By Godfrey Cheshire
A couple of weeks ago I went to a press screening of James Marsh’s Man on Wire. I’d heard a lot of good things about the British doc, and indeed it has a fascinating subject in recounting the early career of French aerialist/conceptual artist Philippe Petit, especially his daring walk between the twin towers of the World Trade Center in 1974.
But watching the film was not a happy experience. Try as I might to concentrate on its narrative, I couldn’t. After 45 minutes I walked out.
The reason for my discomfort was simple: The movie’s soundtrack contains frequent borrowings from the Michael Nyman scores of well-known Peter Greenaway films (as well as couple of other Nyman tracks, including one from Jane Campion’s The Piano).
This, for me, totally destroyed the experience of watching Marsh’s film. I would be trying to follow the story when, every three or four minutes, that familiar music would blare out and my mind would be whipsawed back to the images and moods of The Draughtsman’s Contract, Drowning By Numbers, A Zed & Two Noughts or another film. Eventually I realized this distraction would continue throughout, so I left.
Understand that I’m not a major Peter Greenaway fan, though I liked some of his earlier films quite a bit. Nor do I have preternatural recall for the soundtracks of movies I last saw a quarter-century ago. I have a few dozen soundtrack CDs at home, though, and a Michael Nyman collection is one I listen to from time to time.
Still, while admitting that few viewers may find Man on Wire jarring in the way I did, I would suggest that, as a precedent, the practice described here is eminently worthy of debate: As far as I can recall, this is the first, nominally serious movie to come along with a soundtrack that has been plundered not just from other movies, but from movies once celebrated for their distinctive collaboration between composer and director.
I’m not saying that ripping off the scores of famous films and using them to amp up the action in a doc aiming for a certain adrenaline charge is tantamount to slicing Michelangelo’s images off of the Sistine Chapel’s walls and inserting them into a Calvin Klein ad in Times Square. But the intermeshing of sound, image, theme and music in those Greenaway-Nyman collaborations comprised an aesthetic unity, one that earned a place in the history of the art. You would think critics would want to defend that kind of achievement from poachers, just as you hope other filmmakers would respect it.
How did such a dubious innovation occur in the first place? This is just a guess, but I would hazard that Marsh’s explanation might go something like this: “Well, we were using the Nyman tracks as temp music during the editing, and we got so attached to them that we decided to look into the possibility of licensing them.”
If so, then the next question is: Which is greater, the filmmaker’s laziness or his contempt for his audience?
Unquestionably, purloining one’s score from other, more artistically serious movies is taking the easy (and sleazy) way out. Most filmmakers use pre-existing music during the editing process, then set about the task of having a composer fit the film’s themes and images with their own score. Not Marsh.
And contempt for the audience’s intelligence is implicit in the assumption that viewers either have no memory of past cinematic achievements or don’t care when they are traduced.
Does Nyman not care? I assume he owns his own publishing rights, just as I assume his primary motivation in renting out the tunes would have been monetary. Does he now assume his reputation is secure, or was the money worth more to him than the reputation? Would he plead extenuating circumstances—piles of child support payments, a couple of messy and costly divorces?
Or could it be the real messy divorce was with Greenaway? Did the two part under a dark and acrimonious cloud, making this rude sundering of their common artistic property part of a revenge plot worthy of a film by, say, Peter Greenaway?
Prurient speculation aside, it’s clear that the makers and sponsors of Man on Wire aren’t eager to broadcast their peculiar use of Nyman’s catalogue. Given its novelty, you might think Marsh would be inclined to explain his decisions regarding the soundtrack. But the press notes simply identify Nyman as the film’s composer and say that he “has provided stunningly original scores for many great feature films” (though not Man on Wire!). Nowhere is it mentioned that Nyman composed nary an original note for Marsh’s film.
Perhaps the reason the provenance of the film’s score is not clearly identified or explained is roughly the same as the answer to this question: Why do the movie’s press notes (and I assume, its credits) identify its casting director but not the actors that person cast?
