: (Danny Elfman) There is
unfortunately no way anybody outside of the Pee-wee Herman cult
following can look back at Paul Reubens and his Pee-wee phenomenon in
the 1980's without filtering the concept through the cautious lens of
skepticism regarding perversion. Reubens' act as Pee-wee Herman had been
immensely successful on television, the popularity of "The Pee-wee
Herman Show" leading to multiple feature films, supplemental appearances
on TV, and even live acts. Whereas cynical adults regarded the grown
man's child-like act as quirky as best, Herman generated a massively
loyal following with kids and like-minded adults, yielding significant
profitability involving the character in most of his endeavors. By the
early 1990's, however, Reubens' arrest on public masturbation charges
and the subsequent rangy police mugshot caused a sensation that launched
his skeptics (and late-night comics) into "I told you so" rants about
the perverted nature of Herman and Reubens. To make matters worse, he
was involved in a child pornography case in 2002 that cemented that
perception for much of the public. While Reubens has claimed only to be
a fan of vintage erotica of an unusual nature, none of it has actually
been proven to be what many had feared, and he was eventually able to
resurrect Pee-wee Herman on Broadway in the late 2000's. His first
feature film came in 1985, when Warner Brothers gave both Herman and
obscure illustrator and director Tim Burton their big breaks. Burton's
unique sensibilities immediately gained its own following, carrying over
fiscal success from
in 1988. The breakneck pace of the Herman universe merged well with
Burton's knack for the bizarre, and although the studio had originally
sought to hire a proven comedy composer like Elmer Bernstein for
, Danny Elfman of Oingo Boingo had one of
those "destiny" encounters with Burton and Reubens that won him the job.
They were aware and appreciative of Elfman's act as part of Oingo
Boingo, though it remained to be known whether Elfman could handle an
orchestral score that was much more complicated than anything the
musician had written for his band. A part of the unfinished movie had
been viewed against Bernard Herrmann's score for
, which was surprisingly effective in this context. This was
unknown to Elfman, who, in his interview with Burton and Reubens, per
chance happened to mention that the same piece from Herrmann's score
(the skeleton duel) was among his personal favorites in the history of
film music. And just like that, a collaboration was born.
As it turns out, Elfman was not only interested in the
same morbidly styled aesthetics as Burton, but he was also similarly a
fan of classic science-fiction and fantasy movies. Along with that focus
came knowledge of the associated film scores, and Elfman professed to
being enamored with not only Herrmann's striking style, but Nino Rota's
music for Federico Fellini films as well (among all the other, even
older genres from which he gleaned material for his bands through the
years). Elfman had never been one of those child prodigies in the music
industry (unlike Burton, whose illustrations for Disney going back to
his teenage years were considered a bit too strange for the company),
but he had tinkered with a multitude of instruments and had written some
music for several lines earlier in his Oingo Boingo days. When he was
surprised to receive the job for
Pee-wee's Big Adventure, his
initial reaction was to quit, for he was terrified about the prospect of
writing up to twelve lines of action for 65 orchestral players. He
persevered, however, hiring Oingo Boingo mate Steve Bartek to help
orchestrate his ideas. In the end, it was Clint Eastwood regular Lennie
Niehaus who really saved Elfman on
Pee-wee's Big Adventure. The
veteran composer gave Elfman and Bartek's ideas more realistic
orchestrations and conducted the Hollywood musicians with ease. Elfman
still remarks about grateful he was to Niehaus for shepherding the
project to fruition without attempting to alter the zaniness of the
original composition. Everyone involved with the production was
eventually satisfied (if not thrilled) that Elfman, whose previous
screen credits had existed mostly for songs licensed for films, pulled
off a score that not only complimented Pee-wee Herman's silly, manic
personality, but eventually came to symbolize it. You definitely hear
influences from Rota and Herrmann in the music for
Pee-wee's Big
Adventure, though despite those connections, Elfman's own
outrageously unpredictable personality of the 1980's is the dominant
force. He wrote a series of scores during that period, extending into
his mainstream debut with
Beetlejuice, that relied heavily upon
carnival-like pomp and rambunctious rhythms that still defy genre
classification. Because of his experience traveling the world and
playing in odd ensemble bands, he had a tendency to choose an extremely
wide variety of instrumental colors for his film scores.
Pee-wee's
Big Adventure uses many of these strange tones, whether they come in
the form of a harmonica, saxophone, accordion, or synthesizer. A
reliance on bass rhythms on a powerfully thumping piano, however, is
perhaps the most important connecting tissue in all of this work. The
style is instantly recognizable, even decades later, as pure
Elfman.
