Articles by Adrian Ellis

A Lonely but Beautiful Path by Trey Ratcliffe

Back in September I attended a memorial for Chris Dedrick, a wonderful musician and composer, and former president of the Guild of Canadian Film Composers.  It was a powerful and moving event, held at the McMillan Theatre at the University of Toronto.  There were stirring speeches, musical performances, and an incredible set of slides which were projected along with Chris’ music, spanning the decades.  He was involved in a number of projects, including the acclaimed band The Free Design, writing for the Starscape Singers, and a host of TV and film work.  I didn’t know him well – just a few words had passed between us over the short years I’d been volunteering with the Guild and attending workshops and seminars, but I had always been impressed with Chris’ harmonic sensibilities and incredible arranging skills (he struck me as a Canadian Brian Wilson) and his gentle and generous spirit.

Sitting there in that theatre, awestruck by the music and how many people he had touched, I began thinking about legacy for the first time in.  To be honest, the concept legacy had always seemed a very pompous and self-important thing – a kind of graffitti onthe wall of life that says, “Here I was, here is my work, wasn’t I great”.  I don’t know what happens to us after we die, but there is a possibility that the answer is “nothing” – consciousness simply evaporates.  Things which mark our stay seems kind of insignificant and pointless in that light.  But there is more to it than that, because there is a world and people we leave behind, which we affect – negatively or positively.

What if I died tomorrow, I thought.

What kind of legacy would I leave behind?  It made me think about the things I create, how I create them and why.  I imagined myself sitting in on my own memorial and trying to think of what they’d say, what music they would play, how my life would be laid out, how they would tell the “story” of my life, what meaning it might hold.  It was a pretty sobering, humbling moment.  While it may seem like an exercise in morbidity, imagining yourself at your own memorial is an extremely effective way to crystallize ideas about what you want your life to be about.  It’s also a kick in the pants because you realize that you have to do these things NOW – there is no waiting, time is fleeting, and every moment matters.  You must start creating the meaning you want in your life now, every chance you get.

Who will you be remembered as? Were you honorable, passionate, generous, and kind?  Were you driven by purpose and integrity, were you committed, courageous, a leader who inspired others?

Was your work the best it could be? Was it done from a place of passion and purpose, did it have meaning?  Did you strive to make something better, to learn, to excel, and to lead?

It’s not about being ‘remembered’ – I think this is that distasteful aspect of legacy that came to mind when I used to think of the term.  It’s not about quantity, but quality – not how many you touched, but the way in which you may have touched a few.  If you happen to be one of the scant few who become remembered (in the grand sense), that’s amazing – but it cannot be the goal.

You have to be careful – you can get sucked into doing a lot of meaningless stuff in this life, simply by being unaware.  We all get caught up in the daily doldrums, resenting the work we ‘have’ to do, and wanting to slough off and take the easy way out, but we need to keep in mind that we have the capacity and indeed a responsibility to be and do far more.  We have to live now, say “I am doing”, not “I want to be doing”, and “I am”, not “I will be”.

Life is forever a work in progress.  We are always striving to learn and improve, to be better than you were the day before.  In being the best we can be as human beings, in doing the best work we can, and jumping into everything with love and passion, we can contribute positively to our world in some way.  And, hopefully, we will inspire others to do the same.

There is a famous anectdote about film composer David Raksin, who challenged Alfred Hitchcock on his decision not to have music in his 1944 film, Lifeboat.  Hitchcock’s thesis was  “Out in the middle of the ocean, where’s the orchestra?”   Raksin, famous for his quick wit, replied  “Out in the middle of the ocean, where’s the camera?”.  Where indeed.

They both had a point.  Music in film is a tricky thing, because it’s a highly artificial element.  It usually works on an emotional level, and care has to be taken so that it doesn’t take the viewer out of the experience.

This Magic Moment…

Determining where to enter a scene is one of the more delicate challenges in film scoring.  The more subtle the moment, the easier it is to ruin with a bad, stumbling, or overwrought entrance.

The ‘moment’ is hard to pin down.  Beyond what you get in terms of ins and outs in the spotting session with the filmmaker, it’s a gut thing.  Sometimes, a few frames one way or the other can make all the difference, and I’ve seen cues nudged even on the dubbing stage.  There are different ways to enter, depending on the scene.  Sometimes it’s slow and building – the cue will edge in, perhaps with a single note, building from almost inaudible to it’s full statement.  On the opposite end of the spectrum, it might be a jarring entrance, shocking the viewer purposely – that one is much easier to deal with – no subtlety required!  Getting out also warrants attention, and might be the same in reverse.  The trick is to follow the emotional shifts in a scene – which doesn’t mean hitting the nail on the head – you might come in just in advance or just behind that moment.  At those times, you are doing a delicate dance with the onscreen action, carefully taking turns steering the audience reaction without giving away too much or feeling like a late starter.

Massage in a Bottle

One of the reasons it’s important to make these considerations is to not let the device of music and it’s function be noticed by the viewer, taking them out of the experience.  This is not to say the music should not be noticed!  There is a difference between the music being noticed, and the music being noticed as a device, just as you don’t want to see the grip step into frame, or the shadow of the boom mic in the background.

Imagine you are getting a massage.  One technique masseurs use is that once they make contact with you, they always maintain it throughout the session – one hand will always be touching your skin.  This prevents the sudden unwanted surprise of the touch leaving or returning, as you are somewhat visually impaired by having your head in that toilet seat cushion thing!  Music in film should work the same, except your head should not be in the toilet, your head should be in the story!  Once music is established in a scene, the audience should not be aware of the music departing (without reason of course), and music should normally depart only when the scene dictates that it’s requirements have been met (the massage session is over).  This might character driven – something will change in the motivation or apprehension of a character, and the music follows suit.  If the music suddenly disappears without clear motivation, the audience will try and rationalize it, which messes up the story-telling, or worse, they’ll just think it’s poor film-making (which it is).

