Film music lovers, rejoice: John Williams, one of cinema’s greatest composers, turns 85 today.
Born in Floral Park, New York, in 1932, Williams served in the Air Force, studied music at Juilliard and played jazz in New York City night clubs before moving to Los Angeles to work in film. He soon got a job as a studio pianist, performing on scores by Jerry Goldsmith, Elmer Bernstein and Henry Mancini—that’s Williams playing the famous opening riff to Mancini’s Peter Gunn theme—and made his scoring debut with the forgettable 1958 B-movie, Daddy-O.
From little acorns grow big cinematic oaks. Over six decades, Williams has amassed 50 Academy Award nominations, more than any living person and won five times, beginning with his adapted score for Fiddler on the Roof. He has also received six Emmy nominations (and won thrice), 22 Golden Globe nominations (and won four times) and 59 Grammy nominations (and won 20). Since 1974, Williams has composed the scores for all but two of Steven Spielberg’s films. Three of his scores made it onto the American Film Institute’s list of the 25 greatest scores of all time. He composed the scores for eight of the top 20 highest-grossing films at the US box office (adjusted for inflation). He is also the only composer to receive the AFI’s Life Achievement Award.
Oh, and Williams served as music director for the Boston Pops Orchestra from 1980-1993, has written music for four Olympic Games and composed the theme for NBC Nightly News, the longest-running network series on US television.
Film scores make up a significant chunk of my music collection and many of Williams’ themes are old friends. These are my favourites.
‘The Raiders March’, Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981): The stuff of adventure. Williams wrote two different themes for whip-cracking hero Indiana Jones, but Spielberg liked them so much he insisted on using both and thus the ‘Raiders March’ was born. The opening horn ostinato, layered with a heroic trumpet, is the musical distillation of derring-do. My childhood dream of becoming an archaeologist wouldn’t have existed without Williams’ intervention. I own the complete score.
‘Main Title’, Star Wars (1977): A long time ago, in a film industry far, far away, grand orchestral movie music had fallen out of favour, deemed unfashionable by filmmakers and studio executives who preferred pop music. Enter John Williams. The dazzling trumpet blast and fanfare are like a rush of adrenaline, pulling you into George Lucas’ saga faster than all that yellow text can unspool onscreen. It’s no wonder audiences were hooked. Williams’ compositions for Star Wars also reveal how much he was influenced (some argue to the point of Xerox imitation) by another Hollywood music great, Erich Wolfgang Korngold. Listen to Williams’ theme alongside Korngold’s for the 1942 Warner Bros. melodrama Kings Row and you’ll hear the similarities:
This doesn’t diminish the force (or Force) of Williams’ score; indeed, it enhances it. Williams took inspiration from an earlier composer and forged something thrilling and new. In 2005, the AFI voted Star Wars the greatest film score of all time and the soundtrack has been preserved in the National Recording Registry by the Library of Congress. Not bad for an old-fashioned relic.
‘Main Title’, Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977): Dah, de, dah, de, duh. Williams won the Oscar for Best Original Score for Star Wars, but he was also nominated for his work on the other big sci-fi flick of 1977, Close Encounters. He wrote over 300 versions of the iconic five-note motif before Spielberg chose the one we all know and love. Compared to Star Wars, Williams’ music for Close Encounters is stranger, looser, a cosmic mystery for ethereal choir and orchestra. This score is especially dear to me because it’s likely the first Williams soundtrack I ever heard. My parents had a Betamax tape of the film and one of my earliest cinematic memories is of the alien ship gliding out into space, buoyed by Williams’ score.
‘Main Title’, Superman (1978): “You’ll believe a man can fly,” the posters promised. And thanks to Williams’ rousing fanfare, you do.
‘Flying’, E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial (1982): At Williams’ AFI Life Achievement Award ceremony, Spielberg tried to explain the contribution the composer makes to his films by playing a clip from E.T.’s work print: Elliott and E.T. in the forest. Elliott’s bicycle rolls forward, dips off the cliff and takes flight, but something feels off. What’s missing, you realise, is a sense of wonder—in other words, John Williams’ music. Strings and flute scurry in anticipation until, at the sound of timpani, the theme breaks loose and soars, driven by a rhythm so propulsive, you can almost hear Elliott’s bike wheels turning. Special effects give the illusion of flight; Williams provides the real lift.
‘Flight to Neverland’, Hook (1991): What is it about John Williams and flight? Nestled in Spielberg’s Peter Pan fable is ‘Flight to Neverland’, some of the most exhilarating four and a half minutes in movie music. The strings carry the bulk of the theme: sweet and sweeping and as fresh as a breeze. Much of the film hasn’t aged well—Lost Boys, I’m looking at you—but the music is timeless.
‘Theme’, Schindler’s List (1993): In an AFI master class the two men gave, Spielberg described watching Schindler’s List with Williams for the first time. The composer was stunned by it and told Spielberg, “You need a better composer than I am for this film.” Spielberg replied, “I know. But they’re all dead!” It is impossible to imagine the movie without Williams’ music. The violin solo, originally played by Itzhak Perlman, is haunting.
‘Theme’, Jurassic Park (1993): Music for a vastly different Spielberg film, released the same year. A lullaby for horn and woodwinds evolves into a stately promenade for strings, followed by a triumphant fanfare. Dinosaurs walk the earth; Williams fills us with awe.
‘Hymn to the Fallen’, Saving Private Ryan (1998): Williams’ threnody for the soldiers who died on D-Day—and for all who fell before and have fallen since—has become part of the fabric of Remembrance Sunday and Armistice Day for me. Spielberg and Williams decided to leave music out of the film’s combat sequences and instead score the scenes in between, encouraging us to reflect on what we’ve witnessed. The ‘Hymn’, a combination of sombre trumpets and strings, the wordless voices of the Tanglewood Festival Chorus and the steady thrum of military drums, builds slowly into a work of elegiac beauty.
‘Catch Me If You Can’, Catch Me If You Can (2002): Furtive triplets on the vibes and marimba, scampering strings and hissed whispers, finger snaps and an agile alto sax. Williams’ theme for Spielberg’s con artist tale is a slice of sixties cool, as stylish and precise as a sharp suit. I saw the film when it was first released and played the score over in my mind for weeks afterward.
‘Hedwig’s Theme’, Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone (2001): The tinkling celesta alone is enough to trigger a Pavlovian response: pure childhood nostalgia. I adore J.K. Rowling’s Potter books and read and re-read my paperback of Philosopher’s Stone until it was coming apart at the seams. It’s almost impossible to compose a film score that satisfies the yearnings of the millions of children who have imagined Harry’s world for themselves, but that’s precisely what Williams did. ‘Hedwig’s Theme’ is the sound of magic.
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