Close
About
FAQ
Home
Collections
Login
USC Login
Register
0
Selected
Invert selection
Deselect all
Deselect all
Click here to refresh results
Click here to refresh results
USC
/
Digital Library
/
University of Southern California Dissertations and Theses
/
Georges Delerue in Hollywood: the film composer's legacy, as seen through his final chapter
(USC Thesis Other)
Georges Delerue in Hollywood: the film composer's legacy, as seen through his final chapter
PDF
Download
Share
Open document
Flip pages
Contact Us
Contact Us
Copy asset link
Request this asset
Transcript (if available)
Content
GEORGES
DELERUE
IN
HOLLYWOOD:
THE
FILM
COMPOSER’S
LEGACY,
AS
SEEN
THROUGH
HIS
FINAL
CHAPTER
by
Timothy
Greiving
A
Thesis
Presented
to
the
FACULTY
OF
THE
USC
GRADUATE
SCHOOL
UNIVERSITY
OF
SOUTHERN
CALIFORNIA
In
Partial
Fulfillment
of
the
Requirements
for
the
Degree
MASTER
OF
ARTS
(SPECIALIZED
JOURNALISM:
THE
ARTS)
May
2012
Copyright
2012
Timothy
Greiving
ii
Epigraph
“Georges
had
a
unique
talent
that
every
director’s
looking
for:
the
ability
to
enhance
the
director’s
work…If
you
wanted
to
evoke
a
beautiful
sunny
day
and
it
was
raining,
Georges’
music
could
bring
the
sun
out.
Now,
not
many
people
can
do
that.
Only
God
and
Georges
Delerue.”
—Ken
Russell
1
1
Georges
Delerue.
Dir.
Jean-‐Louis
Comolli.
Arte,
1995.
Documentary.
iii
Acknowledgments
I
thank
Tim
Page—for
making
passage
to
this
point
in
my
education
and
career
possible,
for
showing
enthusiasm
for
the
subject
at
hand,
and
for
guiding
my
material
to
such
a
satisfying
destination.
I
thank
the
many
friends
and
colleagues
of
Georges
who
gave
me
their
time,
and
thus
made
this
a
far
richer
work.
I
thank
Georges’
wonderful
family:
Colette—for
her
generosity
of
time
and
music,
and
for
an
infectious
dedication
to
the
man
and
his
art;
Claire—for
unlimited
access
to
her
time
and
storehouse
of
memories,
and
for
a
new
friendship.
I
thank
my
wife,
Alison,
who
has
always
nudged
me
towards
a
more
distant
(and
rewarding)
horizon,
and
for
listening
so
patiently
and
counseling
so
thoughtfully.
Finally
I
thank
you,
Georges,
for
giving
us
music
(and
a
life)
so
worth
writing
about.
iv
Table
of
Contents
Epigraph
ii
Acknowledgments
iii
Abstract
v
Introduction:
1
Storyteller
3
Chapter
One:
France
6
Family
Man
11
Chapter
Two:
The
New
World
14
The
Scene
19
A
Lost,
Lonely
Child
21
Adapting
24
A
Boy
and
His
Horse
27
Chapter
Three:
Method
31
Chapter
Four:
Welcome
to
Hollywood
39
Disease
of
the
Week
40
Silkwood
42
The
Hands
of
God
44
Chapter
Five:
Stoned
47
Clipped
by
a
Barber
49
Chapter
Six:
A
Purple
Theft
52
Chapter
Seven:
Comedy
55
Chapter
Eight:
Steel
Magnolias
59
Chapter
Nine:
Classical
63
Chapter
Ten:
Beresford
and
Beyond
68
Our
Friend
Hans
70
Scoring
History
72
v
Chapter
Eleven:
Adieu
74
References
79
vi
Abstract
Georges
Delerue
has
been
remembered
for
his
iconic
contributions
to
the
cinematic
French
New
Wave,
and
rightly
so.
His
own
blossoming
coincided
with
and
helped
fuel
the
blossoming
of
a
singular
time
in
film
history,
and
his
pairings
with
François
Truffaut,
Jean-‐Luc
Godard,
and
Philippe
de
Broca
rendered
unforgettable
marriages
of
music
and
picture.
But
Delerue
also
took
a
leap
in
the
middle
of
his
life.
He
came
to
Hollywood.
The
films
and
television
movies
he
scored
in
America—between
1980
and
his
death
in
1992—may
not
carry
the
importance
and
artistic
distinction
of
his
early
French
work,
but
those
12
years
saw
a
further
maturation
and
exploration
of
Delerue’s
incomparable
style
and
gift
as
a
melodist.
He
wrote
some
of
his
most
weighty
and
beautiful
music
for
films
in
the
United
States,
and
the
following
is
a
defense
and
examination
of
such.
Mostly
through
interviews
with
Delerue’s
family,
friends,
and
artists
he
collaborated
with
during
his
time
in
Hollywood,
I
have
attempted
to
walk
the
reader
through
this
often
overlooked
chapter
of
the
composer’s
life.
My
hope
is
that
strangers
will
fall
in
love
with
Georges
the
man—and
that
you
can
hear
the
music.
1
Introduction
With
characteristic
efficiency,
Georges
Delerue
conducted
and
recorded
the
musical
score
for
Rich
in
Love
faster
than
scheduled.
“He
was
supposed
to
take
a
break
for
lunch
and
then
record
in
the
afternoon,”
said
his
agent,
Charlie
Ryan,
“but
he
had
done
so
many
cues
and
gotten
through
it
all,
he
was
going
to
wrap
it
at
lunch.”
A
sweet,
simple
score
filled
with
Delerue’s
signature
lightness
and
melody,
Rich
in
Love
marked
the
fifth
collaboration
between
the
French
composer
and
Australian
director
Bruce
Beresford.
It
was
Wednesday
morning,
March
18,
1992.
Delerue
and
his
regular
group
of
contract
musicians
were
recording
at
the
iconic
stage
on
the
Warner
Bros.
lot
in
Burbank,
California.
Delerue’s
wife,
Colette,
had
been
at
the
sessions
the
previous
day—as
she
was,
without
fail,
at
every
one
of
his
sessions
in
Los
Angeles.
But
on
this
particular
day,
she
was
at
a
museum
with
a
visiting
friend.
Delerue
was
short—strikingly
short.
At
5’3”,
his
body
almost
couldn’t
be
anything
other
than
stocky.
Built
on
this
was
an
equally
stocky
head,
at
least
in
proportion,
set
with
broad,
open
blue
eyes
under
the
shadow
of
thick
eyebrows.
Thin
lips,
small
ears,
and
a
nose
at
a
perfect
90
degrees.
As
he
got
older,
and
his
face
shaped
rounder,
he
grew
his
strawberry
blonde
hair
into
a
thick
mane
that
would
bounce
as
he
excitedly
played
the
piano
or
conducted.
“He
looked
like
a
stevedore,”
said
2
director
Robert
Dalva.
“You
could
see
him
with
a
bale
of
something
on
his
back,
carrying
it
onto
a
ship.
And
he
was
small,
but
he
was
like
a
fireplug.”
2
The
musicians
were
putting
away
their
instruments
and
dispersing,
Beresford
was
in
the
recording
booth,
and
Delerue
remained
standing
on
the
podium.
“He
had
just
finished
the
last
cue,”
recalled
Beresford.
“I
was
looking
through
the
glass,
and
I
saw
him.
He
just
stood
there,
and
for
a
moment
I
thought,
‘Well,
he’s
waiting
for
something,
or
he’s
thinking
of
something.’”
Delerue
didn’t
move,
and
Beresford
began
to
worry.
“I
walked
out
of
the
booth
and
into
the
room,
and
I
walked
up
to
him.
He
just
looked
at
me.
He
said,
‘Bruce!”
and
then
he
fell
to
the
floor.”
Delerue
was
having
a
stroke.
3
Surrounded
by
paramedics,
he
looked
up
and
apologized
for
the
inconvenience
he
was
causing
to
everyone’s
lunch
plans.
He
was
rushed
to
nearby
Saint
Joseph
Medical
Center,
and
a
note
was
sent
to
inform
Colette
when
she
returned
home.
He
was
stabilized,
and
his
doctor
delivered
an
optimistic
prognosis.
The
following
night,
however,
he
suffered
a
cerebral
infarction
and
died.
Only
a
week
earlier
he
had
turned
67.
2
Robert
Dalva.
Phone
interview.
December
16,
2011.
3
Bruce
Beresford.
Phone
interview.
September
28,
2010.
3
Storyteller
If
a
melody
is
a
story,
then
Georges
Delerue
was
surely
one
of
the
great
storytellers
of
the
twentieth
century.
To
take
a
string
of
disparate
notes
and
shape
them
into
a
clear
narrative
was
Delerue’s
gift,
his
Midas
touch.
More
than
that,
his
melodies
convey
familiar
and
nostalgic
stories
that
seem
to
emanate
from
the
heart
of
humanity,
and
echo
from
the
very
beginning
of
time.
His
early
music
rode
the
“New
Wave”
of
French
films
in
the
1960s,
and
he
resisted
the
direction
of
serialism,
atonality,
and
what
he
saw
as
the
increasingly
inaccessible
avant-‐garde
concert
music
of
his
era.
He
wrote
music
with
a
kind
of
timeless
European
sensibility—instantly
evocative,
with
an
evergreen
visceral
power.
He
gave
supreme
attention
to
melody,
that
eternal
musical
organism,
and
characterized
every
film
score
with
a
distinct
and
memorable
identity.
