Somehow, I assumed Ennio Morricone would live forever. But on 6 July 2020, the Maestro died following complications from a fall. Before he left, Morricone wrote his own obituary of profound humility. Many composers do not seem to live very long (Elliott Carter, Nicolas Slonimsky and Irving Berlin are among too few centenarians). Though he died at the age of 91, Morricone demonstrated he had the energy to live to be a hundred.

There has never been a more prolific composer working in film than Ennio Morricone. Until his passing, he may have been the most prolific living composer in any genre, having written nearly 500 film and television scores. The startling quantity of his output may wrongly downplay its quality. Morricone pioneered a new musical style for Italian spaghetti westerns, in which he employed unusual instruments, such as the new surf guitar and the mournful harmonica. His music for westerns, in particular Sergio Leone’s “Dollars Trilogy” and “Once Upon a Time in the West”, deservedly brought him recognition early in his career. But to define Morricone merely as a western composer is a misrepresentation. The 500 credits comprise no more than 20 such films. The challenge faced by anyone attempting to understand Ennio Morricone is accepting that it is impossible to do him full justice.

ENNIO MORRICONE HAS PASSED AWAY. WE NOW HAVE THE REST OF OUR LIVES TO APPRECIATE HIS MUSIC. SOURCE: AP PHOTO/MICHAEL SOHN.

In the pantheon of film composers beginning their career around 1960 and after, Ennio Morricone will always radiate from the center. Only Jerry Goldsmith could compare to Morricone’s incredibly versatile, psychologically incisive, and powerful thriller music. Only John Williams could compete with Morricone’s masterful command of the classical orchestra and chorus to create memorable themes of sublime elegance. Only Georges Delerue could rival Morricone’s gift of writing beautiful melodies that from their first note haunt listeners. To fellow Italians, the Maestro, as they call him, was second to none. Early in his career Morricone was a counterpart to the older Nino Rota. Only Riz Ortolani approached the seductiveness of Morricone’s tunes for Italian filmic erotica. Ennio Morricone achieved it all in one score consistently throughout his seventy-year journey in cinema.

MORRICONE CONDUCTING IN AMSTERDAM. PHOTO BY JELMER DE HAAS.

The Maestro had a unique capacity to keep reinventing himself and constantly surprise. He often acknowledged the indebtedness for his classical training to his teachers, such as Goffredo Petrassi, a fine composer of concertos and Morricone’s composition professor who died aged 98. Morricone was a polystylist who honoured the needs of the larger picture. Nevertheless, his music consistently stands on its own when experienced apart from the film, a mark of a great composer. Morricone embraced and originally adapted the Classical concerto, the Baroque concerto grosso, the Romantic symphony and twentieth-century chamber music. He brought new richness to rock and beat. He experimented with jazz and electronic music, and even improved on pop.

Many of Morricone’s works still await rediscovery. That Morricone was a fertile concert hall composer is unfairly neglected. His cantata “Voci dal silenzio” (2007) explores subtle choral harmonies and contains stunning colouristic effects. The “Mass for Pope Francis” (2015) follows the liturgy of the Roman Catholic Mass ordinary but involves striking dissonances and complex antiphonal chanting. In addition, Morricone has written more than 60 concert works, including piano concertos, symphonic pieces, choral music and one opera.

From 1964 to 1980, Morricone was a part of Gruppo di Improvvisazione Nuova Consonanza, or “The Group”. The collective recorded improvisations, experimenting with contemporary avant-garde techniques, such as serialism, musique concrète and free jazz. To experience Morricone performing on his instrument of choice, you can listen to his unorthodox trumpet sounds on The Group albums released by RCA and Deutsche Grammophon. “Omaggio a Giacinto Scelsi”, one of their striking compositions, uses a microtonal manipulation of a single note with uncanny sonoristic effects in honour of the eponymous pioneer of the technique.

GRUPPO DI IMPROVVISAZIONE NUOVA CONSONANZA IN 1978 PHOTOGRAPHED BY ROBERTO MASOTTI.

The Maestro’s most cherished music belongs to cinema. The famous film projection montage in “Cinema Paradiso” (1988) would feel empty without Morricone’s ineffably poignant theme. Clint Eastwood’s deadpan stares in “A Fistful of Dollars” (1964) would lose their edge without the surf guitar combined with mariachi trumpets, wordless grunts and whistles. It would be hard to feel sympathy for Jeremy Irons were it not for the wistful flute and plaintive string harmonies that bespeak his doomed love for Lolita. It is also Jeremy Irons as Father Gabriel in “The Mission” (1986), through whose oboe Morricone expresses that even in tragedy life on earth may be as it is in heaven. The composer also liked writing wordless vocal parts for Edda Dell’Orso. Her ethereal voice embodied “The Ecstasy of Gold” in the epic finale of “The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly” (1966). Morricone again captured ecstasy, of an extraterrestrial encounter, in “Mission to Mars” (2000), brilliantly combining electronic music with a large chorus. Sean Connery’s death in “The Untouchables” (1987) could not be sadder with the elegiac saxophone bidding farewell to the hero.

