Before movies, our primary source of dramatic entertainment came from radio shows and theatre. The latter, in fact, is one of the oldest performing arts, with twisty roots dating back as far as classical Athens of 6^th century BC, where the vibrant tradition of theatre first blossomed and expanded throughout the world. At first, writing for the stage and writing for the screen were mistaken as similar, though soon it became obvious that the audiences’ attention spans differed critically from one form to the other.

Aside from the physical restrictions, the stage environment is vastly organic. Theatre is a nurturing art form, with adequate rehearsal time, strong bonds between anchors, and the possibility of experimenting with the director up to days before opening night. This fluidity doesn’t survive into the editing room of a film. Therefore, theatre plays and film scripts read differently. Yet sometimes, they will meet somewhere in the middle and even cross into each other most beautifully.

And while there have been many actors who moved successfully from the stage to the silver screen—Judi Dench, Laurence Olivier, Meryl Streep, Marlon Brando, and Paul Newman, to name but a few—I find that there are few plays that have done the same.

‘HAMLET’ (1996), ©CASTLE ROCK ENTERTAINMENT

Among the directors who have tried to bring theatre into film, I must mention Kenneth Branagh as champion, since he is responsible for bringing a plethora of Shakespeare’s work to cinema. His version of ‘Hamlet’ (1996) was better than Franco Zeffirelli’s star-studded feature of 1990, for example, and his love for the drama stage has had him bouncing between the two visual art mediums for years, his theatre company productions renowned worldwide and constantly sold out.

An especially popular source material for the screen has been William Shakespeare. Almost all of his plays have found their way in front of cameras, one way or another, though easier to remember to this day is ‘Romeo & Juliet’, a darling of equally prolific directors Franco Zeffirelli and Baz Luhrmann. The English playwright’s works have been done either mot-à-mot by traditionalists, some of whom struggled with the tongue-twisting dialogues or revamped and repurposed for younger generations by Hollywood’s lesser-known underdogs.

While I am happy to cheat again with honourable mentions (read recommendations) such as ‘Steel Magnolias’ (1989), directed by Herbert Ross and based on the eponymous play by Robert Harling; ‘Casablanca’ (1942), directed by Michael Curtiz and based on the play by Murray Burnett and Joan Alison, originally titled ‘Everybody Comes to Rick’s’; ‘On Golden Pond’ (1981), directed by Mark Rydell and based on Ernest Thompson’s play; and ‘Suddenly Last Summer’ (1959), directed by Joseph L. Mankiewicz and based on one of Tennessee Williams’s plays… Sorry. That was shameless.

Allow me to tell you about my absolute favourite plays that were not only successfully adapted for the screen, but stylishly transplanted as self-contained masterpieces.

‘STEEL MAGNOLIAS’ (1989), ©TRISTAR PICTURES

‘One Night in Miami’ (2020)

Regina King’s recent directorial debut is a carefully calculated and elegantly executed work of theatre brought into film. Headlined by a ridiculously talented cast, the story revolves around one fictional account of a real night when four powerful figures of the Civil Rights Movement met at the Hampton House in Miami.

Kingsley Ben-Adir is brilliant as Malcolm X. Eli Goree delivers a Cassius Clay as real as the World’s Greatest himself. Aldis Hodge is impressive as Jim Brown, star footballer-turned-movie-star. And Leslie Odom Jr.’s rendition of the inimitable Sam Cooke is simply out of this world—with the voice of an angel, no less! Much like the original, ‘One Night in Miami’ is a profound conversation about race, social justice, and the constant struggles of Black Americans in a society that treated them as lesser citizens for too long. Most importantly, Regina King’s take on Kemp Powers’ 2013 play is an emotionally gutting one, powered not only by the performances but by the writing and Tammy Reiker’s distinguished cinematography.

‘ONE NIGHT IN MIAMI’ (2020), ©ABKCO FILMS/SNOOT ENTERTAINMENT

‘A Few Good Men’ (1992)

Much like Kemp Powers, also known for his screenwriting work on ‘Star Trek: Discovery’ (2017) and ‘Soul’ (2020), Aaron Sorkin has found himself comfortable penning plays, films, and illustrious TV series alike. ‘A Few Good Men’ was the one that made a truly lasting impression upon its adaptation, under the helm of Rob Reiner.

It was nominated for four Academy Awards, offering incredible performances from a young Tom Cruise, a ferociously talented and wide-eyed Demi Moore, and the grand master of quotable movie lines during Trivia Night, Jack Nicholson. The courtroom thriller proved itself equally enthralling regardless of transposition method, showing Reiner at the top of his game.

‘A FEW GOOD MEN’ (1992), ©COLUMBIA PICTURES

‘A Streetcar Named Desire’ (1951)

There is a reason why Tennessee Williams, one of America’s foremost playwrights alongside Eugene O’Neill and Arthur Miller, was such a hit with Hollywood. His plays have a way of digging deep into the darkest, hottest pits of human nature, of bringing out the best and the worst from his characters. He put most of his tormented life onto the stage, using theatre as a form of expressing his truest self.

The legendary Elia Kazan, director of many of Williams’ plays, for that matter, said of him: ‘Everything in his life is in his plays, and everything in his plays is in his life’. ‘A Streetcar Named Desire’ is a tempestuous work of dramatic art that brought Academy Awards to Vivien Leigh and Kim Hunter, accompanied by respectful nods to Mr Kazan’s directorial accomplishment and Marlon Brando’s spectacular acting.

‘A STREETCAR NAMED DESIRE’ (1951), ©WARNER BROS.

‘Cat on a Hot Tin Roof’ (1958)

The ‘50s and the ‘60s were a lush period for theatre-to-film experiments, demanding that screen actors push themselves further and further until they were awarded accolades and golden statuettes. One of those thespians was Elizabeth Taylor, and ‘Cat on a Hot Tin Roof’ would not be her only foray into such bold projects. Today, she is remembered for multiple theatrical-style performances, including Franco Zeffirelli’s ‘The Taming of the Shrew’ (1967) of William Shakespeare and ‘Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?’ (1966) of Edward Albee.

But it was her sizzling portrayal of Maggie alongside Paul Newman’s Brick that garnered endless rounds of applause, in part thanks to Richard Brooks’ ability to transform one of Tennessee Williams’s most popular plays into a veritable crown jewel of Hollywood’s Golden Age.

‘CAT ON A HOT TIN ROOF’ (1958), ©AVON PRODUCTIONS

‘Throne of Blood’ (1957)

While I did drone on a bit back there about the many adaptations of Shakespeare’s plays and as we keep running into the guy, it would be unethical of me not to include Akira Kurosawa’s outstanding drama, which rips ‘Macbeth’ from Medieval Scotland and sews it into the troubled canvas of feudal Japan. The iconic director added significant tweaks of his own, including a modified finale and Noh drama elements—not an easy feat to accomplish, considering the overall pathos of Kurosawa’s screenplay.

Creative liberties aside, Toshirô Mifune and Isuzu Yamada’s portrayals of the Japanese Macbeth and Lady Macbeth ultimately set the film farther apart. Kurosawa adored Shakespeare’s work and had been eager to adapt it for years, but Orson Welles’s ‘Macbeth’ (1948) came out and forced him to wait before making his own version.

‘THRONE OF BLOOD’ (1957), ©TOHO COMPANY

‘Fences’ (2016)

While it isn’t Denzel Washington’s first directorial incursion, it is certainly his best, right after ‘Antwone Fisher’ (2002) and ‘The Great Debaters’ (2007). ‘Fences’ is based on the 1985 play by August Wilson, which is set in the 1950s and explores the Black American experience and examines the country’s difficult race relations. Mr Wilson earned a Pulitzer Prize for Drama in 1987 for this magnificent contribution to American theatre. Naturally, the film adaptation aimed to do the same.

It brought Viola Davis an Academy Award and a Bafta Award for her performance, and the film garnered nominations for Best Motion Picture, Best Actor, and Best Adapted Screenplay—posthumously for August Wilson. One aspect of its success is likely to stem from Mr Washington’s previous work with the source material on Broadway, which gave him significant confidence to direct.

‘FENCES’ (2016), ©BRON STUDIOS

‘Amadeus’ (1984)

Milos Forman’s classic motion picture has a lengthy theatrical history. The play on which it is based was written by Peter Shaffer and first performed in 1979, inspired from an earlier short work by Alexander Pushkin from 1830, titled ‘Mozart and Salieri’, which was also used by Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov as the 1897 libretto for an opera of the same name.

With Shaffer adapting his work for the screen and Forman directing—not to mention F. Murray Abraham and Tom Hulce’s dazzling performances as Antonio Salieri and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, respectively, it’s no wonder that the film was a triumph that took home not one, not two, but eight Academy Awards.

‘AMADEUS’ (1984), ©AMLF/THE SAUL ZAENTZ COMPANY

‘Glengarry Glen Ross’ (1992)

When discussing modern and contemporary American theatre, David Mamet is deservedly part of the conversation. The Pulitzer Prize-winning playwright even did the ol’ stage-to-movie dance by adapting ‘Glengarry Glen Ross’, one of his better works, for James Foley to shoot on film. Examining the lives of four desperate Chicago real estate agents who are ready to go to extreme and even illegal lengths for money, Mamet’s oeuvre first premiered at the National Theatre in London in 1983, followed by an official Broadway opening in 1984 that closed after a whopping 378 performances.

The result is an Oscar-winking timeless drama that brings some marvellous acting chops out of Al Pacino, Jack Lemmon, Alec Baldwin, Alan Arkin, Kevin Spacey, Ed Harris, and Jonathan Price… yes, what a line-up, indeed!

‘GLENGARRY GLEN ROSS’ (1992), ©NEW LINE CINEMA

‘Dangerous Liaisons’ (1988)

Going back to 18th-century corsets and fancy wigs for a bit, I confess that the era’s decadence and penchant for malice, revenge, and seduction make for great theatre every single time. Christopher Hampton’s ‘Les Liaisons Dangereuses’ 1985 play is no exception, its plot focused on the Marquise de Merteuil and the Vicomte de Valmont, two rivals who play cruel games and use sex to humiliate and degrade.

Naturally, such a scandalous affair deserved a sparkling treatment upon transcending into the cinematic dimension. Stephen Frears of ‘The Queen’ (2006) and ‘Dirty Pretty Things’ (2002) fame directs a prodigious ensemble of esteemed actors such as Glenn Close and John Malkovich, turning ‘Dangerous Liaisons’ into one of the ‘80s’ best dramas.

‘DANGEROUS LIAISONS’ (1989), ©WARNER BROS.

‘Angels in America’ (2003)

After the titanic success of his political epic play centred on separate but connected individuals in a society struggling with the A.I.D.S. crisis in the ‘80s, Tony Kushner took his two-part Pulitzer and Tony-winning dramatic composition and transformed it into a limited series for television, with Mike Nichols directing. It earned five Golden Globes, of which four went to the cast members—Al Pacino, Meryl Streep, Jeffrey Wright, and Mary-Louise Parker, and it brought a difficult topic back in conversations across America.

While complex and mostly metaphorical in its construction, ‘Angels in America’ is a sincere and gut-wrenching take on homosexuality and AIDS, with major and minor characters designed as supernatural beings—angels and ghosts. Most importantly, the HBO series serves as a crown of glory for a play that was described by John M. Clum as ‘a turning point in the history of gay drama, the history of American drama, and of American literary culture.’

‘ANGELS IN AMERICA’ (2003), ©HBO FILMS

As you can imagine, there are plenty of other titles worth discussing within this creative niche, but the conclusion will always be the same: rare are the plays that work on screen, and even rarer are the writers and directors capable of taking a live performance and turning it into an Oscar-worthy work of cinema.

If there is one thing that truly makes us unique among Earth’s creatures, it’s our ability to tell stories, to invent people and entire universes. I’d say we would be nowhere near as ahead in our evolution without this propensity to imagine, to dream wild dreams and then put them into practice. Yes, Icarus flew too close to the sun, but eons later in 1914, Tony Jannus conducted the first commercial airline flight between St Petersburg and Tampa. We’re crazy like that. Crazy enough to make it work.

Yet our society is not the only aspect that progressed over millennia. Our stories have grown, too, becoming increasingly complex and marvellously compelling. Starting with the Epic of Gilgamesh and the legends of Olympus, we have crafted incredible universes of heroic adventurers, capricious gods, knights and warrior queens, immortal elves and terrifying demons, fantastic creatures from beyond our animal kingdom, designing challenges that constantly adhere to one common thread in our collective consciousness: the hero’s journey.

It only got better when we started shooting these monumental tales on film. As with many of my mini-lists, I’ve had to limit my selections. While I will forever cherish gems such as Jim Henson’s ‘Labyrinth’ (1986), Matthew Vaughn’s ‘Stardust’ (2007), Wolfgang Petersen’s ‘NeverEnding Story’ (1984), Guillermo del Toro’s ‘Pan’s Labyrinth’ (2006), or Rob Reiner’s iconic ‘The Princess Bride’ (1987), the latter a never-ending source of hilarious memes, I’ve decided to focus exclusively on the kind of epic fantasy that spawned entire franchises. I’m talking about the timeless works of cinematic art that made billions not only from the original films, but also from merchandising, spinoffs, and prequels. Movies with fandoms that span the globe and time itself.

‘THE NEVERENDING STORY’ (1984), ©CONSTANTIN FILM

The Lord of the Rings

This year marks two decades since the first part of ‘The Lord of the Rings’ trilogy came out, and we haven’t been the same since. It was epic fantasy done right. No, better yet, it was epic fantasy done almost perfectly! To this day, I am astonished by the faith that producers had in an otherwise inexperienced Peter Jackson. Many balked at the $300 million budget he was given to play with—but he didn’t just play with it. He built us a world and breathed life into it.

It all began with J.R.R. Tolkien, the celebrated fantasy author. ‘The Hobbit’, his first book, published in 1937, was an out-of-the-blue success. He had written it for his children, yet thanks to Susan Dagmall of George Allen & Unwin, it became a colossal bestseller beloved by younglings everywhere. Shortly afterwards, Mr Tolkien was asked to write a sequel. Excited by how his imaginary world of Middle Earth had been growing since he’d first penned ‘The Hobbit’, he eventually produced a complex mythological composition deemed too long and boring by the publisher. It was set aside and later revived, edited, and published by the author’s son, Christopher Tolkien, as ‘The Silmarillion’.

‘THE LORD OF THE RINGS: THE FELLOWSHIP OF THE RING’ (2001), ©NEW LINE CINEMA

Back to his writing desk, Mr Tolkien developed ‘The Lord of the Rings’ as a direct sequel for Bilbo’s adventures. It was a darker and more mature take on an otherwise magical world. It gained an adult audience, becoming a masterpiece of modern English literature. In 1997, New Zealand native and screenwriter/director Peter Jackson won the rights to film this epic fantasy. At first, he tried to work out a deal with Miramax, but their requirements of cramming everything into a single movie would have made a mockery of Mr Tolkien’s oeuvre, so Jackson signed up with New Line Cinema instead, enlisting Fran Walsh and Philippa Boyens to help write the screenplay for a proper trilogy.

‘The Fellowship of the Ring’ (2001), ‘The Two Towers’ (2002), and ‘The Return of the King’ (2003) were an incredible feat. Not only did Jackson exceed every possible expectation, he and his team revolutionized the high fantasy niche of cinema. Filmed entirely in New Zealand, the ‘Lord of the Rings’ trilogy garnered a plethora of awards, with ‘The Return of the King’ accomplishing a record of its own—it was the first feature to win all 11 Academy Awards for which it was nominated. Thus, Tolkien’s legacy was brought to life after a rather disastrous animated attempt in 1978, setting the tone for many other filmmakers later down the road.

‘THE HOBBIT: AN UNEXPECTED JOURNEY’ (2012), ©NEW LINE CINEMA

Perhaps most would’ve expected to see ‘The Hobbit’ be made into a movie first, but it came later as a prequel trilogy, with Martin Freeman starring as the young Bilbo Baggins. ‘An Unexpected Journey’ (2012), ‘The Desolation of Smaug’ (2013), and ‘The Battle of the Five Armies’ (2014) were grand commercial successes, though none were close to the glory of ‘The Lord of the Rings’. Maybe the novelty had worn off by the time Jackson assembled his team and cast to bring more of Tolkien’s world to the big screen. Or maybe the focus stayed too much on special effects than on the actual story.

