: (Alan Silvestri) Dazzling
audiences with its audacious special effects that helped usher in the
CGI age, director Robert Zemeckis' comedic fantasy film
is essentially a perverse zombie story. Pilfering the
self-absorbed, appearance-driven world of Hollywood socialites, the 1992
movie tells of two women obsessed with their visual appeal and often
fighting over the same men. One of these temptresses is an aging actress
while the other is a failed writer, and while Meryl Streep and Goldie
Hawn, respectively, battle over Bruce Willis in the role of a plastic
surgeon, they are all presented with an opportunity to consume a magic
potion of everlasting youth from a local witch. The women do that, of
course, but manage to kill each other and inadvertently prove that they
are in fact zombies that look decent but are otherwise dead. The
surgeon, who had devolved to working at a mortuary quite conveniently,
spends the film trying to manage this ridiculous situation before
ultimately plotting his escape. While the effects of the physical
mutilation of the women is impressive, the black comedy is rather
mundane, but that didn't stop the movie from transitioning into a cult
classic that, quite fascinatingly, became a beacon for the queer
community and spawned a musical adaptation decades later. The soundtrack
for
is quirky because it contained a musical
number to begin with, composer Geoff Aymar writing the parody throwback
Broadway song "Me" for the opening scene. The whole point of this song
is to be as wretched as possible, and Streep and the supporting cast
manage to make that happen. (There is charm to just how awful this song
can be, but who wants to sit around listening to it repeatedly?)
Otherwise, the soundtrack is defined by Zemeckis regular Alan Silvestri,
who was still early in their collaboration and saw the assignment as an
opportunity for high mischief. (The "Me" song melody doesn't factor in
the score, and while the song itself carries over to the 2024 musical
adaptation, Silvestri's score does not.)
Collectors of the composer's work often hold a soft spot
for
Death Becomes Her because of its playfully fiendish behavior
that represents his take on similar ideas John Williams explored for
The Witches of Eastwick not to long before. Its best relation
within Silvestri's own career, however, is
The Witches in 2020.
One of the most astonishing aspects of this music is how it exudes all
the right basic personality traits and consists of a fantastic set of
ingredients yet never achieves the larger-than-life fantasy element or
truly attractive charm that a work like
The Witches conveys. As
such, the 1992 score is dripping with potential at every corner but is
partially doomed by its lifeless Los Angeles performance. On paper, the
work had immense prospects, but it somehow lost its zeal, opulence, and
wonder in the recording process. In a technical sense, though, there's
much to admire about Silvestri's approach, and for many listeners, that
tact will be enough. The orchestral score tosses aside the composer's
synthetics for the most part, though they play a role around the
periphery. There isn't much hardcore action material in the work,
either, but it's decent when present. For the demonic element, Silvestri
ensures that the fiddle is the heart and soul of the score, pushing the
main theme of the work to clever ends. Silvestri describes this theme as
representing the Devil and thus the inherent evil associated in the
tale. Naturally defined by that instrument and using a chopping string
rhythm underneath, the main Devil theme is introduced immediately in
"Main Title," its rhythm previewing the skittish 8-note phrases of the
melody. The composer strikingly translates the theme into a playful jazz
version in the cue's middle for comedy, a mode that never returns. The
theme stomps lightly in "The Altar," recurs in identical form in the
latter half of "Sempre Viva" and middle of "It's Alive," and toys around
in the alternate recording for "Self Defense." It's conveyed much faster
as the moment of realization comes in the middle of "Violation of
Natural Law" but simply cannot escape its base form, reprising its
original performance at the center of "Helen Spies."