Whether
it’s
the
manic,
playful
theme
from
his
early
Jules
and
Jim,
careening
downhill
like
the
characters’
bicycles,
trumpets
blasting
the
emphatic
tune
rapidly
over
crashing
percussion—whether
it’s
the
contemplative
theme
from
The
Day
of
the
Dolphin,
a
lonely
zither
resounding
the
dolphin’s
cry,
attended
by
the
calm
waters
of
strings
and
a
bubbling
harp—whether
the
fiery
passion
of
Interlude,
the
breezy
romance
of
The
Pick-‐Up
Artist,
or
the
choral
majesty
of
The
French
Revolution—Delerue
poured
out
melody
after
melody,
in
an
assortment
of
flavors,
all
of
them
packed
with
feeling.
4
In
film
music’s
long
and
often
conflicted
struggle
for
acceptance
as
a
serious
art
form,
Georges
Delerue
plays
a
peculiar
role,
and
a
significant
one.
He
brought
a
formal
conservatory
education
and
a
mind
steeped
in
centuries
of
music
to
bear
in
his
writing
for
film.
He
was
a
master
craftsman
who
poured
all
of
his
faculties
into
his
music,
from
the
first
stage
to
the
last.
The
result
is
that
the
scores
he
wrote
transcend
their
initial
function
(to
dramatize
and
underscore
movies),
and
contain
an
intellect
in
their
writing,
a
formality,
and
an
internal
logic.
His
music
is
one
of
the
twentieth
century’s
most
persuasive
arguments
that
film
(as
a
venue)
is,
or
at
least
can
be,
the
rightful
heir
of
ballet
and
opera—if
not
the
concert
hall
itself.
At
the
same
time,
Delerue
fully
submitted
to
the
demands
and
commercial
restrictions
of
his
trade.
He
was
a
humble
collaborator,
serving
the
needs
of
film
and
director.
He
took
his
music
seriously,
but
did
not
take
himself
too
seriously.
Even
when
he
knew
a
film
he
was
being
offered
was
bad,
he
usually
scored
it
anyway,
because
he
simply
loved
to
write
music.
He
was
a
proud
artist,
but
not
a
pretentious
artiste.
Some
film
composers
chafe
at
the
descriptive
prefix
“film”—people
(like
Bernard
Herrmann)
whose
high
opinion
of
their
talents
make
them
very
particular
about
what
projects
they
accept,
and
very
difficult
to
work
with.
Not
Delerue.
As
long
as
he
was
putting
on
paper
the
music
in
his
head,
he
was
happy.
5
Thus,
we
have
a
body
of
film
music
from
Delerue
(not
to
mention
his
symphonies,
operas,
and
other
concert
works)
that
has
integrity,
that
is
lovingly
constructed,
and
influenced
by
the
classical
masters
who
preceded
him
yet
markedly
his
own.
“The
greatest
strength
in
Delerue’s
music
is
that
outside
of
the
movies,
it
became
pure,”
said
French
film
composer
Alexandre
Desplat.
“It’s
the
kind
of
music
I
listen
to.
I
can
listen
to
Debussy,
or
Ravel,
or
Herrmann,
or
Rota,
or
Delerue
without
asking
myself
the
question,
‘Is
it
film
music
or
just
music?’
No,
it’s
music.”
But
this
body
of
music
was
written
for
what
were,
in
many
cases,
forgettable
movies—and
this
was
especially
true
of
the
decade-‐long
American
chapter
of
his
career.
Delerue
didn’t
mind.
Melodramatic
TV
movies
and
light
’80s
comedies
were
never
“beneath”
him—even
though
they
were.
He
deserved
much
better.
He
simply
loved
to
write
music,
to
set
down
a
vibrant
theme
and
run
with
it,
and
it
didn’t
seem
to
matter
whether
it
was
in
the
service
of
a
masterpiece
or
a
stinker.
He
possessed
the
amenable
attitude
every
good
film
composer
has
to
have
if
they
are
to
endure,
but
he
subverted
the
art
form’s
danger—of
being
relegated
to
just
another
product
on
the
assembly
line—by
writing
beautiful
music.
6
Chapter
One:
France
He
was
born
to
a
working
class
family
in
Roubaix,
near
the
northern
edge
of
France,
in
1925.
He
showed
musical
promise
as
a
child,
on
clarinet
and
the
piano.
In
his
teens
he
juggled
factory
work
and
local
conservatory
studies.
At
his
audition
for
piano
instruction,
playing
a
Mendelssohn
piece
that
he
taught
himself,
his
teacher
responded,
"Mister
Delerue,
you're
not
a
pianist,
but
you
are
certainly
a
musician.”
4
He
suffered
from
scoliosis
as
a
child.
When
he
was
15,
a
few
months
into
taking
piano
lessons,
he
crashed
while
riding
his
bicycle—exacerbating
his
condition
and
causing
him
severe
pain.
Doctors
used
a
piece
of
tibia
to
fix
his
backbone,
and
13
of
his
vertebrae
were
knitted.
For
five
long
months,
the
teenager
was
bedridden
as
his
back
healed.
One
outcome
of
this
fiasco
was
that
Delerue
remained
forever
5’3”
(earning
him
lifelong
descriptions
by
friends
as
“gnome-‐like”
and
“a
French
leprechaun”).
The
other
was
that,
as
he
lay
in
bed
alone
with
the
thoughts
in
his
head
and
passions
in
his
soul,
he
decided
to
become
a
composer.
He
attended
the
Paris
Conservatory
in
the
1940s,
where
he
received
instruction
from
Darius
Milhaud.
The
prolific
modernist
composer
had
a
significant
influence
on
his
pupil,
not
least
in
his
friendly
disposition
towards
film
and
the
stage
as
venues.
4
Georges-‐delerue.com.
7
Such
a
stance
was
unusual
in
Paris,
especially
at
the
time,
where
the
chasm
between
“high
art”
and
“low
art”
was
wide
in
the
public
mind.
Thus
inclined,
Delerue
began
composing
for
television,
theatre,
and
short
films
in
the
1950s.
His
early
projects
were
advertising
jingles,
often
the
type
selling
lobby
snacks
in
movie
theaters
before
the
feature
presentation.
"It
is
more
difficult
to
write
a
minute
of
effective
music
of
this
kind,”
he
said,
“than
it
is
to
write
a
symphonic
music
of
45
minutes.
I
learned
the
craft
of
composing
for
feature
films
by
composing
music
for
advertisements
and
short
films."
5
One
of
his
jingles
accompanied
images
of
dancing
cows
peddling
a
bouillon
cube.
Young
director
Philippe
de
Broca
(who
would
go
on
to
make
Cartouche
and
King
of
Hearts)
saw
the
ad,
and
sought
out
its
composer
for
his
first
feature
film,
The
Lovers,
in
1960.
It
was
the
first
of
17
they
would
make
together
over
the
next
30
years.
Delerue
gravitated
towards
cinema
for
several
reasons.
Its
embrace
of
melody
and
traditional
tonality
matched
his
own
style
and
inclination.
It
offered
a
variety
of
moods,
styles,
and
forms
to
play
in.
There
was
also
its
financial
potential.
Film
music
has
always
held
sway—for
the
European
maestros
of
the
early
twentieth
century,
to
the
modern
teenager
plunking
out
beats
on
his
laptop—as
a
rare
place
where
5
Ibid.
8
composers
can
actually
make
money
writing
music.
And
one
reason
was
simply
the
dream
of
many
composers:
instant
gratification.
“I
have
written
symphonic
pieces
that
have
grown
dusty
in
drawers
for
the
last
ten
years,”
he
said.
“Nothing
is
more
frustrating
for
an
orchestral
composer
than
not
to
hear
his
music
played!
When
you
compose
a
film
score,
the
ink
of
the
notes
is
hardly
dry
before
you're
conducting
it,
which
accounts
for
the
rapid
progress
one
can
make
in
orchestrating
technique.
As
the
composer
listens
to
his
music,
he
corrects
it
right
away.”
6
Delerue
soon
forged
collaborations
with
young
French
New
Wave
directors
like
Jean-‐Luc
Godard
and
François
Truffaut—cementing
his
place
in
the
annals
of
cinema,
and
yielding
such
classic
films
as
Contempt,
Jules
and
Jim,
and
Day
for
Night.
He
worked
with
Truffaut
11
times,
spanning
the
director’s
second
feature
(Shoot
the
Piano
Player)
to
his
last
(Confidentially
Yours).
“It
had
been
a
closed
world
around
that
time,”
Delerue
said
of
French
cinema.
“Film
music
was
expensive
and
producers
not
given
to
taking
too
many
risks.
I
was
lucky
to
have
arrived
on
the
scene
at
about
the
same
time
as
the
New
Wave,
which
was
about
to
reinvigorate
film
technique.
Everything
seemed
to
be
starting
over.
Those
in
the
New
Wave
preferred
not
to
work
with
those
of
an
older
generation.
Rightly
or
6
Ibid.
9
wrongly,
they
wanted
to
start
over,
and
it
was
that
attitude
which
allowed
me
to
work
on
my
first
feature
films.
What
pleased
me
most
of
all
is
that
the
directors
of
the
New
Wave
had
a
real
love
for
music.
And
that,
indeed,
was
new.”
7
Delerue
also
extended
his
reach
beyond
France
early
on,
partnering
with
Bernardo
Bertolucci
(The
Conformist),
Ken
Russell
(Women
in
Love),
and
Kevin
Billington
(Interlude),
as
well
as
on
many
BBC
documentaries
and
period
dramas.
He
scored
his
first
American
film,
Rapture
(directed
by
John
Guillermin)
in
1965,
but
his
real
debut
on
American
screens
was
with
John
Huston’s
1969
film,
A
Walk
with
Love
and
Death.
These
early
American
films
consulted
Delerue
the
Frenchman.
Many
Hollywood
filmmakers
who
commissioned
Delerue
wanted
his
distinctly
Gallic
sound,
either
for
its
passion,
delicacy,
or
as
a
straightforward
place
setting.
