Film scores are the great unsung heroes of motion pictures. They can strengthen emotions, alert us to something we haven’t noticed, or completely change our interpretation of a scene. They become as essential to the film as the images on screen — there’s no shower scene in Psycho without Bernard Herrman’s stabbing strings, and the demolition of Freddie Quell’s soul in The Master wouldn’t be quite as shattering without Jonny Greenwood’s plaintive cues. Even when filmmakers choose not to use a score, its absence is noteworthy.
This year offered an unusual bounty of stunning film scores. There weren’t as many stand-outs in 2019 (Greenwood, the most iconoclastic of major film composers, sat this year out), but the year boasted a particularly strong crop of scores that worked both in conjunction with the film and on their own. Some of the works that I most admired eschewed the traditional orchestration in favor of dark analog synthesizers, while others experimented with smaller jazz combos. In order to focus on new creations rather than repackaged music, I’m only ranking original scores. There were many great movies to see this year, and almost as many great scores to listen to.
10. The Two Popes (Bryce Dessner)
He’s best known as the guitarist for The National, along with his identical twin brother Aaron, but Bryce Dessner has been stealthily making a name for himself in the world of contemporary classical music. His scores don’t fit into any identifiable sub-genre, melding elements of post-minimalist pulses with occasional bursts of atonality and soothing consonance. His score for Fernando Meirelles’ The Two Popes fuses cues that draw from his omnivorous classical career, as well as lovely short cues of delicate solo classical guitar. The orchestral cues portray the importance of the meeting between the current and future popes, while the guitar music underscores both men’s lonely stature.
9. Monos (Mica Levi)
Mica Levi burst into the world of film scoring with her now-iconic music for Jonathan Glazer’s modern classic Under the Skin, and each of her subsequent scores has showcased a new aspect of her compositional language. For Monos, Levi dials her music back, building everything from a base of bottle whistles she performed herself. She represents the films underequipped rebels with martial timpani rolls, along with bursts of synthesized noise and additional instruments. The score is alternately grand and absurd, highlighting the disconnect between the children and their guns.
8. Motherless Brooklyn (Daniel Pemberton)
Daniel Pemberton has had the unfortunate distinction of being someone who often writes good scores for otherwise terrible films (Molly’s Game, Ocean’s 8, Yesterday, etc.). With Edward Norton’s Motherless Brooklyn, he finally got back to scoring a good film, though many critics unfairly maligned it and audiences largely ignored it. Norton made the surprising choice of setting Jonathan Lethem’s contemporary-set neo-noir in the 1950s, but Pemberton responds appropriately by scoring much of the music for a jazz combo and a jazzier large ensemble. His music has an infectious beat that helps viewers stay attuned to the twisting story even as it gets increasingly convoluted. But the score’s strongest moments are in the soul-baring piano-led ballads. He’s tuned in to the film’s most sorrowful moments, to great effect. Radiohead vocalist Thom Yorke also deserves a special mention for his original song “Daily Battles,” which ranks among his best solo work. His dark lullaby is presented both in the original piano-led vocal version and in an arrangement led by trumpeter Wynton Marsalis, and it blends in perfectly with the sadder moments of Pemberton’s score.
7. Midsommar (Bobby Krlic)
After turning to saxophonist Colin Stetson for the chillingly relentless score to Hereditary, director Ari Aster chose The Haxan Cloak’s Bobby Krlic to score his epic follow-up, Midsommar. It has become a tradition in contemporary horror films to feature endlessly gloomy scores; the results are so dour that viewers never get a moment of respite, which pushes them away from the immediacy of the movie. Krlic wisely alternates his darker cues with sunnier music elevated by strings and chiming harps that perfectly match with the nearly endless summer sun of a remote Swedish commune. Less adventurous composers have trained us to expect nothing but doom and gloom, but his final cue, which soundtracks a fiery human sacrifice, is oddly uplifting. The film is as much about a bad breakup as it is about a homicidal cult, and Krlic’s music helps us understand Florence Pugh’s newfound piece as she tries out living on her own for a bit.
