The Warner Sound

FSM: The Lost Articles

It has been ten and a half years since I started Film Score Monthly. Over that time we've published well over 100 issues of the magazine, and there have also been dozens of CDs, a couple of books, a videotape and the vast contents of this website.

But still there are many articles written and submitted to FSM which we never printed. These have sat in a drawer at the office safe and sound -- but unseen. The reasons are similar: The articles did not fit in a particular issue, became untimely, needed work, were too lengthy, or just didn't make it.

This year we are going through the Lost Drawer and pulling out the Lost Articles. They will be dated and sometimes unpolished, but they will be almost always interesting. Sometimes people will be indignant that we didn't print them in the first place! So be it.

We have set aside Wednesday's columns here on the website to print these Lost Articles. Sometimes the pieces are so long that they will be broken up over subsequent days. But in general, plan on tuning in every Wednesday for an interesting blast from the past.

One last word: Some of the articles we will print may be from authors of whom we've lost touch. We do not intend to step on any copyrights if we print something without permission. If you see something of yours come up, or have any questions about something you sent in which may be appropriate for this series, please write our Departments Editor, Jonathan Z. Kaplan: Barg@flashcom.net.

--Lukas Kendall
 

Hereís the first installment...

The Warner Sound: Film Scores Par Excellence

by Bruce Herman

If, by chance, in the late 1930s, an American composer from the Midwest came to Hollywood looking for a job writing film music, he'd be told "Go see King Kong and listen to the music, or buy records and listen to Tchaikowsky...that's the sound we want." Whether the logo said Twentieth Century Fox, Paramount, MGM or Universal, this symphonic sound was what movie patrons heard pitched under dialogue or booming in action sequences. But over time, among those that cared (musicians certainly), there developed a realization that there was something distinctive about music accompanying big-budget Warner pictures. The music had an emotional impact. It left popcorn munchers wondering: You can't hum a movie, can you?

Jack Warner was cheap (always turning off unneeded lights); he was also proud of the House that Warner Built. It was his meal ticket and his life's work. In 1928, Leo B. Forbstein, an ex-Broadway conductor, was hired to establish a music department at Warner Bros. For good work done, it was like God choosing Moses. Under Forbstein's command, the music department at Warner Bros. became legendary. It was at this workplace that a high-quality musical sound was born: the sound of talent.

Early on, when talkies were new, Jack Warner observed, "Films are fantasy and fantasy needs music." Forbstein quickly followed his boss' intent and assembled the first studio orchestra in Hollywood. Warner was fond of music (he'd burst into song at the drop of a musical cue) and the music department was his pet. With executive carte blanc, Forbstein could get what he wanted, and he hired the best.

To hear a piece of music at its finest, you must hire expert musicians to perform it. At this golden phase of film production, Warner Bros. was pumping out a movie every week to furnish the 500 plus theaters it owned. Instead of picture-by-picture financing, as was the custom, Forbstein had an annual budget, enabling a higher level of funding for the Warner product (at least as far as music went). The pre-eminent musicians around town did extremely well at Warners. With the money there (and regularly), the Warner orchestra members gladly hit the notes cleanly for the big WB.

Other major studios had music departments manned by first-rate people. But none had secured the talents of so many top composers as had Warner Bros. On the lot were Korngold, Steiner and Waxman, as well as arranger/conductor Ray Heindorf and orchestrator and composer Hugo Friedhofer, with Dmitri Tiomkin and Alex North resident for a few pictures at the end of this span of musical excellence. These were the music-makers that composed, arranged and conducted the scores that identified the Warner sound.

Most amazing, under the studio system of rigid control, this creative enclave was left to its own decisions. This freedom routed the work of Forbstein's staff beyond the normal call of duty. Conditions weren't perfect, but in comparison to music departments elsewhere this was paradise for those who etched notes on music staves (and fat paychecks helped). The cordial and unrestrictive environment allowed a composer to write without an executive whimpering over a piccolo trill or a spread of dissonance in a score -- or the cost of too many notes. The intonation of joy in a Warner score was likely inscribed with true feeling.

The Warner family of film pioneers never forgot they brought sound to the movies; that is, popularized talking pictures. It's arguably their most important contribution to motion pictures. So, not surprisingly, the sound department was pampered, babied with electronic gifts -- devices to pick up the sound of Bogie's snarl or the much-noted rich bass common to Warner film scores. The department won their fair share of awards and industry recognition. The cavalry charge in The Charge of the Light Brigade is considered one of the foremost achievements in sound recording. But then, sound departments at other studios were excellent. The edge was that the music in a Warner picture avoided crystal-clear mediocrity. Even passably good scores, by Warner standards, had moments that charmed or astounded the listener. Perhaps it was a love motif by Waxman or Korngold or Steiner's waltz in Jezebel, or Dmitri Tiomkin's haunting theme in The High and the Mighty. Often as not the music was better than the picture.

When Errol Flynn's derring-do got a dose of Korngold's music, his swashbuckling became epic. Starting with Captain Blood, Korngold provided music for seven Flynn roles. When Flynn donned cowboy attire for Dodge City, Max Steiner told audiences what was behind those Bette Davis eyes. Humphrey Bogart's tough guy image would lisp off into a lesser on if it wasn't for the great scores Steiner gave the actor in Key Largo, The Big Sleep and Casablanca. Along the way, the incomparable Franz Waxman shared numerous film credits with these Warner stars. For more than a decade, the roster of Warner composers helped shape the screen personas of Bogart, Bette Davis and Errol Flynn. But their film scores benefited too, by association. In part, what defined the Warner sound and made it memorable was its connection with these marquee champs and their screen portrayals.

The Warner Sound was a matter of time and place. It was the conjunction of the studio system at its best; well organized and meeting needs, and the good fortune of having Messers. Korngold, Steiner and Waxman weaving music under the same roof with inspired craftsmen like sound department wizard Dave Forrest, each giving their utmost for the music track. The result: great film scores. It was Golden Age Warner music marked by names like The Treasure of the Sierra Madre, The Adventures of Robin Hood, Kings Row, Giant and on and on...

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