“THE MISSION” SOUNDTRACK ALBUM COVER. COPYRIGHT: VIRGIN RECORDS, 1986

While Morricone is better known for his melancholy melodies, it would be an oversight not to emphasize his superb skill in expressing drama. Unmistakably the Maestro’s output contains some of the most unsettling music you will ever hear. Listening to the soundtrack for “The Thing” (1982) is not for faint ears. Morricone crafted a masterpiece of chilling electronica, a sonic incarnation of the frozen landscape. To musically render the nefarious alien, the Maestro turned to the art of fugue. Years later, Quentin Tarantino reused Morricone’s piece “Bestiality”. In his bizarre and not altogether coherent fashion, Tarantino employed in his films a number of preexisting Morricone works. If nothing else, the maverick director receives credit for introducing the Maestro to new audiences.

“THE THING” SOUNDTRACK ALBUM COVER. COPYRIGHT: GEFFEN RECORDS, 2020

Morricone’s exciting music for Italian and French crime films has fascinated me for years. The relentless percussive piano rhythms with screeching electric guitars chasing Charles Bronson in “Città violenta” (1970) presented a brash new sonority for cinema. In “Le Professionnel” (1981), Morricone treated Jean-Paul Belmondo’s secret agent with an engrossing study of a theme and variations. Recently, I had a chance to see “Ripley’s Game” (2002). Morricone’s music immediately drew me into John Malkovich’s world of intrigue. The Maestro succeeded in blending the sounds of the bass guitar with the harpsichord. The final 14-minute piece on the album, entitled “Collage per Ripley”, presents an alluring collection of seamlessly integrated motifs from the film, featuring bold instrumental combinations and a tapestry of mysterious timbres. In the film, the harpsichord solos nimbly oscillate between diegetic and non-diegetic sound. Separate from the film, the music seeps through your skin. However, its depth does not yield to one hearing only. Repeated listening helps peel off the layers of the collage. Is multiplicity not a mark of art that stands the test of time?

“CITTÀ VIOLENTA” SOUNDTRACK ALBUM COVER. COPYRIGHT: GDM, 2012

Having established himself in major genres, Morricone rejected complacency. Music was a passion and an art, but also a craft and a discipline; the Maestro was always hard at work, exploring new directions. In 1997, he wrote a one-hour symphony for a rediscovered silent film adaptation of Shakespeare’s “Richard III” (1912). By contrast, the composer succeeded in humanizing Arnold Schwarzenegger in “Red Sonja” (1985), a brawny accomplishment. Morricone’s music for “Days of Heaven” (1978) presents part of his most endearing legacy. He enriched Terrence Malick’s stunning cinematography with simple, gorgeous pastoral lyricism. The score joins the camera in painting bucolic landscapes and conspires to ignite a ruinous conflagration. Morricone again proved a musical storyteller par excellence with a score that also enjoys an independent life.

Though he received an Academy Award nomination for “The Mission”, Morricone lost out to Herbie Hancock’s “Round Midnight”, which contained only 20 minutes of original music. Fellow nominee James Horner was so impressed with Morricone’s score that he voted for it instead of his “Aliens”. Nominations followed, but similarly to Jerry Goldsmith, the Oscars were not in Morricone’s favour, as if implying the irrelevance, or the irreverence, of the Best Original Score category. Morricone garnered popular success and critical acclaim for his work in American films, but he never really embraced Hollywood. His decision to remain in Italy and not to move to America empowered him to keep composing with a more European perspective.

In retrospect, the Academy made amends for their omission when they bestowed on Morricone the Honorary Award for his lifetime achievement in film scoring. Incredibly, the 2007 Academy Awards ceremony marked Morricone’s first trip to Hollywood. In his acceptance speech, interpreted by Clint Eastwood, Morricone thanked the Academy with his characteristic modesty and sincerity. The composer was accompanied by his loving wife Maria Travia, who was moved to tears when he expressed his deepest gratitude to her. Aged 78, Morricone knew and promised the audience he would continue composing, and with a renewed resolve. He honoured the promise with his distinctive prolificacy, composing several scores each year. In 2016, at the age of 87, Ennio Morricone finally received the Academy Award for Best Original Score. After years of admiration, Quentin Tarantino invited the Maestro to write music for his film “The Hateful Eight” (2015), an idiosyncratic re-imagining of the western genre. Morricone supplied a dark, intensely suspenseful, string-driven score that earned him his first Oscar.

AT THE 88TH ACADEMY AWARDS, MORRICONE WINS AN OSCAR FOR “THE HATEFUL EIGHT”. HIS ACCEPTANCE SPEECH IS MARKED BY CHARMING GRACIOUSNESS AND SELF-EFFACING GENEROSITY.

Morricone will be sorely missed. Borrowing and recycling prevail in today’s cinema while experimentation tends to be discouraged for fear of financial loss. Mediocrity is often allowed to be the common denominator for the arts. Some of the most original recent films have no musical score at all. Melodic themes appear to have fallen out of fashion. Emotions are forced on audiences by super powers and visual effects, rather than elicited by a subtle human touch that music can be. Morricone never tried to push sentiment, instead he possessed the rare power of generating our excitement, evoking our terror, and moving us to tears, often without our realization that music is the emotional heart of the film. His music is always honest. It shows a cultured sensibility, a passion for storytelling, a mastery of the craft, daring innovation with economy of means, and a deep understanding of the human nature.

