospital, I met up with my mom, who guided me into the emergency room.  There were several  nurses attending to my father as he lay prone on the table, seemingly unconscious.  It was explained to me that he had suffered a brain aneurysm that morning while at home.  Mom had been out shopping while my sister Meri had been upstairs, out of earshot and initially unaware that anything had occurred.   As she cradled my father's head in her hands, my mom announced that I was in the room and urged him to focus on me.  He was still so unresponsive, dazed yet almost trying to speak.  I will never forget seeing that his pupils were now completely, strangely black.   It's an image that still haunts me.  He soon slipped into a coma and we all took up residence at the hospital, nervously awaiting any improvements in his condition.

I still wasn't convinced that he wouldn't wake up.  I was pensive but not distraught.  I remember not joining in with family and friends when they prayed together, but then I've always found praying difficult and uncomfortable.  Looking back, I'm annoyed at my younger self for not participating for the sake of his father's recovery.  Nevertheless, by Monday nothing more could be done to help.  Each of us spent time alone with him, to say goodbye.  The last actual conversation between he and I was by phone, around two weeks prior.  In an ironic twist, this simple phone call now carries such emotional weight for me, an unexpectedly pivotal, treasured memory.  It's as momentous as if I'd been chatting with the Dali Lama.  I'm so glad I told my dad that I loved him before we each hung up that day. 

A few weeks later, STAR TREK GENERATIONS arrived in cinemas.  On opening night, I walked to the theater closest to my dorm, knowing only as much about the movie's plot as the trailers had revealed.  I found myself held rapt by this first big screen adventure of my favorite TREK crew, though it was an adjustment watching with strangers in 35mm Dolby Digital following years on a 24-inch TV screen.  I was inadvertently struck by the movie's overarching theme, that of dealing with the inescapable fact of losing our loved ones.  During the course of the story, Captain Picard learns of the tragic deaths of both his brother and nephew, while the villain, Soran (played by Malcolm McDowell) had years earlier lost his wife and child.  The main conflict arises due to Soran endangering innocent lives as a consequence to his plan to return to his family.  Admittedly, this could be considered a downbeat topic for a STAR TREK film, however in my world, it came along at the absolute perfect time.

At the close of the film, Picard espouses his view on loss, what he's discovered through his life, in that we should relish all moments and understand that what we have now won't ever return.  I choked up at hearing this.  I don't know if the lesson would have struck me as much if I hadn't experienced such a loss of my own, plus I felt it double since it originated from a NEXT GENERATION movie.  My dad's sudden passing was still too surreal to process.  I likened it to waking abruptly from a long dream in which I had a father, but this was actually reality, a life without him.  It was painful to realize I could never again connect to the time when he existed.  Finality of that sort is tough to reconcile with, but in absorbing the message in GENERATIONS I strive to enjoy my memories of him, making them part of my present and not focus on his absence.  It continues to be a struggle.

I saw the movie three times that month in theaters, the last viewing with my mom.  I didn't relay any plot details to her beforehand and it turned out to be a very emotional experience for her too.  While the end credits rolled, we stayed in our seats and talked... about the film, my dad and wondering how we could all continue without him.  He was so greatly missed in ways both small and large, even just wishing he could have joined us at the movies that day.  His passing reshaped our family in a manner that required great adjustment.  Growing older and further away from the days when he lived saddens me, since recollections dim.  I realize my time with him becomes less than the time without him.

GENERATIONS might not be the most popular among the entries in the TREK film series, but it remains special to me, beyond what the filmmakers could have intended.  Each day there are uncounted reminders of my father, including many movies, but this one in particular has become a time capsule for me, linked forever with everything I felt at his passing.  At the funeral, I spoke of one consoling thought of mine - the hope that by being his son it meant some part of him might still be present in my every day life.  I wanted to keep sharing with him what I saw, heard, read and felt.  The parts of me which reflect him as a father I'd like to believe are the best parts of myself.  And I hope he would be proud.

THE CASSANDRA CROSSING (1976)

Let it never be said that a soundtrack can't lead a person to love and family.  It might be a circuitous route and one not anticipated in the least, but my search for a specific album resulted in such life-changing events for a close friend.  As an added bonus, this friend and I also have the unique "honor" of stating that we met through a classified ad... in a soundtrack magazine... in the 90's. 

It was Fall 1993 to be exact and I had recently switched colleges.  I wrapped up my sophomore year at Guilford and inaugurated my junior year at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill.  I packed up my dad's 1983 green Ford LTD, on loan for the semester, and moved myself into a complete arena of "newness" - town, school, people and dorm.  Of course, my burgeoning CD collection accompanied me and the music of one composer, Jerry Goldsmith, was quickly taking the lead in sheer number of albums.  