Other
American
films
that
he
scored
while
living
in
France
included
The
Day
of
the
Dolphin—his
first
of
several
outings
with
director
Mike
Nichols—Julia,
and
An
Almost
Perfect
Affair.
-‐-‐
In
a
way,
the
worlds
of
French
and
American
cinema
were
converging
during
this
time.
Europeans
practiced
a
style
of
filmmaking
and
way
of
thinking
about
film,
best
summarized
by
the
term
“auteur,”
or
the
common
phrase
“a
film
by.”
Here
the
7
Ibid.
10
director
is
the
author
of
the
film—it
is
his
(or
her)
voice,
his
style,
his
soul.
The
director
has
assembled
his
own
team,
from
the
writer
to
the
cinematographer
to
the
composer,
further
putting
his
unique
stamp
on
every
facet
of
the
final
piece
of
art.
And
art
it
was
in
this
view,
not
a
product.
Hollywood’s
very
different
approach—where
a
team
of
mostly
anonymous
contract
technicians
assembled
a
piece
of
entertainment,
all
of
it
overseen
by
the
big-‐top
showmen
whose
names
were
emblazoned
on
the
big
studios—was
now
crumbling,
along
with
the
studio
system
responsible
for
it.
The
film
industry
was
in
a
shakeup
both
internally,
as
a
generation
of
studio
heads
died
off
and
the
censoring
Production
Code
expired,
and
externally,
with
the
rising
popularity
of
television
and
the
massive
upheaval
associated
with
Vietnam,
Watergate,
and
the
counterculture
movement
of
the
’60s
and
’70s.
A
“new
audience”
of
college-‐educated
young
people
became
the
American
movie
theater’s
mainstay.
This
audience
was
literate
in
film,
both
its
Hollywood
history
and
its
repertoire
abroad.
Perhaps
because
of
the
influence
of
the
narcissistic
“me
generation,”
or
perhaps
an
aesthetic
evolution
and
rejection
of
money-‐minded
entertainment,
this
audience
was
attracted
to
auteur
filmmaking.
Hollywood
responded,
and
a
new
generation
of
equally
film-‐literate
directors
(like
Nichols,
11
Francis
Ford
Coppola,
and
Martin
Scorsese)
jumped
into
the
water
and
caused
their
own
new
wave.
8
Family
Man
Georges
Delerue
met
his
wife
Colette
(née
Landoz)
in
1973,
in
the
editing
room.
The
black-‐haired
beauty
from
Rouen
was
assistant
editor
on
a
Yannick
Bellon
film
Delerue
was
scoring,
La
femme
de
Jean.
In
stature
they
were
the
same
height,
in
age
he
was
taller
by
ten
years.
“It’s
difficult
to
explain,”
she
said
of
her
immediate
attraction
to
Delerue,
“but
he
had
this
kind
of
aura...When
you
saw
him,
you
knew
he
was
somebody…I
don’t
think
I
am
alone
about
this
feeling.”
Two
years
passed
before
they
met
again,
in
the
cutting
room
for
another
Bellon
film
(Nevermore,
Forever).
The
odds
were
against
romance.
Delerue
was
already
married,
to
Micheline
(née
Gautron),
and
raising
two
daughters.
Claire
(Delerue)
Stancu
was
born
to
Georges
and
Micheline
in
1964.
Emmanuelle
Lalande,
born
in
1955,
came
with
Micheline
from
a
previous
marriage.
Colette
was
also
overwhelmed
by
the
composer’s
station.
“I
was
just
a
film
editor
assistant,”
she
said,
“so
I
could
not
believe
for
one
second
that
this
composer
would
look
at
me!”
But
Delerue
was
smitten,
and
a
romance
blossomed…for
a
while
in
secret.
By
the
time
of
his
first
extended
stay
in
Los
Angeles
in
1980,
Delerue
was
separated
from
8
Informed
by
Casper,
Drew.
Hollywood
Film
1963–1976.
Malden,
Ma.:
Wiley-‐Blackwell,
2011.
Print.
12
Micheline,
and
a
formal
divorce
followed
close
behind.
He
married
Colette
in
1984—
in
Las
Vegas,
of
all
places.
“Can
you
believe
that?”
she
said
laughing.
“It
was
very
strange.
But
a
real
marriage.”
9
Claire’s
earliest
memories
of
her
father
were
musical
ones,
playing
under
the
grand
piano
in
the
center
of
the
house
as
he
composed.
Delerue
encouraged
her
to
study
music
from
an
early
age,
and
was
her
informal
orchestration
tutor
when
she
was
a
teenager.
He
took
her
to
performances
of
French
and
Italian
Renaissance
music,
and
his
interest
played
a
part
in
her
eventual
pursuit
of
a
degree
in
early
music.
He
was
an
affectionate
father,
but
one
who
also
exercised
discipline—throughout
the
week
he
would
ensure
Claire
had
done
her
instrument
drills.
But
on
Saturday
afternoons,
or
whenever
he
wasn’t
busy,
he
would
often
sit
with
her
and
play
four-‐
hand
piano.
“It
was
kind
of
like
Christmas
when
we’d
get
a
bunch
of
new
scores
to
read
through,”
she
said,
“because
that
was
something
we
were
both
really
good
at.”
Favorites
were
Brahms’
Hungarian
Dances,
Schubert’s
Fantasia
in
F
minor,
and
Debussy’s
Petit
Suite.
Claire
sat
in
on
many
recording
sessions,
both
in
France
and
Los
Angeles.
She
often
translated
for
her
father
when
he
spoke
to
English-‐speaking
directors.
In
1984
she
9
Colette
Delerue.
Phone
interview,
September
8,
2010.
13
even
performed
guitar
on
the
TV
movie
he
scored,
Love
Thy
Neighbor.
The
relationship
was
at
its
best
when
they
related
as
“a
musician
to
another
musician.”
“He
could
trust
me
to
be
a
good
musician
alongside
him,”
she
said,
“on
the
piano,
or
I
could
even
be
entrusted
to
do
a
little
assignment
in
the
recording
studio.
Those
are
the
moments
I
really
cherished,
because
I
felt
I
was
on
par
with
him…I
appreciated
the
moments
where
I
felt
like
he
recognized
that
I
was
becoming
my
own
person.”
14
Chapter
Two:
The
New
World
In
1979,
Delerue
composed
the
music
for
George
Roy
Hill’s
A
Little
Romance,
a
film
about
two
adolescents
discovering
love
in
Paris.
The
virginal
love
theme
is
an
adaptation
of
Vivaldi’s
lute
concerto,
and
the
Italian
baroque
composer’s
sound
haunts
much
of
the
score.
(The
infusion
of
specific
classical
material
was
a
request
from
Hill,
and
a
rare
occasion
in
Delerue’s
career
when
he
resorted
to
appropriating
another
composer’s
work.)
As
with
all
of
his
previous
American
projects,
Delerue
recorded
the
score
in
Europe.
A
few
months
later,
he
was
startled
to
receive
a
phone
call
in
the
middle
of
the
night.
Carol
Faith,
his
American
agent
at
the
time,
told
him
he
had
won
the
Academy
Award
for
A
Little
Romance.
He
had
been
nominated
for
an
Oscar
on
three
previous
occasions
(in
1970
for
Anne
of
the
Thousand
Days,
in
1974
for
The
Day
of
the
Dolphin,
and
in
1978
for
Julia),
and
it
was
indicative
of
both
his
shock
at
winning
the
prize
and
his
fear
of
flying
that
he
wasn’t
even
present
for
the
ceremony.
He
was
admittedly
conflicted
about
winning
for
a
score
so
heavily
inspired
by
another
composer.
“I
wrote
so
much
other
music
more
interesting
than
this,”
he
said.
10
The
Academy
has
committed
plenty
of
blunders
since
it
began
honoring
film
music
in
1939.
The
“best
original
score”
is
often
awarded
as
a
consolation
prize
to
films
10
Colette
Delerue.
Email
exchange,
February
26,
2012.
15
rejected
in
the
big
categories
(like
best
picture).
The
honor
is
voted
on
by
members
of
the
music
branch
who
often
respond
to
superficialities—which
explains
why
they
essentially
voted
for
Vivaldi
on
A
Little
Romance—rather
than
an
informed
or
nuanced
appreciation
of
the
art
form.
Delerue’s
greatest
American
scores
were
yet
to
come,
but
he
would
never
win
another
Oscar.
Still,
despite
its
failings,
the
Awards
have
always
been
important
to
composers
and
film
music
aficionados
alike.
Delerue
was
no
exception.
“It
was
a
very
big
deal,”
said
Claire
(Delerue)
Stancu.
“He
was
quite
fascinated
by
Hollywood,
whether
it
was
the
golden
age
of
Hollywood
movies
that
he
had
grown
up
with,
or
the
wave
of
the
industry
in
the
sixties
and
seventies
when
he
started
being
a
film
composer.
He
was
going
to
the
movies
almost
every
night.
He
knew
how
much
of
a
big
deal
the
Academy
Awards
are
and
have
always
been.”
11
In
terms
of
recognition,
the
Oscar
came
amid
the
most
fruitful
period
of
Delerue’s
career.
He
won
his
three
César
Awards
(the
French
equivalent
of
the
Oscar,
and
the
country’s
highest
honor
for
film)
back-‐to-‐back
between
1979
and
1981
(for
Get
Out
Your
Handkerchiefs,
and
Truffaut’s
Love
on
the
Run
and
The
Last
Metro).
In
his
mind,
the
Oscar
quantified
his
import
value
in
Hollywood,
and
it
planted
the
first
seeds
of
suggestion
that
he
might
find
more
artistic
satisfaction
in
the
New
World.
By
1980
11
Claire
Stancu.
Phone
interview,
December
19,
2011.