The passing of Ennio Morricone marks the end of an era in music and in cinema. Time will reveal if the modern computer driven-approach to film scoring deserves a place in history. It is unlikely that Ennio Morricone will ever by eclipsed by another composer, or a computer. Consider also the magnitude of the long list of directors with whom Morricone collaborated: Bernardo Bertolucci, Franco Zeffirelli, Giuseppe Tornatore, Roland Joffé, Sergio Corbucci (Italy); Roman Polanski, Henri Verneuil (France); Don Siegel, Mike Nichols, Brian De Palma, Barry Levinson, Oliver Stone, Warren Beatty, and John Carpenter (USA). No composer since Georg Philipp Telemann (over 3000 compositions) and Johann Sebastian Bach was as successfully prolific as Morricone. Collecting his albums creates a full-time job for soundtrack aficionados. Some report more than 800 titles in their library. The list expands with several labels specializing in restoration and publication of Morricone’s music.

Our Maestro is more than a film composer. An unfounded divide seems to separate the worlds of concert and media music. When music is written to an image, the image somehow subjugates the music, therefore the music is artistically inferior to the so-called absolute or classical music. This holds true most of the time. However, Morricone bridges the divide. While he spent most of his career composing for film, to call him a film composer does not do him justice. Morricone’s music serves the moving image, but it also transcends it. Film composers count as success the achievement of this transcendence with a theme or two in a single score. In contrast, many Morricone scores are fit for a concert performance in their entirety. They are aesthetically and artistically complete without the film.

I have spent the last two years researching Mozart’s music. While on the whole I would not compare anyone to Mozart, I dare say Morricone was capable of writing beautiful melodies of irresistible charm and natural effortlessness like Mozart. Doubters are encouraged to seek out the video in which Morricone discusses how he writes a melody before listening to, for instance, the curiously titled collection “When in Doubt Turn to Ennio Morricone”. A box of tissues at hand is strongly advised, even for stoics including Clint Eastwood, to go with the near six-hour themependium. Not one tune repeats or resembles any of the other 99. Moreover, the 100 still represents a fraction of the sum total of Morricone’s melodies.

ENNIO MORRICONE USED SILENCE AS A MUSICAL SOUND. PHOTO: ENNIO MORRICONE OFFICIAL WEBSITE

Despite his age, the amazing Morricone increasingly put more energy into conducting his music around the world. Morricone’s concert tour tempo kept climbing into his late 80s. Yet he never returned to a city with the same programme. Unnamed agencies repeatedly advertised in certain cities in Europe his concerts as “the last”. Morricone gave one of his final concerts in Prague at the age of 90. The opportunists may retreat now that the ruse is true. Nevertheless, Morricone lives on.

Our deepest condolences to Ennio Morricone’s family, friends and all those who know his music.

The Seventies and early Eighties were an era of experiments on the silver screen. With new technologies and an updated Hollywood code, the decade we’re about to delve into was a flourishing one, to say the least. Today’s masters of horror and drama emerged with bold new stories that genuinely spoke to the audiences of that era. The lavish and melodramatic tales of the Golden Age were abandoned, making room for the gritty and shameless, for the violent and the startling. Boundaries were pushed.

1972: Tangoes, Mobsters, and the Madness of Man

Bernardo Bertolucci gave us a Marlon Brando at the height of his career and a wide-eyed Maria Schneider in ‘Last Tango in Paris’ (1972). When the two strangers meet, physical intimacy almost immediately becomes an ‘elemental force… the medium of exchange’ between the emotionally broken Paul and the sensually curious Jeanne, as once noted by Roger Ebert.

Their chance encounter gives birth to a mysterious and restless mood that goes on to define their tempestuous relationship. The coupling was basically a rape scene, and Mr Bertolucci later confirmed that Ms Schneider was not aware of the details prior to shooting, which made her emotions all the rawer and more shocking. In the end, ‘Last Tango in Paris’ was the first feature to equate physical intimacy with human communication, despite the contrast between its high-art aspiration and its controversies.

‘LAST TANGO IN PARIS’ (1972), ©UNITED ARTISTS/MGM

Once considered by critics as the Soviet reply to Stanley Kubrick’s ‘2001: A Space Odyssey’ (1968), Andrei Tarkovsky’s ‘Solaris’ (1972) is eerily earthbound and drawn to the past, especially since it’s a sci-fi film set mostly on another planet in a distant future. The Russian director did not share Kubrick’s fascination with technology, nor his misanthropy. He also stepped away from the source material’s author, Stanislaw Lem, and his concern with Man confronting the Cosmos. Tarkovski was more about the humanity that Man brought with him into the depth of Cosmos, instead. He spent his entire career proving that cinema was an art form as important as any other medium, and he certainly proved it with the weightlessness scene between Kelvin and his dead wife’s ghost.

‘SOLARIS’ (1972), ©MOSFILM

The most memorable scene in Francis Ford Coppola’s ‘The Godfather’ (1972) is likely the horse’s head in the bed of Hollywood studio chief Jack Woltz. The circumstances that lead to this moment—specifically, Woltz’s decision to deprive mobbed-up singer Johnny Fontane of a key part in an upcoming war flick—were clearly inspired from Columbia boss Harry Cohn’s choice to cast Frank Sinatra in ‘From Here to Eternity’ (1954), though the dead horse trigger itself was something that writer Mario Puzo probably picked up from ‘The Public Enemy’ (1931). It haunts me, to this day.