The main identity of evil humor for
Death Becomes
Her extends out of an extended rhythmic sequence in "Another
Miracle" and stews for the whole cue while offering some light panic in
"Seal the Room" and "I'd Rather Die." It laments the happy ending in the
unused "Switzerland" finale and anchors the start of "End Credits" with
its largest performance since the opening titles, later completing that
suite with some stirring action variants. Although this identity induces
smirks, it doesn't receive enough development outside of its initial
format to really guide the score, the underlying rhythm especially
tiresome by the end of the work. The most melodramatic and swirling
representation of tumult in
Death Becomes Her comes with
Silvestri's destiny theme that accompanies the choice the characters
make to utilize the potion. It's an identity of sorrow and temptation at
once and provides the lush passages of grandeur with roiling
desperation. Massive at the start of "Woman on the Verge" and becoming
sinister thereafter, the destiny theme toils with the Lisle/potion theme
at 0:29 into "Lisle" and announces itself with a sense of bloated
importance at 0:21 and later into "A Touch of Magic." It takes an overly
dramatic turn in "Sempre Viva," explodes in pieces early in "It's
Alive," offers some tragic lament in the latter half of "To the Morgue,"
and becomes lush and lightly choral in "I'll Be Upstairs." The
identity's fight through pieces of the Lisle/potion theme in high drama
during "Loving You" is impressive, and it prevails over the other themes
for the culmination in "I'd Rather Die" using brighter tones as an
escape is realized. In the closing suite, this idea transitions out the
main theme about a minute into "End Credits." The related theme for the
witch, Lisle, and her potion is built upon descending fiddle phrases of
mystery and intrigue with flowery accompaniment, a touch of Bernard
Herrmann definitely apparent in the orchestrations of the idea but never
achieving the
Vertigo level of doomed romance that it needed.
There's just not much sensual or sinister allure or sense of wondrous
magic in this identity's performances, but it does access the fiddle for
the appropriate connections. It often intertwines with the destiny
theme, sometimes harmoniously overlapping with it explicitly.
The potion theme opens "Lisle" in solitary form and
continues similarly at 0:46 into "A Touch of Magic" but twists deeper
and more dangerously on woodwinds under the fiddle in "Now, A Warning."
The theme is then slight at the beginning of "Violation of Natural Law"
and finally returns wholesale in "Loving You," where it expertly toils
with the destiny theme more overtly as mentioned before. The final major
theme in the score belongs to Hawn's defeated character of Helen, and
it's often exposed by its octave-hopping baseline under what could be an
alluring melody but is never allowed such care. Her melody is revealed
in the middle of "Woman on the Verge" in a slightly altered form, and an
alternate performance of the cue on the longer album presentation for
the score pushes the idea to far grander heights. It's pretty but
disturbed on flute at 0:23 into "Another Drunk Driver" before shifting
to other winds and strings for several subsequent performances. Helen's
identity repeats itself briefly in "Self Defense," tickles the latter
half of "Hurry Up, You Wimp," and quivers with mystery at the outset of
"Helen Spies" and meanders throughout that cue. It punctuates the main
theme in "I'd Rather Die" on muted trumpets and reprises its original
performance at 2:37 into "End Credits." Listeners will note that the
unique and tender oboe melody in "Switzerland" for Tracey Ullman's
character went unused, as she was edited completely out of the film
after its initial happy ending tested poorly with audiences. Silvestri
never had a chance to properly score the conclusion that was used
instead. On album, the Varèse Sarabande label offered 36 minutes
of pertinent highlights from the work at the time of the film's debut.
That label expanded the presentation to 51 minutes in 2022, with five
minutes of that running time dedicated to source music and alternate
takes. The longer album, which was released as a limited CD but also
digitally, has some useless filler cues like "She Was a Bad Actress" and
can be redundant given the lack of manipulation for the main and potion
themes. It's difficult to recommend the expanded product because
Death Becomes Her has always played like a score that never
achieved the level of self-importance that its film's characters
conveyed. If anything, it is simply too restrained, and the composer had
better fortunes unleashing devilish tones in
The Witches, which
succeeds as the better experience overall.
*** @Amazon.com: CD or
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| Bias Check: |
For Alan Silvestri reviews at Filmtracks, the average editorial rating is 3.31
(in 59 reviews) and the average viewer rating is 3.21
(in 43,064 votes). The maximum rating is 5 stars.
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