Much of his work I knew only by reputation, as it was either impossible to find on disc or simply never released on its own at all.   THE CASSANDRA CROSSING was just such an example of a highly-regarded score by Goldsmith, heralded by fans with more vast collections and deeper pockets than me.  The movie was a 1976 European production, in the mold of other "disaster" genre flicks of the decade, focusing on a deadly outbreak on a runaway passenger train and starring Richard Harris and Sophia Loren (plus Martin Sheen and O.J. Simpson!).  Apparently it featured a gripping, dynamic score by Goldsmith, available only on a hard-to-find CD.  Imagine my excitement when I found it listed in the classifieds section of the magazine Film Score Monthly.   The power of Goldsmith compelled me to respond, though I'd never actually answered a classified ad before.  It felt like a blind date.

I dialed up the number in the ad, which was a New Jersey area code, and a friendly, chatty guy named Todd picked up.  I asked about his copy of THE CASSANDRA CROSSING, if it was still for sale.  Unfortunately, Todd informed me that the CD had already been claimed.  Once I stifled my disappointment, I took the opportunity to simply start talking film music with another ardent fan, seeing as how it was a rare occurrence.  We also were both big STAR TREK fans as well, just in case the conversation wasn't nerdy enough.  Back in the day this type of connection might only happen through fan-operated publications and newsletters.  With the internet today, fan interactions occur without picking up a phone or even stepping outside. 

Todd and I began a habit of talking about once a month, trading cassette compilations and then planned a meetup in his territory some months later.  Yeah, I  know, it sounds like the start of some smoldering long-distance romance.  It can't be helped, but don't get your hopes up, only a really great friendship was the result.  My eventual trip to his town became my first experience flying alone and my first visit to New Jersey, where Todd was a history teacher and also ran the drama department.  He seemed the kind of teacher that students could call their favorite, or at least I would've said so had I been one of his students.  He was the dynamic, engaging type of teacher who, in true DEAD POET'S SOCIETY fashion, might even inspire a student to "Carpe Diem" and stand on their desk to boldly state "Oh, Captain, My Captain!".

For me, it was a significant friendship since it didn't begin in or revolve around school.  All my friendships up until then originated with peers in class or school theater productions, including college.  This involved someone not only a few years older who was a working adult, but also required effort to maintain through phone calls and travel.  School friendships, while no less important, can be maintained simply by showing up for class or knocking on neighbor's doors in your dorm, but my friendship with Todd was more akin to those between normal grown-ups.  It was the best glimpse of life beyond syllabi and blackboards, exams and assigned readings and days framed by seasonal semesters.  The friendship pointed towards what I most looked forward to - a sweet bachelor pad and a CD collection that eclipsed mine.  

Subsequent trips to New Jersey included venturing into New York City for soundtrack shopping at the famed and now lamented Footlight Records, a film composer panel where Todd and I wound up cracking jokes only movie music fans would find funny and even a fantastic concert with Jerry Goldsmith himself conducting selections from his scores.  Of course for that latter event, we waited eagerly outside the stage door, hoping to catch Goldsmith maybe smoking a cigarette, but the old genuis was wily and elusive that day.

Once I graduated college, Todd started making trips down south to my neighborhood in Chapel Hill.  It was during one of these excursions that he was introduced to my roommate at the time, a girl named Devon.  She and I met through our mutual friend Mark while we were all enrolled at UNC. A few years following graduation Devon and I wound up rooming together in a 3-bedroom duplex.  On one particular weekend, Todd flew down to hang out with me, Devon, Mark and his wife Presley as we happily floated between movies, restaurants and hiking.  It turned out, though, that Todd was having an even better time than we thought as he found himself crushing on Devon pretty hard.  They stayed up late talking as the rest of us headed off to bed.

After that weekend, the frequency of Todd's travels to Chapel Hill increased.  In fact, while I soon moved away to Chicago in '98, the two of them continued their long-distance relationship and he eventually relocated to Chapel Hill.  Expressed in TV terms, when I departed my role got recast.  Todd then became the new soundtrack/Sci-Fi geek in that circle of friends.  As a "Bewitched" analogy, he was the Dick Sargent to my Dick York.

 
I did finally hunt down my own copy of THE CASSANDRA CROSSING album, probably a decade or so later.  Later, another edition was released including all the music from the movie, so I grabbed that as well.  It absolutely met my expectations and soon emerged as a favorite among all the Goldsmith scores in my collection, never failing to be a great listen.  The movie itself I caught late one night on the TCM channel and it proved to be loopy, over-the-top and fun all together, with a downbeat ending I didn't predict.  But hey, it was the 70's, why should I have been surprised?  The director, George Pan Cosmatos, would eventually direct the Sylvester Stallone classics RAMBO: FIRST BLOOD PART II (1985) and COBRA (1986), so at least his career wasn't limited to unknown Euro disaster thrillers. 

At a certain point, this becomes less my story and more Todd's, but it would be remiss of me not to mention that he and Devon married and started a family, once they moved back north.  Two bright kids were produced, a boy named Jackson and a girl, Caroline.  I never asked, but I wonder if Todd and Devon ever considered "Cassandra" when naming their daughter. Sounds poetic, right?  On second thought, who wants their daughter to go through life explaining that their name originated with an obscure 70's movie and a classified ad for the soundtrack album.  Still, sometimes the best friendships begin under the oddest circumstances, when we're crossing paths without roadmaps.

