Filmtracks Recommends:
Buy it... if you seek a technically impressive, off-kilter collection of sounds that defies categorization in its bizarre rhythmic, vocal, and instrumental applications. Avoid it... if you expect this fascinating study in creativity to exhibit any sense of warmth or effectively lure you with its few moments of melodic statements or deep, gothic power. Filmtracks Editorial Review:
Coraline: (Bruno Coulais) Rarely do animated features appeal to audiences as efficiently as they do for youngsters, but Coraline was clearly aimed as such a crossover. Director Henry Selick, having brought Tim Burton's The Nightmare Before Christmas to life and always in search of another twisted tale for the stop-motion variety of animation, adapted Neil Gaiman's book into a highly anticipated early 2009 venture designed to function for both 2-D and 3-D audiences. The story of Coraline, as well as its dark and occasionally intense rendering, resulted in a PG rating, masquerading elements of the horror genre in the children's realm. A quirky young girl (with her fair share of personality detriments) and her parents move into an ancient Oregon mansion that includes a hidden portal to another world. Distanced by her parents (both writers), she explores this alternate reality that at first seems wondrous and fantastic before eventually exposing its dangerous secrets. The film lures you with its extremely unconventional production values, led by Selick's distinctive visuals, and to accompany this striking look, French composer Bruno Coulais provides an appropriately bizarre score in his first Hollywood collaboration. It's the kind of assignment that one would expect to see land on the lap of Danny Elfman, and, in many ways, the crazy instrumental creativity employed by Coulais for Coraline will remind listeners of Elfman's early music more than any other source. Otherwise, however, this score is truly the kind of endeavor that defies categorization. It takes elements of Coulais' own career, from drama to documentaries, and combines them with highly mutilated pieces of Carl Stalling's Warner Brothers action, Thomas Newman's plucky, off-kilter rhythms, and snippets of gothic wonder that are faintly reminiscent of John Barry's The Lion in Winter and Jerry Goldsmith's vintage horror material. The composer had certainly proven his versatility throughout the 2000's, lending a unique voice to several European productions that did manage to gain him an earned Oscar nomination for his primary song from the lovely Les Choristes. So stylish is Coraline that Coulais deserves considerable praise for simply creating such a wickedly strange environment for the film, skirting the boundaries of the musical genre while tantalizing the sense with extremely unconventional instrumental employment. In the end, though, the work lacks the kind of obvious melodic consistency to appeal to a general crowd that isn't sustained simply by clever constructs and devilish performances. The ensemble for Coraline consists of an orchestral ensemble in Budapest, a choral group in France, and a wild variety of specialty instruments that would make Thomas Newman proud. Led by a prominent glass harmonica, Coulais employs waterphones, harps, chimes, glockenspiels, marimbas, and creative world percussion to dominate the soundscape with a treble-heavy, mostly plucked personality. There are two musical styles at war in Coraline; first come the innocent, cartoonish elements with roots in both the traditional Stalling and Elfman sounds, and second are the deep, gothic progressions that scream "haunted house" in a little more generic, but still effective fashion. In cues like "Playing Piano" and "You Know I Love You," you hear both sides jousting at once, battling like the positive and negative sides of the alternate world. Lightly dancing rhythms persist at the edge of sinister intent, taking the Newman practice of unconventional, plucking movements to a level of despair not heard in his works. Interspersed are sound effects that are incorporated much like those of Coulais' Winged Migration (which sometimes played like a nature CD on album), while the falsely upbeat children's choir performances, sometimes utilizing lyrics in a faux French-like language, generate the same innocent spirit as Les Choristes. Those two elements bleed together when the voices are employed like disembodied sound effects, very effectively conveying a haunting atmosphere. At some point, you can't tell if the voices are real or synthetic, often accompanied by harsh metallic slapping and slashing effects. The scraping of metal is a common sound in the score, continuously putting the listener on edge. The orchestra, despite its spirited performances, is given a back seat in Coraline, only rarely presented an opportunity to lead a cue with the kind of depth that the group can generate. Coulais' constructs are somewhat conservative in their foundation, utilizing a significant number of minor thirds and other predictable progressions. His main theme is elusive despite maintaining this tone; outside of the vocal interpreations in "End Credits," the theme's only major performance of note comes in the last twenty seconds of "Let's Go," the orchestral highlight of the score. The lack of a more cohesive melodic identity in Coraline is a problem, one that the composer's extremely novel instrumentation cannot compensate for. Some listeners may be bothered by the fact that the score is rooted very heavily in the treble region, only sometimes relying on male voices or tuba to ground the recording with any true depth. A cue like "It Was Fantastic" may be interesting in its seemingly endless layers of tingling effects, but it ultimately carries little weight. A transparent carnival tone exists in some of the film's more colorful and active scenes, and Coulais treats these moments with an almost sickening circus environment. If only the composer could have reminded the audiences of the gothic undertones of the story more frequently underneath the plethora of varied sounds, Coraline might have been a more engaging listening experience on album. As it stands, however, the score is a piece of art (and some would say a magnificent one) that is definitely worth appreciating and admiring, though its lack of heart gives it a cold, intellectual personality at times. For deconstructionists and those who love the complexity of Alexandre Desplat's The Golden Compass (this score's closest technical relative), it's a dream come true. Out of context, the score is fascinating in every regard, and while a source performance by They Might Be Giants was heavily advertised in regards to the product, their contribution is less than thirty seconds in length. Several source songs of sorts, including "Dreaming," "Exploration," "Sirens of the Sea," and "The Party," will be attractions for those who enjoyed the film. In an industry plagued by stock, anonymous film scores, Coraline is a frightfully engaging pleasure, but its vast technical prowess can be surprisingly alienating and borderline nightmarish. In other words, perfect for this production. **** Track Listings:
Total Time: 59:41
* written by John Flansburgh and John Linnell, performed by They Might Be Giants All artwork and sound clips from Coraline are Copyright © 2009, Koch Records. The reviews and notes contained on the filmtracks.com site may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed without the prior written authority of Filmtracks Publications. Audio clips can be heard using RealPlayer but cannot be redistributed without the label's expressed written consent. Page created 3/19/09, updated 3/20/09. Review Version 4.1 - PHP (Filmtracks Publications). Copyright © 2009-2013, Christian Clemmensen. All rights reserved. |
