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Magic: (Jerry Goldsmith) The 1978 psychological
thriller
Magic was the fourth directorial outing for the highly
acclaimed Richard Attenborough, who, after fielding moderate success for
this film, would turn his immediate attention to
Ghandi. At the
time,
Magic was not known for its star power, but most of the
consideration given to it today is due to the emergence of several
actors and other crew members involved with the project. Its star,
Anthony Hopkins, had already performed in several great roles for a
decade, but had not yet achieved superstar status. The same applied to
Attenborough. The film's strong supporting cast (which looks now like an
awkward preview of the
Grumpy Old Men supporting group) was
limited to just a few characters, with a tightly woven and introverted
script telling a tale that involves only five characters. Five, that is,
if you include Fats, the dummy. The film's plot is a horrific tale of
mental derangement on the part of the primary character, a magician and
ventriloquist, who succumbs to the evil suggestions of his puppet and
commits hideous crimes while haunted by the love for an old schoolboy
crush. The body count swells to encompass most of the cast, and the film
is ultimately a frustrating and disturbing endeavor in every possible
way. When envisioning the score for the film, no task too tough was to
exist for composer Jerry Goldsmith at the time. Goldsmith's music would
be key in the development of the self-destructive relationship between
Hopkins' character, Corky, and his suggestive dummy, taking specific
harmonic ideas for the protagonist and constantly bombarding them with
the striking instrumental tones that represent his sidekick.
The composer had finally won an overdue Academy Award
at the ceremonies just a year prior, and the obviously experienced
composer was entering a ten-year period that many critics still consider
to be the most richly textured of his career.
Magic was a project
for which Goldsmith could entertain a delicate love theme and weave it
into a constant battle with the theme of the dummy, mirroring the
schizophrenia of the ventriloquist as he falls victim to that physical
object. His comfort with the horror and suspense genres was beginning to
reign with consistency. The difference between Goldsmith at his prime
and most of the other composers of the modern era was Goldsmith's
ability to make the "less is more" idea work, and work well. This is a
score of few grand notes, and yet Goldsmith's ability to take a charming
little love theme and twist it into an agonizing fight between fear,
doubt, and love is grand in and of itself. Still, you need to
investigate this score knowing that an appreciation of Goldsmith's
talent is really the only reason to listen to
Magic for any
length of time. From the outset of the work, during which Goldsmith
introduces the hauntingly stark harmonica theme for the dummy, the score
quivers with uncertainty and frustration. It is built upon the same
sparse constructs as a score like
A Patch of Blue, but with none
of the inherent affection. A laid back, jazzy theme for the good natured
side of the primary character's heart battles the unpleasant harmonica
for the entire score, only to lose at the very brink of victory. A
maximum of a minute or two of actual horrific slashing music is to be
heard in
Magic, heightening the tension throughout the rest of an
orchestral underscore that features atonal battles with harmony in many
sequences.
For ten years, a little more than 15 minutes of the
Magic score was available on the highly collectible and cherished
Society for the Preservation of Film Music Tribute CD pressed in limited
copies for the audience attending a 1993 dinner in honor of the
composer. For the very few who owned that album (or one of the countess
bootlegs that came afterwards), it should be noted that the SPFM Tribute
CD has all of the most pertinent and impressive Goldsmith cues from
Magic (in roughly equal sound quality). None of the additional
material is significant in length, and the short cue times only add to
the unsettling listening experience. True Goldsmith completists will
indeed be interested in the whole score, but if you are going to choose
one Goldsmith album from the several Varèse Sarabande Club titles
available, then
Magic is by no means the best choice. The limited
Varèse album of 3,000 copies includes two nightclub cues required
as source material from Goldsmith, and these add nothing to the album
except for an even greater appreciation of the composer's versatility.
The product sold out within a few years and is itself now a moderate
collectible. Despite the remarkable skill it puts on display, though,
the album for
Magic isn't among the better half of Goldsmith's
works. It is a disturbing listening experience, as to be expected, and
even the popular, heightened pronouncement of the love theme in
"Appassionata" is presented with an agitated, suspenseful edge that will
convince your gut that something is wrong. If you haven't seen the film,
it would be a challenge to start listening to the score, read the insert
notes detailing the gripping plot of the film, and feel comfortable
stopping halfway through. Such is the life that Goldsmith's unsettling
score brings to this horrific tale.
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The limited edition Varèse Sarabande album features the series'
usual standard of excellent, in-depth analysis of the score and film.