In ‘Aguirre, the Wrath of God’ (1972), his finest film with his archetypal star, Werner Herzog delivered a perfect example of his desire to depict the world as it had never been seen or even imagined before. The movie can easily be interpreted as an allegory of authoritarianism, its deranged hero representing the Hitlers of absolutely every stage of humanity. But viewing this story solely through an intellectual lens would diminish its sensory appeal, which ultimately carries its true meaning. As the camera swirls around Aguirre on his raft, stricken with delusional madness, Herzog presents us with history as nightmare, making his viewers breathe a sigh of relief when the film ends, and we’re returned to reality.

‘AGUIRRE, WRATH OF GOD’ (1972), ©WERNER HERZOG FILMPRODUKTION

1973: Political Statements, Merchandizing, and Demons

On 27^th March 1973, Marlon Brando won an Oscar for his role in ‘The Godfather’. The actor sent Sacheen Littlefeather, a 26-year-old Apache, to refuse the Academy Award on his behalf, and to use the 45 seconds initially allocated to his speech to read out a 15-page statement instead. The brave young woman made her points about the portrayal of Native Americans in film and TV with courtesy and eloquence, drawing audience gasps and cheers. It wasn’t the first political upset at the Oscars, but it was certainly the most memorable. Charlton Heston called it ‘childish’, while Jane Fonda said that what Brando did ‘was wonderful’.

SACHEEN LITTLEFEATHER AT THE OSCARS, ©ACADEMY OF MOTION PICTURE ARTS AND SCIENCES

On 20^th August, George Lucas was still reaping the success of ‘American Graffiti’ (1973) and renegotiating his deal at Twentieth Century Fox for a science-fiction film. He didn’t ask for more money upfront but insisted on retaining all the merchandising rights of the film (this included income from any soundtrack album, tie-in book, or range of toys). At the time, few people understood how far-sighted the decision really was.

Merchandising rights were considered the ‘garbage’ of any contract, so no one thought much of it, until ‘Star Wars’ (1977) became the highest-grossing film of all time, and absolutely everything bearing its logo sold like hot and crispy powdered sugar beignets. His success with Star Wars merchandising went on to change the way movies were made, sold, promoted, then profited from.

GEORGE LUCAS ON THE SET OF ‘AMERICAN GRAFFITI’ (1973), ©UNIVERSAL PICTURES

This year also gave us William Friedkin’s ‘The Exorcist’ (1973), starring Ellen Burstyn, Linda Blair, Jason Miller, and Max von Sydow. The director’s insanely popular follow-up to ‘The French Connection’ (1971) is a textbook adaptation of William Peter Blatty’s novel, who also penned the screenplay. It is a wonderfully crafted example of how to balance the temporal and spiritual aspects of such a troubling story. But without the legitimate scepticism from Burstyn’s Chris MacNeil when a radical course of treatment is recommended for Blair’s Regan, her daughter, I doubt the climactic showdown between Miller’s young Damien Karras and the demon Pazuzu would’ve had such a striking effect.

‘THE EXORCIST’ (1973), ©WARNER BROS.

1975: The Year of Pacino, Nicholson, and O’Neal

In ‘The Passenger’ (1975), Michelangelo Antonioni uses an incredible seven-minute single take as his pinnacle, claiming that he made this decision purely because he didn’t wish to create a run-of-the-mill death scene for Jack Nicholson’s Locke. The influence of Michael Snow’s ‘Wavelength’ (1967), an underground gem of cinema, is downright palpable as the long-held static shot from inside the hotel room takes Nicholson out of shot, and the camera slowly moves towards and through the barred windows into the piazza. Cars arrive, along with key characters and cops… they all come and go in the space between the hotel and a bullring, and even the extras are given significance until the camera executes a 360-degree turn and returns to a now unidentifiable dead man on the hotel bed.

Three years earlier, on 22^nd August 1972, as Richard Nixon was nominated for a second term in office, John Wojtowicz walked into a Brooklyn branch of the Chase Manhattan Bank with a gun and declared a hold-up, desperate to get the money he needed for his gay lover’s sex-change operation. It was a seminal moment in America’s social landscape, and Warner Bros. were quick to make the most of it. They hired Sidney Lumet and gave the lead role to a young Al Pacino (then fresh off ‘Godfather II’), giving us ‘Dog Day Afternoon’ (1975), one of the most emotionally stirring films to come out of the Seventies altogether.

‘DOG DAY AFTERNOON’ (1975), ©WARNER BROS.

Stanley Kubrick’s ‘Barry Lyndon’ (1975), starring Ryan O’Neal and Leon Vitali, has the ideal melange of style, story, and feeling that a viewer might demand of a suspenseful movie. The story is about history as loss, and the camera barely moves. Its frames resemble paintings of times gone by with powerfully baroque vibes, and its chief stylistic signature is the reverse zoom, where the scene begins with a close-up as the camera moves back to give us the fuller, greater picture. The final duel doesn’t have any reverse zooms, though, yet it stands out as a profoundly touching moment, enriched with medium-distance shots or moodier long shots that connect the characters to their environment, while O’Neal’s self-seeking hero proves that he does have the makings of a gentleman, after all.

‘BARRY LYNDON’ (1975), ©WARNER BROS.