Yes, Man on Wire is one of the increasing number of documentaries that rely on actors and “reenactments” to tell their stories. Indeed, that reliance is heavy enough to make one wonder how many minutes of staged footage a film now must contain before it is no longer considered a documentary. (A friend remarked that the most amazing thing about Man on Wire is that the team that staged the tightrope walk between the twin towers mounted this elaborate performance-art operation, but didn’t bring cameras!)
A few weeks back, Errol Morris posted a blog on the New York Times website defending the use of reenactments, a piece centered on a long explanation of a famous reenactment he mounted in The Thin Blue Line. Like most of the people who responded to Morris, I think reenactments are sometimes justified, and the passage he chose from his own work is indeed a prime example of a staged scene that’s eminently defensible.
But what we’re discussing here—in terms of music, reenactments and similar issues—is not a matter of ethical-aesthetic absolutes but of what my friend Armond White might call a “slippery slope.” One can agree with the reenactment in The Thin Blue Line, but find the same technique used in far more dubious ways in subsequent Morris films including the recent Standard Operating Procedure.
The problem with such practices is that they’re like crutches for filmmakers; once adopted, they’re hard to cast away. And once they become generally accepted, the easy solutions they offer become not only difficult to refuse but almost de rigeur. Thus we’re now seeing reenactments in documentaries that really don’t need them. Consider Tina Mascara and Guido Santi's Chris & Don, about the relationship of poet Christopher Isherwood and his much younger boyfriend, Don Bachardy. While this generally excellent doc is doubly blessed in having both the engaging on-screen narration of Bachardy and copious 16mm footage from the early days of his affair with Isherwood, the filmmakers still elect to have actors portray the two men’s first clinch.
Why? Not because it’s necessary. Surely it isn’t. The film would be fine (and perhaps better off) without it. But the practice has become so common that, in all too many quarters currently, it’s presumed to be expected.
I think we know the primary reason this situation has changed so noticeably in recent years: television. TV is the primary sponsor of most documentaries nowadays, and the practices of television “reality” and entertainment shows, together with the constant pressure for ratings, have increasingly eroded many of nonfiction filmmaking’s traditional standards and aesthetic restraints.
Man on Wire comes to us under the auspices of the BBC and the Discovery Channel. Its breathless editing (and no doubt, Nyman’s music) has led some to compare it—favorably!—to a bank heist film. It has been hailed as “hugely entertaining.”
This, it seems, is where documentaries are headed all too rapidly. It’s not just a plus that one might be considered hugely entertaining; they all must be so. The mandates of entertainment trump everything else. Any considerations of art, or of the cinematic past, are to be ignored, parodied or, if possible, cannibalized. No apologies or explanations are necessary.
____________________________________________
Godfrey Cheshire is a film critic for The Independent Weekly and a filmmaker whose feature, Moving Midway, opens nationally on September 12th.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Man on Borrowed Piano Wire
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"As far as I can recall, this is the first, nominally serious movie to come along with a soundtrack that has been plundered not just from other movies, but from movies once celebrated for their distinctive collaboration between composer and director."
Many of the most effective musical cues in When the Levees Broke are recycled from Inside Man, though there of course Lee and Blanchard are lifting from themselves. And Tarantino's needle-drop score to Death Proof, featuring tracks from Donaggio-De Palma and Morricone-Argento collaborations, was just about perfect.
I'm sympathetic to the argument against using pre-existing music, though I wonder about the role that deliberate association plays in such decisions, thus erasing the supposed "contempt" such borrowings supposedly reveal toward the audience. I've not seen Man on Wire and thus can't argue whether Greenaway was an intended evocation. But I can't recall how many Kubrick acolytes announced their affinities with the appropriate snatch of Schubert or Handel. (Not to mention his making both Strausses a cliché in science-fiction.) I guess the trend has yet yielded too small a sample for me to form an opinion.
I'm more intrigued by the question of reenactments, because I'm completely in agreement with their problematic nature yet suspect that time is on their side. Even the worst practitioners today, from Morris to the producers on Dateline, can find precedent in the works of Flaherty or Ivens. My guess is that such methods will only reassert their former prominence, while the likes of Direct Cinema will seem more and more a intriguing but minor sidestream as the history of film documentary accrues.