16
the
days
of
the
French
New
Wave
had
long
receded,
and
Delerue
grew
increasingly
frustrated
with
the
lack
of
support
and
structure
within
the
French
film
industry.
“It
had
become
more
difficult
to
make
it
as
a
composer,”
Claire
said.
”He
had
to
accept
more
offers
that
were
not
quite
his
taste
just
to
make
it.
And
there’s
only
so
much
you
can
do
when
you
have
four
weeks
to
score
a
movie,
and
you
only
can
afford
a
40-‐piece
orchestra…He
could
only
take
so
much
of
that.”
12
“He
didn’t
like
working
in
France
because
the
musicians
were
difficult
to
deal
with,
and
used
to
take
advantage
of
his
good
nature,”
observed
Nat
Peck,
a
jazz
trumpeter
who
also
served
as
music
contractor
on
many
of
Delerue’s
London
recording
sessions.
13
“He
was
tired
of
fighting
for
everything,”
said
Colette.
“He
had
to
fight
to
have
six
more
violins
for
a
recording
session.
It
was
always
a
matter
of
fighting.
At
a
certain
point,
it
was
enough.”
14
Still,
Delerue
had
his
doubts
about
working
in
Hollywood.
His
first
wife
held
a
derisive
attitude
towards
American
cinema
(she
was
an
actor
trained
in
what
she
12
Ibid.
13
Nat
Peck.
Phone
interview,
September
18,
2010.
14
Colette
Delerue.
Phone
interview,
September
8,
2010.
17
considered
the
“superior”
French
method,
and
subscribed
to
a
strong
French
nationalism
in
general).
Delerue
also
looked
down
on
composers
who
did
not
orchestrate
their
own
music—resulting
in
what
he
thought
was
a
monotonous
uniformity
in
the
way
many
Hollywood
scores
sounded.
He
had
immense
respect
for
composers
like
Bernard
Herrmann
and
Jerry
Goldsmith,
who
put
the
same
care
into
their
orchestration
as
he
did,
but
worried
that
he
would
have
to
relinquish
much
of
his
creative
control
to
work
within
that
system.
“He
thought
of
himself
as
a
craftsman,”
said
Claire.
“He
would
craft
everything
from
scratch,
from
the
first
notes
on
the
page
to
conducting
the
sessions…He
had
precise
ideas
for
orchestration
that
came
from
his
training,
and
he
cherished
that
tradition
he
came
from.
It
gave
him
that
distinctive
sound
he
had
in
his
film
scores.”
15
-‐-‐
At
the
age
of
55—when,
for
most
people,
the
cement
of
life
and
its
habits
has
hardened—Delerue
flew
against
his
fears
of
artistic
compromise,
and
defied
a
fear
of
flying
that
had
plagued
him
since
childhood.
Having
received
several
offers
of
scoring
assignments
stateside,
no
doubt
off
the
glow
of
his
Oscar
win,
he
decided
to
find
out
whether
there
was
greater
respect
and
freedom
to
be
found
in
America.
He
braved
his
first
flight
across
the
Atlantic
to
Los
Angeles,
in
the
winter
of
1980.
15
Claire
Stancu.
Phone
interview,
December
19,
2011.
18
His
fears
were
instantly
allayed.
“It
was
love
at
first
sight,”
Colette
said.
“Georges
called
me
on
his
first
day
there
and
said
that
he
had
fallen
madly
in
love
with
the
place
right
in
the
MGM
parking
lot.”
16
“He
really
took
to
Hollywood,”
said
director
Caleb
Deschanel,
who
worked
with
Delerue
in
1980.
“Southern
California
kind
of
represents
what
the
French
do
for
six
weeks
in
the
summer,
which
is
going
off
to
the
Mediterranean
and
soaking
up
the
sun…I
think
he
just
enjoyed
the
hell
out
of
it.”
17
“He
loved
the
weather,”
added
Claire.
“He
loved
the
people.
He
thought
that
it
was
really
easy
to
make
friends,
and
people
seemed
really
available.
He
loved
the
way
of
life.
Driving
was
a
real
pleasure
for
him,
and
driving
through
L.A.
or
driving
through
the
hills—he
really
liked
that.”
18
Colette
and
Claire
joined
Delerue
in
America,
and
they
lived
for
three
months
in
a
rented
house
in
West
Hollywood.
Over
the
next
three
years
he
came
to
Los
Angeles
for
extended
visits,
scoring
a
handful
of
films
each
time.
Eventually,
in
1983,
he
came
to
stay.
16
Kirgo,
Julie.
The
Pick-‐Up
Artist.
Intrada
Records,
2006.
Album
liner
notes.
17
Caleb
Deschanel.
Phone
interview,
December
22,
2011.
18
Claire
Stancu.
Phone
interview,
December
19,
2011.
19
The
Scene
The
1980s
Hollywood
that
Delerue
arrived
in
was
a
radically
different
scene
than
the
French
film
industry
he
left.
It
was
the
era
of
the
blockbuster,
and
with
the
trifecta
of
Jaws,
Star
Wars,
and
Close
Encounters
of
the
Third
Kind,
John
Williams
had
essentially
resurrected
and
rescued
the
symphonic
score
from
a
total
eclipse
by
the
jukebox.
(During
the
1960s
and
’70s,
filmmakers
increasingly
used
original
or
sourced
songs
by
popular
artists
as
their
soundtrack—foregoing
a
“traditional”
orchestral
score
for
music
more
en
vogue
with
American
youth.)
Williams’
collaboration
with
Steven
Spielberg
and
George
Lucas
in
many
ways
defined
the
landscape
of
the
decade,
producing
films
like
the
Star
Wars
trilogy,
Indiana
Jones
trilogy,
and
E.T.
Filmmakers
mostly
went
to
a
small
cadre
of
composers
at
the
time,
and
Delerue
would
compete
for
work
with
this
influential
circle.
John
Williams
was
as
in-‐demand
for
summer
spectacles
(Superman,
Star
Wars)
as
he
was
for
intimate
dramas
(The
River)
and
historical
fare
(Born
on
the
Fourth
of
July).
Jerry
Goldsmith
was
never
so
lucky
with
his
collaborations
in
terms
of
artistic
clout,
but
he
was
every
bit
as
prolific,
and
became
affiliated
with
directors
like
Joe
Dante
(Gremlins,
The
’Burbs)
and
popular
series
like
Star
Trek,
Rambo,
and
The
Omen.
Elmer
Bernstein,
around
since
the
1950s,
was
enjoying
an
odd
renaissance
writing
straight-‐faced
comedy
scores
for
the
likes
of
Airplane!
and
Ghostbusters.
British
composer
John
Barry
had
emerged
from
the
rock
world
to
define
the
sound
of
James
Bond,
and
was
now
20
defining
the
sweeping
epic
with
his
scores
for
Out
of
Africa
and
Dances
with
Wolves.
Delerue’s
French
contemporary,
Maurice
Jarre,
came
to
prominence
composing
for
David
Lean,
and
began
dabbling
in
all-‐electronic
scores
in
the
’80s
for
directors
like
Peter
Weir
(Witness,
The
Mosquito
Coast).
Added
to
this
cadre
was
a
new
generation
of
composers
who
launched
their
careers
during
the
decade.
James
Horner
stepped
out
of
science-‐fiction
B
pictures
to
fill
Jerry
Goldsmith’s
shoes
on
two
major
franchises
(Star
Trek
II:
The
Wrath
of
Khan
and
Aliens),
and
scored
many
of
the
decade’s
biggest
hits
(Field
of
Dreams,
Glory).
Danny
Elfman’s
career
began
with
and
moved
parallel
to
Tim
Burton’s
(notably
with
Pee-‐wee’s
Big
Adventure
and
Batman).
Alan
Silvestri
teamed
up
with
Robert
Zemeckis,
scoring
hits
like
the
Back
to
the
Future
trilogy
and
Who
Framed
Roger
Rabbit.
Basil
Poledouris
went
to
film
school
with
John
Milius
and
paired
early
with
Paul
Verhoeven,
yielding
some
of
the
decade’s
most
masculine
scores
(Conan
the
Barbarian,
RoboCop).
Hans
Zimmer
slipped
in
near
the
end
of
the
’80s,
infiltrating
the
scene
with
a
pop
sensibility
that
would
alter
the
industry
and
come
into
direct
conflict
with
Delerue’s
orbit
on
more
than
one
occasion.
This
was
the
environment
Delerue
stepped
off
the
plane
to
in
August
1980.
While
he
certainly
had
cachet
as
a
recent
Oscar-‐winner
and
as
part
of
the
historic
New
Wave,
he
was
still
an
outsider
vying
for
projects
against
composers
well
established
in
the
it’s-‐who-‐you-‐know
world
of
Hollywood—composers
with
film
school
relationships,
21
multiple-‐film
collaborations,
and
other
strong
ties.
“People
didn’t
really
know
who
he
was,”
said
Charlie
Ryan,
“and
Hollywood’s
all
about
credits.
It’s
neat
that
he
did
Shoot
the
Piano
Player,
but
[for
many
filmmakers]
that
didn’t
have
anything
to
do
with
anything.”
19
That
isn’t
to
say
the
other
composers
didn’t
struggle
to
earn
satisfying
assignments.
But
the
fact
is
that
those
who
got
in
early
with
a
successful
filmmaker
were
likely
to
stick
together.
Delerue
was
at
a
disadvantage
because,
by
the
time
he
got
to
Hollywood,
many
of
the
“good
ones”
were
already
taken.
A
few
directors
he’d
worked
with
before,
and
a
few
others
in
awe
of
his
classic
French
work,
were
delighted
to
enlist
his
talents.
But
the
quality
of
many
of
the
movies
he
was
offered
in
America
is,
in
many
ways,
a
reflection
of
his
uphill
battle.