While George Lucas’s ‘Star Wars’ (1977) made history as the highest-grossing film one time, the blockbuster was born a couple of years earlier with ‘Jaws’ (1975), Steven Spielberg’s frightful oeuvre. By then, Mr Spielberg was already regarded as a wunderkind of cinema, but his shark tale turned him into a cultural force not only through the way in which he adapted Peter Benchley’s novel but also through the way in which ‘Jaws’ was marketed and promoted worldwide. Thanks to superb word-of-mouth and repeat viewers, the film racked up about $260 million, which was more than ‘Gone with the Wind’, then box-office-champion, had made. The jackpot mentality took hold after Spielberg’s horror flick, as studios spent millions to will megahits into creation.

‘JAWS’ (1975), ©UNIVERSAL PICTURES

1976: Scorsese, the Steadicam, and Stephen King

In Martin Scorsese’s ‘Taxi Driver’ (1976), camera work, along with Robert De Niro’s exquisite acting and hairstyle come together in one of the most jolting revelations of unleashed evil ever portrayed in American film. However, it’s not that easy to figure out the certainty of Travis Bickle’s terrifying psychosis. Even when he reads his diary entries about New York’s nastiest streets, or when he devises his quick-draw contraption to strap on his arm, or during his ‘You talkin’ to me?’ monologue, we’re still unsure. It could simply be the sharpness of puritanism. It’s at the rally for Senator Palatine that our doubts dissolve, when the camera lifts to Travis’s mohawk as he pops his pills. There, the ugly truth becomes impossible to reject.

‘TAXI DRIVER’ (1976), ©COLUMBIA PICTURES

In the early Seventies, cameraman Garrett Brown and Cinema Products, Inc. engineers developed the Steadicam system, which mounts the camera on a mobile, spring-leaded arm attached to a weight-bearing harness, thus giving hand-held camerawork the smoothness of a classical dolly. It was first used by Brown in 1976, in three major films: ‘Rocky’, ‘Bound for Glory’, and ‘Marathon Man’. Two years later, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences (which often forgets that last bit of its remit) awarded Brown with a special technical Oscar to honour his invention. However, the Steadicam’s greatest first showcase happened later, with Stanley Kubrick’s ‘The Shining’ (1980), where the pioneering cameraman rushed around the corridors of the Overlook Hotel set, following the kid on his tricycle.

GARRETT BROWN ON SET WITH SYLVESTER STALLONE, ©CHARTOFF-WINKLER PRODUCTIONS

We all remember ‘Carrie’ (1976) as Brian de Palma’s adaptation of Stephen King’s first novel and the beginning of supernatural horror’s true form. We remember the pig’s blood scene at the prom and the mean girls flicking tampons at poor Carrie when she gets her first period after gym class. But what the film is also memorable for is its most blatant use of gratuitous shock when Carrie’s hand erupts from the ground to grab Sue—only it’s a bad dream, and Sue wakes up, and the terror that Carrie caused as revenge for how she was bullied is over. Other directors have shamelessly reused this gimmick, including John Cassavetes’s detonation at the end of ‘The Fury’ (1978) and Sean S. Cunningham in ‘Friday the 13^th’ (1980). It always seems to make us jump, though.

‘CARRIE’ (1976), ©RED BANK FILMS

1977: Family-Friendly Aliens and Bloody Ballet

In Steven Spielberg’s ‘Close Encounters of the Third Kind’ (1977), the magic moment when the spaceships form the Big Dipper in the sky marks the beginning of the director’s artful authorship. After hostile examples set by the likes of ‘The War of the Worlds’ (1953) and ‘Invasion of the Body Snatchers’ (1956), one might wonder why Richard Dreyfuss’s Roy Neary is so keen to meet aliens, especially after his own encounter left him sunburned only on the right side of his face. But he pursues this obsession throughout the film and all the way to Wyoming, on a secret platform on Devil’s Tower where scientists confirm what he already knows: aliens are here, and they’re ready to meet us.

‘CLOSE ENCOUNTERS OF THE THIRD KIND’ (1977), ©COLUMBIA PICTURES

‘Suspiria’ (1977) was Dario Argento’s first horror film. In it, he remembered the lesson learned during his time shooting gialli: murder scenes must be original set pieces that leave the viewer breathless. Therefore, the main character’s introduction is swiftly followed by the brutal murder of two girls at the hands of an almost invisible force. It’s a complicated double murder sequence, rife with unrestrained gruesomeness and symptomatic of the Seventies’ genre yet transcended by Argento’s calculated and daring aesthetic choices. Its theatricality is purveyed by the vast and empty Art Deco scenery, but also by Goblin’s saturated music theme.

‘SUSPIRIA’ (1977), ©SEDA SPETTACOLI

1979: Jazz and Killer Aliens

Bob Fosse was a choreographer before becoming a critically acclaimed director. ‘All That Jazz’ (1979), featuring Roy Scheider and Jessica Lange, is basically an autobiographical testament, as well as one of the most personal and original films to ever come out of Hollywood. Fosse’s strikingly bold approach deals with death in a romantic fashion as the movie is structured in the form of a dialogue between Scheider’s Gideon and his ‘angel of death’. It also adds a clinical angle through the open-heart surgery scenes and an ironic stab through the climactic song-and-dance sequences. A dazzling masterpiece of the silver screen, ‘All That Jazz’ deserved the Oscar for Best Film that ultimately went to ‘Kramer vs. Kramer’ that year.