And I confess finding something delightfully self-effacing in the notion that what I've assumed to be a platonic ideal was merely an aberration over the long haul.
Tristram Shandy used two pieces from The Draughtman's Contract, so this isn't even the first time a movie has pilfered from the Nyman/Greenaway collaboration.
The other recent recycled soundtrack that comes to mind is The Darjeeling Limited, which certainly wasn’t trying to hide its reuse of other film’s scores; the line "Music from the Films of Satyajit Ray and Merchant-Ivory" was prominently displayed in the credits and even the trailer.
Wes Anderson’s too careful with his use of music to think he stuck with those cues out of laziness, so he obviously made a choice to quote those earlier films. And since Darjeeling is partially about priviliged white Americans trying to use the trappings of Indian culture to fill their emotional and spiritual voids, the idea of appropriating Satyajit Ray music for an American film certainly fits thematically. Whether you find that a clever way to comment on cultural imperialism or a lazy example of it probably sums up a lot about how you feel about Anderson in general.
Godfrey: If what you mean here is a score that literally takes pieces of another score and puts them to a new use (as opposed to hiring a composer to write something that sounds exactly like certain Michael Nyman scores) then I don't see any ethical problem with the strategy. There's not much substantive difference between what you're describing and Tarantino using great swaths of Ennio Morricone's scores in his recent films. The difference is primarily one of sophistication. The approaches of Tarantino and Scorsese (who used several minutes worth of Elmer Bernstein's "A Walk on the Wild Side" score in "Casino," to name just one instance of deliberate score pilferage) may work or not work depending on the viewer, but it's hard to deny that the director is aiming for a kind of meta-commentary on whatever action is taking place -- that it's a active rather than passive artistic choice.
If, on the other hand, the filmmaker is essentially sticking with whatever the editor used as a temp track rather than going the extra creative mile to come up with something slightly new and fresh, and the borrowed music is there mainly to do some emotional heavy lifting rather than add a new dimension to the story and themes, then it's probably just an efficient (if uninspired) choice. It's not an ethical offense or an aesthetic crime, but it's risky because it can remind the viewer of another movie that might have been richer and more adventurous than the one they're currently watching -- and that leads to the sort of reaction you describe here, of being taken out of the movie.
That said, except for certain very conscious and totally understandable examples of wholesale score recycling -- Gus Van Sant recycling Bernard Herrmann's "Psycho" score in his psycho remake, Scorsese hiring Elmer Bernstein to re-orchestrate Herrmann's original "Cape Fear" score for his remake -- I can't think of any examples of movies that recycle a particular movie composer's work in a new context that has no connection to the one for which the music was originally created.
Personally, I have no problem with the appropriation of scores from other films as long as proper credit is given and the right folks are compensated. That said, I think it can be distracting but typically only for very well-known scores that are already solidly embedded in the cultural psyche (John Willaims' Jaws score and Ligeti's music from 2001 immediately come to mind).
That said, this conservation is interesting but could HND get someone to actually review the documentary? It's gotten many strong reviews and warrants amore thoughtful approach. A critic should reserve walking out on a film for only the most serious offenses against film-making.
Joel-
Lauren Wissot reviewed "Man on Wire" for us during the 2008 Tribeca Film Festival.
Will also be publishing a podcast interview she did with Petit and Marsh in the next few days.
Apparently much of Jerry Goldsmith's original score for ALIEN was largely re-edited by Ridley Scott and his editor, and some jettisoned portions were replaced with chunks of music Goldsmith had written for another film (John Huston's FREUD), without Goldsmith's knowledge or consent.
I'm not sure if this fits MZS's definition of a movie that "recycle[s] a particular movie composer's work in a new context that has no connection to the one for which the music was originally created," since FREUD and ALIEN do at least share the same composer. Still, it's a "connection" that was neither intended nor desired by the composer.
One of the musical pieces used in Inside Man is itself swiped from Dil Se, so there you go.