A
Lost,
Lonely
Child
The
films
Delerue
scored
during
his
extended
visits
to
America
(between
1980
and
1983)
varied
in
both
quality
and
topic.
His
very
first
project
was
Ulu
Grosbard’s
drama
True
Confessions,
in
which
chorus,
strings,
and
a
delicately
strummed
harp
lament
the
murder
of
a
prostitute.
He
also
scored
Bruce
Paltrow’s
A
Little
Sex,
George
Cukor’s
Rich
and
Famous
(using
what
would
be
a
lush
string-‐and-‐harp
template
for
his
many
“women’s
pictures”),
and
Partners—a
fairly
insensitive
comedy
about
a
detective
paired
with
a
gay
cop
(played
by
John
Hurt)
to
solve
a
19
Charlie
Ryan.
Phone
interview,
October
1,
2010.
22
string
of
murders
in
the
gay
community.
(“It
proved
to
be
an
embarrassment
to
him,”
said
Claire;
director
James
Burrows
pithily
remarked
that
the
“beautiful
score
was
much
better
than
the
movie.”)
20
One
of
the
first
scores
he
was
commissioned
for
during
his
1980
residence
was
for
The
Escape
Artist.
Produced
by
Francis
Ford
Coppola’s
Zoetrope
Studios,
the
film
was
the
directorial
debut
of
Caleb
Deschanel,
a
career
cinematographer
and
one
of
the
influential
film
school
graduates
of
the
late
1960s
from
the
University
of
Southern
California
(a
group
dubbed
the
“Dirty
Dozen,”
that
also
included
George
Lucas,
John
Milius,
and
Robert
Zemeckis).
With
a
French
heritage,
and
attributing
New
Wave
cinema
as
the
reason
he
became
a
filmmaker,
Deschanel
sought
Delerue
as
a
familiar
and
influential
artist.
“His
name
just
kept
appearing
on
a
lot
of
the
great
French
movies,”
he
said.
“His
music
is
so
archetypal…He’s
done
pieces
where
the
music
becomes
as
important
as
the
visual
images.”
The
Escape
Artist
centers
on
the
young,
wayward
Danny,
whose
magician
father’s
death
lingers
over
him—prompting
him
into
the
dangerous
trade
of
illusion
and
forcing
him
into
an
early
adulthood.
Equipped
at
the
time
with
very
little
and
very
poor
English,
Delerue
nonetheless
responded
to
the
human
core
of
the
story.
“He
was
able
to
find
something
that
was
both
a
joyful
celebration
of
childhood,
and
yet
recognizing
the
dangers,”
said
Deschanel.
20
James
Burrow.
Phone
interview,
December
14,
2011.
23
The
two
pillars
of
Delerue’s
contribution
are
a
delicate
music
box
lullaby,
and
a
deeply
sad
waltz-‐time
tune
representing
the
void
in
Danny
left
by
his
father.
In
the
latter,
a
sighing
melody
perches
above
an
arpeggiated
left-‐hand
accompaniment—
fragility
balancing
on
a
shifting
structure,
rooted
in
the
heart’s
depths.
“The
score
is
just
a
real
triumph
of
composition,”
said
Deschanel.
“He
captured
the
spirit
of
a
lost,
lonely
child.”
21
Dan
Carlin
was
the
music
supervisor
on
The
Escape
Artist,
and
was
introduced
to
Delerue
at
a
lunch
in
Hollywood
with
Deschanel
and
agent
Carol
Faith.
“For
a
man
who
was
neither
tall
nor
large,”
Carlin
said,
“Georges
was
still
an
imposing
figure.
He
wore
an
ascot
in
those
days,
and
he
carried
a
man’s
handbag.”
Delerue
was
taciturn
at
lunch.
Carlin
first
ascribed
the
quiet
to
his
inadequate
English,
but
quickly
learned
that
it
was
actually
Delerue’s
hesitation
about
this
stranger
whose
role
was
“music
supervisor”
(setting
off
alarms
in
his
head
about
composing
in
Hollywood).
“I
could
sense
a
wariness
on
his
part,”
Carlin
said,
“as
if
he
were
thinking,
‘I’ve
done
a
hundred
and
fifty
films
already
without
a
supervisor…why
do
I
need
this
guy?’”
21
Caleb
Deschanel.
Phone
interview,
December
22,
2011.
24
Carlin
tried
to
explain
the
extent
of
his
duties—managing
the
music
budget,
hiring
musicians
and
a
sound
engineer,
selecting
a
recording
studio—and
that
he
was
not
going
to
interfere
with
the
composer’s
craft,
but
rather
do
everything
to
make
his
job
easier.
“He
politely
acknowledged
my
explanation,
but
he
was
clearly
withholding
judgment,”
Carlin
said.
The
Escape
Artist
turned
out
to
be
a
pleasant
and
problem-‐free
experience
for
both
men.
“Georges’
unease
disappeared,”
Carlin
said,
“and
we
soon
developed
a
wonderfully
warm
and
fulfilling
relationship”—one
of
Delerue’s
most
intimate
in
America,
and
one
that
lasted
until
the
end.
22
Adapting
One
of
the
Frenchman’s
biggest
challenges
in
America
was
learning
a
new
language,
essentially
from
scratch.
Claire
learned
English
from
her
au
pairs
as
a
child
and
more
formally
in
high
school,
and
often
translated
for
her
father
over
the
phone
or
in
meetings.
Later
it
was
Delerue’s
music
editor
and
friend,
Richard
Stone.
When
Richard
Kraft
(Delerue’s
one-‐time
agent)
first
met
him
in
1982,
his
“English
at
the
time
was
dreadful,”
Kraft
said.
“Eventually
it
graduated
to
merely
horrible.”
23
22
Dan
Carlin.
Email
interview,
September
29,
2010.
23
Kraft,
Richard.
Memories
of
Me.
Intrada
Records,
2009.
Album
liner
notes.
25
Georges
and
Colette
made
an
effort
to
learn
as
much
functional
English
as
they
could,
but
found
themselves
exhausted
after
as
much
as
a
dinner
party
with
American
friends.
Fortunately,
his
work
was
using
the
vocabulary
of
music—an
“extraordinary
means
of
communicating,”
he
once
said.
And
like
many
of
Delerue’s
collaborators,
Bruce
Beresford
found
that
he
didn’t
need
a
translator
after
a
short
time
together.
“He
couldn’t
make
a
lot
of
jokes
because
his
English
never
got
good
enough
for
jokes,
and
my
French
was
always
ghastly,”
conceded
Beresford.
“But
his
English
did
improve
a
lot.”
24
“He
taught
me
how
to
say
an
obscenity
in
French,”
said
Paul
Hirsch,
“and
every
time
I
said
it
he’d
get
a
real
giggle
out
of
it.
He
said,
‘You
say
it
so
perfectly!’”
25
When
meeting
directors
for
potential
assignments,
Delerue
“had
a
habit
of
losing
his
English,”
as
Dan
Carlin
put
it—and
often
exaggerated
the
handicap
or
used
it
to
his
advantage.
“One
thing
I
always
noticed,”
said
Curtis
Roush
(a
music
editor
who
worked
with
Delerue),
“was
that
when
he
didn’t
like
the
way
things
were
going
or
didn’t
like
the
film,
his
ability
to
speak
English
suddenly
became
much
diminished.”
Roush
remembered
a
particular
occasion,
sitting
down
to
screen
a
“truly
bad
film.”
“After
the
finish
of
the
screening
he
could
barely
speak
a
word
of
English
to
the
24
Bruce
Beresford.
Phone
interview,
September
28,
2010.
25
Paul
Hirsch.
Phone
interview,
September
19,
2010.
26
director.
When
we
left,
we
were
walking
to
the
car
and
he
said,
‘That
film
was
a
piece
of
shit!’”
26
He
also
loved
exploiting
English
puns.
When
Delerue
fractured
two
of
his
ribs
from
a
fall
one
day,
Dan
Carlin
had
someone
swing
by
a
nearby
barbecue
restaurant
and
deliver
a
platter
of
spare
ribs.
“It
took
Georges
a
moment
to
get
the
joke,”
he
said,
“but
when
he
did
he
laughed
till
it
hurt,
and
told
that
story
for
years.”
27
Not
only
did
Delerue
have
to
adapt
to
a
new
language,
but
an
entirely
new
culture
and
industry.
France
had
a
more
homemade
style
of
filmmaking,
where
director
was
king
and
the
composer
was
responsible
for
every
aspect
of
the
music.
In
Hollywood,
remnants
of
the
studio
system
remained.
There
was
more
delegation,
and
studios
and
producers
had
much
more
creative
control.
Music
was
subject
to
scrutiny
on
the
scoring
stage
by
more
people
than
just
the
director,
and
producers
often
tampered
with
(or
discarded)
scores
as
a
last-‐ditch
effort
to
rescue
a
movie.
“You
can
imagine,”
said
agent
Charlie
Ryan,
“if
your
reference
of
the
way
the
film
business
works
is
working
with
New
Wave
directors
in
Europe,
and
you
come
to
Los
Angeles
in
1983.
You
might
as
well
go
to
the
moon.”
28
26
Curtis
Roush.
Phone
interview,
September
18,
2010.
27
Dan
Carlin.
Email
interview,
September
29,
2010.
28
Charlie
Ryan.
Phone
interview,
October
1,
2010.
27
A
Boy
and
His
Horse
In
1982,
Robert
Dalva
was
anointed
by
Francis
Ford
Coppola
to
direct
the
sequel
to
The
Black
Stallion,
and
Dan
Carlin
suggested
Delerue
for
the
music.
Dalva
met
the
composer
in
San
Francisco
at
the
spotting
session
(a
meeting
where
director
and
composer
look
at
an
early
cut
of
the
film
and
discuss
what
will
be
required
of
the
musical
score—everything
from
placement
to
tone
to
the
length
of
cues).
