Steven Spielberg had a banner year in 1993, receiving critical acclaim and Oscar glory for Holocaust drama Schindler’s List, and thrilling global audiences with the recreated dinosaurs in Jurassic Park. Fundamental to both films’ success but perhaps more overlooked in the hoopla, was composer John Williams. With a partnership stretching back to 1974’s Sugarland Express, and encompassing such classics as Jaws, the Indy trilogy and ET, it’s arguably the most successful of modern director-composer collaborations, Spielberg frequently providing the perfect canvas onto which the composer can project a bold musical soundscape.
Jurassic Park is one of Williams’ finest achievements. In a complete about face from the introverted, haunting Schindler’s List, it mixes both the rapturous Golden Age sound of his 80s heyday with the orchestral maturity to be developed further in darker 90s scores such as Nixon and Saving Private Ryan.
Shamefully, it was also overlooked for any major awards, in favour of the more dramatically subtle Schindler’s List. But there’s no doubt that Park is the better score. Traversing the full range of emotions from wonder to awe, terror to excitement, with at least two brilliant themes that have entered popular culture, it works brilliantly both inside and outside the film it’s designed for.
The moody Opening Titles begin with a burst of ominous choir and shakuhachi, immediately establishing a sense of danger and suspense, of man dabbling with forces beyond his control. The flipside is the glorious Theme from Jurassic Park, a majestic, beautiful representation of the resurrected dinosaurs in all their glory. Heard regularly throughout in various guises, its most famous rendition comes in Journey to the Island, an 8 minute tour de force that also weaves in the other central theme, a thrilling brass fanfare for the island itself.
As is usual with Williams though, the incidental tracks are as enjoyable and created with as much care as the big themes. Forgoing the stylistics of his earlier scores, his action compositions for Park are altogether darker, more uncompromising and utterly thrilling. Nowhere is this more apparent than with the frightening four note danger motif (used predominantly for the dreaded velociraptors) that dominates Incident at Isla Nublar, Raptor Attack, High Wire Stunts, Eye to Eye and T-Rex Rescue and Finale (the latter being one of the most breathlessly exciting, relentless pieces of Williams’ career). 
By contrast there are also some truly gorgeous moments where the listener is allowed to bask in the beauty of the island’s more benign inhabitants. The moving, see-sawing strings of My Friend, the Brachiosaurus, show Williams at his lyrical, melodic best, utterly brilliant. A Tree for My Bed casts the main theme in a charming lullaby arrangement. Remembering Petticoat Lane sounds a melancholy tinkling lament for the island’s failed venture and experiment. Further bursts of tropical percussion come in Jurassic Park Gate, to be used more extensively in the 1997 sequel.
Pitted against the natural beauty of the location are the synthesised rhythms of Dennis Steals the Embryo, reinforcing the films core themes of science versus nature. Then there is of course the superbly rousing end credits suite Welcome to Jurassic Park that recaps all the major themes, although it’s strangely located mid-album; some programming is required to sort out the order.
It’s this regular fillip between beauty and horror, organic and synthetic, which marks Jurassic Park as a standout score, even by Williams’ standards. Coming at a pivotal moment after the more playful 80s but before the more subdued 90s, it really is a best of both worlds album and a magnificent score in its own right. A masterpiece.
A production designer named Anton Furst - for all Nolan's sleek updated skyscraper/ scumridden duality in the new Gotham, nothing matches the sheer Gothic power of what Furst achieved for Burton, his designs lending the film a truly idiosyncratic air (this is after all a comicbook world, yeah?)
And the cherry on the cake? Danny Elfman's thrilling score - Hans Zimmer and James Newton Howard's anonymous droning (despite a few high points) has nothing on Elfman's terrific central march and other excellent incidental pieces (among them the might of the Sinfonia of London Orchestra during the action scenes and a twisted waltz for The Joker). After all this is a superhero - he needs a theme, be it subtle or otherwise (Chris Nolan clearly mistook subtlety for anonymity)
Of course, Burton's vision has nothing on The Dark Knight...but that's another story
Far be it from me to clutter up my blog with amateur moviemaking - there are plenty of sites for that. But after visiting America last year, including the Grand Canyon, I was enchanted by the country's timeless cinematic appeal. So, here's a crude cinematic legacy to the astonishing Grand Canyon itself, scored somewhat appropriately to Trevor Jones and Randy Edelman's theme from Last of the Mohicans.
Trust me, if you have the chance to do a helicopter ride over this astonishing spectacle, as is shown in the movie below - DO IT. Then find a movie score to articulate your feelings with.
