Amid the ever-shifting tapestry that embodies Disney+'s brand identity, stands a steadfast pillar: its exuberant, celebrity-steered commercials, cleverly disguised as 'documentaries,' lavishing saccharine reverence upon icons such as Jim Henson, Mickey Mouse, and the collective brilliance of Imagineering. At the summit of this genre's creative zenith, Laurent Bouzereau's masterful 105-minute masterpiece, 'Music by John Williams,' premiered at AFI Fest, paving its way towards a triumphant debut on Disney+ on November 1st. Especially in its opening hour, it pays an exquisitely rich tribute to this impeccable cinematic legend, who could arguably evoke even greater affection than the iconic directors he collaborated with or the movie stars whose legendary tales his themes and scores helped to mold.
Invoking the name "John Williams" triggers a Pavlovian reaction, one that's more instantaneously visceral than the mere mention of "Steven Spielberg" or "Tom Hanks." And it's a reaction that varies wildly! Bouzereau deftly taps into this psychological minefield, recognizing that every roomful of a dozen viewers holds within it a dozen distinct associations evoked by Williams' name—from the soaring flights of Superman and E.T. to the ominous rumble of a shark's approach beneath the waves, to the poignant orchestral elegy of Itzhak Perlman's violin solos, to the awe-inspiring moment of first encountering a resurrected dinosaur or an extraterrestrial spacecraft.
While perhaps not delving as deeply as the most ardent film buffs might desire, 'Music by John Williams' still pays homage to the vast expanse of Williams' influence and legacy, expertly tugging at every emotional chord for an experience that elicits tears, enlightenment, and an insatiable urge to revisit 25 diverse film scores by the maestro, many of which conveniently reside on Disney+.
Armed with a resume brimming with insightful documentaries like the Emmy-winning 'Five Came Back' and glossy promos such as Disney+'s 'Timeless Heroes: Indiana Jones & Harrison Ford,' Bouzereau leverages his extensive credentials for unparalleled access. Can one imagine Steven Spielberg so at ease with a director who hadn't chronicled countless behind-the-scenes moments with him over the years? The certainty is elusive, yet the film's finest moments showcase Williams and Spielberg simply standing, chatting casually about their collaborations, a testament to the intimacy and trust that Bouzereau has cultivated.
The seamless integration of those sequences, alongside intimate footage from a seemingly exhaustive retrospective panel, where Spielberg and Williams engage in a captivating dialogue, solidifies an argument that this film could have been an even more streamlined masterpiece, transcending Bouzereau's already succinct narrative approach. Imagine Spielberg and Williams, or Lucas and Williams, confined to a room, armed with a snippet of music as their catalyst – a mere step back would suffice to unleash a maelstrom of creative magic. And to Bouzereau's credit, he masterfully captures this essence throughout.
Beyond Spielberg and Lucas, Bouzereau has painstakingly assembled an awe-inspiring roster of Williams' cinematic collaborators, enlisting luminaries such as J.J. Abrams, Chris Columbus, Ron Howard, Kathleen Kennedy, and Frank Marshall, whose bond with the musical maestro dates back to Williams' formative years. Parallel to this, the assembly of composers and musicians is equally illustrious, spanning Alan Silvestri and Thomas Newman to iconic classical artists like Perlman, Yo-Yo Ma, Emanuel Ax, Anna-Sophie Mutter, and even Chris Martin of Coldplay and Branford Marsalis, whose infectious enthusiasm for the jazz authenticity of the Star Wars cantina band is palpable.
The initial hour of 'Music by John Williams,' its most potent segment, unfolds in a chronological tapestry, leveraging Williams' nostalgia-drenched score from 'The Fabelmans,' Spielberg's deeply personal masterpiece. Bouzereau weaves a journey through Williams' life, from his music-imbued childhood to his Hollywood debut as a jazz pianist, session musician, orchestrator, and eventually, a towering composer. Though nothing herein is radically revelatory, it's heartening to recognize Williams' odyssey, a journey that began with the whimsical tones of 'Gilligan's Island' and culminated in the profound depths of 'Schindler's List.'
The documentary's reflections on Williams' seminal collaborations with Spielberg, which subsequently led to Lucas, and the remarkable year he scored 'Star Wars,' 'Close Encounters,' and 'Black Sunday,' are methodical yet never mundane, thanks to the warmth embedded in the storytelling and the myriad of musical snippets that enliven every frame. At times, the film exhibits a rigorous finesse, granting audiences exclusive behind-the-scenes glimpses thanks to Bouzereau's extensive access to Spielberg's personal archives, showcasing scoring sessions and rare gems like silent clips from 'Jaws' and unused pieces from 'Star Wars.'
Yet, one wishes for more instances akin to the moment when Williams interweaves musical theory with eloquence, elucidating why the five-note leitmotif of 'Close Encounters' triumphs over myriad five-note permutations he tirelessly explored. Such insights offer a profounder appreciation for the artistry at play, making 'Music by John Williams' a truly unforgettable journey.
The documentary on John Williams could have delved deeper into the intricacies of his creative process, with the assembled musicians excitedly geeking out on what sets him apart. Instead, we're treated to a cursory explanation of "leitmotif" by David Newman, who appears almost sheepish at his own erudition. But within the confines of a feature-length film, certain omissions are inevitable. Some gems of Williams' oeuvre, like The Fury and 1941, which hold a special place in my heart, barely register, while his Olympic fanfare, a pinnacle of his compositions, is merely listed among many accomplishments.
The film laboriously reiterates Williams' status as an unparalleled force in American orchestral music, a fact that's been universally acknowledged for decades. While his classical endeavors are duly acknowledged, I yearned for more insights from luminaries like Perlman and Ma, sharing their experiences collaborating with Williams' varied personas over the years, or Marsalis discussing Williams' early jazz influences echoing in scores like Catch Me If You Can.
The first hour meticulously dissects, whereas the final 45 minutes morph into a hazy celebration, and I confess a preference for the former's precision. Focusing primarily on Williams as an artist—at 92, still composing and conducting with a vigor that defies aging—his humanity takes a backseat. Scattered are poignant tales of losing his first wife and humorous anecdotes about golf's bonding power with his daughter. Bouzereau and Williams understandably assume that viewers are here for the music, not the man's personal narrative.
Exiting Music by John Williams, one senses a fitting tribute, yet should further accolades be desired, a marathon of Jaws, Lincoln, Saving Private Ryan, and Sugarland Express in one melodious evening would suffice splendidly.
