: (Bruno Coulais) Rarely do animated
features appeal to audiences as efficiently as they do for youngsters,
but
was clearly aimed as such a crossover. Director
Henry Selick, having brought Tim Burton's
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
, 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
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
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
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.
**** @Amazon.com: CD or
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