Marsh talks about this in this interview with Filmmaker magazine. Apparently the genesis was Marsh watching Petit practice on his backyard tightrope while listening to music from The Cook, the Thief. Marsh met with Nyman, who was all, "Well, you can't afford to have me write a score. But you can use any of this stuff that I've written previously and own all the rights to." Marsh almost makes it sound like Nyman gave him the license for free, though I'd imagine there was some token payment involved. Apparently there was some back-and-forth during the post process, with Nyman offering a helping hand.
I guess I can see an argument that this represents taking the easy way out. But I usually like it when I recognize an apt piece of music that's been recontextualized for somebody's film, though maybe that's just because my strings are being yanked.
For the record, the actors are credited at the end of the film. I have no idea why they're not in the press notes — maybe the publicity/distribution folks are trying to discourage reviewers from confusing the matter by identifying actors in a documentary film?
Maybe there's nothing essentially "wrong" with taking music from another film and using it in another. But it's generally not a good idea.
"The Best of Youth" very unwisely uses Delerue's music from "Jules and Jim" throughout its epic length. It had merit, but the whole time I was watching it, I wanted to be watching "Jules and Jim" instead.
At a fairly young age, I resented Scorsese using the beautiful music from Godard's "Contempt" to pump up a scene from "Casino." Maybe it would strike me differently now; surely these filmmakers want their own work "enriched" somehow by associations we might have. Or not...if most audience members don't recognize the music, it's just vandalism, even if the original composer agreed, was well-paid, etc.
There's a point in "Mildred Pierce" where Max Steiner uses parts of his famous "Now, Voyager" score...and that's really maddening. It destroys the film momentarily.
Surely there are counterexamples where re-using music enhanced a film, but I can't think of any, offhand.
Having made some incredibly valid points about both the appropriation of scores and the use of reenactments Cheshire lost me on this:
“How did such a dubious innovation occur in the first place? This is just a guess, but I would hazard that Marsh’s explanation might go something like this: “Well, we were using the Nyman tracks as temp music during the editing, and we got so attached to them that we decided to look into the possibility of licensing them.”
If so, then the next question is: Which is greater, the filmmaker’s laziness or his contempt for his audience?”
Having met Marsh yesterday, albeit briefly, he didn’t strike me as a lazy filmmaker in the least. On the contrary, I came away from the interview certain that he had a solid artistic reason for everything he put onscreen. Cheshire has every right to disagree with those choices, but to immediately jump to a conclusion of laziness on the part of the director strikes me as, well, lazy film criticism.
Move over Nyman and Glass. I'd like to officially nominate Gustavo Santaolalla's Ronroco as the most over-referenced instrumental score of the last decade. If Inarritu - or ANYONE else - uses it again, i think i may explode.
Wow. A criticism of a movie relevant to almost no one except the person making it. I really enjoyed Man On Wire despite the fact that I recognised the terrific music from "The Cook the Thief..." used, in particular at the point in the narrative when he actually walks between the Towers. It didn't distract me at all; in fact I found it to be so effective that I admired the unusual choice. Nyman's music isn't famous enough for it to distract most people (although the credit 'Music by Michael Nyman' was slightly misleading).
I don't know if this is the case with Michael Nyman's music, but it's most likely the producers of the films or the film studio that owns the publishing rights to the scores. Usually the composer has no say in the matter. That's why you hear famous movie scores used in trailers to promote other films all the time.
I voiced a similar complaint about the use of recycled soundtrack music in Tarantino's films the other day and was told by my companions that it was, more or less, much ado about nothing. A good piece of music is a good piece of music, they said. But personally, it DOES yank me out of DEATH PROOF when Donaggio's music calls up sublime memories of BLOW OUT. I understand that its use can be seen as a reference of one character's tragic fate to another's, but surely anyone who has seen the two films can at least understand how one might find such a comparison distracting and overblown. Why lay a track from Meiko Kaji's FEMALE CONVICT SCORPION series over a scene right out of her LADY SNOWBLOOD series? I was out at a food stall when I heard a young man behind the counter whistling Bernard Herrmann's music from TWISTED NERVE, more recently popularized in KILL BILL. I wondered if he'd seen TWISTED NERVE, ever even heard of it, or if he would care one way or another. Maybe, maybe not. At any rate, it's interesting to note that when this piece of music is mentioned in Tarantino's DEATH PROOF screenplay, it is as "Bernard Herrmann's theme from KILL BILL". The line between reference and appropriation is slippery indeed.