Ridley Scott’s ‘Alien’ (1979) set a standard for gruesome and horrifying sci-fi effects—the first, in fact, to step away from the otherwise humanoid depictions of aliens offered by cinema up to that point. The emergence of the beast when it explodes from John Hurt’s chest is a stellar early example of the now-holy union between horror film and advanced body make-up.

‘ALIEN’ (1979), ©BRANDYWINE PRODUCTIONS

1980: Acting and Politics

There were two noteworthy events that best describe humanity’s first step into the Eighties. One came in the form of Stanley Kubrick’s ‘The Shining’ (1980), another Stephen King adaptation that secured its slot in the annals of cinematic history. The second came on 4^th November, when Ronald Reagan was elected as President of the United States—the one-time B-list actor and TV personality landed the greatest role of his life as the leader of the so-called ‘free world’. He understood the power of media spectacle and mass entertainment.

His presidency ultimately promoted a sentimental optimism and a certain detachment from reality. It was a triumph of stage management and a performance that recognized the value of that key big moment with its well-timed line. In the end, it also redefined the relationship between entertainment and politics.

©RONALD REAGAN LIBRARY

1982: Crossing the T’s

We conclude this cinematic period with three monumental works of feature-length film. Steven Lisberger’s ‘Tron’ (1982) is the first substantially computer-animated movie. The innovations it put forth irrevocably changed the special effects industry. Technically speaking, there are only 15 minutes of computer-generated imagery, but it’s a miracle that the digital imaging crew were able to produce any footage at all! It took four monolithic computers two hours to render a mere half-second of film. For that era, ‘Tron’ was extraordinary, and it shifted our view of SFX forever.

‘TRON’ (1982), ©WALT DISNEY PRODUCTIONS

Sydney Pollack’s ‘Tootsie’ (1982), starring Dustin Hoffman and Bill Murray, gives us a hilariously sentimental romp with an out-of-work but savagely uppity actor who ends up dressing like a woman and nailing the role of a female doctor on ‘Southwest General’. Murray’s Jeff is a key counterpart to Hoffman’s Dorsey. The failed playwright has few lines, but they anchor the film. In fact, his downbeat one-liners were never more effective than in ‘Tootsie’.

And last, but certainly not least, John Carpenter’s ‘The Thing’ (1982) provides us with the single greatest technical and artistic use of the bubbling-flesh effect. The late Seventies and early Eighties are basically the domain of Rob Bottin, Rick Baker, Chris Walas, and an assortment of other special makeup effects pioneers who created and serviced a boom market for transforming bodies of all kinds, particularly in the horror and sci-fi genres.

‘THE THING’ (1982), ©UNIVERSAL PICTURES

Requiring the hard work of 34 SFX makeup staffers (Rob Bottin and Stan Winston among them), ‘The Thing’ is a superficial remake of Howard Hawks’ ‘The Thing from Another World’ (1951) and a towering presence above every other entry in the field of bubbling flesh.

Carpenter’s film isn’t astonishing purely from a visual effects angle, either. The film comes with literary entertainment attached, an original text of science-fiction paranoia and assimilation terror which the director mines greedily.

From that fateful moment back in 1895, when the Lumière brothers screened the first motion picture of laborers leaving their factory in Paris, mankind has constantly ascended in its cinematic pursuit. Year after year, beginning with Thomas Edison’s Kinetoscope and ending with today’s iMax and 3D technologies, we find ourselves not only still making new tales for the screen, but also reinventing the old ones.

Remakes are as old as cinema itself, if one looks back in time. Directors are always eager to take others’ stories and add their own vision and artistic execution to them. But the endeavour itself has always been a double-edged blade, and in some cases, blood was metaphorically spilled. Industry people and viewers alike agree, to this day, that sometimes a remake simply isn’t welcome. That the original director’s version was the best form in which that particular story could be told. That there is no amount of new technology and visual pizzazz that can replace the often gritty, if not ancient appeal of an original production.

The Good

There have been some successful reboots. In fact, the new versions outdid the originals and are loved by critics and audiences alike. 

John Carpenter’s ‘The Thing’ (1982), for example, starring Kurt Russell and Wilford Brimley, is not only a cult classic these days, but also an illustrious adaptation of Howard Hawks’ ‘The Thing from Another World’ (1951). While Hawks went on to be better known as the recipient of an Honorary Academy Award for his cinematic contribution, giving us timeless classics such as ‘Gentlemen Prefer Blondes’ (1953), ‘Scarface’ (1932), ‘Bringing Up Baby’ (1938), and ‘Rio Bravo’ (1959), he is less remembered for what later became Carpenter’s horror masterpiece.

©UNIVERSAL PICTURES

‘The Thing’, much like Ennio Morricone’s score, was not immediately loved. In fact, Mr Morricone earned himself a Razzie nomination for his work on the movie. Not long afterwards, however, the brilliance of John Carpenter shone through, as did the music, and ‘The Thing’ became a titan of the goosebump-inducing genre. 

Joel and Ethan Coen’s ‘True Grit’ (2010) remake of Henry Hathaway’s 1969 epic starring John Wayne, was a resounding success. It racked up ten Academy Award nominations, and a BAFTA award for Best Cinematography. The latter was not unexpected for Roger Deakins, also known for ‘Skyfall’ (2012), ‘Blade Runner 2049’ (2017), and ‘Fargo’ (1996), as his work on ‘True Grit’ is used to this day as an example for exquisite cinematography. And who could possibly forget Jeff Bridges’ startling performance, right?