‘THE LORD OF THE RINGS: THE RETURN OF THE KING’ (2003), ©NEW LINE CINEMA

Harry Potter

We all know the rags-to-riches story of how JK Rowling wrote and eventually published her beloved ‘Harry Potter’ series of magical fantasy. A struggling author and mum, she pushed and toiled and then pushed some more until after twelve rejections, her manuscript for ‘Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone’ was finally published by Bloomsbury. The books were a worldwide phenomenon, stirring the imaginations of children and adults alike and causing queues to form outside bookstores in anticipation of upcoming volumes.

What’s not to love about the magic-imbued universe of Harry Potter? It’s got bits and pieces of everything tucked away inside an interdimensional pocket of sorts, a hidden reality to the Muggles’ world where wizards, house elves, unicorns and other extraordinary creatures live in relative harmony, with wizarding laws and order. There’s a ginormous academy of wizardry with a board of honoured professors equipped with the talent and knowledge required to shape the young minds of future wizards.

‘HARRY POTTER AND THE PHILOSOPHER’S STONE’ (2001), ©WARNER BROS.

The film series launched in 2001 (what a year that was, eh?), ending its exquisite box office reign with the two-part ‘Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows’ of 2010 and 2011. Its young cast, composed of stellar talents such as Daniel Radcliffe, Emma Watson, and Tom Felton, to name but a few, grew up along with their fans and captured the affection of many more along the way. Alan Rickman would forever be remembered for his performance as Professor Snape, and production companies would line up to fund the next big hits from the Potterverse.

‘FANTASTIC BEASTS AND WHERE TO FIND THEM’ (2016), NEW LINE CINEMA

While Mike Newell, Chris Columbus, Alfonso Cuarón, and David Yates directed the film series, with scripts adapted by Steve Kloves and Michael Goldenberg, JK Rowling decided to take over as screenwriter for her next endeavour within the same fictional realm, the ‘Fantastic Beasts’ prequels featuring Eddie Redmayne as a young Newt Scamander. Of course, the everlasting charm of the Potterverse—even this version from seventy years before Harry Potter—was undeniable. Alas, Mrs Rowling’s screenwriting manifested as repeatedly insufficient and rushed, thus forcing David Yates, her director of choice, to deliver below the expected threshold.

Yes, the film scores are wonderful, the actual fantastic beasts are wickedly fun, and the flair of early 20^th century American wizards is unmistakably delicious, but the prequels have fallen short of the original ‘Harry Potter’. I’ve said this before. Few novelists make good screenwriters, and few screenwriters make good novelists. Even fewer are those who can tread the line between novel and screenplay with equal proficiency.

‘HARRY POTTER AND THE HALF-BLOOD PRINCE’ (2009), ©WARNER BROS.

Pirates of the Caribbean

Disney, now a streaming giant with ownership of the Marvel Cinematic Universe and everything Star Wars, understood the potential of epic fantasy since day one. Most of its empire is built on the work of Walt Disney, one of the forefathers of animation. The Disney Classics are an eternal presence on any kid’s watchlist, and their live action attempts weren’t half-bad, either—I’ll sneak a quick mention of ‘Peter Pan’ (2003) here, one of my personal favourites. But the studio’s greatest accomplishment of high fantasy brought to the silver screen is the ‘Pirates of the Caribbean’ film series.

Inspired by Rob Kidd’s ‘Jack Sparrow’ children’s books and based on the ‘Pirates of the Caribbean’ attraction at Disney’s theme parks, this franchise gave us Johnny Depp as the swashbuckling maniac we’ve all come to love, alongside a ravishingly bold Keira Knightley and an even more handsome Orlando Bloom, who traded his elf ears for a sharp rapier and a pirate ship. The films were a monumental success, with Gore Verbinski, Rob Marshall, Espen Sandberg, and Joachim Rønning as directors.

‘PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN: CURSE OF THE BLACK PEARL’ (2003), ©WALT DISNEY PICTURES

‘The Curse of the Black Pearl’ (2003), ‘Dead Man’s Chest’ (2006), and ‘At World’s End’ (2007) were box office gold. ‘On Stranger Tides’ (2011) left Ms Knightley and Mr Bloom’s characters behind, bringing Penélope Cruz centre stage as Angelica. Alas, the momentum began to wither away, and by the time Disney released ‘Salazar’s Revenge’ (2017), there wasn’t much that could keep this ship afloat, even with Knightley and Bloom’s return.

There was only so much to be drawn from the stories though. Despite not having any of the elves, orcs, goblins and other creatures that have become a staple of this genre, ‘Pirates of the Caribbean’ is remembered as one of the greats of epic fantasy. And let’s not forget Johnny Depp as Jack Sparrow. Everyone loved Johnny Depp as Jack Sparrow.

‘PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN: ON STRANGER TIDES’ (2011), ©WALT DISNEY PICTURES

The Dark Crystal

Eighties’ kids will remember and appreciate Jim Henson’s ample foray into epic fantasy with ‘The Dark Crystal’ (1982), a puppet-animated film which he directed alongside Frank Oz. The story takes place on a fictional planet—as one might expect, where the damaged Dark Crystal favours the onset of an age of chaos. The Gelfling Jen is our main hero, determined to restore balance to the realm of Thra and overthrow the ruling Skeksis. It is one of the few stories written directly for the screen that built itself a titanic fandom within its genre. Such an achievement is worthy of the cinematic history books.

Alas, the film wasn’t a box office darling but rather became a cult legend. It never grew into a trilogy, yet it remained insanely popular over the years, so much so that Netflix decided to gamble and invest in a prequel, ‘The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance’ (2019). Armed with 21^st century CGI assistance, beautiful puppetry, and a genuine love of Jim Henson’s work, the series was led by Jeffrey Addiss and Will Matthews, receiving high praise from both new and familiar audiences. It may not be a giant, but it stands proudly among its peers.

‘THE DARK CRYSTAL’ (1982), ©JIM HENSON PRODUCTION

The Wizard of Oz

Unlike the above titles, L. Frank Baum’s series of high fantasy novels did not receive as much generosity from Hollywood, instead building its wonderful world gradually, one yellow brick at a time. ‘The Wizard of Oz’ (1939) made history with Judy Garland as Dorothty—‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’ became one of the most memorable musical pieces of the silver screen. Directed by Victor Fleming, the film was a roaring success, admired not only for its fantastic complexity but also for its brilliant execution and production design, then ultimately rewarded with two Academy Awards.

Mr Baum’s ‘The Wonderful Wizard of Oz’ epic universe was so adored, in fact, that it spawned other authors to try and further develop stories from its original pages. In 1995, Gregory Maguire published ‘Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West’, a gorgeous retelling of the original of 1900 but from the witches’ perspective. Elphaba and Glinda became overnight sensations, eventually cast in the ‘Wicked’ Broadway musical which brought Kristin Chenoweth and Idina Menzel’s musical talents under the spotlight.

From there, the Land of Oz grew bigger with various film and television projects—some more memorable than others. Worth mentioning are ‘The Muppets’ Wizard of Oz’ (2005), if only to give Jim Henson another kind nod; ‘Tin Man’ (2007), a slightly more sci-fi take on Dorothy’s tale featuring Zooey Deschanel, Alan Cumming, and Richard Dreyfuss; ‘Emerald City’ (2016-2017), a fantasy drama with a dark twist starring Oliver Jackson-Cohen, Vincent D’Onofrio, and Ana Ularu; and Sam Raimi’s ‘Oz the Great and Powerful’ (2013), which saw James Franco taking over as the Wizard himself.

‘THE WIZARD OF OZ’ (1939), ©METRO-GOLDWYN-MAYER (MGM)

There are many fantastical bodies of work besides those listed, of course. George R. R. Martin’s series made it to HBO in 2009, and despite the slightly fumbled final season, it is still one of the key points of reference when discussing the entire genre. Others, though extraordinarily successful in their novel form, never really got off the ground as feature films. CS Lewis, a fellow Inkling of Tolkien’s, for example, made his literary mark with ‘The Chronicles of Narnia’—yet the adaptations weren’t anywhere near Tolkien’s work and were mere shadows compared to ‘Harry Potter’. You may have noticed an absence from my list, and no, I have not forgotten about the ‘Star Wars’ franchise. However, since it is less high fantasy but more science fantasy, it belongs elsewhere.

Truth be told, one can flop by being overly ambitious with an epic fantasy tale, and there will never be enough special effects and animation technology to make up for weak characters and shoddy storytelling. In other cases, like Mr Martin’s ‘A Song of Ice and Fire’, the stories are simply too big for cinema yet perfect for a TV series. That’s something to discuss another day.

Previously on the Cinematic Journal… I gave you some of my favourite seasonal features to match the twelve magical days of Christmas. Today, let us look at twelve Christmas specials from the TV world, instead.

Once again, I’ve whittled my list down to the dozen, though I must give some loving nods to ‘The Office (US): Christmas Party’ (Season 2, 2005) and ‘The Office (UK): Christmas Special 2’ (Season 3, 2003) episodes before anyone else, followed closely by ‘Family Guy: A Very Special Family Guy Freakin’ Christmas’ (Season 3, 2001) and ‘3^rd Rock From the Sun: Jolly Old St Dick’ (Season 2, 1996), as four of the best comedy morsels to ever come out of television specifically for this time of the year.

While I’m here, I might as well wholeheartedly recommend ‘Black Mirror: White Christmas’ (2014), ‘Cheers: Christmas Cheers’ (Season 6, 1987), and ‘Curb Your Enthusiasm: Mary, Joseph and Larry’ (Season 3, 2002), too, as tasteful runner ups. But that’s enough cheating for now, let us get back to Twelve Days of Magical Television!

‘BLACK MIRROR: WHITE CHRISTMAS’ (2014), ©ZEPPTRON/NETFLIX

I. ‘The Andy Griffith Show: A Christmas Story’ (Season 1, 1960)

The Mayberry Sheriff’s Department is best known for the wholesomeness and generosity of its characters, and the winter festivities only serve to amplify the show’s overall sense of love toward our fellow humans. ‘The Andry Griffith Show’ is a staple of television, revered as much today as it was back in the Sixties. In ‘A Christmas Story’, Sheriff Andy has no choice but to imprison moonshiner Jim in the middle of the holidays, but he also goes out of his way to make sure everyone gets to celebrate Christmas Day—he finds excuses to imprison Jim’s wife and children with him, then temporarily deputises his own family to join in on the unusual festivities.

Maybe the era depicted in the show never existed. The level of kindness portrayed feels more like a pleasant dream, but it does manage to thaw even our 21^st century hearts with its message of hope and love.

‘THE ANDY GRIFFITH SHOW: A CHRISTMAS STORY’ (1960), ©CBS

II. ‘The Twilight Zone: The Night of the Meek’ (Season 2, 1960)

Better remembered for its creepy or sci-fi-laden morality tales, ‘The Twilight Zone’ is a titan of television and a masterwork of screenwriting—well ahead of its time and always eager to leave viewers with a real chill tumbling down their spines. Yet for this Christmas special, Rod Serling abandoned the usual formula and tapped into the more palatable aspects of humanity. ‘The Night of the Meek’ follows a down-and-out department store Santa Claus named Henry, broken and turned to drinking as a means of coping with his problems. All he wants to do is to live up to his Santa Claus role, wishing for the meek to inherit the Earth.

Henry then finds himself in possession of a magical sack that automatically bestows gifts suited for each of its recipients. Even the police can’t stop this uncanny man from fulfilling his newfound mission. The story takes Henry all the way up to the North Pole as he becomes the real Saint Nicholas figure of old. For the first time, those familiar with ‘The Twilight Zone’ will appreciate its uplifting vibes, knowing that the show never made a habit of dealing in positivity.

‘THE TWILIGHT ZONE: THE NIGHT OF THE MEEK’ (1960), ©CBS TELEVISION NETWORK

III. ‘Moonlighting: ‘Twas the Episode Before Christmas’ (Season 2, 1985)

I’m not sure how many of you remember Cybill Shepherd and Bruce Willis as Maddie and David, but if you do, I salute you! ‘Moonlighting’ made its name through its avant-garde approach and playfulness with structure and form—a revolutionary of the Eighties, one might say, crisscrossing through genres almost shamelessly as it built its own unmistakable style. But it was its first Christmas-themed episode that left me smiling, a superb mixture of warm holiday sprinkles and reflexive wit topped by a dark spin on a classic tale.

A man named Joseph is killed by the criminals he testified against, and his wife Mary (see where it’s going?) abandons her baby in Agnes’ apartment. Maddie and David have no choice but to get involved, and their journey stumbles upon several eyebrow-raising characters such as three Kings. Leave it to David to point out the obvious: ‘We’re in an allegory!’. The rapid-firing banter does slow down for this episode, as even a show like ‘Moonlighting’ takes a breath to enjoy Christmas.

‘MOONLIGHTING: ‘TWAS THE EPISODE BEFORE CHRISTMAS’ (1985), ©ABC CIRCLE FILMS

IV. ‘Tales from the Crypt: And All Through the House’ (Season 1, 1989)

One of HBO’s earliest contributions to pop culture was the horror/comedy show ‘Tales from the Crypt’, which consistently threaded a remarkably thin line between utterly terrifying and hilariously brutal—said ethos oozing out of every single minute of its Christmas special, too. In ‘And All Through the House’, a woman murders her husband for the insurance money, only to find herself targeted by a serial killer wearing a Santa Claus suit.

The episode descends from dark humour into blood-curdling dread, jumping back and forth between the two extremes with surprising agility. For those among us who like more gore with our cranberry sauce, this particularly gooey serving of ‘Tales from the Crypt’ does not disappoint.

‘TALES FROM THE CRYPT: AND ALL THROUGH THE HOUSE’ (1989), ©HBO/HOME BOX OFFICE

V. ‘The X-Files: How the Ghosts Stole Christmas’ (Season 6, 1998)

I am often fascinated by how some of the more prolific shows manage to cross into the realm of Ol’ Saint Nick so easily. In that sense, the story often proves that it doesn’t take itself too seriously, leaving room for its characters to explore themselves while also drawing us closer with a sense of seasonal familiarity. But Chris Carter’s ‘The X-Files’ managed to pull a wickedly good special by throwing ghosts into the mix—perhaps he took a page from Charles Dickens.

‘How the Ghosts Stole Christmas’ is the show’s best Christmas episode, standalone and bold in its treatment of spectres and the holiday season, as Scully and Mulder find themselves trapped in a labyrinthine and seemingly haunted house in Maryland. It’s not an easy ride, as they struggle to keep their heads clear while the world around them devolves into insanity, and they’re even turned against one another by the resident ghosts, but Scully and Mulder break through and bring this moody ship down for something great to watch whilst snuggled beneath a fluffy blanket.

‘THE X-FILES: HOW THE GHOSTS STOLE CHRISTMAS’ (1998), ©2OTH CENTURY FOX TELEVISION

VI. ‘Huff: Christmas Is Ruined’ (Season 1, 2005)

Before the dark dramedy trend really took off in this decade that is about to end, Showtime’s ‘Huff’ was a two-season marvel and elegant precursor that revolved around psychiatrist Craig Huffstodt, brilliantly portrayed by Hank Azaria, and every aspect of his defective life. The man’s complex psyche was the true star of the series, in my opinion, and Paget Brewster was a wonderful added bonus. But it’s the Christmas special that really stood out, thus sliding into this season’s viewing list, mainly because of Thania St. John’s ability to write the disparate elements of Huff’s otherwise scattered life back together.

‘Christmas Is Ruined’ has every variant of frustration possible—the terminally ill mother-in-law, the son’s girlfriend, and Russell, the addiction-addled friend. Thrown together into the same pan, they lead to especially difficult times for the protagonist, but a cheery visit from the Homeless Hungarian, a figment of Huff’s tested imagination, manages to inject a sliver of hope inside this yule log of almost-comical dysfunction.