6. Under the Silver Lake (Disasterpiece)
Under the Silver Lake was one of the best films of the year, but it was mostly abandoned by its distributor A24. That’s why Disasterpiece’s score was released last year, during one of the film’s multiple pushbacks before it was dumped in April, though I’m counting it as a 2019 score since it works best in conjunction with the shaggy neo-noir. Disasterpiece, the stage name of Richard Vreeland, is best known for his solo music, which is largely composed using the limited sound palette of classic arcade games. He expanded his arsenal for the score of David Robert Mitchell’s It Follows, and for their follow-up, he expanded to writing for a sizable orchestra. Disasterpiece eschews the electronic music he cut his teeth on, instead favoring the kind of mysterious cues that might have scored Philip Marlowe’s trek down mean streets. The film is also a mentally ill man’s attempt to come to terms with the death of someone he became too invested in, and Vreeland adds a growing element of tragedy as the twisting story progresses. Without the Disasterpiece score, Mitchell’s film would have gotten bogged down in plot twists and misogyny. With it, it becomes a cult classic.
5. A Hidden Life (James Newton Howard)
Along with Martin Scorsese and Woody Allen, Terrence Malick is a master of creating soundtracks from preexisting music. Unlike the rock or jazz pieces they tend to favor, Malick is a devotee of classical music. Romantic-period masterworks comingle with early-20th Century classics and soothing New Age works in his spiritual dramas. He has previously integrated scores in his films, most successfully with Alexandre Desplat’s music in The Tree of Life, though the minimal use of original music has frustrated some of his composers who wrote considerably more than was used (most famously Desplat). Malick still uses plenty of existing music in A Hidden Life, including pieces that have cropped up before, but Howard’s score is his most prominent use of original music to date. It helps that the title cue is among his best and most memorable music to date.
4. A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood (Nate Heller)
Nate Heller, the brother of A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood director Marielle Heller, tastefully allows the music for Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood to dictate the path his score takes. Rogers was often accompanied on set by a live jazz combo, and Heller mostly sticks to that intimate grouping, which gives his music a wonderfully buoyant feel. It’s especially welcome during the film’s many tear-jerking moments; a more sentimental score would have been overkill. The faithful music also features arrangements of songs written by Rogers for the show, as well as an essential Nick Drake cut that would be indistinguishable from the score to anyone unfamiliar with his music.
3. Marriage Story (Randy Newman)
He doesn’t just do the Toy Story music, even though that’s what latter-day Randy Newman is best known for. In a recent appearance on IndieWire’s Toolkit podcast, director Noah Baumbach revealed that he had pushed Newman to model his score for Marriage Story after French composer Georges Delerue, best known for scoring Godard’s Contempt, multiple Truffaut masterpieces, and countless French and (later) American films. The genius of Delerue’s scores, as Baumbach explains it, is that the same melodies can be played over happy or sad moments with minor adjustments to key and tempo. Newman works with a similarly simple toolkit — tender melodies that burrow their way into your skull and appear again and again but always in subtly different ways. He steers clear of sentimentality, but the tears wouldn’t flow quite as easily without his gorgeous music.
2. Waves (Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross)
This score went unremarked upon in many reviews, most likely because the director, Trey Edward Shults, packed the film with wall-to-wall bangers. Unlike some critics, I found his song selections to be appropriate at worst and essential at best. But Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross of Nine Inch Nails fame provided a chilling score in the quieter moments of the film that often works on a subliminal level, challenging us and augmenting our emotions without rising to the surface. The mental degradation of the film’s first half is scored as if it’s a horror film. Listening to the score after seeing the film twice, I had no idea that this music had been playing underneath the action, though it’s probably partly to blame for my rising blood pressure during those tense sections. The film’s second half, where Shults’ turns down his style in order to focus on emotion, is scored with droning synths that create a powerful sense of loss. It’s one of the most low-key scores the two composers have created so far, and among their best.
