Film Review – Music by John Williams
Music by John Williams
Hundreds of years from now, people will revere composer John Williams the same way we do of Beethoven, Bach, and Mozart. Some might already put him on that pedestal now. His music has come to transcend generations, embedding into our collective consciousness like a fond memory. There have been many great musical composers – some of whom supplied movie scores that have gone on to be mainstays in popular culture. But very few (if any) have reached the heights of Williams. He’s become a star in his own right. As soon as we hear his work, we not only identify the movie it’s associated with, often we can remember the first time hearing it. He’s been just as crucial to the history of cinema in the last century than any other filmmaker.
Music by John Williams (2024) is a loving tribute to the artist – spanning his career as a young musician all the way to the living legend he is today. Director Laurent Bouzereau structures his documentary as a standard biopic, tracing the major events of his subject while including plenty of archival footage, photographs, and talking head interviews. Given that this is a Disney production, there are several familiar faces that partnered with Williams through his time with the House of Mouse: Kathleen Kennedy, George Lucas, J.J. Abrams, and of course, Steven Spielberg. In fact, Williams’ collaboration with Spielberg takes most of the runtime (rightfully so). The film starts with Williams describing his score for Jaws (1975) and Spielberg sharing his initial confusion over the unconventional musical cues.
What was new to me was that Williams – at the time he met Spielberg – was no spring chicken when it came to being a composer. In fact, Williams was 40 when the two first worked together, having been in the TV/Movie industry for years beforehand. The most fascinating section of the doc happens in the beginning, where Williams shares how he fell into his line of work as though it were destiny. Both his father and mother were musically gifted, with his father already getting steady gigs providing music for the big screen. Williams started playing jazz piano, but being around his father and the studio system would eventually lead him to pursue a similar path. Once he started, he took off on a full sprint, composing scores for such notable TV shows like Gilligan’s Island (1964), Lost in Space (1965), and Wagon Train (1957). Naturally, TV would create a path to the movies, in which Williams provided the music for Valley of the Dolls (1967), Goodbye, Mr. Chips (1969), The Long Goodbye (1973), and The Towering Inferno (1974) to name a few. And this all took place before his career really took off into the stratosphere.
The narrative is driven by Williams, whose interviews give an insight into his thought process and work ethic. His demeanor is warm, genteel, and down to Earth. There is no pretension to him, he treats his job like a blue-collar worker. At a certain point, he was creating music for a different project almost every week, which caused a strain with his family. Yes, even the great John Williams had problems juggling his time between home responsibilities and work life. He exudes a humbleness in the way he talks about himself, expressing a persona that says, “Gee, isn’t this neat?” While he takes his profession seriously, he shies away from the adoration of his fans and colleagues. This is best shown in the anecdote where – after watching a rough cut of Schindler’s List (1993) – he told Spielberg that the film needed a better composer, to which Spielberg replied, “Yes, but they’re all dead!”
Oddly, when Bouzereau transitions to the films that made Williams a near household name – Star Wars (1977), Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981), E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial (1982), Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977), etc. – things slow down. Because we are so familiar with those scores, because they’ve already been discussed, and because there is so much of it, none of them are fully explored. The editing quickly skips along during the second half, cramming in as much of those recognizable melodies with accompanying interviews. There just isn’t enough time to give them all their proper recognition. It becomes a highlight reel of Williams’ biggest hits, which is too bad because I was fascinated by his lesser known work. I had no idea he composed the themes of Sunday Night Football or the Olympic games. I would have loved for him to expound a little more on how those opportunities came to him and how he went about approaching them.
Another missed opportunity is the lack of insight into who Williams is as a person, husband, and father. There are tidbits, such as the passing of his first wife or when he and his daughter went on a short golf outing. But for the most part, his private life is guarded, pushed to the side in favor of his professional endevours. Since the documentary is set up as a tribute, it’s not surprising that it would gloss over the more intimate aspects of who he is. But by doing so, he remains an enigma. We know so much about his contributions to both movies and music in general, that we are left wondering who he is behind it all. Where did he find the inspiration to create such wonderful arrangements? What are his hopes, dreams and fears? What drives him? What keeps him going after a lifetime of incredible artistry?
Music by John Williams was made with clear love and affection. And yet, that veneration also makes the documentary a little too light and fluffy. It breezes along and keeps everything at a relatively surface level. Fans will certainly enjoy it – there were times where my nostalgia kicked into overdrive at the sound of The Imperial March or the Indiana Jones theme. But for those hoping to see more about the man behind the music, you may find yourself held at arm’s length.