I have to admit, hearing that reenactments are used in this film is discouraging.
If you have never seen "New York: A Documentary Film" by Ric Burns (yes, Ric), see it. It is 16 hours long but if you have any interest in NYC, or in the birth of an American city, it's a must. They dedicate a good couple of hours just to the design and building of the Twin Towers and at least thirty minutes to Petit's stunt alone.
Using only archival footage and interviews it is all at once exciting, fascinating, and captivating. I can only hope Man On Wire is the same.
One further point, in any of the press I've read about this film, none of it ever mentions that Petit crossed the wire 8 times! Sure, once is accomplishment enough, but it's not like he got across, hugged the ground, and then that was it. He went back and forth and back and forth and back and forth, etc. Incredible.
The problem with this reviewer is that he thinks there exists a definition of documentary to which filmmakers must adhere. He thinks documentary must be put into a little box so that he can understand. He suggest that documentaries may, god forbid, even become more entertaining. Theatrical documentaries should be entertaining -once you are in that theatre you can't turn them of and go to another channel. He does not understand that the reason theatrical documentaries are so precarious at the box office now is that some people think for a good night out we need to watch a documentary about a man having wires put on his testicles and electrocuted. Heck, I can see that on telly any night of the week and get depressed by this without the cost of the movie ticket and a super-size diet coke. This reviewer should hang up his fluff filled keyboard.
PS: When I can't sleep I get my Ken Burns/Rick Burns 16 hour series out of the bedside cabinet and it gets me to sleep very quick every-time.
That last comment is a tough act to follow, but I just wanted to mention the Truman Show, in which pre-existing pieces from films like Mishima, Powaqqatsi, and Anima Mundi are used to score scenes in the film which play as they might have been broadcast, while original pieces underscore the scenes which take place outside the diegesis of Truman's "Show".
I haven't seen Man on Wire yet, but I'm looking forward to it. I'm glad to get the warning about the recycled Nyman pieces- sometimes when such a thing sneaks up on me it becomes intolerably distracting (of course I expect it going into, say, a Tarantino film, so it doesn't bother me).
On the other hand, I do feel that the minimalism-documentary marriage is starting to feel like a crutch, and I've become increasingly suspicious of it.
can't see the forest through the trees?
nor the movie through budget constraints?
but, an interesting article.
[Editor’s Note: This is the first of two posts containing comments taken from e-mail conversations between House contributor Lauren Wissot and Man on Wire director James Marsh. They are reprinted here with Mr. Marsh’s permission.]
I have just discovered the blog – I think it's a very welcome oasis in the current desert and I'm glad to contribute to the discussion. However, I don't want to get into a protracted debate about Man On Wire – I think it's right to keep some separation between critics and film makers and I also think it is unseemly to whine about perceived critical slights. So, whilst I had no objections to [Godfrey] Cheshire's comments, I just wanted to correct some of the false assumptions he made about the process of making the film.
I've always appreciated Cheshire's writing - and I also quite liked his movie - so it was a perverse pleasure to see him getting so worked up about Greenaway's legacy and the sacred documentary tradition and protecting them both from ignorant & lazy philistines like me. And I was also really pleased that Cheshire's piece sparked such a spirited and intelligent debate on the blog.
Cheshire manufactured his attack on the movie (or what little of it that he saw) from a series of hypothetical speculations (you might even call them dramatic reconstructions) so for the record, I've attached a short essay that I'd written by way of liner notes for the soundtrack CD of Man On Wire (should it be released and that's not certain at the moment). Even though it was written some time ago, It addresses directly or indirectly most of Cheshire's points:
Man On Wire & the music of Michael Nyman
Like many people, I first encountered the music of Michael Nyman in the films of Peter Greenaway. No one who has seen The Draughtsman’s Contract could possibly forget the way the music defines that film – it is mischievous, eccentric, achingly melodic and it serves to make the film emotionally accessible. But it was the score for Drowning By Numbers that completely bowled me over – almost all the emotional life of the film was expressed in Michael’s music and he found an uncanny depth lurking in the chilly narratives of the movie.