THE MAN IN THE MOON (1991)

No starships, no lightsabers, no gun fights and no creatures.  This pretty much describes the unique status this soundtrack album held in my collection back in 1991, as the film THE MAN IN THE MOON is a straight-up family drama, with no elements of the "fantastic" present.   It certainly opened me up to exploring music from this genre, whether of the current or classic variety, as there are many excellent scores to be enjoyed.  What actually brought me to this specific title, however, was the 1990 movie FLATLINERS, as both feature music composed by James Newton Howard. 

FLATLINERS was one of those movies recorded from cable that wound up in heavy rotation on the weekends for my sister Meri and I.  Not sure whether it was the outlandish plot, grad school setting or the electric, why-didn't-they-ever-make-a-movie-together-again pairing of Keifer Sutherland and Kevin Bacon, but we soon had that film pretty well memorized, chorus and verse.  Add in Julia Roberts, William Baldwin and Oliver Platt and it was like a tormented, nihilistic Brat Pack with handy defibrillator kits.  I was fascinated by the depictions of the afterlife, seeing as I spent a great deal of time then ruminating about it, and the eclectic score by Howard really gripped by eardrums.  The music ran the gamut from gothic chorales, to groove-based hooks, moody synths and a sonorous, orchestral closer.  I loved every minute.  The only disappointment was that no soundtrack album ever found its way to disc. 

Back in the days of fewer soundtrack releases, being a fan of any composer meant your choices of their music on album was often limited.  Now fans thrive in an era of small, niche labels that are able to release movie music in limited runs, but before this it all relied on big labels and whether or not the studio signed off.  In the case of James Newton Howard, albums of his scores were rare in the early 90's, especially as so many of his projects yielded song-only soundtracks.  I thumbed through the record store catalogs and shelves, finding nothing, still holding out hope one day I would stumble across FLATLINERS, perhaps misfiled under the wrong letter by a careless employee.  However, I did wind up spying his name on the cassette cover for THE MAN IN THE MOON, thankfully filed correctly in the M's. 

It looked to contain no songs, only Howard's music, but I also discerned that the subject matter was as far removed from my usual soundtrack sustenance as possible.   Nevertheless, and with no info on the movie, I bought the cassette, glad to finally own at least one score from this new composer.  The first track, "Dani Brings Court Water", features a small orchestra of strings and woodwinds, augmented by guitar, mandolin and dulcimer, and upon hearing it I was mesmerized.  It played right on that edge between sweet and sad and the solo parts for violin and guitar were gorgeous.  I realize that an 18-year old male isn't normally affected by such tender music, but you know what, I'd already wept while listening to FIELD OF DREAMS so let's just all agree I was a sensitive kid.  The bittersweet quality of that opening found balance in other joyous, jangly cues for guitar, banjo and mandolin, rounding out the score nicely.

Granted, this score didn't at all resemble the rock orchestral style of FLATLINERS, but it worked for me.  So much so that I insisted on renting the movie itself the next time Meri and I visited our local video shop, a process which now seems as antiquated a notion as switching out 8-track tapes.  The movie stars a young Reese Witherspoon in her first onscreen role, along with Sam Waterston as her father.  It's a coming of age story, directed by the same man, Robert Mulligan, who helmed the 1962 classic TO KILL A MOKINGBIRD with Gregory Peck.  Set during the late 1950's in rural North Carolina, the film expertly handles the characters, the period and the changes affecting them all during one summer, especially as crushes, love and heartbreak are tackled.  My sister and I were unprepared for the excellence of this film, seeing as how no one else seemed to know it existed, and we quickly ranked it among our favorites.  It soon found its place among the same frequent screenings as FLATLINERS, GHOSTBUSTERS, REAL GENIUS, THE ABYSS and others.

In my 18th year, I was clumsily navigating that slowly dawning world of dating, when everyone else around seemed to have a better grasp of its intricacies yet the truth was that all of us at that age proceeded in blind, deaf and dumb fashion.  The "firsts" featured here - kisses, dances, loves - all resonated with me.  I wanted those same enveloping encounters, the meaningfulness and importance they conveyed to life, although to teen-age eyes all things appear meaningful and important.  Maybe it was an eagerness to step outside the family.  Experiencing those firsts of the heart felt like borders crossed into adulthood, where acceptance and love from a girl carried more weight than receiving this same thing from parents and siblings.   I never could have known how often in the ensuing years my heart was put through its paces, made to run this course again and again, but not really sure what kind of reward I actually wanted. 