“He
was
this
gnome-‐like,
sweet
man,”
said
Dalva,
“with
a
smile
on
his
face
and
a
smile
in
his
heart.”
Dalva
had
temporarily
set
a
rough
cut
of
The
Black
Stallion
Returns
with
the
popular
music
from
Chariots
of
Fire
(a
practice
known
as
“temping,”
its
product
being
a
“temp
score”
or
“temp
track”).
Those
around
the
director
chided
his
choice
as
too
familiar,
but
for
him
it
was
“the
right
feeling.”
“Georges
was
the
only
one
who
understood
what
I
wanted
from
that,”
he
said.
“The
end
piece
of
music
he
wrote
[for
the
climactic
horse
race],
which
was
melodic
and
wasn’t
rhythm-‐based,
was
about
the
beauty
of
it.
He
understood.”
29
For
Dalva,
music
was
as
foreign
a
language
as
French,
and
he
relied
on
editor
Paul
Hirsch—who
spoke
French
fluently,
and
had
worked
with
the
likes
of
John
Williams
and
Bernard
Herrmann—to
translate
both.
Delerue
placed
a
special
importance
on
his
relationship
with
a
film’s
editor
(perhaps
it’s
no
wonder
he
met
Colette
in
the
29
Robert
Dalva.
Phone
interview,
December
16,
2011.
28
cutting
room).
“The
composer
and
the
film
editor
breathe
the
same
rhythm
of
the
film,”
said
Colette.
30
“It’s
a
very
close
relationship,”
added
Hirsch.
“My
approach
to
film
editing
is
based
on
my
study
of
music,
and
very
often
I
find
that
if
the
composer’s
having
a
problem
scoring
a
scene,
it’s
because
there’s
an
editing
problem.”
31
After
spotting
The
Black
Stallion
Returns,
Delerue
went
home
to
hash
out
the
essence
of
the
score.
Dalva
and
Hirsch
visited
him
after
a
few
weeks,
and
Delerue
played
his
major
themes
for
them
on
a
piano
that
sat
elevated
in
the
living
room.
This
was
a
ritual
in
those
days—especially
for
Delerue—before
the
advent
of
synthesizer
“mockups”
that
attempt
to
replicate
the
fullness
of
a
score’s
orchestration.
“He
would
play
something,”
said
Dalva,
“and
then
he
would
hum—
and
it
was
off-‐key.
He
would
play
beautifully
on
the
piano,
but
I
never
really
knew
what
I
was
listening
to.
Was
the
melody
the
humming,
or
was
the
melody
the
piano?”
32
Having
taken
Delerue’s
primitive
demos
for
The
Black
Stallion
Returns
by
faith,
Dalva
approached
the
recording
sessions
with
some
trepidation.
He
was
soon
30
Colette
Delerue.
Phone
interview,
September
8,
2010.
31
Paul
Hirsch.
Phone
interview,
September
19,
2010.
32
Robert
Dalva.
Phone
interview,
December
16,
2011.
29
relieved.
“It
was
like
an
immaculate
conception,”
he
said.
“I
was
overjoyed
from
the
first
note
when
the
orchestra
played,
because
it
was
spectacular.”
For
the
continuing
story
of
Alec
and
his
majestic
horse—this
time
separated
in
the
Moroccan
desert—Delerue
spoke
to
the
danger
and
exoticism
of
the
setting
with
snaky
bass
flute
solos
rising
out
of
a
haze
of
tribal
drums
and
tense
string
harmonies.
He
also
wrote
one
of
the
richest
love
themes
of
his
career,
a
ballad
that
at
once
pines
softly,
here
aches
in
a
minor
key,
and
then
ultimately
unlooses
in
triumph.
As
a
chorus
falls
in
on
the
finale,
the
theme
reaches
almost
spiritual
proportions.
“It’s
one
of
the
most
beautiful
melodies
I’ve
ever
heard
in
film
music,”
said
Hirsch.
“It’s
ironic
because
it’s
a
boy
and
a
horse.
You
could
play
it
for
almost
any
great
love…Interestingly
enough,
I
think
it’s
one
of
the
longest
melodies
Georges
had
ever
written.
And
in
its
chord
progression
it’s
very
difficult
to
cut
down,
because
it
has
a
very
strong
internal
logic
of
its
own.”
33
During
recording
sessions,
which
happened
in
London,
Delerue
showed
Hirsch
and
Dalva
his
favorite
restaurants,
and
they
all
stayed
in
Truffaut’s
favorite
hotel
(the
Montcalm).
Delerue
was
thrilled
to
have
dinner
with
them,
and
shared:
33
Paul
Hirsch.
Phone
interview,
September
19,
2010.
30
“Of
all
the
films
I
worked
with
Truffaut,
all
the
time
I’ve
worked
with
him,
I
never
have
had
dinner
with
him
once.”
34
(Truffaut
was
a
reserved
and
painfully
shy
man,
but
he
expressed
in
writing
how
much
he
cherished
his
relationship
with
Delerue.
The
composer
was
devastated
when
Truffaut
died
in
1984,
and
treasured
the
letters
he
received.)
Delerue
held
his
work
for
The
Black
Stallion
Returns
in
especially
high
regard.
“I
think
he
knew
that
some
of
his
scores
were
better
than
other
ones,”
said
Colette.
“I
think
that
he
was
perfectly
aware
when
he
was
really
creative.”
35
34
Robert
Dalva.
Phone
interview,
December
16,
2011.
35
Colette
Delerue.
Phone
interview,
September
8,
2010.
31
Chapter
Three:
Method
An
artist’s
creative
process
often
says
as
much
about
them
as
their
art.
Georges
Delerue’s
life
was
surrendered
to
writing
music,
and
it
showed.
He
composed
“every
day
of
the
week,”
said
Colette.
“If
he
was
not
at
the
piano,
he
was
conducting.”
He
took
command
of
every
step
of
the
process,
from
the
writer’s
pencil
to
the
conductor’s
baton,
and
everything
in
between.
He
was
usually
awake
by
8:30
(“he
was
not
an
early
bird,”
according
to
Colette),
and
after
a
shower
and
breakfast
he
went
to
the
piano
around
10.
“When
he
started,
he
was
so
concentrated,”
said
Colette.
“He
could
work
very
fast.”
He
would
break
for
a
brief,
light
lunch,
and
then
return
to
the
piano,
where
he
would
work
until
8
or
9
in
the
evening.
“From
time
to
time
he
had
to
go
back
to
work
after
dinner,”
said
Colette,
“but
he
did
not
like
that.”
Delerue
composed
while
sitting
at
his
grand
piano,
jotting
down
notes
with
a
pencil,
playing
back
ideas
on
the
keys.
He
was
not
to
be
disturbed
during
this
time.
“He
used
to
say
the
first
three
bars
determine
all
the
piece,”
Colette
recalled.
36
He
often
asked
Colette
or
Claire
to
listen
to
what
he
had
written,
inviting
their
feedback.
37
36
Colette
Delerue.
Phone
interview,
September
8,
2010.
32
“He
had
scored
so
many
movies,”
said
Claire,
“and
I
remember
a
couple
of
times
he
played
something
back
to
me
and
asked
what
I
was
thinking.
I
said,
‘Yeah,
it
sounds
great,
but
it
sounds
to
me
like
you
may
have
written
that
same
melody
for
such-‐and-‐
such
movie.’
He’d
reply
[in
French],
‘Wow,
this
really
sucks.’”
38
Early
into
the
writing
process,
he
would
invite
the
director
over
(and
sometimes
editor
and
music
editor)
to
play
sketches
of
theme
ideas
for
approval.
These
demonstrations
were
“really
intimate,”
said
Anne
Goursaud
(who
edited
Bruce
Beresford’s
Crimes
of
the
Heart
and
Her
Alibi).
“Their
house
was
very
airy,
very
sunny,
very
open—just
like
Georges
was…You
always
felt
like
Georges
was
happy
to
be
there,
and
happy
to
be
doing
his
music.”
39
François
Truffaut
made
a
film
about
filmmaking
in
1973,
called
Day
for
Night.
In
it
there
is
a
defining
image
of
Delerue
(who
plays
the
invented
film’s
composer),
excitedly
taking
a
musical
idea
for
a
test
drive
at
the
piano.
Though
the
rendering
is
fictional,
it
is
a
faithful
portrait
of
Delerue’s
practice.
It
was
like
a
mini
concert
for
the
visiting
director,
which
was
always
followed
by
champagne.
37
Ibid.
38
Claire
Stancu.
Phone
interview,
September
23,
2010.
39
Anne
Goursaud.
Phone
interview,
September
28,
2010.
33
“It
didn’t
matter
how
busy
he
was,”
said
Beresford.
“I
used
to
get
to
his
house
to
go
through
the
film,
and
I’d
listen
to
a
bit
of
themes
on
piano
and
discuss
things
with
him…You
never
felt
that
he
was
squeezing
you
in
among
other
things—which
he
was
doing.
But
you
never
felt
that.
You
always
had
100
percent
of
his
concentration,
and
he
was
always
tremendously
cheerful.”
40
Once
he
had
approval
on
themes,
Delerue
sorted
out
the
logistics.
“Georges
would
review
the
spotting
notes
with
all
the
timings
for
cues,”
said
Dan
Carlin,
“and
do
the
simple
math
of
dividing
the
total
amount
of
music
minutes
by
the
number
of
days
remaining
prior
to
the
deadline.
So
if,
for
instance,
he
had
45
minutes
to
write,
and
32
days
until
the
recording
session,
he
would
give
himself
a
deadline
of
30
days
(subtracting
2
days
from
the
32
to
provide
time
for
the
copyist
to
finish
preparing
the
parts).
