A piece of music with a title carries the
preconceptions of that title. Without that label, it doesn’t have meaning in
the way the labelled piece did. And so Krishna Levy’s fine score to this Avi
Nesher film confronts me with a dilemma I haven’t often come across with
soundtrack albums. How much does a set of track titles enrich the experiencing
of listening to a score? Now I haven’t seen the film in question here – which
is usually the case these days – but I find even in such cases, a basic
knowledge of the film’s premise combined with titles for each of the thirty or
so tracks gives me something of how the music corresponds to the story,
inevitably enriching my appreciation of the score.
With this release from Amelie Aime le
Cinema, those who seek even the suggestive narrative of approximate
translations of French track titles are destined for frustration, as there are
no track titles anywhere in the well-appointed liner notes. No track times for
each track… No concession at all to the listener that despite the language
barrier might have googled the track titles in an attempt to structure to music
in their own head. There is a long interview with the talented Krishna Levy,
but that’s (understandably for the local market) in French. So all the
international soundtrack collector has is the digipak. I don’t want to overdo
it, but this lapse in production values does make it harder to get into the
score.
Nonetheless I give this album three and a
half stars. Because it is fine music – a rich blend of comedic and dramatic
underscore for an uncredited orchestra that recalls Rachel Portman and George
Fenton’s lush orchestral film music at times, Patrick Doyle’s Gosford Park
at others. It’s impossible to describe particular tracks (ok, enough of that),
but at the very least I can talk about the range of material here. Cascading
piano over strings sets up a sombre theme in the first track, an almost Eastern
European idea that returns in many forms throughout the score. The later tracks
(particularly the wrenching final cue) take up this sombre aspect in particular
with a small (slightly undermixed) male choir lending subtle support. More
often the tone is sly – one of the most memorable recurring themes is a faux
pompous march with brass band accompaniment to a sinuous fiddle melody (a nice
rearrangement of the main theme). There’s also a guitar-and-clarinet led
foxtrot that pops up from time to time. While the tracks driven by more exotic
percussion and vocals (the language seems like Hebrew) break with what is
otherwise a very traditional idiom for a film score, those tracks help break up
the mood a bit.
Overall the album is a little long, with
twenty-nine tracks varying in length from four minutes (the impressive closing
cue) to eighteen seconds, and it feels like even at forty-six minutes this
amiable score outdoes its welcome. But it’s very attractive material, and
despite my qualms about the missing track titles and redundancy, still comes
with a recommendation to those who like orchestral scores that alternate
between playful and dramatic moods. With the spare chromaticism of Je Suis
Un Assassin, the kitschy splendour of Ozon’s 8 Femmes and the
whimsical comedy-drama of this score under his belt, Krishna Levy has
demonstrated his knack for meeting a range of film music challenges, and is a
name worth looking for in future French film scoring.
Michael McLennan
3.5