‘HUFF: CHRISTMAS IS RUINED’ (2005), ©SONY PICTURES TELEVISION

VII. ‘The Boondocks: A Huey Freeman Christmas’ (Season 1, 2005)

Initially, I was tempted to have the ‘Family Guy’ episode up here, but upon revisiting both, I felt as though Huey’s take on the holidays made more sense in wrapping up a year like this. Hijacking the school play and shifting its traditional tones into ‘The Adventures of Black Jesus’—co-produced by Quincy Jones and featuring the thespian skills of Denzel Washington and Angela Bassett, Huey Freeman delivers one hell of a Christmas show, and then some.

This festive bonanza doesn’t run short of clever references to ‘A Charlie Brown Christmas’ (1965), either, and it stays true to the show’s overarching ruthlessness, gleefully stabbing white liberal guilt in the face. It’s funny, it’s brutally honest, and it’s one of the most memorable episodes of the entire animated series.

‘THE BOONDOCKS: A HUEY FREEMAN CHRISTMAS’ (2005), ©SONY PICTURES TELEVISION

VIII. ‘Boston Legal: The Nutcrackers’ (Season 3, 2006)

No one writes television like David E. Kelley. The man is a giant of his craft, and he has earned his place among the stars. But there is one thing that the writer of ‘Big Little Lies’ (2017-2019) and ‘The Practice’ (1997-2004) loves more than penning legal dramas, and that’s Christmas specials. Out of this cheerfully specific portfolio, my heart will forever be set on ‘The Nutcrackers’ from ‘Boston Legal’, rife with its signature witty sass.

A brilliant example of the series’ rich and zigzagging range of themes and multifaceted social issues, the Season 3 Christmas special sees Alan and Shirley involved in a case where a mother fights for custody of her daughters, both singers in a white supremacist pop band. Meanwhile, William Shatner’s unforgettable Denny Crane assists another mother as she struggles to keep custody of her anorexic daughter, and Brad and Denise work with a client who wants to sue God the almighty himself for killing her husband via a lightning strike. As expected, the entire episode packs a hefty punch and a plethora of mind-boggling moments.

‘BOSTON LEGAL: THE NUTCRACKERS’ (2006), ©20TH CENTURY FOX TELEVISION

IX. ‘Supernatural: A Very Supernatural Christmas’ (Season 3, 2007)

If there is one cult darling I will never get tired of revisiting, it’s Eric Kripke’s ‘Supernatural’ (2005-2020). It has been like a close friend for fifteen years and bidding the boys farewell took more tears than expected during the series finale. However, their special episodes have always been particularly fun, especially ‘A Very Supernatural Christmas’ which finds Sam and Dean investigating what appears to be some kind of Krampus monster killing innocent people.

The dark fantasy thread of the Winchesters’ investigation is lovingly weaved together with flashbacks of their own troubled childhood, spent mostly on the road and in cheap motels while their father went out hunting terrible creatures—among them the demon that killed their mother. It’s one of those rare instances where the show’s otherwise gruff and resilient heroes give us a glimpse of their younger, more fragile selves. Best served with a cup of marshmallows smothered in hot chocolate.

‘SUPERNATURAL: A VERY SUPERNATURAL CHRISTMAS’ (2007), ©WARNER BROS. TELEVISION

X. ‘Modern Family: Undeck the Halls’ (Season 1, 2009)

Redefining comedy for television, ‘Modern Family’ gathered Emmy awards and mountains of praise for its exquisitely dynamic pacing and heartfelt moments. The first Christmas with the Dunphys and the Pritchetts is sparkly and funny and absolutely brilliant despite its short format. It’s a hot mess, through and through, from a mysterious burn mark on the sofa that gets Christmas cancelled in the Dunphy household to Jay’s unsuccessful attempts to warm Gloria and Manny to his seasonal traditions and topping up with Cameron and Mitchell basically ruining the entire holiday for a mall Santa by complaining he’s ‘not jolly enough’… yes, it’s an absolutely delicious hot mess.

Each of these subplots is minutely designed for their characters with near-German precision and having Fred Willard Skype in as Phil’s dad is as wonderful as the first snow, building up to a splendid ensemble performance.

‘MODERN FAMILY: UNDECK THE HALLS’ (2009), ©20TH CENTURY FOX TELEVISION

XI. ‘The Mentalist: Jolly Red Elf’ (Season 3, 2010)

There are plenty of procedural dramas and whodunit-style series to shamelessly binge on these days, but few are as well and as profoundly written as ‘The Mentalist’, one of Bruno Heller’s most successful forays in television altogether. The show follows Patrick Jane, former-psychic-turned-police-consultant who uses his exceptional skills as a mentalist to help the California Bureau of Investigation solve crimes while also looking to take down the serial killer known as Red John, who is responsible for the murder of Mr Jane’s wife and daughter.

‘Jolly Red Elf’ is not one of the best episodes, but it’s definitely a stellar Christmas special of its genre, as Jane and Lisbon’s team investigate the apparent suicide of a professional Santa while also wrestling with Agent LaRoche, who suspects Mr Jane of having been involved in the recent death of a cop killer and (unbeknownst to everyone but our chief protagonist) a Red John acolyte. The storyline carries itself gracefully over the finish line, bringing its own brand of Christmas ‘magic’ to the table.

‘THE MENTALIST: JOLLY RED ELF’ (2010), ©WARNER BROS. TELEVISION

XII. ‘Community: Abed’s Uncontrollable Christmas’ (Season 2, 2010)

Dan Harmon’s comedic oeuvre ‘Community’ found its place in the halls of television masterpieces through its approach to a stunningly complex cast of characters—a band of misfits highlighted not only by the showrunner’s exquisite writing but also by the actors’ individual performances. Perhaps one of its most valuable components is Abed, the literal fourth wall between us and what was clearly never just a standard gang sitcom.

In ‘Abed’s Uncontrollable Christmas’, the series gains a whole new dimension, as Abed finds himself viewing the world in stop-motion animation while becoming determined to rediscover the meaning of Christmas. As always, ‘Community’ pushes boundaries and throws in a powerful emotional note into this holiday special, remaining astonishingly self-aware throughout. That, my friends, is true greatness and no easy feat.

‘COMMUNITY: ABED’S UNCONTROLLABLE CHRISTMAS’ (2010), ©HARMONIUS CLAPTRAP

While this may be a difficult holiday for many of our readers, may great stories adorn the year to come and may we all step into the new decade with enough force and creativity to further shape the world of film and television. There is always room for more and better, with enough inspiration to go around for everyone. Let us be strong, keep calm and carry on.

We are sliding into my favourite time of the year, despite its obvious difficulties. I see it as an opportunity for us to watch as much of the good stuff as possible, because what else can we do? That being said, our Christmas viewing experience does deserve a wee bit more wholesomeness and awesomeness than usual.

Yes, you’re free to binge all the ‘Harry Potter’ movies, of course. You can re-watch the ‘Home Alone’ franchise for the umpteenth time. You can even stick it to anyone who’s ever said that the ‘Die Hard’ flicks aren’t Christmas viewing material at all. Knock yourselves out. But what if we can kick it up a notch for 2020?

It has taken years of hits and misses and wasted hours to put together a compelling and definitive holiday guide. There are only twelve films in it, matching the twelve days of Christmas. Some of the glorious titles didn’t make it into the guide—honourable mentions here for ‘Miracle on 34^th Street’ (1947), ‘White Christmas’ (1954), and the delightfully cluttered ‘Love Actually’ (2003), to name but a few, but what follows will make even more sense.

‘LOVE ACTUALLY’ (2003), ©UNIVERSAL PICTURES

The First Day: ‘Beauty and the Beast’ (1991)

For over a decade, my Christmas tradition has been to hunker down with a bowl of popcorn and go through a proper Disney Classics marathon, starting with ‘Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs’ (1937) and going all the way up to ‘The Princess and the Frog’ (2009). My favourite is and will always be ‘Beauty and the Beast’, however, which is the perfect tale for any winter.

There is plenty of snow, and there is love budding in the most difficult circumstances between a bookish girl—mind you, not the regular Disney princess per se—and a most terrifying beast. Splendidly embellished by a cast of dancing and singing household objects and drawing its roots from Gabrielle-Suzanne de Villeneuve’s original fairy tale, ‘Beauty and the Beast’ is one of the best animated productions to ever come out of Walt Disney Studios.

‘BEAUTY AND THE BEAST’ (1991), ©WALT DISNEY PICTURES

The Second Day: ‘Elf’ (2003)

Before he delivered awe-inspiring creations such as ‘The Mandalorian’ (2019), Jon Favreau gave the world an everlasting gift with ‘Elf’, the spirited and good-natured family comedy featuring the legendary Will Ferrell as Buddy, accidentally raised at the North Pole as one of Santa’s elves. Increasingly aware that he doesn’t quite fit in among the tiny helpers, Buddy travels to New York and tries to connect with his real father.

Naturally, this results in a string of chaotic incidents and silliness, but it’s the hilarious clash of childlike innocence and contemporary adult cynicism that really turns ‘Elf’ into a precious Christmas story. I dedicate it to every grown-up who still enjoys tapping into the inner kid during the holidays. We need that cheer and sweetness, now more than ever.

‘ELF’ (2003), ©NEW LINE CINEMA

The Third Day: ‘Joyeux Noël’ (2005)

Five months into the First World War, a series of unofficial ceasefires were enacted along the Western Front for Christmas. It was a brief moment in the history of mankind when soldiers from both sides took a break and tapped into the better aspects of humanity. Christian Carion brought this true story to the silver screen with ‘Joyeux Noël’, a film which imagines said moment through the eyes of four unlikely individuals from opposing camps.

It’s a heart-crunching reminder that despite the blood soaking our battlefields, we are still capable of peace and kindness. With superb performances from Diane Kruger and Gary Lewis, ‘Joyeux Noël’ feels like a stern yet hopeful portrait of us all—an invitation to try and do better for ourselves and for the generations to follow.

‘JOYEUX NOËL’ (2005), ©NORD-OUEST PRODUCTION

The Fourth Day: ‘Little Women’ (1994)

Greta Gerwig’s 2019 remake starring Saoirse Ronan and Emma Watson is absolutely gorgeous, but I will stick to the first and slightly quainter adaptation of Louisa May Alcott’s classic novel. Gillian Armstrong’s ‘Little Women’ screenplay was penned by the illustrious Robin Swicord, whose literary sensitivity transpires through several other cinematic oeuvres—including ‘Memoirs of a Geisha’ (2005) and ‘The Curious Case of Benjamin Button’ (2008).

Alcott’s story follows the March sisters as they grow and come of age in post-Civil War America. With dazzling performances from Winona Rider, Claire Danes, Kirsten Dunst, and Susan Sarandon, ‘Little Women’ is a timeless tale that will never cease to tug at one’s soul. It’s an essential Christmas treat.

‘LITTLE WOMEN’ (1994), ©COLUMBIA PICTURES

The Fifth Day: ‘The Nightmare Before Christmas’ (1993)

To be fair, I was tempted to go with ‘Edward Scissorhands’ (1990) as a Tim Burtonesque entry for this special guide, but it’s the stop-motion animation masterpiece that truly deserves the Christmas Classic label, in the end. It’s a stunning work of art, a visual spectacle that pushes the very boundaries of creativity while also cementing Mr Burton’s reputation as a weird genius of cinema.

‘The Nightmare Before Christmas’ tells the marvellously creepy tale of Jack Skellington, the pumpkin king of Halloweentown, who is bored with the usual spooky routine and ends up kidnapping Santa Claus in order to bring Christmas to his world of dead things. As expected, his entire plan goes awry, resulting in a strange but utterly charming film that is an absolute seasonal darling.

‘THE NIGHTMARE BEFORE CHRISTMAS’ (1993), ©TOUCHSTONE PICTURES

The Sixth Day: ‘Meet Me in St Louis’ (1944)

Judy Garland’s musical talent is undeniable, but she certainly takes it to a whole new level alongside Margaret O’Brien in this enchantingly precious musical directed by Hollywood heavyweight Vincente Minnelli. Hailing from the golden age of MGM studios, ‘Meet Me in St Louis’ follows four sisters just as the 1904 St Louis World’s Fair is about to begin. Focusing primarily on the girls’ education as they step into adulthood, the film delivers generously in matters of life and love through the stereotypical but ever-pleasant boy-next-door.

Filled with musical dance numbers and adorned with artful period costumes—courtesy of a truly superior production design, ‘Meet Me in St Louis’ not only further establishes Judy Garland as a shining star of the silver screen, it makes for a warm and sparkling Christmas viewing. Marshmallows dipping in hot chocolate are optional but recommended on the side.

‘MEET ME IN ST LOUIS’ (1944), ©METRO-GOLDWYN-MAYER (MGM)

The Seventh Day: ‘The Best Man Holiday’ (2013)

Winter festivities from all cultures are mostly about family and love. A time when we come together—brothers and sisters, children and parents, grandparents and aunts, lovers and spouses and everything else in-between, as friends and as human beings. Naturally, such celebrations wouldn’t be complete without a heart-warming, Black-powered drama like ‘The Best Man Holiday’. Designed with broad strokes of humor and romantic sparks, the film brings old friends together for Christmas in a formula that cannot and will never disappoint.

Fifteen years after their last gathering, a group of college friends finally meet once more for the holidays. While their lives have changed substantially over the years, they quickly come to realize just how easy dead rivalries and old passions can come ablaze. Directed by Malcolm D. Lee and enriched with vibrant performances by Terrence Howard, Taye Diggs, Regina Hall, and Harold Perrineau, ‘The Best Man Holiday’ is one of those relatively light but essential seasonal delicacies.

‘THE BEST MAN HOLIDAY’ (2013), ©UNIVERSAL PICTURES

The Eighth Day: ‘The Bishop’s Wife’ (1948)

Let’s go back to the ‘olden days’ for a bit. Cary Grant, Loretta Young, and David Niven lead this Henry Koster Christmas tale of supernatural intervention and human character. There has been one remake of ‘The Bishop’s Wife’, titled ‘The Preacher’s Wife’ (1996)—directed by Penny Marshall and featuring Denzel Washington and Whitney Houston; while I like that version almost as much, I can’t help but stay loyal to Mr Koster’s original for the purpose of this guide.

‘The Bishop’s Wife’ sees Niven’s Bishop Henry Brougham struggling to raise money to build a cathedral and praying to heaven for assistance. Shockingly, he is immediately graced with the presence of Grant’s Dudley, who claims to be an angel. The bishop is sceptical at first, then irritated as the so-called angel starts drawing the attention and affection of his wife, Young’s Julia Brougham. As expected, conflict unravels, and the bishop decides to challenge heaven. Given Christmas’s close ties to Christianity, some angelic mischief is mandatory.

‘THE BISHOP’S WIFE’ (1947), ©THE SAMUEL GOLDWYN COMPANY

The Ninth Day: ‘While You Were Sleeping’ (1995)

This is my guilty pleasure, and I shall never apologize nor stop recommending it as part of winter’s movie playlist. Rom-coms were never the elite of the silver screen, but there are a few that withstand the quality test of time. ‘While You Were Sleeping’ happens to be one of them, and it’s mostly because of Sandra Bullock’s brilliant comedic performance.

The formula is further improved with Bill Pullman as her love interest and with Jon Turtletaub directing this frosted gem in which lonely transit worker Lucy pulls her crush Peter from the path of an oncoming train. Things get complicated quickly at the hospital, where doctors report that he is comatose, and Peter’s family is accidentally led to assume that Lucy is his fiancée. The story further twists as our adorably awkward heroine finds herself falling for Peter’s slightly more aloof brother, Jack.

‘WHILE YOU WERE SLEEPING’ (1995), ©HOLLYWOOD PICTURES

The Tenth Day: ‘Bad Santa’ (2003)

While most would suggest one of the Grinch’s big screen renditions for our holiday guide, I’ll rather set my sights on Billy Bob Thornton’s gleefully offensive take on Santa, instead. Directed by Terry Zwigoff, this Christmas cult classic isn’t for everyone, and it certainly doesn’t qualify as clean family fun, but it is nonetheless an enticing story, and its lead’s performance alone deserves a rowdy round of applause.

The dark comedy follows Willie T. Stokes as he reunites with his partner, Marcus (Tony Cox) for a proper Christmas con where they pose as a mall Santa and his elf. Their chemistry is riotous, and the string of incidents that follows along with Willie’s depression and alcoholism simply builds up until a little boy comes along and brings out the kinder side of our otherwise ‘Bad Santa’. And to think this almost didn’t get made!