In the 1970s, composers such as John Williams and Jerry Goldsmith can be credited for making the large scale symphonic film score fashionable again. With films of the late 60s and early 70s increasingly capitalising on youth culture and hippy rebellion (Easy Rider), films were experimenting with pop music, electronics and sometimes no score at all (see Klute). However with the advent of lush sounds in films such as Chinatown (beautifully smoky jazz), Jaws with its urgent chopping rhythms and most significantly the blaring, exciting brass of much of Williams' action work (Star Wars, the Indy Trilogy, Superman), orchestrals were back in fashion. The sound was to reverberate well into the 90s, influencing composers like Alan Silvestri, James Horner and Michael Kamen.
Which brings me to today. Being of the opinion that 2008 was a great year for movies, one nagging thorn in the side remains: the scores for a lot of them were either lousy to mediocre, or altogether non-existent, with a few exceptions. Are we heading back to the mood of the 60s, where original film music is deemed increasingly unneccesary and intrusive? I hope not, because like it or not the film score is one of the determining aspects of how we enjoy movies. Of course not all movies use them, and not all movies are meant to use them; an orchestral score in a documentary will likely seem inappropriate and out of place. But in big budget crowd pleasers especially, the presence of an engaging, immersive soundtrack is key to pulling viewers into the world of fantasy and make believe.
Which brings me to Iron Man. A hugely enjoyable comic book movie (especially in the way there is none of the tiresome 'nuance' existing between good and evil; good is good and evil is evil), it's bolstered by an excellent cast of adult actorscand some marvellous special effects that demonstrate how computers should be used in service of the story. However, the one crucial misstep that director Jon Favreau made was the decision to omit a bold, memorable theme, one that could have helped seal Iron Man in musical terms as the new Indiana Jones or Luke Skywalker, in favour of some tedious, electric guitar fuelled noise courtesy of Hans Zimmer protege Ramin Djawadi. It adds nothing to the film, no emotion, no depth and definitely no excitement....so why bother including it? There might as well have been no music at all.
Similarly Zimmer and James Newton Howard's effort for The Dark Knight is undeniably a superb techical achievement (the droning for The Joker is brilliant in context) but completely hollow, despite some excellent moments. Aside from Newton Howard's moving theme for Harvey Two Face, it fails to engage the listener with the world of the film, with the rich, involving characters, with the layers of morality on display. All of these areas were roundly praised by critics, even in some cases the score itself...so why can't the music be more, well, musical? I'm all for darkness in film scores but not noise for the sake of noise. Of course the criticism here can be directed as much at director Christopher Nolan who favours textural, ambient music in his films.
Of course, this isn't to dismiss all the scores in 2008 out of hand. John Williams made an excellent comeback with Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, proving he can still write punchy, energetic action music with the best of them. James Horner wrote in anguished, considered tones (despite his continued self-plagiarism) for the acclaimed Holocaust drama The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas. And Alexandre Desplat continues his hypnotic, haunting work with The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. At the other end of the melodic scale was Johnny Greenwood's avant garde effort for There Will Be Blood, demonstrating to The Dark Knight's composers how to write in abrasive tones that are memorable as well as experimental. Danny Elfman also had his best year in ages, scoring Standard Operating Procedure, Wanted and Hellboy II and clinching an Oscar nom for Milk.
But such gems are becoming increasingly few and far between. It seems as if we have got to such a state of uncomfortable awareness that both filmmakers and audiences are afraid to have music reminding them about how to feel. But Beethoven with his 9th symphony did exactly the same thing, as did all the classical composers! Only in 2004 Gabriel Yared's effort for Wolfgang Petersen's Troy was chucked out, after a year of hard work and research on the part of the composer, for being too 'old fashioned', the dreaded test audience apparently having more than a helping hand in the decision. With every disrespect intended to those involved at that test screening, it was not their decision to make. How can music for a movie set in the Greek ages be 'old fashioned'?
Of course it's well within our rights to criticise the role of the score on a subjective level once the film has been released. But to have such an influence that the score is thrown out? That's not right. Like it or not, Yared's score was an integral part of the film; for better or worse, he was the composer originally chosen to score the film, and Warner Brothers should have stuck with the decision, rather than get cold feet. Audiences are demanding increasingly that scores are commentators on the action, rather than an integral part of it.
But, again, maybe the role of the film score has again gone back the other way, back to the increasingly minimalist role it played at the end of the 60s. This could be seen as a great pity or just another amble along the convoluted history of music in film. Who knows? Maybe in another 10 to 20 years the successor to the Iron Mans and Dark Knights will have a soundtrack to call their own.
Worthington's Marcus Wright though, and the film delivers that extra kick it has been promising. Introduced donating his body to Skynet, the mysterious Wright's origins provide a mystique and emotional heart ironically lacking in the central character of Connor. Ultimately the tantalising exploration of man versus machine generates more fireworks than a blast from a phase plasma rifle in the 40 watt range. 
Throughout its 40 odd year existence, Gene Roddenberry’s Star Trek has had something of a chequered history, veering from camp (the original TV series), to pseudo intellectual (The Motion Picture) to Patrick Stewart’s mainstream exploits on Next Generation.