1. Uncut Gems (Daniel Lopatin)
The best film score of 2019 Daniel Lopatin’s propulsive yet oddly soothing synthesized score for the frenetic crime thriller Uncut Gems. Lopatin, who makes sampled and synthesized electronic music under the name Oneohtrix Point Never, previously scored Josh and Benny Safdie’s Good Time (2017) under that moniker, but he uses his own name for Uncut Gems. It’s a meaningful distinction — as great as his previous score was, Lopatin has discovered a new well of feeling previously unknown to his music. The opening cue, “The Ballad of Howie Bling,” is the greatest single piece of music he has ever written. It’s clearly indebted to Shoji Yamashiro’s iconic Akira score, with its similarly propulsive rhythms and wordless chants. Lopatin’s music often actively works to prevent listeners from developing an emotional attachment, but here he helps us to identify with Adam Sandler’s character as he makes one poor choice after another. The film ends in a shocking manner just as everything seems too overwhelming, and the score soothes us with the final title cut. After that trip through hell, you’ll need something to calm your nerves.
‘Weathering With You’ Isn’t Quite the Storm It Wanted to Be
Makoto Shinkai’s Weathering With You delivers a gorgeous film that doesn’t quite resonate as much as it wanted to.
Climate change and global warming have been topics of concern and discussion for years now, with melting ice caps and rising ocean temperatures being some of many signs. Director Makoto Shinkai — acclaimed the world over for his 2016 work Your Name — aims to show just how at the mercy humans are to the weather with his newest animated film, Weathering With You. Although he presents a visually stunning depiction of Mother Nature in all her various moods, Weathering With You ultimately lacks the storming power it seeks to bear upon its audience.
Tokyo has been having a particularly rainy year, seeing precipitation almost every day and nary a sight of the sun or clear blue skies. It’s during this unusual time that high school boy Hodaka arrives in the metropolis seeking escape from the suffocating life he had on his island. The young teenager naturally has trouble finding his bearings on his own in the oftentimes unforgiving hustle and bustle of the city. It’s in these early scenes that Weathering With You has some of its strongest moments, depicting the uglier side of Japanese society not often seen in anime, while also highlighting Hodaka’s strength of character to make it on his own.
As Hodaka gradually carves out his own place in the city, he eventually has an encounter with a young girl named Hina. Matching her sunny and cheerful disposition, Hina has the ability to make it stop raining and have the sunshine in very localized spots by praying to the sky. In a place where the rain never ceases, it’s easy to see why Hodaka latches onto Hina to use for the greater good (while also making a little pocket change along the way).
“The hand-drawn rain is downright mesmerizing in all its forms — fierce and calm — while the sunshine that follows seems to hang in the air caught by the leftover humidity.”
Gloomy skies and damp grounds can take their toll on one’s mood and psyche, which someone who lives in such a climate can surely relate to. Even the briefest moments of sunshine revitalize us and give a glimpse of the “light at the end of the tunnel.” Hodaka and Hina’s “100% Sunshine Girl” services to those in need of that light boldly underscore that fact, and make for a strong argument for how the weather affects us all beyond its objective physicality, along with providing some much-appreciated levity to the story.
That power of weather is beautifully illustrated by CoMix Wave Films’ stupendous animation efforts. The hand-drawn rain is downright mesmerizing in all its forms — fierce and calm — while the sunshine that follows seems to hang in the air, caught by the leftover humidity. Tokyo itself isn’t to be outdone either, with its streets running the gamut between peaceful neighborhoods to grimy and dark back alleys with dilapidated buildings. The animation is punctuated by the return of Japanese band RADWIMPS, who create numerous memorable tracks to complement the wild swings in mood that weather can elicit.
That makes it all the more unfortunate, however, that the greater narrative is so weak.
The progression of Weathering With You is made painfully obvious right from the outset of the story — so much so that it’s hard to wonder if it’s actually the set-up for a bait-and-switch. As a result, much of the first half of the film is simply waiting for the other shoe to drop, making it difficult to really settle in and become intimate with its characters.
This would be less of an issue if the cast had smaller interactions that were a delight to watch, but they fall short in that regard as well. All of the characters have a charm to them for sure — with Hina’s younger elementary school brother, Nagi, putting modern playboys to shame being a particular standout — but the story never quite makes a compelling case as to why they are as close as they are, especially Hina and Hodaka. They’re fun enough to watch be together, but don’t quite make that emotional attachment with the viewer that the story wants to create.