‘BAD SANTA’ (2003), ©COLUMBIA PICTURES

The Eleventh Day: ‘Un Conte de Noël’ (2008)

‘A Christmas Tale’ is a French jewel of contemporary cinema, an exceptionally sharp black comedy built around a messy family gathering which brings forth radiant performances from the stupendous Catherine Deneuve. Don’t even get me started on the rest of the cast, as I’m an eternal fan of Mathieu Amalric and ‘Black Spot’ headliner Laurent Capelluto. Arnaud Desplechin’s chaotic family tale has everything you need to get through pretty much any kind of Christmas.

Deneuve’s matriarch Junon is stricken with a leukaemia diagnosis, so she asks her children and grandchildren during their holiday dinner gathering to see if any of them are eligible bone marrow donors. This unexpected turn of events draws out the worst from everyone, putting everything on the table: animosities, sibling friction, and grief. It’s truly a brilliant cocktail of drama and comedy with that typical French sting that one can never get enough of.

‘UN CONTE DE NOËL’ (2008), ©WHY NOT PRODUCTIONS

The Twelfth Day: ‘Rare Exports: A Christmas Tale’ (2010)

I was actually torn between this Finnish chunk of goodness and ‘Tokyo Godfathers’ (2003), which you might as well consider an added bonus for our holiday guide. But ‘Rare Exports: A Christmas Tale’ is a surprisingly smooth mix of straight-faced comedy and Christmas-themed horror. That is a dangerous combination, and less than frequently successful, yet director Jalmari Helander pulls it off with sheer proficiency.

In this twisted tale, we root for Pietari and Juuso, two boys who suspect that a secret mountain drilling project near their home in northern Finland has somehow uncovered the ancient tomb of the real Santa Claus. Mind you, this version of the ol’ St Nick isn’t cheerful nor jolly, but monstrous and evil. Throw in a feral old man, missing children, and Pietari’s baffled father, and we’ve got ourselves one hell of a reindeer murder mystery. It’s weird and original, therefore deserving of the twelfth spot.

‘RARE EXPORTS: A CHRISTMAS TALE’ (2010), ©CINET/POMOR FILM

There are plenty of other titles worth perusing every year around Christmas, sure, but few are as unique and as splendidly put together as the above. While I don’t mind revisiting delectable classics like ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’ (1946) or ‘Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer’ (1964), consider this the ultimate Christmas experience. We’ve earned it.

Leaving the vintage vampire behind, I thought I’d start this piece with a trigger warning: the Nineties and the Naughties are equal parts wonderful and terrible for the bloodsuckers. In certain regions, they’re even… sparkly. Nevertheless, I shall swallow my ‘puritanical’ pride and continue enriching this compendium with other fangers brought forth by film and TV over the past three decades as we pick up where we left off.

In fact, consider this second volume to be a bittersweetly fragranced potpourri of the good, the bad, and the highly marketable but terrible vampires—yes, I’m looking at you, Edward. All harmless jabs aside, however, a current can be easily observed beginning with the Nineties, and it’s mostly due to Warner’s intelligent move to dramatize Anne Rice’s ‘Interview with the Vampire’ bestselling gothic fantasy novel.

It was a turning point for the onscreen vampire as it morphed into the disarming yet deadly seducer that glamours our pants off. The sexy leather-and-white-ruffle-clad brooding romantic whose sadness is meant to discourage us from dreaming of immortality—yet we only end up wanting it more.

‘VAMPIRE IN BROOKLYN’ (1995), ©PARAMOUNT PICTURES

Tom Cruise Like You’ll Never See Him Again

First and foremost, all hail to the queen of vampires, Anne Rice. It’s only fitting that the coming decade be crowned with an upcoming series based on her ‘The Vampire Chronicles’ novel series. She spruced up the 1990s, after all. She might as well save the 2020s.

If there is one form of the vampire that most may agree on as a classical, it is definitely ‘Interview with a Vampire: The Vampire Chronicles’, adapted for the screen by Ms Rice herself and directed by Neil Jordan. Other films based on her writings have fallen short of the source materials, but this one not only endures, it has become a precious page of vampire lore. And how could it not, when it shamelessly indulges in the talents of ridiculously young and thirsty Tom Cruise and Brad Pitt?

The story of Louis and Lestat, joined here by the eternal child Claudia (Kirsten Dunst) and the notorious Armand (Antonio Banderas), will never cease to cause wonder and melancholy, as it is ripe with weirdness and dark romance, with guilt and longing, with heart-breaking solitude and bone-crushing rage. Nothing tramples through the emotional spectrum harder than a Vampire Chronicles protagonist.

‘INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE: THE VAMPIRE CHRONICLES’ (1994), ©WARNER BROS.

Robert Rodriguez Does Vamps

You might remember that Robert Rodriguez underwent voluntary drug testing sessions to fund his first movie, ‘El Mariachi’ (1992). Just four years later, the visionary director added his own version of vampires to this marvellous compendium with ‘From Dusk Till Dawn’, starring George Clooney and Quentin Tarantino.

It’s the two-movies-in-one-gritty-experience that ‘Grindhouse’ (2007) could have been, as the first half follows two brothers and bank robbers on a spree headed south of the border, and the second half brings them to the Titty Twister, which turns out to be a vampire coven—anyone alive that is caught in this place must fight until dawn if they wish to survive.

Harvey Keitel’s ministerial presence and Juliette Lewis’s virginal innocence form a robust contrast with the Gecko brothers’ murderous tendencies and the club’s lethal seductress portrayed by Salma Hayek. ‘From Dusk Till Dawn’ glorifies the violence of night demons and humans alike, but not without a pinch of guilt—just enough to remind the Gecko brothers (alongside the viewers, of course), that for all its appeal, immortality is not without a price. Based on a story by Robert Kurtzman and written by Quentin Tarantino, the film was later made into a series by Rodriguez, which spanned three seasons.

‘FROM DUSK TILL DAWN’ (1996), ©DIMENSION FILMS

The Blade That Changed Everything

Before the CGI-riddled superhero sagas from Marvel and DC, Hollywood made room on its roster for David S. Goyer’s take on the comic antihero known as Blade. With Stephen Norrington directing and Wesley Snipes as the iconic half-vampire-half-human vigilante, ‘Blade’ (1998) broke a lot of boundaries and pushed the bloodsuckers’ genre into previously uncharted territory.

The screenplay established the ‘gritty but realistic’ allure that later delivered ‘The Dark Knight’ trilogy and ‘Man of Steel’ (2013), and it offered vampires as bloodthirsty fiends that simply asked for a proper beheading. Blade himself was an interesting take, since his human side allowed him to walk in the daylight.

Defined by athletic spectacle and a festival of hacking, slashing and slicing, ‘Blade’ recorded a tremendous commercial success that later grew into a trilogy—the third installment helped Ryan Reynolds and Jessica Biel grow out of their ‘Van Wilder: Party Liaison’ (2002) and ‘7^th Heaven’ (1996-2006) childlike ruts, respectively. Blade was the first of his kind, and none have been able to replace him.

‘BLADE’ (1998), ©MARVEL ENTERPRISES

Vampire Children and Glittering Bloodsuckers

The year 2008 was a complicated one for the purposes of this compendium, which is why I find more value in cramming two films in a single, wholehearted breath. ‘Let the Right One In’, Tomas Alfredson’s Swedish bloody fantasy changed the way we looked at vampire. Written by John Ajvide Lindqvist, this particularly unsettling story focuses on the friendship between Oskar, a shy and bullied 12-year-old, and Eli, his pale and mysterious new neighbour.

Bonded by their darker sides, Oskar and Eli form a friendship as they reveal their true natures to one another. Despite its ‘bloody Valentine’ vibe, ‘Let the Right One In’ carries itself with a warm conclusion and just a pinch of infantile sweetness.

‘LET THE RIGHT ONE IN’ (2008), © EFTI/FILMPOOL NORD

But nothing was more impactful on vampire culture than ‘Twilight’, of all silver screen creations. Oh, ‘Twilight’. While I hate the franchise with the fire of a thousand suns, credit must be given where it’s due. Regardless of its underwhelming vampiric representation and gothic-bubblegum aesthetic, Catherine Hardwicke’s cinematic take on the Stephenie Meyer novels rightfully earned its place in this collection devoted to fanged dazzlers.

Kristen Stewart and Robert Pattinson were too young and their characters too superficially written to make an individual lasting impact. The storyline itself was predictable, at best, and clotted with clichés. But ‘Twilight’ gave the world a new kind of vampire—the kind that conquered a new generation and brought young people back to reading fantasy. Obviously, there were better tales deserving of such attention, but ‘Twilight’ changed the market altogether, becoming a starting point as readers and viewers alike grew and moved on to greater titles.

‘TWILIGHT’ (2008), ©SUMMIT ENTERTAINMENT

Korean-Style Fangers

Having been accustomed to the unpredictable yet poetic violence of Park Chan-wook’s ‘Oldboy’ (2003) and ‘Sympathy for Mr Vengeance’ (2002), I wasn’t exactly shocked by the concept of ‘Thirst’ (2009). I was, however, blown away by the stylistic execution and flawless character design. Inspired by Émile Zola’s ‘Thérèse Raquin’, Mr Park’s horror fantasy follows a priest who is afflicted by vampirism and forced to remove himself from his ascetic ways while developing a sexual affair with the woman he feeds on.

Better known for his storytelling formula that blends brutality and controversy with light-hearted humour, the South Korean director pushed his method into a whole new realm through ‘Thirst’, a thought-provoking take on the colossal yet versatile vampire. Playing with gender roles and subversive editing, this particular bloodsucker’s tale is as ravishing as it is satyrical. Double points for Mr Park!

‘THIRST’ (2009), ©FOCUS FEATURES INTERNATIONAL

The Impoverished Vampire

Fast-forward to 2012, when Neil Jordan returned to the vampiric realm with ‘Byzantium’, starring the inimitable Saoirse Ronan and the severely underrated Gemma Arterton. Unlike most vampire stories, this visually astonishing yet coolly detached film does offer a polite nod to the director’s first foray with ‘Interview with the Vampire’. Unlike its more romantic predecessor, ‘Byzantium’ presents vampires not as elite charmers of the night, but as the necessitous or even downright beggarly creatures of a lower class.

Ronan’s protagonist feeds only on the blood of those that are already dying, while her mother, Arterton’s Clara, is an equal parts tragic and inspiring being—the former because she still makes a living as a prostitute, and the latter because she chose to become a vampire in a time when such a transition was reserved exclusively for men. What makes ‘Byzantium’ truly stand out is Mr Jordan’s treatment of blood in each and every scene where it is featured. The elaborate displays of scarlet are impossible to look away from, and the tinge of feminism neatly tucked within the story cannot be ignored, either.

‘BYZANTIUM’ (2012), ©DEMAREST FILMS

The Bloody Double Whammy

Another great year for vampires was 2013. Jim Jarmusch made an artful comeback with ‘Only Lovers Left Alive’ in a time when the blood drinkers were already expanding their reputation throughout the television medium, as well. The American director’s treatment is superb, to say the least, as Tilda Swinton and Tom Hiddleston emerge after centuries of bohemian living—two splendiferous though rather different sides of a coin.

Hiddleston’s vampire is tired and despondent. Swinton’s vampire is hopeful and warm, eager to bring him out of the darkness of their neverending existence and into the light of… well, their neverending existence.

There is a flow of ideas happening in Mr Jarmusch’s movie. A love of life and an appreciation of mystery that doesn’t dwindle after hundreds of years of living. It’s an optimistic angle, sure, but it’s a most welcome setup. Among all the vampire productions included in this collection, I’d venture to say that ‘Only Lovers Left Alive’ is the most human, aiming to inspire and thrive, to encourage viewers to step into new realms and experience adventure. To never stop breathing and wondering and living.

‘ONLY LOVERS LEFT ALIVE’ (2013), ©RECORDED PICTURE COMPANY (RPC)

And while on one hand we have this honey-like drizzle of vampirical romanticism, Jermaine Clement and Taika Waititi’s ‘What We Do in the Shadows’ (2014) comes as a most welcome dollop of humour—something we’ve not seen much of since Udo Kier’s Warholian vampire. In this 86-minute comedy, Clement and Waititi are joined by Jonathan Brugh and Ben Fransham as four fangers who were turned during different time periods. That leads to some hilarious conflicts of culture and personality, while the misery of eternal living persists somewhere in the background, much like an uncomfortable wart.

Deadpan mockumentary humour aside, ‘What We Do in the Shadows’ is a brilliant take on the vampire as it’s dragged out of its gothic pizzazz and thrust into the real world today, where dishes have to be washed and bouncers can refuse one’s entry into a nightclub. Perhaps too short in its feature form, the film did go on to evolve into an eponymous series helmed by Mr Clement. Can’t say I mind it. Not even a bit.

‘WHAT WE DO IN THE SHADOWS’ (2014), ©UNISON FILMS

The Vampire On TV

On the small screen, vampires have been wreaking havoc and building gargantuan fan bases on a weekly basis and across different age groups. From HBO’s ‘True Blood’ (2008-2014), based on Charlaine Harris’s ‘The Southern Vampire Mysteries’, which made everyone—absolutely everyone—fall head over heels with Alexander Skarsgård, to ‘The Vampire Diaries’ (2009-2017), which appealed to the young adult audience but then lost its vampire theme somehow between seasons 3 and 4, TV does not fall short in this uniquely diverse fantasy category.

‘True Blood’ was better because of its stellar cast—I shall never forget Nelsan Ellis as Lafayette, nor Rutina Wesley’s intensely broken Tara. ‘The Vampire Diaries’ made Ian Somerhalder into a household name, and I can unrepentantly state that those piercing blue eyes of his are pretty much the show’s only redeeming quality.

But before these vampires we had Spike and his weird-eyed cohorts in ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer’ (1997-2003), and David Boreanaz’s iconic Angel that got his own spin-off with a darker and more mature treatment. We had the phenomenal Famke Janssen and Bill Skarsgård’s upirs in ‘Hemlock Grove’ (2013-2015), too, part of Netflix’s plunge into the vampire trend that dominated this sundowning decade. And ‘Being Human’ in both its UK and US versions struck a particular chord with fans on both sides of the Atlantic Ocean by making ghosts and vampires and werewolves live together under the same roof.

‘TRUE BLOOD’ (2008-2014), ©HBO/HOME BOX OFFICE

While most vampires follow the usual ‘sexy predator’ trope, there are some who stand out as multifaceted and intensely human, and a few who are truly unforgettable, savagely fun and interesting.

Ultimately, there is one change from the ancient vampers to the present-day fangers that stands out and is key to a show or a feature film’s success: they no longer take themselves too seriously. Yes, they are fierce and lethal and gory, able to tear one’s throat open for a mere sip, yet at the same time they manage to appear vulnerable, in some cases even silly, but always riding that wave of immortality better than their predecessors ever could. I, for one, appreciate the modern vampire more because it lives past the otherwise unavoidable tragedy of death and the end of things.

It lives past everything, and it asks the most daring question of all: what does forever look like?

For as long as people have told stories, there have been vampires in our folklore: in orally transmitted tales, in novels, and more recently, in film and television. They go out of fashion once in a while, but then they come back with a vengeance and a hunger for the macabre. The vampire is a timeless element of fantasy. It’s time to dig into its history.

Mythology with Fangs

Supernatural beings who drank the blood of innocent humans have popped up in almost every culture across the globe, from Antiquity and well into the Middle Ages. From the Indian vetālas and the Babylonian Lilitu (synonymous to the Hebrew Lilith) to the Ancient Greek Lamia and the Brazilian Jaracaca, and from the Eastern European versions including the Romanian strigoi, the African Asasabonsam, the Old Norse draugr, and the old-fashioned English revenant, our storybooks are loaded with blood-drinking fiends of the night.

Our fascination with these mythical creatures even devolved into a terrible frenzy during the 18^th century, which saw corpses staked and graves dug open to identify and destroy potential revenants. In that age, the immortality that bound one’s body to the night was a work attributed to the Devil himself. The only eternity that a soul could wish for came after death and with a proper burial for those so-called true Christians. Vampires were frightful creatures, capable of terrible things, a dark mirror image of ourselves, in the end, so of course, they thrived!

