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ReelTalk Movie Reviews
Score Season #59
by Richard Jack Smith

Below are more psychedelic soundtrack reviews of recent and archival releases.

Bridge Too Far (John Addison, 1977) *** “Underground Resistance (1)” has all the signs of a pyrrhic victory: swirling stillness, the confused hive, decisive parrying and then… finality. Such a centerpiece for calamity startles rational impetus, halting knee jerk reactions in order to close a better bargain. Composer John Addison invites us to listen in minor, low-key swings of the breath. His feeling could be classical yet he signifies the post modern prelude… territory previously unlocked and ransacked by Lalo Schifrin, Leonard Rosenman and Alex North.

Earth Vs. The Spider (Albert Glasser, 1958) **** Passion shadows and defines a temple where eight legged wonders skitter across nets of silken blades. Tremors as “Looking for Dad in the Cave” erupts unseen and unwanted horrors. A coughing stew distorts the getaway, while perilous notes confront the absent and passive explorer. Blackened by the shield fires, a red and turquoise sky sways in the eager winds. Such tumult. Such ferocity. Such a kind execution. Legs like high sticks, mocking the breeze silhouetted and prickly. The freedom from tender mercies. In the stillness, deadly portents writhe and screech like ancient forgotten heroes. Core anxieties upheld. Finally, “Sad Carol” saves a friendly thought for furry fiery funeral.

Funeral Home (Jerry Fielding, 1980) *** An impact crater whose nose of portent invites curiosity, Jerry Fielding marshals flares in the nectar between tense shoulder blades. A mask shattered then reassembled into clues spelling dread, loneliness and despair. Knock upon gates of cast iron red, breach the slop running through tar covered arteries… a city despondent and angling for carp. The notion, too fragile to wither yet high enough to spy upon mice makes men eager in their plight. Dust off, tokens rendered, the burning ice withered by multitudes forbidden to excel. I catch a few hints: any given voodoo charm pointing towards a sand castle where ants form in peace. Spot the customer whose pocket ashes and weeps.

Ghidorah, The Three-Headed Monster (Akira Ifukube, 1964) *** Molasses feet, roaring stomp and the ever present bomp. Logs make music as critters run amok. Rodan’s four note trumpet response galvanizes Godzilla’s godlike presence. It zaps the booty of camp, taking tranquil pleasure in the over the top aftermath. Thus, Akira Ifukube’s radioactive aftershave consummates perishing plumes near a bedrock of mercy. However, repetition collapses the steady path.

Heaven’s Gate (David Mansfield, 1980) *** Crows worm across “Slow Water,” while memories wash back on a tipsy dream. Strumming settlers still their hearts lest the hot monsoon unpack their ambitions. Straight strings strain a “Heaven’s Gate Waltz” dancing in the dusk. A timely press on past solemnities: the indulgence in any direction. Confident playing the bookmark of success. Some melancholy touched by prophesy. Musical rain might mute the drums before a star fell into fleshy pocket. In a fit net, the angry and rational being applies fear of failure before chalking the day as won.

Le Motorizzate (Carlo Savina, 1963) *** Instruments transform into voices of mischief and cunning, a fanfare for the wicked. Slight romance tinged by innocent laughter and the organ spotting dread. Back to kisses and lighter fare. Twin spies steel their nerves for a hidden chance. The saxophone seductively sounds but more’s afoot. A fast skipping clamour, the clown returns and love resumes. Chasing a naughty fool whose charm could score the fang and rattle from the costliest serpent.

Lo (Scott Glasgow, 2009) *** In decadent antiquity the low frequencies spike, a violin cut into the solid stream. Love made venomous distorts the branch which halts the bird mid-flight. A dastardly premise made clear. The kaleidoscope stunning in obscurity. Wandering alone in the masses of marsh and timber. Thick coated bricks lime coloured and pink. The flesh of other days. Chords tumbling and flowing into twisted gears, robbing and paying tribute all at once. From one delicious colour to a rotting lump, Lo found birth the regenerative path to memory fixed. I felt tears.

L’ultima violenza (Mario Nascimbene, 1957) ** Romantic exaggerations on strings, testing wistful winds with darkest resolve. Tickling plastic forms as rigid blasphemies. I wish these coils wound tighter revealing a good shape. Sad defiance does not imply happiness once lingered, acting scorned where evil veils crush creation. A noticeable dramatic rift fails the narrative shift. It’s all high feeling for low stakes. Part of the Gold Collection? Many feathers distended because the theme ended up drowned by pride.

Ordeal by Innocence (Pino Donaggio, 1984) ** Penderecki frowns as sparse despondency mirrors the echo. High and fleeting, hope in a never vacuum. A heretic’s mad sentimentality eased by brushes of ambience. Music to contaminate the nerves, a special order undelivered. Either the dream you’ve always resisted or a pleasure unmade. Binary packaging. “Flashbacks” felt like a revolutionary dance Napoleon missed. From suffocating corset to haughty breath, the pan maker’s logic. Throw out the virtuous, welcome all garbage. If the line were any more out of step, gore would snaffle the chocolate wings of Pegasus.

SCORE OF THE MOMENT

Alexander (Vangelis, 2004) ***** There are very few atmospheric phenomenons quite so bold as Vangelis. Crimson pride festers the great ruler Alexander. He saw himself reflected in every eye, nerve, dream, nightmare and feeling. The music became his shadow. Neighbouring winds charm the snake handler whose flute tops the mystery scale. Human dots configure in random wheels, the spin as exhilarating as a truculent march. Intoxicated by new feelings, the odyssey slithers like a solar wave. Violet shades pattern the course, extending nuance to all ancient tomes. Boxing ideas of commerce and expansion demands complete liberation. A fine inner language adopts hearty brackets where ego, solace and virtue make meatiest assumptions.

*****


                                                                                                                                                                               
 
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