So, someday I will have to start a series of posts about movie composers I love – or rather, film scores, because there are scores I love more than The Lord of the Rings, but after listening to Howard Shore talk about writing this, he’s probably my favorite composer, personality-wise. I just want to buy him a beer, you know? He seems really chill.

I wrote it up for Tor.com, and included a little shout-out to linguist David Salo, who was seriously the shit. (Dude, if you have Google Alerts turned on, I would totally read that proof, for serious.)

The thing about the music is, I am not the biggest fan of the book(s). The movies I enjoyed more, but still, there are issues. (Oh, so many issues.) The score is pretty much note-perfect, and it made me care when I didn’t want to care. (Do I care about Frodo and Sam? No I don’t! Did I get chills when Frodo and Sam are waiting for the eagles and we get the Renee Fleming solo? Why yes, yes I did!)

This is the piece that Howard mentioned he stressed out about the most, and the bit from about 4:00 to maybe 6:30 (“The Destruction of the Ring”) is the piece he said he wrote in a single night before he had to give everyone the orchestrations.

In the context of the movie, even under the dialogue and the sound effects, this piece is still immensely powerful, but when taken apart and used in the Symphony, it lost none of its power and flow, which, you know, good job, Howard!

(Fun fact: Renee Fleming did her solo note-perfect and a capella after what looked like less than a day of rehearsal (, fact check?). If so, that is pretty well-played, madam.)

(Fun fact 2: In the theatre, I was totally going to be fine and not cry, and I was super-proud of myself, and then we hit the 5:11 mark in this movie where the tower falls and the chorus just goes up and up and up and I cried like a total weenie. In 2004, I did the same thing at that point in the Symphony. I have no excuse for myself. If you crank up a sad movie score, I am a total goner. It’s just science.)

For someone who was only ever a casual fan of the Lord of the Rings books, I am a nerd and a half for the movies. I have been to every midnight show. (I brought MY MOM to every midnight show. Step back!) Those evenings were some of the coldest ever (movie theatres really don’t want to let Lord of the Rings people in, for some reason), but I remember each one being a blast, for several reasons.

It’s a time machine into my past! The movies were different, my love of midnight shows was the same.
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You know what makes me angry every time I think about it? Hannibal. (Not the historical figure, though I’m sure he was probably unpleasant depending on where in the Alps you lived.)

Silence of the Lambs is a great book. It was also super-successful, and at some point Thomas Harris had a concussion or something and thought, “You know what Silence of the Lambs needs? A sequel!” In terms of conceptual brilliance, this is similar to the day Joel Schumacher woke up and was like, “You know what Batman Forever needs? A sequel!”

On the other hand, you could at least choose not to watch Batman and Robin and know that sooner or later a Batman movie would come along that did not reference that canon whatsoever. Hannibal wasn’t a book that could be ignored. It borked canon abut fifteen ways, and it had clearly been done with all deliberation as the untouchable truth about what had happened to those poor, unsuspecting fictional characters.

The mystery of Hannibal Lecter, everyone’s favorite gentleman cannibal? Nazi cannibals, his twin sister, and breastfeeding. Problem solved! I mean, seriously, if that’s the explanation, Hannibal has fewer issues than the guy who founded American Apparel.

Oh, and speaking of breastfeeding, after Hannibal kidnaps and drugs Clarice, she decides that he’s a stand-up guy she’s going to sleep with forever, because nothing says I Love You like a slice of your ex-boss’s brain served medium-rare, am I right, ladies? (A caveat could be made that she was just drugged forever, but in the epilogue when they go the opera, it sounded pretty reciprocal. Even Barney The-Only-Character-Who-Doesn’t-Get-Butchered-in-the-Sequel thinks so.)

The movie actually improved on the book, if you ask me, which is saying something. (Oh, Gary Oldman, was rent due?) At least when the chips were down, Julianne Starling would rather have had her hand chopped off than be his girlfriend, you know?

This blog entry is brought to you by my usual brainstorming thought pattern, which is, “Am I giving too much away? Well, what’s the harm in telling too much about your charac – HANNIBAAAAAAL!”