ILLUSTRATION BY DAVID HENRY FRISTON FOR ‘CAMILLA’ BY SHERIDAN LE FANU

A Silver Screen for Nosferatu

When the 20^th century came around, people had a new medium to tell vampire stories through. German director F.W. Murnau brought forth ‘Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror’ in 1922, which introduced Max Schreck as Count Orlok. It was an unauthorized adaptation of Bram Stoker’s ‘Dracula’ novel of 1897—the first slightly more romantic take on the infamous bloodsucker.

In Murnau’s version, the charmingly terrifying vampire has an interest in a new residence and in his estate agent’s wife, portrayed by Greta Schröder. Today, ‘Nosferatu’ is a jewel of early cinema, even though Stoker’s heirs sued over copyright infringement. A court ruling ordered all copies of the film to be destroyed, but several prints survived. In 1929, seven years after its German premiere, ‘Nosferatu’ was released in the United States, later becoming one of the most influential masterpieces of the silver screen. So influential, in fact, that Werner Herzog revisited it through a breath-taking homage titled ‘Nosferatu, the Vampyre’ (1979).

‘NOSFERATU: A SYMPHONY OF HORROR’ (1922)

Stoker’s Dracula Revisited

After Murnau’s foray into the vampire fantasy, Tod Browning took on the challenge of an authorized adaptation of Bram Stoker’s novel—by proxy, since the film is actually based on the 1924 stage play written by Hamilton Deane and John L. Balderston, which, in turn, is based on the novel. Yes, this is quite the copyrighted pretzel! Garrett Fort penned the screenplay, and legendary actor Bela Lugosi played the part of Dracula in what quickly became a veritable oeuvre of its genre and generation.

It had an enormous commercial and critical success upon its release, and Lugosi’s version of Dracula quickly became a cultural icon, recognizable anywhere. He also served as the central framework for future vampire characters which would later blossom in the minds of writers like Anne Rice and Stephen King, to name but a few. The classy and deadly type. Eventually, ‘Dracula’ (1931) was selected by the United States Library of Congress for preservation in its National Film Registry, which deemed the film as ‘culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant’.

‘DRACULA’ (1931), ©UNIVERSAL PICTURES

The Politically Infuriated Vampire

Over the decades following Browning’s ‘Dracula’, the vampire myth didn’t find much appeal within the film world. There was the occasional European dip such as ‘Daughters of Darkness’ (1971), but nothing truly notable until Bill Gunn arose and slapped America with ‘Ganja & Hess’ (1973), a racially tinted and remarkably audacious vampire tale. It chronicles a short-lived but mesmerizing affair between a wealthy widow named Ganja and Hess, a vampiric anthropologist with an impressive hold on his powers.

Hess is turned by Ganja’s husband, portrayed by the director himself, with the aid of a Myrthian dagger inherited from an ancient tribe of African blood drinkers. The film’s dominating conclusion is that even with his complex knowledge of the history of his people, Duane Jones’s Hess has not yet truly felt the anger of the tragedy that befell the African people—not until the dagger. It’s an interesting transformation to observe, dabbling through painful history and societal issues that are still hard to take off the table. Worth mentioning here is that years later, Spike Lee did a remake of ‘Ganja & Hess’ titled ‘Da Sweet Blood of Jesus’ (2014).

‘GANJA & HESS’ (1973), ©KELLY/JORDAN ENTERPRISES

A Parody of Bloodsuckers

Once upon a time, the vampire was still a relatively young creature in the pages of cinema, so certain directors (Paul Morrissey) and certain producers (Andy Warhol, of all people) decided that it would be a fabulous idea to create a farcically impotent version of Dracula, brought to life by Udo Kier in ‘Blood for Dracula’ (1974). This particular bloodsucker’s problem is that his body is getting weaker due to the dwindling number of virgins for him to feast on. His quest for ‘pure blood’ takes him to Italy, where eye-candy Joe Dallesandro bangs his way through the countryside with a thick Brooklyn accent in order to literally starve Dracula out.

With no virgins left, the night-lord will eventually wither and perish, giving a whole new meaning to the concept of ‘morning wood’. On one hand, viewers would find it easy to laugh at an impotent vampire, but Kier’s portrayal also represents the slow death of classicism in the face of a sexual revolution.

‘BLOOD FOR DRACULA’ (1974), ©ANDY WARHOL PRESENTATION

Mr Romero’s Take

George Romero was no stranger to the horrors of supernatural. The vampire, in fact, was one of the primary influences for the filmmaker from a young age. Most might remember the master’s legacy through works like ‘Night of the Living Dead’ (1968), but it’s ‘Martin’ (1977) that made it into our vampiric compendium. It is a surprisingly inventive gem of its genre, uplifting the vampire mythos through its titular teenager. The kid gets his blood through syringes, and he’s one hell of a seducer. Mr Lugosi wouldn’t hold a candle to the strangely dazzling Martin.

There have been numerous imitators who have tried to claim Romero’s crown for ‘Martin’, though few filmmakers were ever able to deliver such psychological malaise by challenging the viewers’ imaginations. This young vampire holds his ground as a splendiferous anomaly and as an homage to the blood drinkers’ trope.

‘MARTIN’ (1977), ©LAUREL PRODUCTIONS

The Vampire Next Door

It’s safe to say that this trend started in 1985 with Tom Holland’s ‘Fright Night’, starring Chris Sarandon as the deviously seductive vampire who taunts his teenage neighbours by bringing a new girl home to victimize every night. There is a hilarious twist here, as the unexpected teen heroes enlist the services of an actor who kills vampires on TV to destroy the debonair bloodsucker. It’s an interesting collision between the voyeuristic cinema that Brian De Palma was better known for in the early ‘80s—works like ‘Body Double’ (1984) and ‘Dressed to Kill’ (1980), among them, and the teen comedy style that frequently pitted the unpopular boys and girls against the star athletes and mean bubble-gum cheerleaders.

It was the first time that the vampire was connected to adolescent angst, and it created an interesting effect over the following decades, as both the big and the small screen gradually noticed the nocturnal fiend’s appeal to younger audiences. By then, Anne Rice’s ‘Interview with the Vampire’ novel was already sparking raucous fires among readers with its romanticized immortals, though it would take another nine years for Lestat to reach the silver screen. ‘Fright Night’ was remade in 2011 by Craig Gillespie and featured intense performances from Colin Farrell, David Tennant, and the late Anton Yelchin.

‘FRIGHT NIGHT’ (1985), ©COLUMBIA PICTURES

Of Mullets and Biters

Ever the adaptable and chameleonic creature, the vampire found yet another formula to work with, this time through ‘The Lost Boys’ (1987), a cult darling directed by Joel Schumacher and featuring the memorable Kiefer Sutherland with a bleached mullet and a dreamy-looking Jason Patric. The story follows two brothers who move to a new town, only to discover that it’s swarming with badass vampires.

This time, it’s easy to see who the villain is. The vampire’s role is rendered simple, defined by bloodthirst and violence. While the film didn’t do much in terms of box office immediately after its release, ‘The Lost Boys’ gathered a loyal following across generations, made timeless by its delightful melange of spunk, gore, and everything else that was so ‘80s and worth immortalizing on cellulose acetate.

‘THE LOST BOYS’ (1987), ©WARNER BROS.

Coming Full Circle

Back to ‘Bram Stoker’s Dracula’ (1992), directed by the luminary Francis Ford Coppola. I find it sad that too many people judge him solely based on the ‘Godfather’ trilogy—yes, we all know that ‘The Godfather: Part 3’ (1990) was bad, but from there to calling his take on the Dracula lore as no more than ‘campy’ was a painful stretch. Alas, that was what many critics said when the film was released. Never mind the stellar cast, featuring exquisite performances by Gary Oldman, Winona Ryder, and even an ingenue Keanu Reeves. It was branded and set aside to rot in the shadows of greater works like ‘Apocalypse Now’ (1979).

Yet the American director’s vision of the vampire went beyond the increasingly mainstream sexual interpretation. His Dracula was an expression of immortality and an unstoppable lust that transcended the physical, desperately treading through the marshes of a surreal hunger. His Dracula carried himself with a sharp sense of danger, a predator on the prowl that instilled a sense of dark madness.

‘BRAM STOKER’S DRACULA’ (1992), ©COLUMBIA PICTURES

After all, what is the vampire nowadays, after centuries’ worth of fabled evolution? A damned creature, a destroyer of hearts, a thief of bodies, and mankind’s guilty pleasure. Immortality is usually out of our reach, but we live eternally and vicariously through the vampire, at every turn reminded that a price must be paid if one wishes to never die. A deal with the devil, in a way, and a choice that many openly contemplate, otherwise vampires would never be so popular.

The ‘60s brought changes in culture and style that affected even the world of film music. The sound of the symphonic score established in the ‘30s by the likes of Max Steiner was going out of fashion, being instead replaced by experimental music, jazz- and rock-oriented rhythms, and pop tunes. Composers like John Barry, Ennio Morricone and Jerry Goldsmith were strongly influencing the cinematic sound of the decade and what the studios would request from their directors.

The following selection includes some of the most famous rejected scores of the ‘60s, underlining the strong creative differences between directors, composers and studios, which ultimately influenced the outcome of each production.

‘EL CID’ MOVIE POSTER

El Cid (1961)

Miklós Rózsa
Mario Nascimbene

Directed by Anthony Mann and produced by Samuel Bronston, El Cid is a 1961 epic historical drama film that is based on the life of the Castilian knight Don Rodrigo Díaz de Vivar, called ‘El Cid’, who sets upon defending Christian Spain against the Moors.

Samuel Bronston had just finished his epic film King of Kings (1961), and decided to materialise his life-long dream of bringing the story of El Cid to the big screen. MGM had partially financed King of Kings, which meant they had a say in every major decision. Wanting more freedom and control over this new epic, Bronston produced El Cid with his own company, Samuel Bronston Productions, in association with the Italian company Dear Film Produzione. This meant that in order to receive financial assistance from the Italian government, certain compromises had to be made, such as Bronston having to employ a certain number of Italian artists and technicians to work on the project. As such, despite wanting to hire Miklós Rozsa, with whom he had worked on A King of Kings, Bronston went ahead and hired the Italian composer Mario Nascimbene. This collaboration, however, would be short-lived, as Bronston’s requirements would infuriate the composer. Nascimbene writes:

Bronston called me and asked me to score EL CID, which was being shot by Anthony Mann. I read the screenplay first, and they told me to write some dance themes only. The music had to accompany a kind of fighting dance for scenes taking place on the beach, so I wrote some cues for tympani, with a rather brutal, violent rhythm, without any real melody. Director Mann liked what I had written and shot his scenes, using the cues as background. Then, when shooting EL CID was about halfway, I was asked to come to Malaga to discuss the score itself. Samuel Bronston met me there when I arrived, showed me a pile of records of Massenet’s ‘El Cid’ and told me: “This is the music for the film”. Apparently I had to sort of “adapt” Massenet’s music for the film. Samuel Bronston behaved in an offensive way, and I told him that I am used to discussing the score with a director, and with him only. So I returned to Rome, where I tore up the contract already made.

This outcome worked wonderfully for Bronston, who managed to hire his first choice, Miklós Rózsa. It is speculated that the producer never intended for the score to be an adaptation of Jules Massenet’s opera to begin with, but it was merely a sure-fire plot to get Nascimbene to back out of the picture.

Be that as it may, Bronston did go to great lengths to get Rózsa to score his picture, even managing to get him out of a pre-existing contract with MGM to score Mutiny on the Bounty (1962). Mutiny would end up being scored by another MGM in-house composer, Bronislau Kaper. As a concession to their co-producers, another Italian composer’s name (Carlo Savina) appeared on the credits as co-composer on the picture, but only on the Italian prints.

Bronston flew Rózsa and his family to Madrid for the whole summer and offered him a lovely house for him to work from and the same weekly living expenses the producer himself was getting. Besides Spain itself being a huge inspiration for the score of El Cid, the composer set out to research the history of El Cid and the Spanish music in the Medieval Ages. He turned to ninety-two-year-old Dr Ramón Menéndez Pidal, a Spanish philologist, historian and expert in El Cid, who introduced him to the twelfth-century musical poems of ‘La Cantigas de Santa Maria’. Furthermore, Rózsa studied Felipe Pedrell’s collection of Spanish folksongs, which the musicologist had compiled throughout his life. The composer spent a month of intense study, analysing these two very different sources after which he began working on translating what he had learned into the new score.

Despite Rózsa’s seamless collaboration with Bronston, the composer was shocked to realize, during the premiere of El Cid, that the director and his sound editor had chopped and binned some of Rózsa’s cues in favour of the film’s sound design. As a result, Rózsa cancelled his publicity tour, stating that, ‘I could not talk about music which nobody was going to hear.’

The above issues notwithstanding, the film was a commercial success earning more than four times its production cost of $6.25 million and garnered three Academy Award nominations including Best Art Direction, Best Film Score and Best Song. El Cid would be Milós Rózsa’s last epic score.

‘HATARI!’ MOVIE POSTER

Hatari! (1962)

Henry Mancini
Hoagy Carmichael

Hatari! is a 1962 American adventure romantic comedy film directed by Howard Hawks. It portrays a group of professional game catchers in Africa who entrap wild animals and sell them to zoos before a female wildlife photographer disrupts their ways.

Hawks was planning on hiring his long-time collaborator, Dmitri Tiomkin, to write the score for the picture. The director’s only requirement was for Tiomkin to completely leave out the string and woodwind sections and instead use authentic African instruments. Thinking Hawks was joking, the conservative composer showed the director a score that included strings. This misunderstanding would lead to them parting ways and the pair would never work together again.

HOAGY CARMICHAEL’S SKECTH FOR ‘HATARI!’

The director then turned to prolific singer-songwriter Hoagy Carmichael who played Cricket in the director’s 1944 picture, To Have and Have Not, after Hawks had discovered the musician at a party. Hawks wanted to work with someone who had never scored a picture before and had no preconceived notions of what a score is supposed to sound like. And although the director was happy at first with Carmichael’s material, they ended up disagreeing on the direction of the music and Hawks had to turn to another composer yet again.

As it turned out, the third time was the charm as the director’s next choice, Henry Mancini, would go on to score Hatari!. Mancini did end up using violins in his music, however, he masterfully entwined them with tribal rhythms and an array of native instruments that Hawks had brought back with him from Africa. Mancini would use instruments such as the thumb piano, shell gourds and giant pea pods to score the animal scenes. Among the shot material was a scene that Hawks was contemplating on cutting out, but asked Mancini to have a look at it regardless. The scene featured Anna Maria D’Alessandro (Elsa Martinelli) taking three small elephants to a watering hole to bathe them. The composer loved the scene and immediately knew what to do with it. He superimposed an E-flat clarinet over an electric calliope (the only one in the world at that time), and the result would give birth to one of cinema’s most memorable themes, ‘Baby Elephant Walk’. The composer recalled:

[…] As the little elephants went down to the water, there was a shot of them from behind. Their little backsides were definitely in rhythm with something. […] it reminded me of something. I though, Yeah, they’re walking eight to the bar, and that brought something to mind, an old Will Bradley boogie-woogie number called “Down the Road a Piece”, a hit record in the old days, with Ray McKinley on drums and Freddie Slack on piano. Those little elephants were definitely walking boogie-woogie, eight to the bar. I wrote “Baby Elephant Walk” as a result.

Interestingly, the next track after ‘Baby Elephant Walk’ on the soundtrack recording is ‘Just for Tonight’, which was Hoagy Carmichael’s reworking of ‘A Perfect Paris Night’ and the only material retained from his work in the film. Luckily, all of Carmichael’s recorded music, as well as the written score were preserved and are archived at Indiana University.

‘TORN CURTAIN’ MOVIE POSTER

Torn Curtain (1966)

John Addison
Bernard Herrmann

Torn Curtain is a 1966 Cold War political thriller directed by Alfred Hitchcock. …of an American scientist (Paul Newman) who is secretly a double agent who publicly defects to East Germany to discover Soviet nuclear secrets.