Up next – Fades fades fades fades

Anyone who is involved in the arts will be more than familiar with the standard, form rejection letters that are sent out once the juries have made their decisions and awarded the money, or offered a slot to someone in a fest, etc.  I think there is a prerequisite for anyone in this industry to have a pretty thick hide, because rejection is so common that it’s practically expected.  That said, I find the wording on these letters humorous, because they have to say something the recipient doesn’t want to hear, but dressed in a way that tries to make them feel as good about it as they can.  Isn’t it funny how they always say they got more applications than ever before, that they were so impressed by the strength of the applications (including yours – yay!) and that because of this, the decision was ever so difficult!

Just once I’d like to see:

Dear Applicant,

We’d love to thank you for your application to Big Thing, but really, your submission was an abysmal disappointment.  Really? You thought you had a chance with that drivel?  Your piece fails on every level: it is an affront to good taste, an act of treachery against Art itself.

At any rate, we’ve come to our decision.  It really came down to one barely passable submission which did not make the jury vomit in disgust, but even then it was close.  It appears our efforts to market this opportunity fell short, because hardly anyone applied and the ones who did were truly just the worst, bottom-feeding, talentless group of hacks we’ve ever had to displeasure of reviewing.  What a waste of time.  In fact, the decision was so clear that we were done by the end of the first afternoon and blew the rest of the allotted time getting slobbering drunk in an effort to erase the horrible memory of having to consider the submissions.

We hope that our rejection becomes a catalyst which will culminate in a decision to quit pursuing your work in any capacity, for the love of humankind.  Please stop.  If you do decide to continue, we hope you fall into a state of miserable poverty so extreme it forces to pursue other avenues of expression, such as begging under an overpass while doing a sad, shuffling dance or something.

Worst,

The Committee Responsible for Making Decisions

What is film music?

When Emmy Award winning composer and educator Richard Bellis talks about a common error of new composers, he cautions that they should not score their impression of a scene, as this is redundant.   Rather, the music should say what the scene isn’t saying or cannot say.  This impressionistic tendency is also something which inexperienced filmmakers request.  If you have a sad scene, and you simply throw in sad music, or a funny scene and you have funny music aping the action,  the result will often be very amateurish and unsophisticated, because the music is not fulfilling a necessary purpose.  If music can be thought of as another character in a film, imagine an off-screen actor parroting the on-screen actor’s lines verbatim.  What use is that?  Does that further the objectives of the work?

Let’s go back, waaay back… ok, not that far…

One way to begin thinking about the sometimes complex and subtle function of film music is to consider it’s functional history.   Again, I have to credit Bellis for this concise way of looking at it.

The first role of music was fairly utilitarian – to cover up the noise coming from the projector in the theater.  Any music would do, and was performed by a pianist at the front of the theatre.  It had no relation to the action on screen.

Once projector was moved to the booth, music started to be used in silent films to fill in for sound and dialogue, and began to relate to on-screen action, though most of the music was either standard classical repertoire or even improvised on the spot.

When the “talkies” arrived, music provided color and scope for black and white films.  Once technicolor arrived, music stood in for all the sex and special effects that could not be shown, due to censorship or technical limitations.

Now that we can show sex scenes in living color while talking CGI dinosaurs stomp through the ruins of a city with no projector noise to ruin the fun, the role of music has become very subtle.

Play it against, Sam…

I like to think of music as being an emotional alchemical substance.  It’s the medium that can translate emotion and also turn it to gold – something bigger than the mundane; profound and powerful.  It can also be whispering the secret lives of the story and the characters.

I recently had a great conversation with a filmmaker after a panel on music in film.  She wanted my advice on what kind of music to have to support a specific scene in her film.  The character had just undergone a hugely traumatic incident, and suddenly runs out of the apartment and into the streets, as if to escape events, even life itself.  She imagined a very powerful drumming, something huge and driving to underscore the events.  I wondered if this was the best approach – wasn’t that simply a re-statement of what was already on-screen?  I argued instead that the music should speak to what the audience cannot see or hear – that this is a very personal, emotional moment, but that to one person, it will feel like the biggest thing that has ever happened.  The music might then, instead, be intimate and tragic.  This would contrast against the violent physicality of running away, and connect the audience to the emotional story of what is happening.

I like this example because it shows how music can change the way a visceral scene is perceived by the audience by playing against the action, and getting to the ‘heart’ of the story.

Whatchoo talkin’ bout, Bruce Willis?

The question that is asked, in order to really understand the problem, is: “Who or what is the scene really about?”.  Again, if music is another character in the film, then the spotting session is like a table read for the actors.  You are finding the motivation.  It’s thematic, story and character driven.  In a chase scene, you don’t tell the actor “Ok, this is the chase, so act like you are being chased!”.  No – the director and actor determine the reason they are running away and that’s what drives the action of the chase.  Music does the same; while you see the actor running, the music (for example) might give the audience a look into their mind, motivation, emotions.

In the next installment, I’ll explore ‘the moment’ – when and how music can successfuly get in and out of a scene.

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I’m thrilled to have worked with my good friend Jason Leaver on the first season of his new web series, Out With Dad.  It’s got a wonderful cast, a great script, and was truly a labour of love for all involved.  Despite being made on a micro-budget, the production values are very high and I wanted to bring the same attention to detail and life to the score.  I was lucky enough to enlist the help of some talented musician friends to help realize the score.  You can watch episodes of this excellent show and read my more detailed production blog at www.outwithdad.com!