He
then
divided
the
45
minutes
by
30,
thereby
determining
that
he
would
have
to
complete
at
least
1-‐and-‐a-‐half
minutes
of
composition
and
orchestration
every
day.”
For
Delerue,
a
schedule
like
that
was
a
“piece
of
cake!”
41
After
writing
the
fundamental
elements
of
a
cue,
he
orchestrated
for
every
instrument—to
the
note,
using
an
ink
pen
(often
with
the
television
on
or
while
carrying
a
conversation).
Here
was
a
man
confident
in
his
gift.
His
time
at
the
40
Bruce
Beresford.
Phone
interview.
September
28,
2010.
41
Dan
Carlin.
Email
interview,
September
29,
2010.
34
conservatory
left
him
with
an
attention
to
detail,
and
his
days
in
the
early
French
film
industry
made
him
quick
and
resourceful.
“It
became
all
one
creative
process
for
him,”
said
Carlin.
“He
could
hear
the
orchestration
clearly
while
he
was
composing
at
the
piano,
so
he
simply
wrote
out
all
the
notes
as
he
progressed
through
each
cue.”
In
Delerue’s
music,
he
said,
“the
composition
and
the
orchestration
are
one.”
-‐-‐
Next
came
the
recording
session.
When
he
arrived
at
the
stage,
Delerue
the
leader
emerged.
A
distinctive
characteristic
of
his
sessions
was
the
absence
of
a
“click
track,”
which
has
been
a
composer/conductor’s
tool
since
the
early
days
of
film,
where
fine
synchronization
is
paramount.
A
predetermined
tempo,
tied
to
the
precise
movements
of
film,
sounds
off
audible
pops
(often
inside
a
pair
of
headphones)
as
the
conductor
leads
the
orchestra.
With
only
a
few
exceptions,
Delerue
never
used
it.
Instead,
he
had
mastered
a
style
of
conducting
known
as
“free
timing,”
due
mostly
to
his
career
in
France.
The
method
was
formally
developed
by
Alfred
Newman
(composer
of
How
Green
Was
My
Valley,
All
About
Eve),
and
fallen
almost
completely
out
of
use.
“It
was
a
style
of
writing
where
he
used
a
stopwatch
as
he
wrote
the
35
score
on
paper,
and
timed
it
in
his
head
against
the
timing
notes
provided
by
the
music
editor,”
explained
Curtis
Roush.
“Georges
didn’t
even
use
many
internal
streamers
[visual
“guideposts”
informing
a
conductor
when
to
arrive
at
certain
spots
in
the
music],”
said
Roush.
“We’d
start
the
clock.
The
old
scoring
clocks
were
a
sweep
hand,
like
a
giant
stopwatch.
He’d
just
watch
the
clock
and
conduct,
and
he’d
hit
all
of
his
timings
and
all
the
picture
cuts
that
he
intended
to
hit
with
the
music.
He
was
one
of
the
few
guys
who
could
do
that.
He
was
really
good
at
it.
It
was
fun
to
watch
him
work
because
it
was
just
so
natural
for
him.”
Free
timing
allowed
for
a
much
more
organic
performance.
“For
the
good
composers,”
said
Roush,
“it’s
the
easiest,
fastest
way
to
do
it,
because
it
can
ebb
and
flow
and
you
can
stretch
the
music
as
you
go.
Many
composers
at
the
time
relied
on
click
tracks,
because
they
were
exact
and
you’d
be
at
the
same
place
at
the
same
time
every
time
you
performed
the
cue.
But
you
sacrificed
musicality
in
the
way
of
allowing
the
music
to
phrase
and
breathe,
and
it
became
much
more
rigid.”
42
“As
a
conductor,”
said
Dan
Carlin.
“Georges
was
the
best
I
ever
observed.
He
grew
larger
on
the
podium.”
43
42
Curtis
Roush.
Phone
interview,
September
18,
2010.
43
Dan
Carlin.
Email
interview,
September
29,
2010.
36
“There
was
something
between
him
and
the
musicians,”
said
Colette,
“something
very
strong.”
Hollywood
session
musicians
in
particular
regarded
him
with
a
kind
of
awe.
Unlike
some
film
composers,
who
sit
in
the
booth
during
sessions
(either
because
they
can’t
conduct
or
because
they
like
the
extra
control),
Delerue
chose
to
be
on
the
floor.
“Georges
loved
extroverted
playing,”
said
oboist
Tom
Boyd,
who
played
on
nearly
every
Delerue
session
in
Los
Angeles.
A
clarinetist
himself,
Delerue
always
gave
woodwinds
their
due
(wind
instruments
were
one
of
the
first
casualties
in
the
“evolution”
of
film
music
at
the
turn
of
the
21
st
Century).
Throughout
his
American
career
he
consistently
called
on
Boyd,
flutist
Louise
DiTullio,
and
clarinetist
Dominic
Fera.
“I
knew
when
he
came
to
town,”
said
Boyd,
“that
Louise
and
me
and
Dominic,
we
had
a
lot
on
our
plate.
I
knew
he
wanted
lyrical,
vocal
playing….he
loved
that.
He
loved
the
style,
the
ebb
and
flow.
He
gave
me
a
lot
of
freedom
to
color
things,
to
shape
things.”
Directors,
editors,
and
engineers
alike
remember
Delerue
as
sweet
and
easygoing
at
sessions—but
musicians
knew
just
how
formidable
Delerue
the
conductor
could
be.
“He
brought
a
professionalism
to
the
room,”
said
Boyd,
“and
the
level
he
pulled
out
of
us
was
the
very,
very
best.
We
were
all
up
to
the
edge
of
our
chairs.
We
all
knew
37
that
we
could
be
fired
at
any
second.
We
were
only
as
good
as
our
last
gig
with
Georges.”
Boyd
remembered
seeing
the
occasional
flash
of
anger
when
a
mistake
was
made.
“He
would
raise
his
shoulders,”
he
said.
“He
didn’t
have
to
say
a
word.
You
could
look
at
his
face
and
you
knew
he
was
pissed.
And
you
had
a
choice:
you
could
either
take
it
personally,
or
you
could
figure
out
a
way
to
put
a
smile
on
his
face.”
Delerue
moved
fast.
Where
other
composers
(like
James
Horner)
might
spend
days
recording
one
cue,
Delerue
never
lost
his
sharp,
nimble
habits
from
the
early
days.
When
agent
Richard
Kraft
asked
him
why
he
recorded
at
such
a
breakneck
speed,
Delerue
“explained
that
most
of
the
films
he
did
in
France
were
done
for
very
low
fees,
and
recording
costs
frequently
came
out
of
his
own
pocket.”
“You
learn
to
go
fast
when
it
is
your
money,”
the
composer
said.
44
“If
he
said
the
session
started
at
9,
it
started
at
9,”
explained
British
recording
engineer
Eric
Tomlinson.
“He
was
there
half
an
hour
before,
and
I
had
a
copy
score
to
work
from,
always.”
45
44
Kraft,
Richard.
Memories
of
Me.
Intrada
Records,
2009.
Album
liner
notes.
45
Eric
Tomlinson.
Phone
interview,
January
12,
2012.
38
“He
was
extremely
well
organized,”
added
Bruce
Beresford.
“I
used
to
say
to
him
that
he
should
have
been
a
field
marshal
in
the
army…He
would
say,
‘We
do
this
piece
for
this
long,
this
piece
for
that
long,
and
we’ll
be
finished
at
exactly
ten
minutes
to
5.’
And
he
was
always
exactly
right.”
46
That
precision
kept
musicians
on
their
toes,
but
they
also
appreciated
the
pace
and
the
gift
of
always
working
through
something
new,
something
different.
“He
was
like
a
hundred-‐watt
light
bulb
when
he
really
liked
something,”
said
Boyd.
“I
knew
there
was
just
so
much
appreciation
and
love
that
he
exuded
towards
his
musicians.
He
never
took
them
for
granted.”
47
46
Bruce
Beresford.
Phone
interview.
September
28,
2010.
47
Tom
Boyd.
Interview,
January
14,
2012.
39
Chapter
Four:
Welcome
to
Hollywood
In
1982
Delerue’s
friend
Jack
Clayton,
the
English
director
with
whom
he
worked
on
The
Pumpkin
Eater
and
Our
Mother’s
House
in
the
1960s,
called
him
with
an
opportunity
to
collaborate
on
a
large-‐scale
fantasy
picture
for
Disney.
The
film
was
Something
Wicked
This
Way
Comes,
adapted
from
a
gothic
story
by
Ray
Bradbury
about
two
boys
lured
into
the
devil’s
carnival.
It
presented
Delerue
with
something
he
was
itching
for:
a
platform
to
write
an
audacious
Hollywood
score,
which
could
dip
into
the
avant-‐garde
to
match
the
darker
elements
onscreen.
Over
the
course
of
two
weeks
he
wrote
35
minutes
of
music—brash,
exotic,
and
at
times
demented,
but
grounded
by
a
sweet
melody
for
childhood
innocence.
Clayton
was
thrilled
with
it.
“It
seems
more
than
a
miracle
that
you
should
have
been
able
to
compose
such
a
magnificent
score
in
so
short
a
time,”
he
wrote
in
a
letter
to
Delerue.
48
The
film
suffered
poor
test
screenings,
which
fueled
Disney
executives’
own
fears
that
it
was
too
subtle,
too
dark,
and
too
old-‐fashioned.
The
release
was
put
on
hold,
the
film
dramatically
recut
and
given
new
special
effects
sequences.
One
of
the
casualties
was
Delerue’s
daring
score.
In
fact
it
was
Ray
Bradbury
who,
having
been
brought
in
as
advisor
on
the
film’s
reinvention,
told
executives:
“Get
rid
of
the
music,
48
le
cinéma
de
Georges
Delerue.
Universal
Music
France,
2008.