By that time, the celebrated director had enthralled audiences worldwide with masterpieces such as Rear Window (1954), Vertigo (1958), North by Northwest (1959) and Psycho (1960). However, following the box office failure of Marnie (1964), Hitchcock started to doubt himself as his cinema was beginning to show its age. Universal Studios saw Hitch’s hesitation as an opportunity to get their claws into the film’s post-production. Lew Wasserman, the head of Universal, instructed Hitchcock to bring in a new sound to the picture and go for a pop-oriented score more in tune with the times.

Having previously successfully collaborated with Bernard Herrmann on eight of his pictures which constituted one of the greatest director-composer partnerships in the history of cinema, Hitchcock turned to the composer once again, this time with precise instructions in tune with the studio’s demands:

I am particularly concerned with the need to break away from the old-fashioned cued-in type music that we have been using for so long. […] The audience is very different from the one to which we used to cater; it is young, vigorous and demanding. It is this fact that has been recognized by almost all of the European filmmakers where they have sought to introduce a beat and a rhythm that is more in tune with the requirements of the aforesaid audience.

Herrmann was not crazy about the film but agreed to score it as by that time Hitchcock was his only regular source of feature film work. The independent-minded composer went ahead with music he thought was appropriate for the film. Granted, Hitchcock had asked Herrmann to sketch the music ‘in advance because we have an urgent problem of meeting a tax date’, so the composer had to come up with the cues blindly. When Hitchcock arrived at the Goldwyn Studios on 24 March 1966 for the first recording session, he was shocked to realize that Herrmann had gone against his wishes and wrote bold, unusual symphonic music using atypical orchestrations and an unorthodox line-up of instruments consisting of twelve flutes – doubling on piccolos, alto flutes and bass flutes – sixteen French horns, nine trombones, two tubas, double timpani, eight cellos and eight basses. He also composed music for the murder scene, even though Hitchcock had expressly requested be left without music.

The orchestra musicians were ecstatic about Herrmann’s score and gave him a standing ovation right after the recording. Hitchcock, however, was furious and dismissed the composer in front of everyone. The two never spoke again, ending a twelve-year-old collaboration.

A few days later, British composer John Addison was hired and flown to Los Angeles. Ironically, Addison’s replacement music wasn’t pop-oriented either and neither did it manage to salvage the picture which flopped.

Bernard Herrman’s score for Torn Curtain remains one of the best known ‘might have beens’ in the history of film music. And although it never ended up in the film, his music was released on CD no less than three times over the years.

‘2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY’ MOVIE POSTER

2001: A Space Odyssey (1968)

Classical compositions by various composers
Frank Cordell, Alex North

2001: A Space Odyssey is Stanley Kubrick’s magnum opus and is based on Arthur C. Clarke’s short story The Sentinel. Kubrick worked together with Clarke on writing the script, which they completed in January 1966, which would eventually prompt Clarke to publish his science fiction novel 2001: A Space Odyssey.

As was his custom, Kubrick used temporary music throughout his film in order to find the film’s pulse and to help carry the narrative. And thus, over the next two years, as the project was taking shape, he acquired multiple records of classical music, listened to countless hours of orchestral pieces and put together a temp track (temporary music used in a picture during production). Among his favourites were Felix Mendelssohn’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Richard Strauss’ tone poem Also sprach Zarathustra (which became the movie’s signature track), a waltz by Frédéric Chopin, Johann Strauss’ The Blue Danube, Aram Khachaturian’s Gayene, and Carl Orff’s Carmina Burana. Kubrick actually approached Orff and tried to persuade him to compose the score, however, Orff politely declined saying that this task was too large for his advanced age (the composer was seventy-one at the time).

Kubrick became convinced that his film didn’t need an original score as his carefully-curated selection of classical oeuvres would do the film justice. The MGM bosses, however, disagreed. They were adamant that a movie of such magnitude required an equally-great composer. And so, at the end of 1967, the director approached two composers – English composer Frank Cordell and well-established Hollywood composer Alex North (with whom Kubrick had worked on Spartacus (1960).

The collaboration with Cordell was stillborn, as at that time, Kubrick wasn’t very clear about what he wanted and instructed the composer to adapt Mahler’s Third Symphony. Cordell’s score got rejected and Kubrick then turned to Alex North.

Alex North recalls:

I was living in the Chelsea Hotel in New York (where Arthur Clarke was living) and got a phone call from Kubrick from London asking me of my availability to come over and do a score for 2001. He told me that I was the film composer he most respected, and he looked forward to working together. I was ecstatic at the idea of working with Kubrick again (Spartacus was an extremely exciting experience for me), as I regard Kubrick as the most gifted of the younger-generation directors, and that goes for the older as well. And to do a film score where there were about twenty-five minutes of dialogue and no sound effects! What a dreamy assignment, after Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, loaded with dialogue.

 I flew over to London for two days in early December to discuss music with Kubrick. He was direct and honest with me concerning his desire to retain some of the “temporary” music tracks which he had been using for the past years. I realized that he liked these tracks, but I couldn’t accept the idea of composing part of the score interpolated with other composers. I felt I could compose music that had the ingredients and essence of what Kubrick wanted and give it a consistency and homogeneity and contemporary feel. In any case, I returned to London December 24th [1967] to start work for recording on January 1, after having seen and discussed the first hour of film for scoring. Kubrick arranged a magnificent apartment for me on the Chelsea Embankment, and furnished me with all the things to make me happy: record player, tape machine, good records, etc. I worked day and night to meet the first recording date, but with the stress and strain, I came down with muscle spasms and back trouble. I had to go to the recording in an ambulance, and the man who helped me with the orchestration, Henry Brant, conducted while I was in the control room. Kubrick was present, in and out; he was pressured for time as well. He made very good suggestions, musically. I had written two sequences for the opening, and he was definitely favorable to one, which was my favorite as well. So I assumed all was going well, what with his participation and interest in the recording. But somehow I had the hunch that whatever I wrote to supplant Strauss’ Zarathustra would not satisfy Kubrick, even though I used the same structure but brought it up to date in idiom and dramatic punch. Also, how could I compete with Mendelssohn’s Scherzo from Midsummer Night’s Dream? Well, I thought I did pretty damned well in that respect.

In any case, after having composed and recorded over forty minutes of music in those two weeks, I waited around for the opportunity to look at the balance of the film, spot the music, etc. During that period I was rewriting some of the stuff that I was not completely satisfied with, and Kubrick even suggested over the phone certain changes that I could make in the subsequent recording. After eleven tense days of waiting to see more film in order to record in early February, I received word from Kubrick that no more score was necessary, that he was going to use breathing effects for the remainder of the film. It was all very strange, and I thought perhaps I would still be called upon to compose more music; I even suggested to Kubrick that I could do whatever necessary back in L.A. at the M-G-M studios. Nothing happened. I went to a screening in New York, and there were most of the “temporary” tracks.

In an interesting twist, North found out that his score had been rejected only during the film’s premiere in New York, an experience that, according to author Michael Benson, left him ‘shocked and humiliated’.

Thankfully, Alex North’s original score was brought to life in 1993 via a full recording conducted by Jerry Goldsmith.

In the second part of this series, we continue to explore the history behind some of the film scores that were replaced during Hollywood’s Golden Age. This particular selection features the work created by some of the brightest musical minds of the era that would nonetheless get rejected due to creative differences and clashes of egos.

‘COMMANDOS STRIKE AT DAWN’ FILM POSTER

Commandos Strike at Dawn (1942)

Louis Gruenberg
Igor Stravinsky

Commandos Strike at Dawn is a 1942 Second World War propaganda film directed by John Farrow and adapted by Irwin Shaw from a short story entitled The Commandos by C.S. Forester that appeared in Cosmopolitan magazine in June 1942. The film tells the story of a Norwegian fisherman who is outraged by the atrocities committed by the Nazis against his peaceful, bucolic village and escapes to Britain to form a resistance force.

Toward the end of 1941, Morris Stoloff, musical director at Columbia Pictures Corporation, met with Russian composer Igor Stravinsky to discuss the possibility of his composing the score for Commandos Strike at Dawn. Stravinsky had been living in the United States since 1939, following the deaths of his wife and daughter from tuberculosis. Just before emigrating, Stravinsky himself had spent five months in hospital, during which time his mother died.

IGOR STRAVINSKY

Alexandre Tansman was appointed as Stravinsky’s assistant and Hollywood advisor on the score due to the latter’s lack of experience with the Hollywood scoring system, and they both sought out Miklós Rózsa’s advice on the technicalities of scoring a film.

In the end, the negotiations didn’t pan out. Similar to Arnold Schoenberg’s attempt to score The Good Earth, Stravinsky began working on the score long before signing a contract. His approach was to create a pastoral atmosphere with his score by basing the music on Norwegian folk songs. This was an unusual perspective, considering that war films at the time had a very specific sound and featured heroic marches and fanfares.

Stravinsky ended up salvaging the material he had written and turned it into a four-movement concert suite entitled Four Norwegian Moods, premiered by the Boston Symphony Orchestra on 13 January, 1944. Stravinsky had based his compositions on pieces found in The Norway Music Album, three of which were arrangements by Edvard Grieg. Stravinsky vehemently denied to have drawn inspiration from Edvard Grieg’s music, stating, ‘All the themes in my Norwegian Moods were taken from a collection of Norwegian folk music my wife found in a secondhand bookstore in Los Angeles – and not from Grieg, as some writers on my music have stated!’

‘FOUR NORWEGIAN MOODS’ ALBUM COVER

The replacement composer for the project was another composer of Russian descent, Louis Gruenberg, who not only delivered the score quickly but was exactly what Columbia was looking for. His work earned him an Oscar nomination in the Best Original Score category in 1944.

As for Stravinsky, during the 28 years he lived in the United States, he tried his hand at scoring two more times, but to no avail, on both occasions due to clashes with producer Darryl F. Zanuck. In 1943, he was informally approached to compose the music for Song of Bernadette (1943). He managed to compose music for the ‘Apparition of the Virgin’ scene, however, the project ended up going to Alfred Newman, who won an Oscar. Stravinsky recycled his music which made its way into the second movement of his Symphony in Three Movements. Similarly, in February 1943, upon the personal request of Orson Welles, Stravinsky began composing music for 20th Century Fox’s Jane Eyre (1943). After Bernard Herrmann replaced him, Stravinsky ended up turning the music he had composed for a hunting scene into ‘Eclogue’ to his Ode for orchestra, which premiered in 1943.

Despite never making it as a film composer in Hollywood, Stravinsky remained in Los Angeles until 1969 and his stay in Southern California triggered fresh approaches to his compositional techniques.

‘SINCE YOU WENT AWAY’ FILM POSTER

Since You Went Away (1944)

Max Steiner
Alexandre Tansman

Since You Went Away is a 1944 American drama film directed by John Cromwell for Selznick International Pictures. The movie was adapted and produced by the legendary producer David O. Selznick from the 1943 novel Since You Went Away: Letters to a Soldier from His Wife by Margaret Buell Wilder. The film tells the story of a housewife who is left home alone to take care of her two daughters and a pair of lodgers while her husband is away to fight in World War II.

Selznick wanted his Oscar bait to demonstrate his patriotic support for the war effort but did not want to make another traditional war movie. As was typical with his productions, he personally wanted to oversee all aspects of the production, including the music. However, finding the right composer for the picture turned out to be quite the challenge.

DAVID O. SELZNICK

Selznick’s initial choice was MGM’s in-house composer Herbert Stothart, with whom he had collaborated a few times before. However, Stothart was already attached to four other films. The producer then reached out to Bernard Herrmann, but Herrmann declined, as the project was of no interest to him.

Selznick then asked for a list of all the available composers in Hollywood and their credits and thus ended up hiring freelance composer Alexandre Tansman to score the picture. A prolific concert composer, Tansman was an émigré from Poland who moved to Paris in his twenties and had only worked on one Hollywood film, Flesh and Fantasy (1943). He was unattached to any of the big studios, a position Selznick found to his liking. Hiring Tansman, an established composer of symphonies, operas, and ballets, would carry ‘a certain little extra distinction’ and would help with publicity. Selznick then hired Charles Previn, a music director at Universal, to oversee Tansman’s work and Louis Forbes as Associate Music Director.

ALEXANDRE TANSMAN WITH HIS FIRST WIFE ANNA ELEONORA BROCINER

Tansman was an unknown to the producer, and Selznick was anxious about entrusting a production of such proportions to a composer relatively new to Hollywood. So he requested that Tansman record only a couple of reels of music – or as he put it, ‘the minimum required from a cost standpoint’ – so that the producer could decide early on, before losing too much time and money, if the music worked.

Tansman was then asked to arrange a few versions of ‘Together’, a 1928 song that was the centrepiece of the film’s music, and was only given the length and the overall mood of the scene – he was not informed as to the application of his music to the scenes. This temporary recording was to be produced using a chamber ensemble, so Tansman had to reorchestrate his score for his reduced resources. Naturally, the music did not sound as good as it would have employing the power of a full orchestra, and needless to say, Selznick was less than impressed.

In other words, Tansman had fallen into a trap by agreeing to compose to script, without final footage. This was Selznick’s typical requirement, as he wanted composition to take place before the picture was edited in order to allow composers more time and avoid time crunches during post-production. Max Steiner and Alfred Newman had refused to work like this, being aware of how much a picture could change between script and locked picture. Tansman, however, did not, so when Selznick viewed the synchronised footage and musical mockup, the composer’s fate was sealed.

‘SINCE YOU WENT AWAY’ SOUNDTRACK ALBUM COVER

With little time left and a very long film in need of music, Selznick’s reached out to Warner Bros. music director Leo Forbestein and asked to borrow Max Steiner. Forbestein agreed but warned Selznick that hiring Steiner on such short notice would not be cheap. Desperate, Selznick agreed to pay Warner Bros. an astounding $3,300 a week for Steiner’s services. Steiner took the assignment with a bit of anxiety, as he was well aware of Selznick’s habit to micro-manage the scoring process. Ironically, Selznick had considered replacing Steiner during the postproduction of Gone with the Wind, when the composer stated he was unable to deliver the score before the set deadline.

Selznick was very grateful to the composer, considering the time constraints and the fact that at the time, Steiner was going through a rough time in his personal life, as his father was dying and had been hospitalized, his marriage to Louise Klos was falling apart and Steiner himself was suffering from a back tumour that required surgery. ‘Thank heavens for Maxie.’, the producer is said to have affirmed.

Steiner’s score features an astonishing number of themes, several popular songs of the era and traditional works, as well an infusion of several of Steiner’s themes from earlier Selznick pictures. A recording of ‘Together’ from Tansman’s score was retained. 

Since You Went Away would mark David O. Selznick and Max Steiner’s final collaboration and was both a commercial and critical success, earning nine Academy Award nominations, winning one for Best Score. This was the first time Selznick’s company would receive the award for best music.

‘CAESAR AND CLEOPATRA’ FILM POSTER

Caesar and Cleopatra (1945)

Georges Auric
Arthur Bliss

Caesar and Cleopatra is a 1945 British Technicolor film directed by Gabriel Pascal and is based on the play by George Bernard Shaw and was the most expensive film ever produced in Britain at the time. Gabriel Pascal was the only director Shaw trusted to film his plays after successfully delivering Pygmalion (1938) and Major Barbara (1941). Shaw praised Pascal by saying, ‘Pascal is doing for films what Diaghilev did for ballet.’

The story focuses around a middle-aged Julius Caesar, who, at the height of the Roman Civil War, takes possession of the Egyptian capital city of Alexandria, where he meets a young Cleopatra and teaches her how to rule Egypt.

Shaw himself recommended Sir Arthur Bliss to score the picture, and so, on 6 June 1944, the British composer signed the contract. However, the deal was with the author rather than the director. Bliss, who in 1953 would become Master of the Queen’s Music, was a well-established composer of classical concert music and had only a few movies to his name, including the most expensive film of its time, H.G. Well’s Things to Come. Bliss’ score for Things to Come would have been a pillar in British film scoring had it not been ruined by the perpetual re-editing of the picture and the poor quality of contemporary dubbing technology.