And now, a brief series of fun facts:

1. “Vide Cor Meum,” the opera excerpt written for this movie, is one of the most beautiful songs ever. There’s a rumor Patrick Cassidy wrote the whole opera. If this ever becomes true, and is staged, I will fly to wherever it is and see it. Twice.

2. Seriously, a lot of movie composers are fucking geniuses. I would make a list, but it feels too personal. (I’m weird.)

3. According to IMDB: When Jodie Foster declined to reprise the role of Clarice Starling, Julianne Moore beat Gillian Anderson, Cate Blanchett, Hilary Swank, Julia Louis-Dreyfus, Heather Locklear, Angelina Jolie, Jennifer Jason Leigh, Drew Barrymore, Winona Ryder, Sarah Jessica Parker, Brooke Shields, Kristin Davis, Bridget Fonda, Calista Flockhart, Helen Hunt, Sandra Bullock, Christina Applegate, Jennifer Connelly, Meg Ryan, Shannen Doherty, Jennifer Aniston, Nicole Eggert and Teri Hatcher for the role.

Wow, you guys. That is the spectre of a looot of different Hannibal movies, right there.

Generally my music-scene knowledge is limited to movie-soundtrack composers, songs I hear on TV, and bands that were around when I was thirteen (Roxette 4ever!). However, once in a while I will see someone and think, “I must find out about this person AT ONCE.”

Her name is Lady Gaga, and she kicks everyone’s ass in this room.

This girl is awesome-slash-nuts-slash-a-total-social-construct. Also, she’s a stalagmite.

Lady Gaga is a 22-year-old (!) pop star, who got her start writing songs for the Pussycat Dolls and Britney Spears at some obscene age like 13. She got her own recording contract, and now has a Haus of Gaga that she’s modeled after Warhol, where everything from production to fashion design is apparently churned out by magical underage pixies who know how to make stalagmites stick to dresses.

Also, her songs are genius. They may not be good from the perspective of enduring history, but these are precision-tuned electropop that is tested by scientists to make sure it bores its way directly into your brain and remains their until you drip blood out of your eye like in a J-horror.

She’s too raunchy at times for my taste (I’m eighty-five, I think everyone’s too raunchy), but I do like that she seems totally in control of her own image. Everything about her is patently, gloriously false; you know you’re never getting to “the real” because she never presents it. She presents bows made out of hair and huge Grace Jones shoulder pads and face armor and masks made out of mirrors. (And that’s just Tuesday.) She says things in interviews like, “You can’t have love and art,” which is sort of sweet coming from a 22-year-old. But when you’re wearing the enormous black patent shoulder pads, it probably behooves you to seem self-confident and world-weary.

To conclude: I am not sure I even like Lady Gaga, but I can appreciate someone whose entire life is performance art. Especially when they’re in bows-out-of-hair and leotards and huge hoods and nude fishnets and five-inch heels, and I’m at home in my pajamas.

A glimpse of her aesthetic: this song, Poker Face, is 90% word salad, 20% teal Grace Jones leotards, 30% face armor, and 10% Great Danes.

And no, I don’t even mean this evening, after LiveJournal moves servers and eats our journals except for that one emo post we wish we’d never made which is suddenly the entirety of our archive.

I’m talking about the Twilightabasis Hannah and I will be taking in just over 48 hours. Even though we have plans to line up about seven hours before the premiere (SEVEN HOURS), we will be far too late, I think, since people are lining up well over 24 hours in advance.

However, I can’t help but feel a deep, ridiculous joy at the chance to witness something like this:

Hours in, I was still having to shout my interview questions at the top of my lungs because the “Team Edward” cries were being matched by the howls of the Jacob-supporting wolf pack.

(For people who are smart enough to stay away from canon, the last book is already written. It’s over, the character settled down, all done. And people are still screaming at each other about which one she should pick. Note the delightful lack of “College!” or “Team Bum Around Europe A Few Years!”)

Also, apparently at the premiere some of the fans stormed the barricades like it was the second act of Les Mis. Security and police managed to restrain them. I really hope that movie theatres are hiring security for this thing. It’s mob mentality, straight up.