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.