That lack of an emotional connection is distinctly felt in Weathering With You’s second act, when unnecessary confrontations and bizarre plot directions converge to create an artificial sense of stakes amidst a central conflict that would have been fine on its own. What’s meant to strengthen the impression of the characters’ bonds instead cheapens it, undermining the already faulty progress the first half did make. The result is a narrative that’s hard to care about, although its ending does leave the viewer with some potentially interesting questions to ponder.
Weathering With You is far from a bad movie, however. It has a clear direction and vision with a message to say about our climate crisis. The characters are endearing enough, and there are a handful of heartfelt scenes because of that. It also cannot be understated just how drop-dead gorgeous the animation is. The story, however, is simply too straightforward for its own good, resulting in an experience that is at times enjoyable, and at others plain boring.
And that’s only when being judged in a vacuum on the movie’s own merits. When compared to Shinkai’s recent masterpiece that is Your Name, it’s hard to see Weathering With You as anything but a disappointing follow-up. That’s perhaps the film’s greatest weakness, but fortunately, it’s one that Shinkai’s next work won’t have, and we can still look forward to it because of that fact.
Let’s Remember Why ‘Tremors’ is a Beloved Cult Hit
The monster movie that breaks new ground.
Tremors, 30 Years Later
Thirty years ago, this week, one of the best films of 1990 was released.
Tremors didn’t make a big splash in theaters. The film ended up grossing $16,667,084 at the domestic box office, which while making a profit due to its $11 million budget, was still below projected numbers. To be fair, this was a film about carnivorous subterranean worms— and it didn’t help that it was dumped in the cold of winter during what is arguably the slowest time of the year for the box office. Thankfully, however, Tremors found a second life on VHS where it became one of home video’s biggest success stories. More importantly, Tremors become a beloved cult hit.
Much has been said about the cast of Tremors which I’ll get to shortly, but what stood out the most watching it again, is the screenplay from S.S. Wilson and Brent Maddock, who both previously penned Short Circuit and Batteries Not Included. Sure, Tremors is a B movie, but it also boasts a tightly-knit script in which every scene; every action; every story beat; and every line of dialogue sets up a chain of events that gives every character a motive and reason to react the way they do. And despite one poorly executed sequence (I’m referring to the pole-vaulting montage), Tremors is a lean, mean movie without an ounce of fat to be found anywhere else.
The plot isn’t complex per se, but there’s something oddly comforting in the simplicity of it all. Tremors takes place in the Nevada desert near a small town called Perfection with a population of only 14 residents who are left to defend themselves against the deadly subterranean creatures. It’s the perfect setting for a monster film since the town itself is isolated. And with only one road leading to civilization, the openness of the desert landscape enhances the desolation of it all. And since the town of Perfection is so far removed from the rest of society, it soon becomes clear that nobody will ever come and save them. Instead, the townsfolk must work together; overcome the odds, and destroy the creatures. And when that fails, they must attempt to scale the rocky mountaintop where the worms are unable to travel underground. It’s getting there that becomes the problem.
Val and Earl
At the heart, and at the center of the eccentric cast of characters is Kevin Bacon and Fred Ward playing Valentine McKee and Earl Bass, a pair of modern-day cowboys working as handymen who become would-be heroes when they stumble upon the shock-sensitive killer worms. Over the years, the two actors have become less renowned for their comedic roles, but Tremors if anything, showcases their talent and range. And while Kevin Bacon with his sexy smile and pretty boy looks is by far the biggest star; it’s their irresistible chemistry that brings their characters to life. They make such a great comedic team and if you replaced Ward with any other actor at the time, there’s no guarantee that Tremors would have been this much fun to watch.