‘THE FILM MUSIC OF SIR ARTHUR BLISS’ ALBUM COVER

Shaw, who was a former music critic, was in charge of all the communication regarding the music of Caesar and Cleopatra and provided Bliss with some helpful suggestions, including to write music in his own style and not to compose a clichéd imitation of Egyptian music. ‘In Heaven’s name, no Egyptian music!’, the author pleaded. Shaw also sent Bliss a letter offering him serious advice before the contract was signed:

“Be careful not to let yourself be placed in the position of an employee of Pascal or of the film company, as anything you compose for them in that capacity will belong to them and not to you. If I were a composer writing for a film I should make a skeleton piano score of an orchestral suite consisting of overture, nocturne, barcarole, intermezzo and finale. I should copyright this in my own name in England and America. Then, being in an impregnable position as sole owner of the music, I should license the film people to use the material as an accompaniment to their film for a stated period on stated terms, giving them no rights whatever. . . Remember that an orchestral suite by you will long survive Pascal’s film and become a standard concert piece quite independently of my play, like Grieg’s Peer Gynt. Let no parasite fasten on it.”

‘THE FILM MUSIC OF GEORGES AURIC’ ALBUM COVER

Following Shaw’s advice, Bliss started work on a score, writing 100 pages of music in his signature style, sketching out cues such as ‘Memphis at Night’, ‘Ftatateeta’, ‘Soldiers’ Chorus’ and ‘Barcarolle’. His instrumentation did call for a buccina, an ancient Roman wind instrument, which was the only exotic instrument Bliss used in the entire score.

However, the project came to a halt after Bliss had met Gabriel Pascal. Pascal was known to be tough and uncompromising in all departments of production, especially in music. Bliss later recalled, ‘I have had unforgettable experiences with one director who, where music was concerned, was a certified lunatic, and I had to discontinue collaboration.’ In his autobiography, Bliss explains, ‘One look at him made it self-evident that he would never be a sympathetic collaborator, and I withdrew from the assignment.’

The director wanted a ‘French-sounding’ score, so Bliss was replaced by Georges Auric, who was a member of the celebrated rebellious group of Parisian composers known as Les Six. The prolific composer took a different approach and composed the music using very colourful orchestrations and employing instruments such as strings, piano, celeste, xylophone, bells, harp, saxophone, tuba, and woodwinds. His music ended up being one of the highlights of an otherwise messy production.

A nine-minute suite containing ‘Main Titles’, ‘At the Sphinx’, and ‘The Battle’ was later recorded and published on a compilation album by Chandos Records. Similarly, Bliss’ rejected score was also turned into a suite consisting of eight short movements lasting 17 minutes, which was edited by Giles Easterbrook and Malcolm Binney. It was published several decades later also by Chandos Records.

‘THE NAKED CITY’ FILM POSTER

The Naked City (1948)

Miklós Rózsa, Frank Skinner
George Bassman

The Naked City is a 1948 American film noir directed by Jules Dassin and produced by Mark Hellinger. With a story written by Malvin Wald, the film marks the birth of the modern police procedural. The movie portrays the police investigation that follows the murder of a young girl and places the criminal underbelly of New York City under the microscope.

Hallinger was known for granting his directors a lot of artistic freedom, however, he only had one request for Dessin, that he use Miklós Rózsa to write the film’s score. Hallinger had worked with Rózsa before, the composer having scored two of the producer’s previous movies, The Killers (1946) and Brute Force (1947). Dessin, however, insisted that they hire George Bassman to score the picture. Bassman was a famed MGM arranger and composer who had scored three earlier Dessin films: Young Ideas (1943), A Letter for Evie (1946), and Two Smart People (1946). Both Dessin and Bossman had worked at MGM but were asked to leave; Dessin on account of his political views, and Bossman ‘for a different reason’.

The pressures of the film’s production took their toll on Hellinger, who suffered a heart attack while working in New York. Disregarding his doctor’s pleads for him to rest, Hellinger continued with the production. He even attended the recording sessions of the musical score, conducted by Bassman. Hellinger, however, felt that Bassman’s music was too similar to an Aaron Copland composition. Knowing Bassman’s background as an arranger, he feared that the composer might simply have reworked pre-existing music, a situation that could have serious legal repercussions. Outraged, Bassman insisted that his music was completely original and told Hellinger what he thought of him and his musical tastes. As a result, Hellinger immediately called Miklós Rózsa and asked him to replace Bassman as soon as possible. According to Rózsa, upon hearing Bassman’s score, Hellinger ‘nearly had another heart attack.’ As it happens, Hellinger did in fact die of another heart attack that very night.

The producer’s death did not slow down production and Rózsa immediately began spotting The Naked City, as he was given only two weeks to do the work on his own. The picture’s Music Supervisor and the head of Universal’s music department, Milton Schwarzwald, offered to bring in Universal in-house composer Frank Skinner to help shoulder the burden. Finding that time frame untenable, Rózsa agreed to score the chase sequence at the end and leave the first part of the film to Skinner, which featured less music-dependent dialogue scenes. Rózsa’s score went on to become a classic.

Interestingly, both Jules Dassin and George Bassman would soon be blacklisted for their Communist associations.

A Hollywood maxim states that one can’t truly call themselves a film composer until they’ve had at least one entire score thrown out. Accurate or not, what is certain is that even the biggest names in the industry have had their work tossed aside in favour of another colleague’s work for one reason or another. The dreaded R-word spares – almost – no one.

In the first two parts of this series, we explore a select number of film scores that have been replaced during Hollywood’s Golden Age. Granted, replacements didn’t happen back then as often as they do in our times, however, historically, film scores have been substituted fairly regularly be it due to studio politics, personality clashes between the creators, desperate last-minute attempts to salvage an otherwise poor picture or simply because the composers brought in were concert composers who weren’t part of the studio system and didn’t really ‘get it’.

With the release of The Jazz Singer in 1927, the first feature-length motion picture to use a synchronized recorded score, the importance of the film soundtrack became apparent and thus studios started to commission original music. The next few years were spent experimenting and researching the best way to go about scoring a film. Legendary composer Max Steiner has stated that ‘background’ music was, for the most part, disapproved of before 1932 due to the fact that people were uncomfortable not being able to see where the sound was coming from.

‘THE MOST DANGEROUS GAME’ FILM POSTER

The Most Dangerous Game (1932)

Max Steiner
W. Franke Harling

The Most Dangerous Game is a thriller adapted from a 1924 short story by Richard Connell, in which a deranged Russian Cossack hunter makes sure ships are wrecked on his island so that he can hunt the survivors for sport.

Producer Merian C. Cooper took charge at RKO Pictures during the Great Depression and was entrusted to go over all the projects that had accumulated with a fine-tooth comb and to greenlight the suitable ones. During that time, Cooper had two jungle adventures on his plate: King Kong (1933) – which required a large budget – and The Most Dangerous Game.

With a great reputation for delivering quality while being mindful of budgets, Cooper decided to test the feasibility of a jungle movie and went ahead with the production of The Most Dangerous Game. One of his ingenious ideas was to build film sets that were reserved for King Kong during the day and could be used for The Most Dangerous Game during the night.

MAX STEINER

Composer Max Steiner, who was Director of Music at RKO at that time, persuaded RKO’s bosses, who initially wanted to use ‘library music’ (old tracks), to go with original scores for these two movies. Steiner agreed to score King Kong at a reduced fee and Cooper said he would pay for the orchestra. Steiner already had a large workload on his shoulders, so W. Franke Harling was assigned to score The Most Dangerous Game.

Harling was well-known for having composed the music for A Light from St. Agnes, a popular jazz-oriented opera. Cooper, however, wasn’t pleased with his approach, complaining that his score was too ‘Broadway-light’ and unsuited for an adventure thriller.

Max Steiner was then begged to write a replacement score in only two weeks. Due to the very tight deadline on The Most Dangerous Game, Steiner had to work on this score almost in parallel with King Kong. And although it is often said that King Kong is the first great original film score of the ‘sound era’, some argue that this honour actually goes to The Most Dangerous Game, as it premiered sooner.

‘THE MOST DANGEROUS GAME’ AND ‘THE SON OF KONG’ SOUNDTRACK COVER

The music Max Steiner wrote for The Most Dangerous Game might sound all-too-familiar to most of us today, for it has been imitated countless times ever since. Steiner incorporated the leitmotif (Count Zaroff’s theme) he used throughout the film into ‘Russian Waltz’, a tune played by Count Zaroff at his piano in the film. This piece of diegetic music (AKA source music) was written by the composer himself. This ground-breaking technique of marrying the underscore with the source music would be used from then on in numerous films as a storytelling method. Furthermore, his music for the final chase scene is a masterclass in action and suspense scoring, employing techniques that are still used in sci-fi, thrillers, and horror movies today.

One of the problems faced by Steiner during this time was the small size of the orchestra that he had to work with. And while the players were some of the best in the business, the reduced number of the performers meant that the orchestra simply wasn’t able to convey the music penned by the composer in all its complexity so concessions had to be made. The recordings that exist today, performed by Moscow Symphony Orchestra and conducted by William Stromberg, are accurate reconstructions made by John W. Morgan for a full symphonic orchestra and are based on Steiner’s original handwritten sketches, thus reflecting the composer’s true musical intentions.

‘DON QUIXOTE’ FILM POSTER

Don Quixote (1933)

Jacques Ibert
Maurice Ravel

In 1932, Austrian film director Georg Wilhelm Pabst embarked on the task of adapting Miguel de Cervantes’ celebrated novel, Don Quixote, a tale about an elderly man who goes mad from reading too many books on chivalry. He filmed three separate versions of the film, in English, French, and German. The legendary Russian bass Feodor Chaliapin would go on to play the title role in all three languages. Chaliapin was already familiar with the character, having portrayed him in Jules Massenet’s opera Don Quichotte in 1910.

The producers had reached out to five composers to write songs for this film, including Maurice Ravel, Marcel Delannoy, Manuel de Falla, Jacques Ibert, and Darius Milhaud. Little did the composers know that this was, in fact, a contest. Each of them was certain that their music would be featured in the film.

The contract signed in June 1932 specified a heroic song, a serenade, and a comic tune, with the deadline set for August and a warning that Chaliapin preferred not to have too many high Cs, Ds or E flats.

The winner was the great composer and master orchestrator, Maurice Ravel, who was asked to compose four pieces. The producers were happy with the choice, for Ravel was one of Europe’s most prominent composers and they were hoping that with his name attached to the project, together with French author’s Paul Morand – who provided the lyrics – the project would attract investors. Furthermore, Ravel had a proven affinity for Spanish music which is what the project required.

Ravel, however, had suffered health problems since 1919 and at this time his health was in decline, specifically after having suffered a head injury in a car accident which prevented him from putting the music that he heard in his head on paper. This, in turn, slowed his progress in delivering the music and Ravel was eventually fired as a composer, having completed only three songs. These would become the three-part song cycle Don Quichotte à Dulcinée and would cover other facets of the story than Ibert’s work. Chanson romanesque portrays the noble lunatic as a lover, Chanson épique as a holy warrior, and Chanson à boire depicts the protagonist as a drinker. Although his songs didn’t end up in the film, they have become some of the most performed songs in the Baritone repertoire. The songs were later published and were premiered on 1 December 1934 in Paris with baritone Martial Singher performing and Paul Perey leading the orchestra. These are Ravel’s final compositions before his death in 1937.

Pabst then turned to French composer Jacques Ibert, who, as it happens, was a friend of Ravel’s. Learning about the contest, both composers became outraged, Ravel even considering a lawsuit against the producers, an idea he later dropped.

Ibert provided four songs for Don Quixote, Chanson du depart, Chanson à Dulcinée, Chanson du Duc, and Chanson du mort. He also wrote a song for Sancho Panza, titled Chanson de Sancho. The song texts were written by Pierre de Ronsard and Alexandre Arnoux, with Ibert himself conducting the recording used in the picture. Ibert’s music ended up in all three productions and he went on to arrange the songs for voice and piano, which were later published under the title Chansons de Don Quichotte, for Voice and Piano.

‘THE GOOD EARTH’ FILM POSTER

The Good Earth (1937)

Herbert Stothart
Arnold Schoenberg

The Good Earth is an American drama based on Pearl S. Buck’s eponymous novel which was awarded the Pulitzer Prize in 1932. It depicts the life of a Chinese family of farmers as they navigate through life’s up and downs.

The composer who was first approached with scoring this picture was none other than the great Arnold Schoenberg, the inventor of the twelve-tone technique, a revolutionary and highly-influential 20th-century compositional method. Schoenberg was living in California at the time in exile, having fled Europe to escape the Nazi regime. He was contacted by Irving Thalberg, the celebrated young producer at the Hollywood film studio Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer. Thalberg, who was a rather cultured movie mogul, met with Schoenberg at MGM’s studios in November 1935 and expressed his appreciation for the composer’s music. Thalberg explained that the music he imagined for this picture would be similar to Schoenberg’s Verklärte Nacht, op.4, which he had heard on the radio earlier that year.

SCHOENBERG’S SKETCH FOR ‘WANG’S UNCLE’ ©ARNOLD SCHOENBERG CENTER

Unfortunately, Schoenberg got a little too involved in the project, long before signing any contract with the studio. He proceeded to carefully read the short novel that was sent to him by the MGM library and made numerous markings on its pages. Two of Schoenberg’s notebooks contain over thirty sketches of roughly worked out tonal, chromatic and pentatonic motifs and themes for The Good Earth. Among them are ‘a motif of an eventful growing crowd of people’, a motif to ‘the uncle of Ching’, a ‘lotus’ theme, a ‘fishpond’ motif, themes for ‘Wang’s Uncle’, ‘funeral/death’ motifs, motifs of a ‘turbulent folk scene in connection with the revolution’, motifs about the ‘fear of the Wang family because of the soldiers’, as well as a ‘pearl/wealth’ motif. It has to be noted that Schoenberg did all of this even before a second meeting took place.

Unaccustomed with Hollywood’s film-scoring process, Schoenberg requested full control of the soundtrack – including dialogue – and demanded a staggering fee of $50,000 for his services. He is also said to have requested to work directly with the actors and have the director shoot the film to match his music – not the other way around. The main stumbling blocks with contracting concert composers to score a picture were money and time, as they were used to their highly-priced concert music commissions and they liked to take their time to write the music. These were two issues that were not compatible with the film studios’ way of doing things since the production of a film was under a tight deadline – and so it remains to this day – and the studios had their own experienced composers that could do the work at a fraction of the price and in a short period of time.

The collaboration never came to fruition and three weeks after their initial meeting, Schoenberg addressed a letter to Thalberg expressing his disappointment with the former’s silent treatment.

Herbert Stothart and Edward Ward were eventually engaged to provide the music for The Good Earth.

‘THE THIEF OF BAGDAD’ FILM POSTER

The Thief of Bagdad (1940)

Miklós Rózsa
Oscar Strauss

The Thief of Bagdad is a 1940 film marketed at the time as an ‘An Arabian Fantasy in Technicolor’. The film was produced by the renowned director and producer Alexander Korda of London Films, who had long dreamt of remaking the 1924 silent film of the same name. The story takes inspiration from the classic Arabian tale One Thousand and One Nights, as well as the novel The Tower and the Elephant by Robert E. Howard, and features a classic hero, a villain, a love story, magic, and adventure.

Korda began working on the project early in 1939 and chose German filmmaker Ludwig Berger to direct the picture. Interestingly, the production team at London Films comprised almost entirely of Hungarian émigrés, including Alexander Korda and his brothers, director Zoltán Korda and art director Vincent Korda, screenwriter Lajos Biró, and composer Miklós Rózsa, who had already scored Knight Without Armour (1937) and The Four Feathers (1939) for the firm.

Alexander Korda was planning on hiring Rózsa once more for this film, promising him a significant increase in his salary – which, according to Rózsa, had been quite low up to that point – and that his contract would begin immediately. However, Berger insisted that they should instead bring Austrian composer Oscar Straus on board, as the pair had collaborated before on Ein Waltztraum (1925) and Les Trois Valses (1938). It was agreed then that Strauss would write all the pre-production music and Rózsa would provide ‘all the dramatic and colouristic music’. Rózsa had no choice at that point than to agree to this arrangement.

Strauss was taking a cure in the French town of Vichy at that time so he sent all his music to London by mail. A composer of waltzes and operettas, Strauss’ musical input proved to be unsuitable for the film, or as Rózsa himself put it, ‘It was impossible – typical turn-of-the-century Viennese candy-floss.’