I imagine it's been at least fifteen years since I last watched THE MAN IN THE MOON.  I'm confident enough that the movie still retains its strength to recommend it, though no doubt I will always see it through nostalgia-tinted glasses.  But hey, it's from the same director as TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD, that's gotta be worth some credit, right?  Afterwards, I continued to follow James Newton Howard's composing career, adding him to my roster of personal favorites alongside Goldsmith, Williams, Horner and Silvestri.  THE FUGITIVE, THE SIXTH SENSE, SIGNS, I AM LEGEND and many more highlights emerged for Howard, thankfully all with album releases.  And while there's been sentimentality to wade through in my words, I find THE MAN IN THE MOON and its music remain another great time capsule for me and my own coming of age story.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FocBUHniSV0

NIGHTBREED (1990)

Danny Elfman's score for 1990's NIGHTBREED wasn't my first exposure to the rocker-turned-composer's music, yet it has remained my favorite of his throughout the years.  It was only the second CD I'd ever purchased and near the start of new and continuing trend for me as a soundtrack fan, that of collecting albums to movies I hadn't even seen.  Admittedly, it's one of those aspects of being a movie music fan that some people find unusual, but once you've hitched your wagon to certain composers then their music becomes priority more than the films they underscore.  Of course, the composers themselves would probably consider this habit somewhat ludicrous, since they acknowledge the music's first destiny is to accompany the picture.  Nevertheless, these guys had become my rock stars.  Others my age instinctively bought the latest R.E.M. or Peter Gabriel record; I looked for cover credits that read "Composed & Conducted by Jerry Goldsmith" or "Music by Danny Elfman".

I was immediately a fervent fan of Elfman's music, thanks to his rich and energetic contribution to Tim Burton's BATMAN, the previous Summer.  Then 1990 proved to be a banner year as he wrote four wonderful scores - NIGHTBREED, DICK TRACY, DARKMAN, EDWARD SCISSORHANDS - each a perfect compliment to their respective movies and to boot all great listens on disc.  With NIGHTBREED, a special attribute singled it out from the others.  Its expressiveness combined with the film's story really captured me, at least a version of me that I didn't share with many.  

The film was written and directed by novelist Clive Barker, based on one of his own books, titled "Cabal".  Since unexpectedly catching his previous picture, HELLRAISER, on cable in late '89, I surprised myself by becoming intrigued with Barker's writing.  I soon shopped for his novels and short stories, delving further into his unique brand of horror/fantasy.  The plots were dark, supernatural and byzantine, the settings often fantastic other dimensions, the characters alienated on the fringes of society and all frequently involved sequences heavy up on gore or sexuality.  I never was much a reader of the horror genre, yet the worlds and people inhabiting Barker's stories I found compelling.  And I began to feel a kinship with those elements.

The main focus of both the novel "Cabal" and its film adaptation concerns a secret society of monsters living sequestered away in their own underground community.  The protagonist, Boone, learns he belongs with them, after being falsely accused of murder and then gunned down by police.  Boone essentially dies and is reborn into this bizarre, appalling yet welcoming tribe of misfits.  Eventually he rescues them all from the town of hateful locals, emerging as their new leader.  Elfman's score merges pathos and sympathy for the misunderstood monsters, while also highlighting their strange abilities, including members turning into smoke and a woman sheathed in poisonous quills.  Rage at the horrors of their persecution and the cruelty of those who hunt them is expressed.   There are furious and kinetic passages for brass and tribal percussion, along with choral sections alternating between wonder and terror.  

I didn't see the movie itself until a year later on video.  Until then, the images only existed in my mind, propelled by the powerful music on disc and the words on the page.  The more I read of Barker's stories, the more this soundtrack, along with Christopher Young's music for the HELLRAISER series, underscored and embellished that immersive experience. Escaping into this world differed from STAR TREK and STAR WARS, connecting with shadowed parts of myself I couldn't share.  This shadow side was brooding, confused, pensive over the big questions of life and identified with characters who didn't seem to belong in normal society, who couldn't find a comfortable place to fit or a group to join. 

Confusion crept in I think due to how my life changed since moving from Durham to Rocky Mount.  At schools in the former city, I was a bit of an outcast and then in the latter I found I was accepted and needed.  Those years of unpopularity in junior high, of sometimes being afraid to board that school bus and winding up a walking target, took a lasting toll on me and how I still saw myself, silently.   A fresh start at high school in a new town turned my world right side up as fellow students became true friends.  I somehow still felt split.  It was as if I wore a public face, seen as gregarious, open and smiling, but inside I felt undeserving and worried that these people would switch off from me at any point, turning me into a target again.

I didn't trusted enough to display all my thoughts and feelings, suspicious that these could be used against me later maliciously.  If I didn't always make sense to myself, how would I make sense to anyone else?  I saw myself as strange, contradictory, unattractive and despising the fact that I sorely needed acceptance and approval from those around me.  In Clive Barker's world, it appeared wiser to simply retreat from normalcy, to cease pretending one even wished to belong and just join the exiles on the fringes.  There would be pain in the separation and knowledge that no return to regular society was possible, but solace arrived in no longer hiding aspects of yourself.  Maybe judgement only existed in the civilized world, not outside.  The denizens of Barker's stories showcased similar attributes, how they viewed themselves and discovered homes far from what was familiar, though intimidating at first.