In fact, the two actors work so well together that Fred Ward provides a much better foil for Kevin Bacon than Finn Carter’s Rhonda, a.k.a. the underwritten love interest who is assigned to travel to the town and monitor the seismology readings in the desert. Not long after Rhonda arrives, the people in the town start disappearing – or worse, they end up dead, leaving very little time to establish any chemistry between her and Val— thus making the big kiss, in the end, feel a little out-of-place. But don’t blame the screenplay writers— the original ending of Tremors featured Val and Earl riding off into the sunset, with no hint at any potential romance between Val and Rhonda. Unfortunately, test audiences were not pleased and somehow the producers convinced the filmmakers to quickly reshoot the final scene— just another one of many examples of why studios should not rely on any focus group to provide feedback. In the end, the love interest feels somewhat lost in the shuffle.
The Gummer Family
It doesn’t take long before it becomes apparent that there’s something unnatural roaming the desert and feeding on human flesh. Once Rhonda checks her readings and determines that the threat is coming from underground, Tremors begins to slowly open up and introduce us to the supporting cast which includes Reba McEntire and Michael Gross as the Gummer family, a pair of overzealous, gun-crazy survivalists. McEntire and Gross are so good here, they essentially steal the spotlight from the rest of the cast. In one of their most memorable scenes, the two are forced to take shelter in their basement and defend themselves against one of the giant man-eating worms— and just when it looks like they are going to run out of ammunition, the camera pans left to reveal the bunker holds enough guns and firepower to accommodate a small army. It’s just one of many examples of how Tremors takes a simple concept and maximizes it for full effect.
As much as Tremors is remembered today for the performances of Bacon and Ward, it’s the work of the entire cast that brings the movie to life. It really is great casting considering the small budget, and everyone pulls their weight, serving up the quick-witted dialogue in a way that makes it all feel more natural– and yes that even includes Robert Jayne as the annoying teenage brat, Melvin Plug. I especially like the performance by Victor Wong, a character actor who had roles in films like 3 Ninjas and Big Trouble in Little China. Here he plays the ill-fated Walter Chang who is killed in a scene that features some of the film’s best special effects.
Director Ron Underwood
Tremors was the first movie Ron Underwood directed and by far his best. Now known as a go-to director for many successful TV shows, Underwood keeps things moving briskly and finds new clever ways to draw out tension with impressive camera work, especially the shots that show the point of view of the creatures as they stalk their victims. Along with Cinematographer Alexander Gruszynski, Underwood frames his exterior shots in a way that constantly reminds viewers how small the town is and how isolated it is. It’s also worth noting how difficult it is to shoot a horror movie outside in the middle of the desert where you can never truly escape the sunlight, and yet director Ron Underwood uses the setting to his advantage and frames his actors in such a manner that the landscape emits a general feeling of emptiness, which both mirrors the town’s small population and the people themselves who are desperate for a change.
Tremors evokes the populist spirit of ‘50s and ’60s B-movies without ever resorting to parody, nor does it ever feel familiar. Instead, Underwood reinvigorates its genre tropes with a finely balanced combination of horror and humor— and despite its tongue-in-cheek script, Underwood never allows it to venture into full-on camp. There is tension and suspense in every one of the action scenes and like many classics that came before it, Tremors focuses less on its oversized monsters and more on their victims and how these people react to attacks by these giant creatures. Even in the bright daylight, Tremors manages to create enough suspense to keep viewers at the edge of their seats.
Apart from taking inspiration from classic monster movies, Tremors owes a lot to Steven Spielberg’s Jaws— so much so, that the original title for Tremors was actually Land Sharks. Much like how the shark in Jaws travels underwater while stalking its prey, in Tremors, the 30-foot-long carnivorous worms known as Graboids, travel underground. And like Jaws (arguably the quintessential B movie), the creatures in Tremors are rarely seen. Instead, the largely invisible creatures can burrow fast enough to devour the entire town if given the opportunity— making them deadly and genuinely menacing.
Another clever inclusion by the screenplay writers was the idea to have these Graboids respond to seismic vibrations. While blind and unable to track their prey’s scent, they do have acute hearing, which means any slight movement or sound can cost you your life. In arguably the best scene of the entire film, Kevin Bacon’s Val is left to stand completely still and silent while the worm-like creatures who circle his feet reveal their razor-sharp fangs as they desperately search for their next victim.