Another excellent rendition of a previously made movie was Martin Scorsese’s ‘Cape Fear’ (1991), which gave us a chilling Robert de Niro terrorizing Nick Nolte and Jessica Lange’s characters. The original of 1962 saw Robert Mitchum’s Max Cady going after Gregory Peck and Polly Bergens’ Sam and Peggy Bowden, respectively—each memorable in their own way.

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The 2007 version of ‘3:10 to Yuma’ also garnered applause. James Mangold did a fantastic job with Halsted Welles’ original script from 1957. The cinematography, along with the sharp editing and finer treatment of certain key scenes from the story, make the second version slightly better, though both Russell Crowe and Glenn Ford’s Ben Wade are just as hypnotizing.

And let us not forget about ‘The Manchurian Candidate’ (2004), directed by Jonathan Demme and starring Denzel Washington and a very young and ridiculously talented Liev Schreiber. The original from 1962 had Frank Sinatra and Laurence Harvey playing Raymond Shaw and Ben Marco, respectively. Even now, both productions yield an equal amount of appreciation, as staples of drama and suspense.

The list might go on, but five should do the trick in getting the positive point across. Now, let us move on to the unavoidable negative.

The Bad

A more recent disaster would certainly be ‘Flatliners’ (2017), directed by Niels Arden Oplev. It stars Ellen Page, Nina Dobrev, and Diego Luna. It even gives us a Kiefer Sutherland cameo that doesn’t do anything to enhance the story. Unlike the previous examples, where each of the directors offered a fresh take and a somewhat different vision from the originals, ‘Flatliners’ falls horribly flat.

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The first one from 1990 had depth and originality. Joel Schumacher made the most out of Peter Filardi’s screenplay, and Kiefer Sutherland, Kevin Bacon, Oliver Platt, and Julia Roberts—all fresh-faced emerging talents at the time, knocked their performances out of the park. ‘Flatliners’ (1990) was substantive and profound, exploring a realm beyond death which we’ve only theorized on. It was daring and provocative for its time. The idea behind a successful remake is to bring something new and different to the table. 

‘Footloose’ (2011), directed by Craig Brewer, dared to take on a legend. It is one of those movies that no one even asked for, since nobody could really replace Kevin Bacon and his feverish dance moves from the 1984 version. In Brewer’s defence, the storyline itself made more sense then than it does now. After all, taking a city teenager and having him shake up a small town where rock music and dancing are banned is a tad unbelievable for this day and age. It made much more sense in the 1980s, for some reason, back when Kenny Loggins’ chart-topping hits made so many hearts beat faster.

There was a certain style to Kevin Bacon’s acting and dancing, too, that made him and the movie absolutely unique. ‘Footloose’ deserved to be left alone, at best, and if anyone did take it on, a bold new take would’ve been advised. Since none of those things happened, we now have one more reboot to toss into the slush pile or have as an option for in-flight viewing.

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Gus Van Sant is best known for impeccable works such as ‘Milk’ (2008), starring Sean Penn as iconic gay rights activist Harvey Milk; ‘My Own Private Idaho’ (1991), which brought Keanu Reeves and River Phoenix as two hustler friends whose journey of self-discovery begins to affect their relationship; and ‘Elephant’ (2003), a film that stunned audiences with its graceful rendition of life before a mass shooting and earned Van Sant a Palme D’Or at the Cannes Film Festival. 

He is also known for his 1998 remake of ‘Psycho’, and not in a good way. Vince Vaughn, Anne Heche, and Julianne Moore were enlisted to bring his version of Joseph Stefano’s screenplay to life, but the entire affair left viewers scrunching their noses. For a director with such artistic sensitivity, one would’ve expected more but, truth be told, trying to do better than Alfred Hitchcock was an endeavour doomed to fail from the start. And as talented as Vince Vaughn might be, he is no Anthony Perkins, just like Anne Heche is no Janet Leigh. Some things are just better left untouched.

Neil LaBute must’ve had high hopes for his version of ‘The Wicker Man’ (2006). Using Anthony Schaffer’s screenplay from the 1973 original starring Edward Woodward and Christopher Lee, Mr LaBute chose Nicholas Cage as his protagonist. Some of the harsher critics might say this was his undoing, but the overall production lagged considerably behind Robin Hardy’s directorial masterpiece.

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But of the many remakes that have flopped over the years, few have been as resoundingly bad as ‘Dirty Dancing’ (2017), directed by Wayne Blair. While no one dares dispute Abigail Breslin or Sarah Hyland’s thespian gifts, Blair’s persistence of redoing a film that was already flawless was frowned upon.

The classic and impossible-to-redo ‘Dirty Dancing’ of 1987 was written by Eleanor Bergstein, and it was an instant hit. It had a gorgeous Patrick Swayze flashing his provocative dance moves and brooding, steely blue eyes. It had an ingenue Jennifer Grey and a doting father in Jerry Orbach. It had some of the greatest songs that were ever written, and it had a formula that has been almost impossible to reproduce elsewhere without getting eyerolls from the audience.

The Ones No One Should Ever Touch

Not every great movie can be reimagined successfully. Slapping a coat of bright new paint on an old car does not change the car’s make or model, nor does it make the car drive better or faster. Sometimes, a vintage beauty should remain a vintage beauty. To emphasize this, it’s time to look at five movies that really, really, really should never be remade.