I could feel alone in a crowd of friends who had openly welcomed me, concerned that they would abandon me if any unappealing aspect of myself was presented.  The words of Clive Barker remained a safe haven and NIGHTBREED the best method for accessing this isolated side, letting it breathe only in solitude.  However, as consistent friendships deepened over time and acceptance of myself flourished, this "misfit monster" inside required less and less attention, less and less breathing room.  Remaining present and connected to the real world instead grew prominent.  I realized that I could belong to people, trust them with more of who I am, with no concern of being shamed.  The bonds developed between each of us can nourish who we are more than trying to maintain our strength alone.   Alone there is no replenishment, any one of us could atrophy emotionally, but close ties with people can truly be sustaining. 

NIGHTBREED as a movie is it's own unique animal, with elements of fantasy, horror and a dash of the slasher genre added for spice, bolstered by amazing make-up and creature design.  Elfman's music is a winning ingredient, providing its heart and rhythm.  It's a score I still find brilliant and engaging, just differently than before, now that it's no longer tethered to a damaged, hidden part of myself. 

STAR TREK VI: THE UNDISCOVERED COUNTRY (1991)

For some, the soundtrack for STAR TREK VI: THE UNDISCOVERED COUNTRY might remind them of the movie's story and characters or of discovering the music of composer Cliff Eidelman.  For me, it is forever linked with my first petty crime.  The notable day occurred during December 1991, when I attended my first Star Trek convention.  It was there that I committed my first (and last?) act of (unintentional) shoplifting.  I'm unsure if this is a standard hazard at Trek conventions (probably is), as I imagine most fans think they represent the stalwart, honest qualities displayed by our star-faring heroes.  Nevertheless, at least my face didn't end up on convention watch lists in later years.  

It was my freshman year at Guilford College, in Greensboro, N.C.  This was several hours drive from my parents, which provided space for learning to get my own bearings both socially and scholastically in that first year.  There were days of loneliness, sometimes a full weekend, alternated with sequences of total and sudden social immersion.  In hindsight, I surprisingly enjoyed all of it, mainly due to that newfound sense of independence, of steering my own ship so to speak, without having to alert the boss.  A lonely day was still a day whose direction I could determine, though really it was my inability to voluntarily reach out to people that created that loneliness.  I missed my family greatly, especially my younger sister Meri, but realized this important opportunity to define my own time, outside of class that is. It was a period when youth can feel paroled from parental guidance and discover that every hour could offer up something unique, something strange or something soul-shaking.  Any person encountered in class or on campus seemed to hold potential for such significance.   

Guilford is a small, liberal, Quaker-founded college and one might make the assumption that everyone on campus would be a STAR TREK nerd, but I wound up finding my new comrades among the theater folk and choir groups.  They were a far cry from the eight guys I roomed with in the dorm.  We shared a four room suite with one, two-stall bathroom and I needed to quickly grow accustomed to less privacy, more noise and a roommate who once drank so much that I woke to find him vomiting right next to my bed.  That specific incident was never verbally acknowledged between us, but the large note I left instructing him to clean it up was what he used for that very task.  I don't think he much liked notes telling him to clean up.  The upside to the living situation was that at least I was able to use his television on Saturday evenings to catch episodes of STAR TREK: THE NEXT GENERATION.

In perusing the local paper, I saw the advertised STAR TREK convention scheduled right there in town, with special guests from the movies and THE NEXT GENERATION.  It became a moral imperative that I attend yet I had no car during that freshman year, something which probably ensured I wouldn't be taking any potential dates off-campus, unfortunately.  Although none of my new friends could join me, one graciously offered to drive me both there and back.  And in the days prior to world-wide cell phone saturation, one had to strictly abide by the appointed time of retrieval.  Of course, this was akin to a gawky teen being dropped off at the movies by a parent, promising to wait outside later for pick-up, but it mattered little to me.  I was about to dive into a civic center filled to the brim with STAR TREK.

The first great thing about the convention was standing in line.  Weird, perhaps, but what made it notable was the fact that I could turn and talk about Trek to either person in front or behind me, confident that I wouldn't be met with quizzical stares.  Questions about favorite episodes, movies, what happened on THE NEXT GENERATION last week were all fair game.  A fan could feel safe in that environment, which I am sure is one reason why the conventions have persisted to this day. Once inside the hall, it was overwhelming seeing the number of people, both in and out of costumes, and the number of dealers' tables to peruse.  All those years when it was only Meri and I and our imaginations, creating our own adventures, suddenly didn't seem so isolated.  It was as if we'd carried on just one conversation which actually belonged to a much larger party. 

I started making the rounds.  My nerves kept me from chatting anyone up initially, so I zeroed in on those dealers tables, which displayed rare books, magazines, CDs & tapes, pins, posters and even bootleg videos, many items I'd heard read about years prior.  I had to be judicious about what I might buy that day as cash in my wallet was limited and I was too practical to max out my one credit card.    I spied the cassette of STAR TREK VI: THE UNDISCOVERED COUNTRY and eagerly picked it up to examine the track list.  The composer for the movie, Cliff Eidelman, was unknown to me so I had no clue what the music might sound like. 