Appreciating the music for
Pee-wee's Big
Adventure and being able to enjoy (or even tolerate) it are a
separate matters though. There's something nostalgic about going back
and hearing this score and its siblings; as Elfman will even admit, it's
surprisingly simplistic compared to his compositions of just a few years
later. But it's the crazy circus atmosphere in the music that dictates
its make or break status with listeners. There are portions of
Pee-wee's Big Adventure that are indeed difficult to sit through,
despite being remarkably effective at emulating Herman on screen (not a
surprising observation given that Paul Reubens is himself challenging to
handle for any length of time). The score maintains its cult following
within and outside of Elfman's own fanbase, however, because of a
handful of memorable cues that survive the test of time. The primary
theme is one of frenetic jazzy movement that foreshadows his lasting
theme for "The Simpsons" and is best heard in full ensemble cues like
"Main Title" and "Studio Chase," as well as keyboard-aided moments of
fanciful optimism (and Reubens' singing) like "The Park Ride." The most
notable secondary theme is introduced in "The Breakfast Machine" and is
at once immensely likeable and frightfully psychotic. The snare-driven
interlude within this sequence becomes an easily recognizable comedy
motif throughout the rest of the score (especially "Dinosaur Dream" and
"The Bath"). The "Clown Dream" sequence is a preview of
Beetlejuice in many ways, especially with its unusual movements
through keys within its rhythms and its use of an organ and tuba. These
three primary ideas form the basis of the music most often associated
with this score, comprising the suite heard on the first "Music for a
Darkened Theatre" compilation from Elfman in 1990. The "Finale" suite
combines these ideas with "Simone's Theme," a somber idea that wouldn't
have been out of place in
The Nightmare Before Christmas or
Corpse Bride. For listeners seeking more of the score's straight
forward orchestral glory sans outward humor, there are interesting
nuggets to be heard. The glorious sense of victory in "The Bike Victory"
has a touch of Bill Conti to its stature, while "Stolen Bike" is perhaps
the clearest emulation of Herrmann's fearful tone from
Psycho to
ever exist (until Elfman ironically re-recorded the classic score in
full over a decade later for the remake). On a smaller scale, "The Mall"
has a Rota touch that will remind you of the best (or worst) of 1950's
innocence. On the whole, it's important to remember that
Pee-wee's
Big Adventure is a ridiculous comedy movie and thus received
Elfman's version of the Warner Brothers cartoon sound. For an
inexperienced composer to crank out this music is amazing, but that
doesn't necessarily make it palatable for many collectors of Elfman's
later music of any genre.
Unlike the other scores in the Burton/Elfman
collaboration,
Pee-wee's Big Adventure never received a proper
album release. Elfman's music for the 1988 sequel,
Big Top
Pee-wee, was offered on CD, and for some listeners, this more mature
evolution of the sound was enough. The Varèse Sarabande label
re-recorded portions of
Pee-wee's Big Adventure and the similarly
unreleased Elfman score for
Back to School the following year.
The compilation album that resulted is short (only 34 minutes of running
time split between the two scores), but the London recordings are
actually more favorable in terms of capturing the spirit of Elfman's
compositions than you might expect. On top of that, the quality of the
London re-recordings is superior to that of the film versions, the
players of the National Philharmonic Orchestra a little more exuberant
in their emphasis of comedic elements. In terms of
Pee-wee's Big
Adventure, the early Varèse CD (joining an identical LP
release) covers all of the score's most notable individual highlights,
omitting some of redundant filler material contained usually in very,
very short cues. The original film recording was resurrected after much
effort in 2011 as part of the infamous set, "The Danny Elfman and Tim
Burton 25th Anniversary Music Box," with the representations of
Pee-wee's Big Adventure on that product limited to the full
length of CD #1 and a rather unwieldy music box performance of the
score's most memorable themes on CD #16. The presentation of the score
proper on CD #1 is a bit awkward, though it seems to reflect the
personal wishes of the composer. After the film versions were cleaned up
as best as possible, he created an arrangement of the major cues in film
order and placed some alternate and bonus recordings at the end. During
the chronological presentation, Elfman replaced five of the film
versions with those from the Varèse album ("Stolen Bike,"
"Hitchhike," "Simone's Theme," "Dinosaur Dream," and "Studio Chase"),
causing shifts in the middle of the album to a disparate ambient sound
quality. Then, he included the film versions of those five cues at the
very end of the product. Granted, the London recordings of "Stolen Bike"
and "Studio Chase" are in many ways vibrant and superior, but they are
out of place with the surrounding Los Angeles cues. The sum of that
first CD in the Elfman/ Burton set is still only 48 minutes, and it
would have been ideal had it included the entirety of the film version,
in order, followed by the entirety of the relevant material from the
Varèse album. As it is, it's a solid addition to the collections
of fans still enthusiastic about early Elfman works, though by no means
perfect. Of course, it's not alone worth the $500 price tag of the set;
that product is scathingly reviewed separately at Filmtracks. You'll
need to sell all of your kids' favorite bikes to afford that monster.
*** @Amazon.com: CD or
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