Music Composed by Philip Glass
Rating: **** 1/2

Philip Glass isn’t the most prolific film composer, but when he decides to write for celluloid he goes full throttle. This year has treated us to three film scores by the eclectic minimalist, each firmly entrenched in his signature style while perfectly complimenting the images on-screen. But while crowd-pleasers like Roving Mars and The Illusionist demonstrated Glass’s typical grace and elegance, Notes on a Scandal is the only score he wrote this year that caries the emotional punch of his best work for film (Candyman and Kundun, to name a few). And as is per usual when Glass scores Oscar-bait, he’s up for another Oscar nomination. Given how virulent many film critics were in expressing their dislike of Glass’s approach, I very much doubt he has any chance of receiving the statue, but that certainly isn’t because he doesn’t deserve it (though he has some fine competition on his hands – with the exception of Babel (which will probably win (and now this makes three – yes, three – layers of parenthesis in one sentence)), every nominated score this year is a work of great quality). In short, Glass has crafted one the most sensitive and daring exercises in film music we’ve seen this year, and one that is well worth seeking out for all of his fans.

Philip Glass

If you listen to the CD without the film as a reference, you might have a hard time understanding why so many critics are harping on Glass’s score for being so intrusive and melodramatic. I certainly couldn’t the first time I listened to the score. Certainly there are a few moments where Glass lets loose, but for the most part this seemed like yet another restrained and intellectual piece of Glassian subtlety. Full of emotional currents, to be sure, but emotional currents that were hidden beneath his usual bag of minimalist layers. Watching the film, however, the music literally seems to transform. A piece like “Invitation” may seem like a minor piece of Glass’s signature cascading arpeggios by itself, but when you play that piece over a seemingly mundane shot of a character walking up the stairs at a volume loud that it nearly drowns out the voice-over… well, the music suddenly seems a good deal less subtle. Those emotionally vulnerable melodies that seem hidden on the album are blasted so loud in the film that they almost overwhelm the film. No wonder critics have attacked the score – it breaks the cardinal rule of contemporary filmmaking and actually forces the audience to (*shudder – sneer – snarl*) NOTICE the score!

But there, is, make no mistake, very clear method to Glass’s madness. The music may scream and thrash while nothing appears to be happening on screen, but it does this to echo the screaming and thrashing going on inside of the characters’ heads. Those aforementioned cascading arpeggios don’t have much to do with a character walking up a flight of stairs, but they certainly reveal the insanely intense level of anticipation that the character feels as she approaches a new relationship and potentially a new conquest.

Certainly, this is not a new approach to film music, but it’s one that seems to have fallen out of style for so long that contemporary critics no longer recognize it. I hate to bring up the clichéd comparison between Glass and Bernard Herrmann yet again, but the approach that Glass takes to Notes on a Scandal really is the same approach that Herrmann took to Hitchcock’s films. Just as Herrmann’s intensely psychological portraits looked past the mundane footage of a woman driving through a rainstorm or a man walking through a department store, Glass all but ignores the physical reality of his scenes and focuses almost exclusively on the characters’ emotional turmoil. The music embodies the film’s subtext, and it does that so forcefully that it almost ceases to become subtext (so what would you call that – uber-text?). And because this particular film is narrated by a character so delusional that her voice-over is usually at odds with her own emotions, Glass’s music is often the only guide we have as to what is truly going on in the character’s head. This isn’t to say that he ignores the specific moments in the film, only that he ignores the physical specifics. In following the shifting emotional currents (and in this film those currents shift at a staggering pace), Glass is actually extremely meticulous. Witness the sudden surge of romantic longing that flowers in with just a small token gesture by Cate Blanchett’s character (roughly at the 1:21 mark in “The Harts”) and you’ll get my meaning.

These romantic moments, by the way, are generally few and far between, as the nature of the film most often dictates darker strains. “Discovery” is an early highlight for this, as the low celli throb with a barely restrained sense of rage and disgust. The music simultaneously plays on both the repulsion that the audience shares with Judi Dench’s character and the needy and manipulating machinations simultaneously spinning through Dench’s head. “Stalking,” meanwhile, laces the neurotic dread with a sense of heartbreak, a beautiful touch that embodies the attitude in Glass’s music. Throughout the score, Glass’s music emphasizes with these characters even as he mercilessly picks them apart. This musical compassion grows more and more important as the score draws closer to the end and Glass has to accompany his characters’ dizzying emotional descents. In “Someone Has Died,” he gives us a rare look at completely unrestrained rage, but that cue is only a warm-up for the following track, “Betrayal.” This may be the single most emotionally searing piece of music Glass has ever given us, capturing the violent agony and heartbreak of an emotional breakdown (believe it or not, this particular track is actually the most understated element of the scene it accompanies – if you see the movie, don’t let yourself get too focused on the music in this sequence or you may find yourself sobbing while everyone around you is laughing hysterically. Learn from my mistake). Unfortunately, a few tracks from earlier in the film separate this climatic cue from the finale, but while it slightly hinders the dramatic momentum, it doesn’t hinder the dramatic impact of that last cue. “I knew her” resolves the way the best Glass scores do, allowing any remaining sadness of the story to pour out with little reserve. The core of the piece certainly has The Fog of War’s tragic “67 Cities” at its heart, but if Glass wants to revisit a melody to bring us something this moving, I have no complaints.

Ultimately, Notes on a Scandal emerges as a sort of litmus test for how you believe music should be used in films. If you believe that the psychological facets of the characters in a film should rest in the script and the actors’ performances alone, then what Glass does to Notes on a Scandal will seem like an outrage to you. But if you value film music that violently grabs you by the head and thrusts you inside the characters’ raging psychological demons, then Notes on a Scandal will be a breathless thrill. Either way, it makes for one of Glass’s most emotionally riveting pieces of work and whether in the film or a stand-alone album, it qualifies for me as one of the year’s best works.

Music by Philip Glass; Conducted by Michael Riesman; Recorded by Chris Dibble; Mixed by Michael Riesman; Label: Rounder Records (11661-9074-2); Availability: In-print; U.S. Release Date: January 9, 2007

01. First Day Of School (2:42)
02. The History (2:53)
03. Invitation (1:29)
04. The Harts (2:16)
05. Discovery (3:01)
06. Confession (1:45)
07. Stalking (1:53)
08. Courage (2:17)
09. Sheba & Steven (1:23)
10. The Promise (2:54)
11. Good Girl (3:00)
12. Sheba’s Longing (2:32)
13. Someone In Your Garden (1:51)
14. A Life Lived Together (3:02)
15. Someone Has Died (2:01)
16. Betrayal (3:43)
17. It’s Your Choice (2:39)
18. Barbara’s House (3:45)
19. Going Home (2:11)
20. I Knew Her (3:22)

Total Running Time: 50:39