I fully intended to hand that dealer cash for the soundtrack.  I held onto the cassette as I slowly continued examining other items on the table, began checking out the neighboring table and then I found myself on the other side of the convention.  With the cassette still in hand and the cash still in my wallet.  Yep, I shoplifted it.  No one seemed to notice, surprisingly.  I was a pretty honest kid, always trying to stick close to the rules, not makes waves and not attract attention for the wrong reasons.  Yet I oddly labored over whether to return to pay and the more time passed, the less I felt inclined.  If only the ghostly visage of Captain Picard sternly shaking his head in disappointment had appeared, then I might have made the morally right choice.  Thankfully, this little incident didn't ignite some spark for further misdemeanors.

The day progressed, the special guests spoke and held signings.  The guests were Robin Curtis, who co-starred in the third and fourth STAR TREK films, and Denise Crosby, who had a prominent role as Tasha Yar during the first season of THE NEXT GENERATION.  Normally when fans wait in line for a star's signature, it's an 8x10 glossy costing $25 which they offer up for that person's "John Hancock".   In this scenario, with no such items in my possession, I wound up asking Ms. Curtis to sign the liner notes of my stolen STAR TREK VI cassette and Ms. Crosby to sign the Wil Wheaton postcard I bought for two dollars.   I still shake my head at how annoyingly lame this must have appeared to them both.  It would be like asking current James Bond actor Daniel Craig to the sign the poster for Roger Moore's OCTOPUSSY.  Talk about an insult to an actor, especially poor Denise Crosby, whose character had been mercilessly killed off the show in season one and was now putting ink to a picture of Wil Wheaton, who's "Wesley Crusher" was still alive and kicking on the Enterprise.  Nevertheless, I cheerfully chatted them up, even conveying to Ms. Curtis how I thought it was a shame her character wasn't included in the new movie.   I'm stubbornly hopeful that mine wasn't the most embarrassing incident from convention, but star-signed shoplifted soundtrack is weird enough.

So once the convention wrapped, my friends cruised by to get me and that evening all of us, plus our theater class professor, took in STAR TREK VI at the nearby cineplex.  Being joined at the movies by a professor didn't seem odd behavior at Guilford, the theater group there was a pretty close, and for me, having hung out often with my high school theater teachers, it felt like old times.  It wrapped up that day perfectly and was a marvelous movie-going experience to boot.  The audience laughed at all the jokes, cheered the highlights and our professor relished Christopher Plummer's scenery-chewing performance and Shakespeare-quoting.   Cliff Eidelman's music was an amazing, energizing component, from the turbulent main title, the ebullient, new theme for the Enterprise, to the kinetic, climactic battle sequence.  I was glad to already have a copy of that score to enjoy on its own, even if I became an unknowing artful dodger in the process. 

 

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z4Ja1Jgvmkc

 
 

HELLBOUND: HELLRAISER II (1988)

Weirdly linked together in my list of soundtracks and notable life moments are a high school field trip to the great mecca of New York City and Christopher Young's dark, unforgiving score for the 1988 horror movie HELLBOUND: HELLRAISER II.  Admittedly yes, it's a strange association to share, that of a blood-soaked nightmarish film with an excursion to the Big Apple; nevertheless, any time I grab this CD off the shelf, highlights of my wide-eyed, fresh-faced journey there are conjured up. And you know, some might argue that this music could actually underscore various shadowy sections of the massive metropolis.

December 1989 occurred during my junior year at Rocky Mount High School, the year in which I had fully invested myself in its scrappy yet earnest theater program and drama classes.  Scheduled for that month was a week-long field trip to New York City solely for the students and teachers who made that theater program live and breathe.   Excitement ratcheted to giddy levels as we learned our agenda consisted of sight-seeing, Broadway show-going and (awkwardly attempted) choreography classes.  And for many of us, including me, it represented the lengthiest amount of time away from home and parental supervision.

Several days prior to departing, while watching television late one night and half-heartedly flipping channels, I happened across the closing ten minutes of 1987's HELLRAISER on HBO.  Written and directed by horror novelist Clive Barker, it was a film I knew only by reputation as being especially gory and intense.  Both then and now, I'm not a viewer who can handle horror movies too often, yet curiosity kept me tuned in that evening.  The finale unfolded as expectedly harrowing, full of jagged puzzle boxes and perforated demons, but I'll be damned (no pun intended) if the music didn't completely surprise and engage me, even through to the last end credit.  Fully orchestral, melodic, ominous and memorable, with a final cue that was a melancholic string-dominated elegy. 

