Music Composed by Dmitri Tiomkin
Rating: **** 1/2

To modern listeners attempting to get over the generation gap that separates today’s composers from the Golden Age, I think that Dimitri Tiomkin may pose the biggest difficulty. Sure, composers like Herrmann, Newman, North, and Rozsa all wrote in a bold style much removed from today’s writing, but at least they frequently wrote with a sense of dramatic subtlety that modern ears can access without reaching too far. Tiomkin, however, favored huge, splashy, blunt, and unflaggingly cheerful melodies that frequently come across today like the cheesiest creations you could possibly set your ears to. To a modern listener, it’s hard to take much of this music seriously at first listen. At the same time, however, it’s also easy to see why Tiomkin had so much appeal in his time. Sure, his themes are unsubtle and frequently comically overblown, but you’d have to be a pretty big Grumpy Gus not to smile at least a little on such unabashedly bold and unrestrained thematic grandeur. That’s not to say that Tiomkin was incapable of subtlety – his most famous score, High Noon, is ironically one of the most subtly effective film-scores of Hollywood’s Golden Age – but he certainly wasn’t famous for understatement. The Guns of the Navarone, given a complete recording for the first time by Nic Raine and the City of the Prague Philharmonic Orchestra, is a perfect example of Tiomkin’s steadfast rejection of restraint. The themes are big, bold, and cheesier than a box of Goldfish coated in that extra-cheesy flavor blast (just a little product placement – thought I’d try it on). Despite all that, it’s damn hard not to fall in love with a score so jubilantly memorable, or argue its placement as one of Tiomkin’s greatest achievements.

Dimitri Tiomkin

The film is evidently a classic in its own right, a WWII epic that takes place on the Aegean Island of Navarone. It’s rather interesting to compare Tiomkin’s score to the way today’s composers treat war films. Ever since Oliver Stone tracked Barber’s “Adagio” into Platoon, war scores have been elegiac and reflexive, very rarely commenting on the action itself at all in. It’s quite a jolt to consider that Tiomkin’s approach to this WWII film was considered the norm for 1961. Certainly, his main theme sounds decidedly unlike anything I would expect to hear in a war film. Even in this earlier bombast-favoring era, you would at least expect to hear something macho or patriotic, something along the lines of Waxman’s ballsy Objective Burma. Tiomkin’s theme isn’t even macho – rather, it’s extremely jubilant, almost to the point of being comedic. Still, however strange the theme seems in a war film, it’s hard to keep it’s charms from winning you over. Tiomkin arranges the melody with too much genuine delight and playfulness for the listener not to get swept along with it. There’s also a romantic mandolin-driven theme for the film’s Greek location, “Yassu,” another charming melody if you can get over the fact that it sounds just like the children’s song, “Down by the Bay (Where the Watermelons Grow).” I’m sure it’s just a coincidence, but it certainly doesn’t help me to take the music any more seriously. Tiomkin doesn’t overuse either theme, but it’s hard not to smile when he lets either rip, especially when he converts them both into songs with lyrics (the full chorus in “The Legend of Navarone – Exit Music” is far too sidesplittingly silly for me to believe that Tiomkin was taking this at all seriously).

However, all is not smiles and gushing. The meat of the score is comprised of some terrific action and suspense music, mind-bogglingly rich in its complexity. Listen to the massive “The Sea Ship and Storm” and try to keep your jaw from dropping (John Williams fans would do well to note this cue’s rhythmically uneasy juxtaposition of low-end piano notes with snarling brass, an effect that Williams would put to famous use in “The Battle of Hoth” from The Empire Strikes Back). For a composer so famous for his big themes, Tiomkin’s action music is surprisingly vertical in its construction – he thickly stacks layer atop layer, rather than melodically streamlining things. The main theme occurs intermittently in fragmented form, but the focus is less on propelling or Mickey-Mousing the action, and more on creating a broader sense of tension and chaos. This certainly makes for a better listening experience – indeed, many of these cues could almost be mistaken for pieces of concert music. They have a hard-edged streak that nicely balances out the overt sunnyness of the score’s big thematic moments, so you actually can sit through the album from start to finish without rolling on the floor in hysteric laughter.

Because the complete score was short enough, we’re also given a short suite of a less assuming Tiomkin score, an Australian drama called The Sundowners. The music is actually quite mellow, and has a nice folk-like feeling without resorting to Australian-music clichés (although strangely, plenty of Americana clichés – no didgeridoos, but plenty of harmonica!). The suite only runs for a quarter of an hour, but that’s just long enough for this unassuming, playful, and perfectly enjoyable diversion.

Many of my above comments are less than flattering, but make no mistake – get over your reservations and this album is a terrific listen from start to finish. More importantly, the score itself is a canonized classic, and my opinion of it is ultimately of little consequence. Special attention should be paid to the performance in this recording, however. Nic Raine and the City of the Prague Philharmonic have had their problems in the past, but their performance here is faultless – technically precise, full of gusto and passion, it all but forces the listener to get swept away with Tiomkin’s energy (in general, I think they tend to shine more with complete scores than with compilations). And purists can harp about the sanctity of the original recording all they want, but there’s no way any recording made in 1961 could do justice to this score’s insane level of orchestral detail. There are simply too many layers and counterparts in the action cues to make it through layers of tape hiss and WOW. In this recording, even the most hardcore Tiomkin purist is bound to hear details that have never been audible before – this alone should make it an essential purchase for any Golden-Age aficionado. The release is limited to 3000 copies, highly unusual for a rerecording, though it is rare for a 3000-copy release that isn’t by Jerry Goldsmith or James Horner to sell out. Nevertheless, if you’re looking to start a Tiomkin collection, I wouldn’t advise waiting around long for this one – The Guns of Navarone is a perfect example of Tiomkin’s shamelessly bold charms, cheese and all, and the crackin-good performance all but assures that you’ll give in to the cheese. Unless you’re lactose intolerant, of course. Then I’m afraid I can’t help you.

Music Composed by Dmitri Tiomkin; Reconstructed by Patrick Russ, Jon Kull and Warren Sherk; Conducted by Nic Raine; Recorded by Jan Holzner / Mixed by Gareth Williams; Album Produced by James Fitzpatrick; Availability: In print, limited to 3,000 unit; Label (Catalogue): Tadlow Music / Silva Screen, (Tadlow 001); Release Date: September 1, 2005

01. Prologue (2′54)
02. The Legend of Navarone - Main Title (2′34)
03. Can You Do It? (1′49)
04. On To Castelrosso (2′48)
05. Caique Leaves Harbour (1′41)
06. Ship Ahoy! (5′03)
07. Sea Scene And Storm (10′06)
08. Climbing Navarone (3′52)
09. The Cliff Is Conquered (2′37)
10. Intermission Music (Yassu) (1′51)
11. Anna (3′54)
12. The Brooding Guns (4′04)
13. Destroyers on The Way (5′02)
14. Decoys Destroyed (2′01)
15. Mission Accomplished - End Titles (6′49)
16. The Legend Of Navarone - Exit Music (4′35)
17. Yassu (3′27)
The Sundowners Suite
18. Main Title (3′27)
20. The Fire (2′03)
21. Sundowner / End Credits (2′33)
Bonus track
22. Yassu (Vocal Version) (3′28)