It’s hard to imagine any of the films that Michael has scored without his music – he creates an indelible signature and harmony with images that is wholly his own and yet remarkably sensitive to the narrative and emotions of the stories he is helping to tell.
The idea to use Michael’s music in Man On Wire actually came from the impeccable source of Philippe Petit himself. Philippe, of course, is the subject of the film which is an account of his monumental and completely illegal tightrope walk between the Twin Towers of New York City in 1974.
Philippe and I had just begun working on the film and I used to go and watch him as he performed his daily practice routines on a purpose built wire in his back yard. He likes to rehearse to music and amidst an eclectic soundtrack of classical pieces and gypsy music, I was ambushed by Michael’s stunning Memorial, originally composed for the Greenaway film The Cook, The Thief, His Wife and Her Lover. It was familiar but I couldn’t immediately place it – it seemed so perfect for the grace and energy of Philippe’s tight rope routines that it was hard to imagine it ever had any other purpose. And for Philippe, of course, it really hadn’t. I finally realised what it was – but I didn’t care at all that it was embedded in another film. Philippe had completely dislodged that association and reinvented its meaning. It’s a testament to the music’s power and mutability that this theme has now come to define Man On Wire, too.
Philippe and I both got terribly excited by the idea of a Michael Nyman score and we never really talked about anyone else for the film. Of course I knew that Michael was now one of the most celebrated film composers in the world and we were making a low budget documentary. My only hope was to engage him with the subject matter of the film – if that appealed to him, perhaps we could come to some arrangement?
Mercifully, but perhaps not unexpectedly, it did. He loved Philippe’s fairy tale story and then literally opened up his entire back catalogue – both film scores and operas and other pieces he has written over a prolific career – for us to ransack with his guidance and support.
Michael is a highly distinctive composer – there is nothing generic or vague about any of his work and you are never going to mistake Michael’s compositions for anybody else’s - so creating a seamless soundtrack from his body of work wasn’t risking incoherence. The trick was to make it our own. Philippe’s personality is unique and the interaction of this elemental force with Michael’s compositions seems to have liberated and illuminated both Philippe’s story and the music itself.
[Editor’s Note: This is the second of two posts containing comments taken from several e-mail conversations between House contributor Lauren Wissot and Man on Wire director James Marsh. They are reprinted here with Mr. Marsh’s permission.]
Lauren: I had a similar experience when I first came to New York. I just wasn't used to smart, informed criticism. I adored reading Hoberman, Cheshire, Matt Zoller Seitz, even Janet Maslin because they cared so much about movies. And they all expanded my knowledge and made me check out films I would never have seen otherwise. It didn't matter that a lot of the time I violently disagreed. It's a different and much less interesting critical landscape now - and New York Press seems staffed by interns (aside from the spectacular curmudgeon Armond White - I practically wrote his review of Man On Wire in my head and I was bummed that he didn't write about it and give it a good whacking). Cheshire's whacking was bracing, at least, but I did get the impression that he couldn't wait to find fault with a film that had been hyped. And a documentary no less, his new medium as director.
I couldn't say it in my liner notes but a lot of the musical decisions were driven by cost and budget. The film was originally being made as a documentary for British television and we hadn't factored in the massive costs of an original score or music clearances for theatrical. Recycling Nyman (and hopefully making it our own for the duration of the film) was the most effective way of scoring the film - and given Petit's affection for it as performing music - it felt more than right creatively.
I also couldn't say in my notes but it's worth pointing out: Michael constantly re-works, re-orchestrates and re-cycles his own music without shame or embarrassment. He doesn't feel any of it is 'owned' by Greenaway or anybody else. A case in point - the majestic Memorial from The Cook, The Thief was originally composed for an opera about the Heysel stadium disaster when scores of British soccer fans were crushed to death. Hence the title - which works pretty nicely for the The Towers too. And finally....those early Greenaway movies quite frankly aren't that great and I don't think they've held up very well - they are misanthropic and schematic and it is only the music that warms them up. His early documentaries, by contrast, are almost all completely brilliant and they were a big influence on me.