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Rob Reiner’s ‘Stand by Me’ (1986) brings Wil Wheaton, River Phoenix, Corey Feldman, and Jerry O’Connell as four friends who go on a search for the body of a missing boy outside the small town of Castlerock, Oregon. Along the way, they come to learn more about themselves, eventually learning to stand up for what is right. It’s a wonderful and maybe a little bit troubling coming-of-age story based on Stephen King’s novella ‘The Body’, originally published in ‘Different Seasons’ back in 1982, and it is basically impossible to reimagine as anything else than what it already is.

Even with its high nostalgia appeal and preteen protagonists, ‘Stand by Me’ was never meant to be a children’s movie. However, it did tap into our inner kids, and its entire brilliance stands solely on the shoulders of its unapologetic realism. It wasn’t easy to pull off a story like this the first time around, and there’s serious doubt it could ever be… repurposed.

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‘Raiders of the Lost Ark’ (1981), based on a story by George Lucas and directed by Steven Spielberg, is probably one of the best Indiana Jones movies ever made. It has Harrison Ford running around on behalf of the US government to retrieve the fabled Ark of the Covenant before the Nazis get to it. It has heart-pounding adventure and sassy one-liners, ancient artefacts and the lovely Karen Allen playing Indy’s love interest, Marion. 

Roger Ebert said it’s ‘an out-of-body experience, a movie of glorious imagination and breakneck speed that grabs you in the first shot, hurtles you through a series of incredible adventures, and deposits you back in reality two hours later—breathless, dizzy, wrung-out, and with a silly grin on your face.’ So far, no one has managed to give ‘Raiders of the Lost Ark’ a more accurate description than Mr Ebert. Most importantly, it is one of those movies that will never work again. Its adventurous blueprint is one-of-a-kind.

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‘Casablanca’ (1941), directed by Michael Curtiz, is definitely one of the ‘untouchables’ of the cinematic universe. Ingrid Bergman and Humphrey Bogart, giants of Hollywood’s Golden Age, both shine on the silver screen with their ardent performances. It’s a marvellous feat signed by the same man who gave us ‘The Adventures of Robin Hood’ (1938) and ‘The Comancheros’ (1961), and it won three Academy Awards for Best Picture, Best Director, and Best Writing/Screenplay.

A poignant and emotional war drama, ‘Casablanca’ cannot be rebooted in any way. The effect of Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman’s onscreen chemistry cannot be copied, regardless of how much talent or experience any proposed actors might have. It’s simply impossible to do more or better than what Michael Curtiz achieved. The closest anyone ever got to bringing ‘Casablanca’ back was with a prequel for television from 1983 featuring Hector Elizondo. The fact that it was a short-lived production should not surprise anyone at this point.

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Directed by Victor Fleming and graced by George Cukor’s influence, ‘The Wizard of Oz’ (1939) sees Judy Garland as Dorothy, who gets swept up in a tornado with her dog, Toto, and ends up in the dazzling, dangerous, and colourful world of Oz. We all know the story, and yet we can never get enough of it. Based on Frank L. Baum’s critically acclaimed novels, ‘The Wizard of Oz’ is an everlasting tale of wonder, magic, and courage, as seen through the eyes of a sweet girl with ruby slippers and three downright memorable, yet unexpected friends.

While there have been other versions imagined for television, along with some sequels and prequels for Broadway and the big screen, no one has yet plucked up the courage to take on the movie itself. The world has vaguely accepted Sam Raimi’s ‘Oz the Great and Powerful’ (2013) and Matthew Arnold and Josh Friedman’s ‘Emerald City’ (2016) TV series, though neither made much of a splash. At best, we’re left with Idina Menzel and Kristin Chenoweth’s unforgettable songs from ‘Wicked’. One can only hope that’s all there will be, and that Judy Garland will be the only Dorothy we’ll ever know.

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With rumours of Sony Pictures Entertainment being in talks for a ‘Princess Bride’ (1987) reboot, it is only appropriate to address what is clearly an issue for too many people. Written by William Goldman and directed by Rob Reiner—worth noting here that Mr Reiner has given us at least two cinematic gemstones that shouldn’t be remade and therefore must be forever cherished, ‘The Princess Bride’ stars Robin Wright, Cary Elwes, and Mandy Patinkin. It also offers truly charming performances by Christopher Guest, Peter Falk, and Carol Kane, among others. 

It’s the heart-warming tale of a farmer-turned-pirate who faces many obstacles in order to be reunited with his one true love. ‘The Princess Bride’ is also, perhaps, the closest we’ll ever get to a veritable movie fairy tale—charming, amusing, wholesome and, at times, adorably ridiculous. Given Sony Pictures Entertainment Chief Executive Tony Vinciquerra’s recent statements, the fans have had some strong reactions, though none have been more convincing than Cary Elwes’, who tweeted: ‘There’s a shortage of perfect movies in this world. It would be a pity to damage this one.’

While ‘The Princess Bride’ was not a box-office hit, it did become a beloved cult classic. And in an age where everyone is trying to remake something, it has become rather exhausting to see perfectly good works of art taken apart and wrapped up in something shiny and glittery that basically kills the very thing that made them unique, in the first place.

There have been excellent remakes, yes. Surely, there will be more. But there are movies that simply must not be touched, for they are perfect just the way they are. It would be a pity to try to do better when we know, deep down, that we cannot.