Broadcast that night immediately after was the sequel, HELLBOUND, and, purely for the music, I decided to risk inevitable nightmares and continue watching (yes, nightmares did occur).  The main title cue of powerful brass and choir bolted forth aggressively, showcasing a twisted religiosity, like the menacing flipside of Biblical-themed epics from Hollywood's Golden Age.  According to the title credits, the composer was Christopher Young, a name new to me and one that now demanded my attention as a soundtrack fan.  I only lasted about twenty minutes into the film yet I still found myself intrigued by the storyline, so in addition to being introduced to the scores of Christopher Young, the world of Clive Barker was also presented to me and proved to fascinate for years following.

Now, regarding that New York school field trip, departure was scheduled near our Christmas break, if I recall correctly.   Gathering at the high school several hours before sunrise, we eager drama students bounded aboard a convoy of Greyhound buses, choosing seating partners while waiting in line.  Quite a long ride awaited us so of course we each needed to remain ensconced in our comfortable cliques.  The great thing, however, was that there was such a strong sense of camaraderie between everyone on this journey, even those who were new to each other, so there really wasn't much an air of exclusivity.  For me, I was able to spend more time with new friends such as Jeff Dale, Tara Stewart and Roland Hankerson.  

In addition, the other experience that can occur on such crucial teen-aged trips, when surrounded mainly by those your own age, is brief yet intense crushes and flings.  Like flash paper, though, such flings burn blindingly bright for mere moments, sometimes painfully so. On this trip north, I somehow began flirting with one particular girl whom I had not met before during normal school hours.  She was shy and bespectacled, with blond curly hair.  This kind of attention was still very strange and new for me, but accepted unhesitatingly.  By the time we arrived in NYC, she and I seemed to have swiftly evolved into a full-fledged couple, though this mostly consisted of clammy hand-holding and tiny, quick kisses.  Stumbling around at love back then was the standard more often than not.  

I was thrilled and amazed as we toured Times Square, dawdled at the Met, hailed cabs and lunched at the World Trade Center.  I'm not sure how many square miles of the city we covered, but it felt like every corner was explored.  An amount of autonomy was allowed by our chaperones, leading to burgeoning feelings of independence and control over our young lives.  While my friends and I strolled through city streets at night, laughing and joking, I garnered a small sense of adult life past that present day.  It was a feeling I could recall when house and school rules seemed never-ending.  

We attended a performances of both THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA and LES MISERABLES right there on Broadway and even spontaneously took in a matinee of GYPSY on another day.  Many in our group breathlessly anticipated the former two events, as back then those two productions, along with MISS SAIGON, ruled the high school drama classes as favorites among the kids.  Retracing my steps to the opening topic, though, I was overjoyed to finally visit the Tower Records location in the Village area.  Their soundtrack section was brimming with every available album I could have imagined and more, but browsing time had to be kept short.  

"Kid in a candy store" is the favored expression, right?  Well, Tower Records was the "Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory" of music stores, including a treasure trove of movie scores I longed to hear, all here at my fingertips, yet I had to remain cognizant of limited funds in my wallet and minutes on the clock.   Thus, HELLBOUND: HELLRAISER II earned the distinction of being the score I targeted on that visit and it was actually the first CD I ever purchased.  I didn't even own a CD player and I didn't care.   Thank goodness my dad set about purchasing a 6-CD stereo unit that same Christmas.  

Sadly, over the course of the week, I began to feel smothered in that new romantic relationship which ignited at its start. Slowly I pulled away from the shy girl, feeling terrible about it the entire time.  All I had wanted for so long was this attention from girls at school.  Then it presented itself and I wriggled away after only a few days.   I soon learned that not every offer of affection should be accepted without a little consideration.  To borrow a baseball metaphor, you just can't swing at everything tossed your way.  

The ride back home was mostly a blur, though I remember my parents waiting for me at school when the buses all filed in.  And I do remember a change in myself.  I felt bonded with my new friends, welcomed and appreciated, knowing that my presence really mattered and could be missed when absent.  We trusted and cared for each other and this experience helped nourish my confidence, realizing that good friendships had this potential. 

Once home with my new CD of HELLBOUND, I could better appreciate the music's strangeness, its fury and its dark beauty. In short order, I sought out Christopher Young scores for the original HELLRAISER, THE FLY II, the low-budget sci-fi flick DEF-CON 4 and any number of movies on no one's radar.  My palette was expanding when it came to movie music and Young represented his own unique, puzzling and compelling corner of the genre. 

THE BLUE MAX (1966) / PATTON (1970)

I'm not sure whether all who serve in the military wind up being fans of military-centric entertainment, but it certainly was the case with my father.   Films such as PATTON, THE BLUE MAX, THE LONGEST DAY, WHERE EAGLES DARE, VON RYAN'S EXPRESS, MIDWAY and TORA! TORA! TORA! all had multiple screenings in our household, even though for a kid they could often seem interminably long and chock full of impenetrable combat strategies.  Later I grew to appreciate these films for my own reasons, along with their associations to my father, and as a marvelous repository of great music.  