It’s a credit to the creature design that I never once questioned the reality of the Graboids. Along with a team of over 50 visual effects wizards, the filmmakers were able to bring their creations to life with a mix of old school prosthetics, animatronics, and computer-generated imagery. Tremors may be at times funny, but this isn’t the sort of film that has viewers pointing at the screen and laughing at obviously cheesy effects. Make no mistake about it: the monster effects by Tom Woodruff and Alec Gillis (who previously worked on Alien and The Terminator) is truly impressive, especially given the limited budget they had to work with.
The one and only aspect of Tremors that I’ve never liked was the music heard at the start and at the end of the film. To my surprise, I later learned that composer Ernest Troaost’s musical score for the film went mostly unused since the studio didn’t like it and, later they hired composer Robert Folk to write a new score. Only a few of Troost’s country-themed songs made it into the final cut and sure enough, they are the songs I dislike. That said, Folk’s compositions perfectly match the visuals and heighten the suspense during the film’s most action-packed scenes.
Tremors wasn’t in any way groundbreaking since it borrowed liberally from many other monster movies, yet somehow the film became such a hit, that it spawned four direct-to-video sequels (Tremors 2: Aftershocks, Tremors 3: Back to Perfection, Tremors 5: Bloodlines and Tremors: A Cold Day in Hell)— a direct-to-video prequel (Tremors 4: The Legend Begins), and even a television series. More so, the success of Tremors resulted in many copycats but none of them (save for James Gunn’s Slither) have been able to perfectly match the potent mixture of sharp dialogue, deadpan humour, and horror.
It’s easy to see why Tremors ultimately became a success and why it remains a fun and engaging experience, decades later. The plot is fully realized constantly keeping things exciting. It has plenty of spectacular set-pieces, thrilling action scenes, and plenty of quotable throwaway dialogue. Along with the charismatic cast, superb direction, great script and terrifyingly real effects, Tremors stands the test of time. Many have tried to match Tremors but most have ultimately come up short. Movies like this come around once every few years.
- Ricky D
The Career of Tony Scott and His Influence on the Film Industry
In the late 1970s and 1980s, composer Giorgio Moroder was often accused of trying to replace the orchestral movie soundtrack with high-energy, synthesizer-heavy disco-pop laid on with a trowel in movies like Thank God It’s Friday (1978), Flashdance (1983), Scarface (1983), and Top Gun (1986). I remember a magazine story on Moroder which quoted one of his many critics as saying, “The day the music died, Giorgio Moroder was brought in for questioning.”
I think some people had the same opinion about movies and Tony Scott. Full disclosure: I’m one of them. But it would be greatly unfair to Scott, who died in 2012, not to admit that, for good or for ill, his 1980s feature work had an enormous impact on commercial filmmaking.
The younger brother of Ridley Scott by seven years, he was gifted – like his brother – with an outrageously good eye; a taste for the visual strong enough to earn him his master’s degree from London’s Royal College of Art (which he’d attended on scholarship no less). But painting didn’t pay well, so he joined with his brother in Ridley Scott Associates where, from the 1970s into the 1980s, he applied that eye to moving pictures, directing thousands of commercials, some of them still-talked-about all-time classics in the U.K.
His first feature was the visually sumptuous, dramatically wispy attempt at erotic vampirica, The Hunger (1983), and it was such a lambasted flop it’s a surprise Scott’s feature career didn’t end right there. But three years later, producer Jerry Bruckheimer tapped him to direct Top Gun and movies would never be the same.
It was a perfect marriage of sensibilities (along with Michael Bay, Scott would remain one of Bruckheimer’s go-to directors). Bruckheimer, whose youthful interest in photography had led him to his own career in commercials before turning to movies, had the same affinity for striking imagery as Scott.
The timing of the union was just right, too. MTV was only five years old, and the non-stop near-abstract visuals of music video were not only still hypnotically novel, but on their way to becoming the defining visual sensibility for a new movie-going generation. With Giorgio Moroder (another ideal wedding of sensibilities) supplying a Pop’s Top Ten-nish soundtrack, Scott put together montages that were, essentially, music videos woven into the narrative of the film (some critics carped that the whole movie was little more than an extended music video).