Good to get that all off my chest. Thanks again for a really perceptive review and feel free again to add any thoughts contained in this e-mail to the discussion on the blog, should it continue.
all best,
james
PS: One further point to add. We did of course pay for the use of Michael's music. Just to complicate matters, there was also another composer involved - Josh Ralph. He scored the B&W reconstructions of the break in to the towers (including the opening sequence of the film). He's a good friend of mine and he came in at the last minute and did those pieces. Our budget was tapped out so he gave me the music because he liked the movie.
Regarding the reconstructions, at the screening I saw at Hot Docs, Marsh said they were actually taken from someone else's abandoned feature film on the subject, though he didn't elaborate.
"Cheshire manufactured his attack on the movie (or what little of it that he saw) from a series of hypothetical speculations (you might even call them dramatic reconstructions)"
That was awesome.
[Editor's Note: A final missive from James Marsh, to both myself and Lauren.]
Keith, Lauren - As you know, I am now a reader of the blog and I was pleased to make a contribution to a fascinating and, of course, unresolvable debate. You've created a great forum for intelligent and passionate discussion. I was really enlightened (and by extension humbled) by the erudition of some of the comments to Cheshire's original post and that's why I wanted to join in - it's something I've never done before, largely because so much out there is shrill and idiotic.
One final observation (and I hope to keep to that!): a poster who saw me bumbling and fumbling at q&a at Hot Docs seems to have had the impression that I also cannibalized someone else's movie and that the reconstructions derived from some abandoned feature project. I have to own up and tell you that for better or for worse, the frivolous black & white reconstructions in the film were scripted and shot by me. I think the poster was confused by the provenance of the colour archive film. That indeed was originally commissioned by Petit himself. He wanted to document the preparations for his wtc walk with a view to making his own movie about it. he quickly abandoned the idea as impractical so what I inherited was about 9 rolls of raw footage, shot in France, from Petit's aborted movie. Therein probably lies the confusion.
Ok - that's it from me. Keep up the good work and once I learn how to post, I might drop by the house from time to time in person, as it were, but I'll certainly be reading regularly.
all best,
james
I've read Geoffrey way back since the NY Press, and admired his depth as a critic, despite obvious curmugeonly traits - but his petty annoyance with Man on Wire is disappointing..the film is beautiful really, unique in it's moment, and deserved it's critic not walking out early.
It sounds bitter, Geoffrey, out of context, in the sense that films have used other films often in history. Oh well, anyway, nice to see people pissed off. And Man on Wire, whatever it is, leaves one haunted.
Keith:
I'm so sorry you walked out. I thought the film was incredible! I especially (as a New Yorker who was touched personally by 911) found just watching the twin towers moving in an odd and unexpected way.
In fact a couple of us posted entries about the film on our blog, Extra Criticum.
Check it out and let us know what you think.
Just to clarify Rolando, Godfrey Cheshire is the author of this piece, not me. So your comment should be addressed to him.
I find Cheshire's argument about the use of Nyman's preexisting film music to be specious. I recognized the distinctive pulse and instrumentation of Nyman's terrific Greenaway scores while watching Man on Wire, but felt that it only added to my enjoyment of the film. Are preexisting works of music so sacred that they can't be repurposed?
I recently saw Werner Herzog's Lessons of Darkness, and recognized not only that he was using music from (among others) Wagner's operas (which, needless to say, have timeless stories indelibly associated with them), but that he had used the same musical excerpts in other films. This created a series of associations with other works of art that I found invigorating, not irritating. Herzog also does this with the music of Popul Vuh, using the same music in such diverse films as Aguirre, The Great Ecstacy of the Woodcarver Steiner, and Fitzcarraldo.
This is a tradition that goes back much further than just the history of film - think of Handel's repurposing of his own quite secular Italian opera arias in the religious masterpiece Messiah. The same music with new words dropped in - one would be hard-pressed to argue that this was not effective reuse of the material. Medieval composers frequently wrote "parody masses," which used preexisting melodies by other composers as the basis for a completely new composition. The list of examples goes on and on...
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