 

My dad had been a pilot in the Navy during the late 60's and early 70's, stationed at bases mostly along the East Coast and amazingly enough, was not deployed to Vietnam, though the possibility loomed consistently.  Instead, he flew planes into hurricanes for storm tracking, as crazy as that might seem, with a group called the Hurricane Hunters, and eventually earned the rank of lieutenant commander.   I wish in my youth I had bothered him for tales from that chapter in his life, but I probably assumed there would always be time enough.  

As a kid, I instead would glean a great deal about my parents' respective pasts and inner lives through astute observation.  The books they read, the movies they watched, the jokes they told, items on their shelves and opinions espoused.  From this errata, my imagination constructed their reality.  My father's flight helmet and ceremonial Navy sword, both buried at the back of his closet, were two such focal points for me.  Holding them in my hands planted exciting pictures in my head of my dad darting among the clouds in a single-engine plane.

I learned later that my dad felt any time was the best time to spend in a cockpit.  I think he began missing those days as a pilot the further his life advanced beyond past them.  Perhaps, once my sisters and I had all graduated and moved out, he might have found his way behind the controls of some aircraft again and aloft into the clear blue sky (or even the eye of a hurricane).

Now, my father was just as observant of me as I was of him and it was soon evident the extent of my interest in film music, especially seeing as how my hard earned cash wound up getting spent on the albums.  I ordered movie magazines that included composer interviews and even struck up a pen pal friendship with a fellow in Canada who mailed me rarities on cassette.  Initially content to delve into this hobby on my own, it all eventually thankfully provided a good bridge between he and I.   The music in movies we all watched together could turn into a topic, my dad inquiring on my thoughts and making suggestions of his own.

Two films he had me watch with him specifically for the music were THE BLUE MAX (1966) and PATTON (1970), both war-time centric (World War I and II, respectively) and featuring scores composed by the prolific and crazy talented Jerry Goldsmith.  At that time, my main focus was on the current sci-fi and fantasy genres and the handful of scores by Goldsmith that I owned were his two STAR TREKs, ALIEN and THE SECRET OF NIMH.  War movies of the 60's and 70's were a bit out of my wheelhouse.  I really hadn't yet developed the fascination and appreciation I now have for what existed before I was born.

PATTON is deservedly famous for George C. Scott's lead performance and the film overall, but one notable aspect is that it only features thirty minutes of music across its entire three-hour running time.  My dad asked me to pay attention to the main title, where the character of General George S. Patton is sketched brilliantly and succinctly in musical fashion - trumpets fed through an echoplex device to mirror his belief in reincarnation, a hymnal-type melody heard on pipe organ (my dad loved organ music, by the way) to represent the man's religiosity and finally an ebullient march to elucidate his militarism.   I don't remember what my exact response to my father once the movie wrapped up (I can frustratingly be tight-lipped with my thoughts at times), but I sought out the soundtrack soon after and made sure to crank it up on my stereo.

THE BLUE MAX, starring George Peppard and James Mason, might not be the most well-remembered of World War I flicks from the 1960's, but due to its extensive presentation of flying machines it might be have been closer to my dad's heart than others.  The movie follows a brash, arrogant German pilot charging his way up the ranks and showcases some stellar mid-air sequences, all set to a soaringly gorgeous theme by Goldsmith.  The main theme's melody persistently ascends upward, which matches Peppard's character's single-minded pursuit to win his country's top medal for airmen, truly lifts the listener's spirit into the air.

The soundtrack for THE BLUE MAX proved difficult for me to track down.  I only first ran across a copy during my junior year at UNC Chapel Hill, while scouring their music library.  Several music courses occupied my course load that year, so I often would avail myself of their CD collection, the downside being that students had to remain in the library while listening.  It was thrilling to at last enjoy Goldsmith's score apart from the movie and especially amazing to discover additional music recorded for but never used in their intended sequences.  All I could think of was how much I wanted my dad to hear these brilliant passages and then wonder together how great it would have been had the cues been utilized in the film itself.

In the Summer of 1994, I interned here in Los Angeles and became friends with a trailer editor who held in his collection all the soundtracks I wished to own, including THE BLUE MAX.  During one afternoon at his house, I feverishly made cassette copies of various tracks from these albums, overjoyed not just for my sake but also that I could finally share these with my dad.  Once back in North Carolina to start my senior year, I proudly compiled several mix tapes for him to enjoy, mostly consisting of music by Jerry Goldsmith and Bernard Herrmann.  The opening tracks on the first cassette were from THE BLUE MAX and I truly hope hearing this music helped his own spirit soar skyward.

A complete edition of the score was planned for CD release in 1995.  I recall relaying this news to my father during one of our last conversations, probably during Summer 1994, and how exciting it would be to actually gift him a copy for his album collection.  But he didn't live long enough for me to have the chance.  The closest I could come to this was during the wake, when I discreetly tucked into his casket those mix tapes I made for him just a few months before.   Now, whenever I listen to either PATTON or THE BLUE MAX, the experience becomes my way to feel near to him again, a way that I can imagine my dad and I might be listening together.