The musical director, Muir Mathieson, was furious with the outcome and didn’t hold back in expressing his frustration during a tense meeting with Alexander Korda and Miklós Rózsa. While publicly siding with Berger on the issue of the music, Korda was unhappy with Strauss’ sketches as well and secretly instructed Rózsa to re-write the music and call him when he’s ready. A week later, Rózsa had the music ready and Korda had the brilliant idea of giving him an office next to Berger’s, where he had a piano installed. He then asked the composer to keep playing his music until Berger came out of his office. Rózsa started to work and play fortissimo in that office, and after three days, Berger finally came into his office and enquired about the music. After listening to a few of the pieces Rózsa had composed, Berger realized that this music was much better suited for the film.

MIKLÓS RÓZSA

A telegram was subsequently sent to Oscar Straus notifying him of his dismissal from the production. Strauss threatened to sue, stating that this incident was ruining his reputation, but soon had a change of heart after Korda paid him his fee in full.

Rózsa went on to compose the score and songs for The Thief of Bagdad, which would become instant classics. Due to the outbreak of WW2, the production was forced to move to California where the film was completed, a move which prompted Rózsa’s prolific Hollywood career.

The critically acclaimed film became a commercial success and earned four Academy Award nominations including Best Cinematography, Best Art Direction, Best Special Effects and Best Film Score, winning all but the award for Best Film Score.

The Jim Crow era of racial discrimination and segregation dealt a heavy blow to the African-American film industry, which was already a fragile ecosystem developing in an adversarial world that considered its purveyors inferior solely because of the colour of their skin.

An era of silence stifled the ‘50s and the ‘60s, in particular, but it did not prevail. Martin Luther King Jr. rose up along with other brave and bold speakers, musicians, poets, and activists, having had more than enough. Their speeches and dreams of a better world shone a powerful light on American society. Tragedy did follow, as expected from a society embroiled in its fantasies of white supremacy, but better days came, as well.

Finally, the ‘70s saw a slow but steady rebirth of Black American cinema. This new generation of black filmmakers brought the truth of their experiences centre stage. From cinematic gems of the Blaxploitation era to Prince’s ‘Purple Rain’ (1984), the bountiful growth of Black Americans in cinema is worthy of notice and praise. Iconic movies came forth and extraordinary storytellers pushed boundaries. Most recently, we’ve seen a splendid expansion into genres otherwise monopolised by white filmmakers—see Ryan Coogler’s ‘Black Panther’ (2018) and Jordan Peele’s ‘Get Out’ (2017) as just two examples. But it’s important to observe the greats that came before them. The pioneers of the ‘80s, the ‘90s, and the ‘00s that reshaped the Black American narrative on the silver screen into something honest, breath-taking, heart-breaking, and undeniably unique.

DANIEL KALUUYA AND JORDAN PEELE ON THE SET OF ‘GET OUT’ (2017), ©JUSTIN LUBIN/UNIVERSAL PICTURES

Forty Years of Black Masterpieces

There are plenty of illustrious titles to work with but, as usual, a selection must be made for the sake of brevity. One film that has withstood the test of time, over and over again, is Spike Lee’s ‘Do the Right Thing’ (1989). Its success is mainly owed to its sincerity and Mr Lee’s uncanny ability to deliver a wide range of characters without swerving into dangerous stereotype territory. With the United States always described as a melting pot of sorts—albeit idealistically, it’s no surprise that the eminent Black director chose New York as the ‘melting pot’ for his colourful and beautifully diverse characters before he brings it all to a boiling point.

The story is brilliant in its navigation of inner-city life and the struggles brought forth by racism—the latter a defining trait of Black American existence. ‘Do the Right Thing’ examines the very ethics of violence and prejudice before it offers a startling truth: good and bad are abstract moral constructs, at best. Few people are truly evil, yet so many have the potential for kindness. Mr Lee tells us that racism can be overcome, that there is beauty in diversity, and that Black Americans have been looked down upon for far too long. It was as relevant in 1989 as it is today.

‘DO THE RIGHT THING’ (1989), ©40 ACRES & A MULE FILMWORKS

‘Inside Man’ (2006) is yet another seminal work by Spike Lee—one of many, I might add. Packed with ridiculous amounts of tension and thrills, the film offers a glimpse into one of the greatest heists ever imagined by a screenwriter’s mind. With a stellar cast and exceptional performances under Mr Lee’s equally proficient direction, ‘Inside Man’ made history for Black Cinema, garnering plenty of awards along the way, including Movie of the Year at the AFI Awards and nods from both the AAFCA (African-American Film Critics Association) and BET Awards.

Antoine Fuqua’s ‘Training Day’ (2001) is such a rich work of cinema that it is rightfully referenced in film school studies today. It got Denzel Washington an Academy Award for his portrayal of a streetwise but crooked cop charged with training Ethan Hawke’s wet-behind-the-ears rookie. While the majority of Mr Washington’s thespian performances brought him forth as a model for righteousness and decency, his Alonzo offers a different take—a man who has tasted the dark side of power, who has forced fragile partnerships and alliances with the underbelly of city crime, and who cannot be ousted without losing everything, including his life.

Mr Fuqua’s directorial talent transforms the screenplay penned by David Ayers into an extraordinarily chilling drama about corruption within the ranks of those who are supposed to serve and protect.

‘TRAINING DAY’ (2001), ©WARNER BROS.

Before he dazzled Hollywood with ‘Black Panther’, Ryan Coogler wrote and directed ‘Fruitvale Station’ (2013), which tells the story of Oscar Grant’s last day before he was shot in the back and killed by a police officer. This Sundance Grand Jury Prize and Audience Award winner delivers a punch in the gut with its opening—security footage of the real Oscar Grant, and with its ending—a clip of his daughter, now left without her father. It was a complicated project to undertake, given that there were living relatives that Mr Coogler and his lead, Michael B. Jordan, had to consider.

Oscar Grant is portrayed in a realistic manner. He is a flawed man trying to make better choices and aware of his responsibilities toward his family, which is why he decides to take the BART train on the last night of 2008 and of his life. ‘Fruitvale Station’ does not intend to offer any kind of remedy for the social issues of police brutality aimed particularly at Black Americans. It only recreates the final hours of a man who did not deserve to die the way he did.

‘FRUITVALE STATION’ (2013), ©FOREST WHITAKER’S SIGNIFICANT PRODUCTIONS

Based on Sapphire’s novel ‘Push’ and directed by Lee Daniels, ‘Precious’ (2009) is a tour de force. Rarely do we see comedians sliding into dramatic roles with an ease that delivers staggering performances. Among them, I can think of Jim Carrey and Robin Williams. Yet there is also Mo’Nique, who is simply outstanding as the Harlem mother from hell who sexually abuses her illiterate teenage daughter, exquisitely portrayed by a young Gabourey Sidibe.

Sidibe’s Precious is a girl who has known nothing but trauma and misery, yet she finds kindness and freedom in others who help elevate her until she severs ties with her mother and becomes a better version of herself. Beyond Mo’Nique’s Oscar-worthy performance, however, what I also find memorable about this film is that it got Geoffrey Fletcher an Academy Award for the screenplay, making him the very first Black American to win a Best Screenplay Oscar (Original or Adapted).

‘PRECIOUS’ (2009), ©LIONSGATE

‘Barbershop’ (2002) by Tim Story offers a softer take on black culture. It’s a light-hearted comedy drama that features Ice Cube, Cedric the Entertainer, Eve, and Michael Ealy—an easy-to-digest movie offering realistic conversations to which viewers have been glad to relate. Before there were talk-shows like ‘Meet the Press’, barbershops used to be great meeting spots for people to go and chat about pretty much everything while getting a haircut. Mr Story’s film follows a family-owned barbershop and those who are sewn into its very fabric, employees and customers alike. It registered impressive box office figures, enough to later release two sequels and a spinoff for Queen Latifah.

Few movies have rattled their audiences like Steve McQueen’s ‘Twelve Years a Slave’ (2014), based on the eponymous book written by Solomon Northup. The film, equal parts powerful and excruciating through its depiction of 19^th century America and the superb performances of Chiwetel Ejiofor, Lupita N’yongo, and Michael Fassbender, tells the story of Solomon Northup. His abduction and bondage into slavery despite having been a legally free black man forms the core of this devastating account and it brings forth a troubling question for its Black American viewers. What would they do if they were forced into Mr Northup’s circumstances? Would they fight back with everything they’ve got, or would they become pliable as a means of self-preservation in a society designed to keep them down, like he did?

STEVE MCQUEEN AND CHIWETEL EJIOFOR ON THE SET OF ’12 YEARS A SLAVE’ (2013), ©JAAP BUITENDIJK/FOX SEARCHLIGHT PICTURES

‘Moonlight’ by Barry Jenkins took the festival circuit by storm and won Best Motion Picture of the Year at the Oscars. For good reason, too. A character like Chiron had never been portrayed in Black American cinema before, thus proving that the range devised for black men in movies could spread wider and could offer new, enthralling dimensions. With only a couple of exceptions, few black characters had struggled with masculinity up to that point. Adding Naomie Harris and Mahershala Ali’s resplendent renditions (let us not forget that Mr Ali won an Academy Award for this role) only served to turn ‘Moonlight’ into a cinematic phenomenon and proof that black films have a lot more to give, still.

Prior to ‘Selma’ (2014), Ava Duvernay was already enjoying a rapid ascension among the filmmaking ranks of Hollywood. It was this biopic oeuvre that brought forth the massive reaches of her talent and vision. It is imperative to observe the sheer force of will that she exudes as a Black American woman in an otherwise mostly white industry.

‘Selma’ does more than just recount that epic march for voting rights that carried Martin Luther King Jr. from Selma to Montgomery, Alabama, however. It gives us the man behind the legend, a being of titanic dreams and complexities, whose faults and qualities are presented from multiple angles—a feat genially accomplished through David Oyelowo’s interpretation and Ms Duvernay’s directorial guidance.

‘SELMA’ (2014), ©PATHÉ

F. Gary Gray had already done music video work with Ice Cube, Dr. Dre, and other rap artists of the era that saw the rise of N.W.A. before he took on the gargantuan challenge of telling their story in ‘Straight Outta Compton’ (2015).

Naturally, the end result had everything that the iconic rap group’s fans could wish for: N.W.A.’s permission to use their original music; fantastic performances from the three leads, one of them being none other than O’Shea Jackson Jr., who played the role of his father, Ice Cube; and the kind of energy that is not easily found nor easily forgotten. It was the U.S.’s number one film for three weeks in a row and held a stupefying box office figure of $200M, but it will be remembered not only as a commercial success, but also as the now-second highest-grossing music biopic—after ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ (2019).

‘STRAIGHT OUTTA COMPTON’ (2015), ©UNIVERSAL PICTURES

Forty Years of Black Directorial Brilliance

Many have garnered praise and attention for their works in Black American cinema, though few have become powerhouse names with multiple titles under their belts.

Naturally, we have Spike Lee at the forefront. We’ve already touched on ‘Inside Man’ and ‘Do the Right Thing’, but those are only two of his most popular movies. Once he made his debut with ‘She’s Gotta Have It’ (1986), his first feature-length film, Mr Lee did not stop creating and telling cinematic stories with roots deeply sunk into African American culture in one form or another.

Through ‘Malcolm X’ (1992), he built a biographical profile of the authoritative and controversial Black Nationalist leader, following Malcom X’s rise from his early days as a small-time gangster to his ministry, his advocacy for the Nation of Islam and discourse for civil rights—though his approach was always more aggressive than Dr King’s. The esteemed director’s more recent foray into racial issues gives us ‘BlacKkKlansman’ (2018), which tells the true story of Ron Stallworth, a black police officer played by John David Washington who managed to infiltrate the local Ku Klux Klan branch in Colorado.

Known best for his studies of race relations, urban crime and poverty, and colourism issues within the black community, Spike Lee has earned his Academy Awards and Golden Globes nods for some of his works—mostly for ‘Do the Right Thing’. Finally, his Oscar win came in 2019 for Best Adapted Screenplay, which he shared with Charlie Wachtel, David Rabinowitz, and Kevin Willmott for ‘BlacKkKlansman’.

‘BLACKKKLANSMAN’ (2018), ©FOCUS FEATURES

John Singleton became a household name of prolific Black American cinema with Oscar-nominated ‘Boyz n the Hood’ (1991), leaving an indelible mark on the industry with other works of true depth such as ‘Poetic Justice’ (1993), starring Janet Jackson, Tupac Shakur, and Regina King, and ‘Shaft’ (2000), which gave us Samuel L. Jackson like nobody had ever seen him before. The film world lost him in 2019, but his legacy remains.

I, for one, remember his critique of American studios, in particular, regarding their refusal ‘to let African Americans direct black-themed films’ during an event at Loyola Marymount University, a speech which later became viral. ‘They ain’t letting the black people tell the stories’, he added, and for good reason. Great films have come out of Hollywood with Black Americans as the heroes and heroines, in projects helmed by white directors. The nuance and authenticity are lost, however, regardless of artistic quality. There is something that only those who live through a specific experience can add to make a story feel undeniably real.

‘BOYZ N THE HOOD’ (1991), ©COLUMBIA PICTURES

Allen and Albert Hughes, better known as the Hughes Brothers, have become more popular recently across television and streaming audiences thanks to ‘The Defiant Ones’ (2017), a biographical documentary series that studies the business relationship between Dr. Dre and Jimmy Iovine, both heavy influences on contemporary culture. But before this Emmy-nominated project, the Hughes Brothers first garnered acclaim for ‘Menace II Society’ (1993) which despite having been frequently compared to ‘Boyz n the Hood’, it offers nothing downright pleasurable in its viewing experience. Unlike John Singleton’s signature piece, this Hughes Brothers’ showpiece is ugly and violent, painfully realistic and lacking in uplifting specks of hope. It pushes the viewers into wishing more from the world, since the characters clearly couldn’t.

They followed up with a slightly less bleak but just as troubling tale of black men who survived the Vietnam War, though not without emotional and psychological scars. ‘Dead Presidents’ (1995) approaches a rather difficult but necessary subject—the way in which the US government uses and abuses young men (in this case, especially black men) before it abandons them upon their return home. Pushed by PTSD, substance abuse, and the difficulties of providing for their families, these men who once fought for their country in the mosquito-infested jungles of Vietnam become criminals and spiral downwards until they land in prison. Few films have managed to incapsulate life after the war better than ‘Dead Presidents’.

‘DEAD PRESIDENTS’ (1995), ©CARAVAN PICTURES

There are plenty more Black American filmmakers who have left their own impressions onto the silver screen. F. Gary Gray made waves beyond ‘Straight Outta Compton’ with ‘Set It Off’ (1996) and ‘Friday’ (1995), the former a black-female-driven action piece featuring Jada Pinkett Smith, Vivica A. Fox, and Queen Latifah, and the latter a chilled comedy starring Ice Cube and Chris Tucker—both films illustrating the director’s versatility and ability to tackle a complex range of themes and genres whilst keeping his cast and screenplays black.

Gina Prince’s ‘Love & Basketball’ (2000) also deserves an honourable mention, splendidly split into quarters and unravelling like a basketball game that tells a story of… well, love and basketball at the centre of a complicated relationship between Omar Epps’s Quincy McCall and Sanaa Lathan’s Monica Wright. Allow me to applaud George Tillman Jr.’s ‘Soul Food’ (1997), too, as one of the first Black-American-led movies I remember watching, a tale of love and family and all the complications that come attached, set around the dinner table.

‘SOUL FOOD’ (1997), ©FOX 2000 PICTURES

And last, though certainly not least, a tip of the hat should go to Robert Townsend’s ‘The Five Heartbeats’ (1991), which earned a nomination for Outstanding Motion Picture from the Image Awards (NAACP). While its story is fictional, ‘The Five Heartbeats’ tells the familiar tale of Black American artists’ struggle during the ‘60s, at the climax of racial tensions in America. It carries twists of its own, however, with the singers’ personal demons threatening to shatter the troupe’s integrity in front of their growing audiences.

While hoping that the film industry will continue to grow, evolve, and embrace racial diversity and its potential, one can only look forward to what the future might hold for Black American cinema. There are some hard truths waiting to be told along with great stories.