Striking visuals, a pulsing, toe-tapping score, and a super-patriotic story that made a hero of a young, cocky, mouthy, go-my-own-way fighter jock made for a flick which hit a big, fat sweet spot with MTV’s first generation of ticket-buyers: Top Gun scored a whopping $176.7 million domestic. I did the math: at today’s ticket prices, that would translate to almost $390 million. Love it or hate it, you have to respect that kind of box office muscle.
Top Gun set the template for Scott: high-octane visuals, rapid-fire editing (often at the hands of Chris Lebenzon), an MTV-friendly soundtrack, and a story simple enough to absorb without having to pay too much attention.
It also set the template for so many of the box office winners of the next few decades, movies that moved fast, piled on the action, featured characters who were often little more than catchphrases with biceps, offered music video fodder (at least back when MTV still played music videos), and where plausibility – even under Hollywood’s extremely elastic definition of the concept – was irrelevant. Think Lethal Weapon, Speed (1994), Twister (1996), and anything by Michael Bay.
Though his brother Ridley often took the same rap of favoring looks over substance, their styles, though both highly visual, were strikingly different.
Ridley’s films — good and bad – play out like classical music: stately, elegant, unrushed, somber.
Tony’s movies are rock ‘n’ roll: fast, loud, exhausting, sometimes painfully bright.
It’s hard to imagine Tony doing something as subdued as Ridley’s Napoleonic-era The Duelists (1977), or even pulling off the brooding sci-fi Gothicism of Alien (1979). By the same token, Ridley would have seemed a poor fit for Top Gun or all the running back and forth in Crimson Tide (1995).
Despite being regularly slammed for his storytelling, Scott did care about plot and character. Explaining the failure of Days of Thunder (1990) – Top Gun cloned to the NASCAR circuit – Scott diagnosed the problem as having started production without a finished script. “(You) always have to get a story,” he said, “and you’ve got to get character first…”
But it wasn’t a sentiment that quite squared with his execution. In an Entertainment Weekly story about a trending flimsiness in big-screen storytelling, The Fan (1996) screenwriter Phoef Sutton told the story of shooting the movie’s climactic baseball game in a torrential downpour. Sutton and others tried to argue Scott out of it pointing out that baseball games are called on account of such weather. The rain stayed. Said Sutton: “…I don’t think Tony cared about the plausibility of it.”
In his later years, he seemed to be trying to reach for the kind of substance his early films were often accused of lacking, but he remained better at taking a good picture than giving it meaning. Enemy of the State (1998) was entertaining enough, but it was like Coppola’s The Conversation (1974) with the poetry removed and replaced with explosions and chases; Spy Game (2001) was an anemic John LeCarre wannabe; The Taking of Pelham 123 replaced the local color which had made the original so memorable with a needlessly busy yet flavorless plot.
Like his brother, Tony also produced, and in those projects, one could sense an ambition to do something of substance. There were such laudable efforts as the HBO movie RKO 281 (1999) about Orson Welles’ fight to make Citizen Kane; The Gathering Storm (2002), another HBO feature, this about Churchill’s attempts to prep England for WW II; Gettysburg (2001), a cable documentary about one of the most pivotal battles of the Civil War; and the lovely, elegiac (if sadly little-seen) Western, The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford.
Though Scott would continue to turn out some respectable earners in his later years (Déjà vu , The Taking of Pelham 123, Unstoppable ), after the 1980s, he’d never hit Top Gun heights again, and, in fact, after Beverly Hills Cop II (1987) only ever crossed the $100 million domestic mark one more time with Enemy of the State (1998). Perhaps the problem was that Scott’s eye-tickling rat-a-tat-tat style had, by the 1990s, become so widely copied that his often dramatically weak films had little else to offer; the trendsetter had become just another member of the pack.
But give him this. Few filmmakers make a lasting impact. Most directors and most films come and go, cinematic mayflies fluttering around the box office for a few weeks before disappearing. The same can’t be said of Tony Scott. Love ‘im or hate ‘im, it’ll be a long time before anyone forgets him.
– Bill Mesce
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