Album
liner
notes.
40
the
music
is
no
good…get
a
new
composer.”
49
Up-‐and-‐comer
James
Horner
was
brought
in
to
write
a
“less
dour”
score.
Delerue
was
wounded
by
the
rejection
of
music
he
had
written
with
special
pride.
“I
saw
it
as
an
injustice,”
he
said,
“because
it
was
probably
the
most
ambitious,
the
most
impertinent
score
I
wrote
in
America.”
50
“He
couldn’t
figure
it
out,”
said
Claire.
“You
get
an
Academy
Award,
you
get
all
kinds
of
people
courting
you
to
come
to
Hollywood,
and
then
one
of
the
first
major
projects
that
you
launch
gets
rejected.”
51
Disease
of
the
Week
Clayton
all
but
removed
his
name
from
the
movie
that
Disney
eventually
released,
and
he
remained
friends
with
Delerue
beyond
the
debacle.
(They
worked
together
again
on
1987’s
The
Lonely
Passion
of
Judith
Hearne.)
When
the
composer
decided
to
move
permanently
to
Los
Angeles
in
the
summer
of
1983,
he
rented
Clayton’s
house
on
Skyline
Drive
in
the
Hollywood
Hills—and
later
bought
a
home
on
the
same
street.
Colette
and
Claire
moved
with
him,
and
Claire
entered
the
music
program
at
USC
that
fall.
49
Ray
Bradbury
at
‘Something
Wicked
This
Way
Comes’
~
081010.
YouTube,
11
Oct.
2008.
50
Georges-‐delerue.com
51
Claire
Stancu.
Phone
interview,
December
19,
2011.
41
Agent
Carol
Faith
was
landing
Delerue
mostly
small
feature
projects
and
TV
movies
(“disease
of
the
week”
movies,
Claire
joked),
and
he
had
hoped
for
more.
“She
was
a
very
nice
lady,”
said
Claire,
“and
she
looked
like
she
was
very
dynamic
and
very
hard
working
and
everything.
She
did
get
him
a
couple
of
contacts
in
the
first
couple
of
years.
But
then
business
just
kind
of
dwindled.
She
didn’t
have
that
many
clients,
and
I
guess
she
was
just
not
aggressive
enough
in
the
business.”
But
letting
go
of
his
ineffectual
agent—in
Delerue’s
mind,
like
“firing
a
friend”—was
difficult.
“He
had
a
very
warm
approach
to
everybody
he
worked
with,”
said
Claire.
“He
wanted
to
develop
a
personal
relationship
with
them.
“It’s
not
so
much
in
the
French
culture.
You
just
don’t
really
react
that
way.
It’s
hard
to
put
an
end
to
a
professional
relationship.
He
just
had
to
brace
himself,
and
it
took
him
a
long
time
to
finally
decide
that
that
relationship
was
over.”
52
He
finally
made
the
call,
switching
over
to
powerhouse
agency
International
Creative
Management
in
1983.
There,
Charlie
Ryan
had
just
become
an
agent
representing
composers.
“He
and
I
became
good
buddies,”
said
Ryan.
“Which
was
kind
of
odd,
because
he
was
an
older
Frenchman
and
I
was
a
young
little
American.
52
Claire
Stancu.
Phone
interview,
December
19,
2011.
42
But
we
hit
it
off
real
well,
and
of
course
it
ended
up
being
the
best
nine
years
of
my
agency
life.”
It
was
never
difficult
finding
Delerue
work.
The
problem
was
still
that
the
best
projects
were
going
to
the
established
Hollywood
set.
Educated
filmmakers
like
Deschanel
knew
who
Delerue
was,
and
TV
producers
(who
were
working
with
smaller
budgets
and
typically
weren’t
getting
composers
from
the
A-‐list)
were
thrilled
to
nab
someone
who,
they
were
informed,
worked
with
Truffaut.
“That’s
why
he
started
out
doing
TV
movies
in
America,”
said
Ryan.
“It
also
tells
you
a
lot
about
Delerue;
his
ego
was
not
such
that
he
would
say
‘I’m
too
good
for
that’—even
though
he
was.
Georges
just
wanted
to
work.”
53
“It
was
just
such
a
big
move
for
him,”
Claire
added,
“that
when
he
found
out
that
he
was
not
just
slaughtered
with
offers
right
from
the
start,
he
was
just
happy
that
some
projects
would
come
along,
because
he
had
made
such
a
huge
investment
in
coming
over.”
Silkwood
Things
improved
when
Delerue
received
a
call
from
another
friend
from
his
past.
Mike
Nichols
(who
shook
up
the
film
industry
with
Who’s
Afraid
of
Virginia
Woolf?
and
The
Graduate
in
the
1960s,
upon
the
demise
of
the
Production
Code)
had
53
Charlie
Ryan.
Phone
interview,
October
1,
2010.
43
commissioned
a
sweet
and
melancholy
score
from
Delerue
on
The
Day
of
the
Dolphin
in
1973.
Now,
in
1983,
he
wanted
Delerue
for
Silkwood,
a
Meryl
Streep
vehicle
about
Karen
Silkwood
and
the
nuclear
factory
scandal
in
Oklahoma.
For
the
story
set
in
(and
about)
the
heartland,
Delerue
conjured
a
touching
and
rambling
hybrid
of
his
heritage
and
his
new
home,
a
catchy
banjo
melody
playing
over
lush
beds
of
string
chords.
Nichols
tapped
future
Lord
of
the
Rings
composer
(and
at
the
time
mostly
unknown)
Howard
Shore
to
assist
Delerue
as
music
consultant.
“[Nichols]
liked
the
idea
of
having
a
typically
French
composer
for
a
subject
that
was
purely
American,”
recalled
Shore,
“with
a
score
that
would
take
in
the
popular
music
of
the
South…That
motivated
Georges
too,
to
jump
into
that
particular
culture
and
write
a
pretty
ballad
for
banjo.”
At
the
recording
sessions,
Shore
observed
Delerue
in
his
element.
“Georges
had
the
orchestra
completely
under
his
control,”
he
said.
“He
never
lost
sight
of
the
picture
and,
above
all,
he
kept
the
tempo
intact,
with
no
electric
clicks.
It
was
like
he’d
been
grafted
with
a
metronome
inside
him.
He
had
amazing
technique:
he
managed
both
44
the
musicians
and
the
picture
at
the
same
time;
he
instantly
obtained
the
slightest
nuance.
They
were
never
late.”
54
The
Hands
of
God
Another
stimulating
project
came
in
1985,
when
Delerue
paired
with
Norman
Jewison
on
the
convent
crime
drama
Agnes
of
God.
“I
remember
discussing
religious
music
with
Georges,”
said
Jewison.
“I
had
assembled
some
recordings
of
Gregorian
chants
and
I
had
hired
a
Jesuit
musicologist
to
advise
me…Georges
was
very
excited
about
scoring
with
voices.
I
encouraged
him
to
write
vocal
scores
for
the
choir,
which
we
could
integrate
with
the
orchestra
or
use
a
capella.”
Delerue
was
not
a
religious
man,
but
writing
ecclesiastical
music
seemed
to
come
naturally.
He
was
no
stranger
to
the
church
or
the
chorus,
having
played
church
organ
gigs
in
his
early
twenties.
He
was
also
a
great
admirer
of
early
polyphony
(both
sacred
and
secular).
Just
before
moving
to
L.A.
he
was
given
a
commission
from
a
choral
festival
in
the
south
of
France,
and
he
wrote
Three
Prayers
for
Sorrowful
Times
for
solo
baritone,
mixed
chorus,
and
instrumental
ensemble
(with
a
text
derived
from
the
Bible
on
topics
of
war
and
genocide).
His
American
scores
for
True
Confessions,
Black
Robe,
and
Agnes
of
God—among
others—demonstrate
a
man
who
understood
how
to
express
piety.
54
le
cinéma
de
Georges
Delerue.
Universal
Music
France,
2008.
Album
liner
notes.
45
His
score
for
Agnes
of
God
is
a
mature
and
sometimes
dissonant
blend
of
choir
and
orchestra.
Desolate
voices,
suspended
in
tension,
echo
the
story
about
the
death
of
a
baby
inside
the
convent.
An
aching,
spiraling
woodwind
melody
is
the
emotional
anchor,
with
rising
harp
outlining
the
chords
like
a
question
mark
(Steven
Spielberg
would
temp
the
melody
into
a
scene
in
Hook,
faithfully
paraphrased
by
composer
John
Williams).
“Georges
was
very
worried
about
recording
the
score
in
Toronto,”
said
Jewison
who,
like
many
filmmakers,
took
advantage
of
the
discounted
cost
of
international
musicians
(Toronto,
London,
Dublin,
and
these
days
Prague
have
all
been
fiscally
attractive
alternatives
to
L.A.).
“He
wanted
to
score
in
Los
Angeles
or
New
York
where
he
was
more
confident
in
the
musicians.
I
told
him
if
he
was
not
satisfied
with
the
first
day
of
recording
we
would
cancel
the
sessions.
The
string
section
of
the
Toronto
Symphony
and
the
voices
of
the
Mendelssohn
Choir
blew
him
away.”
The
end
result
garnered
Delerue
an
Oscar
nomination
for
best
original
score
in
1986.
“Without
his
score,”
Jewison
said,
“my
film
would
have
remained
too
theatrical.
Delerue
made
the
film
very
real
and
human.
He
seemed
to
support
the
scenes
rather
than
intrude
upon
them…Somehow,
I
feel
that
he
found
a
deep
religious
source
in
his
heart
when
he
wrote
and
conducted
this
score.
Agnes
in
her
innocence—the
hands
of
God—truly
touched
Georges
and
his
work
in
this
film.”
46
“Music
and
the
moving
image
have
always
been
a
marriage
of
impressive
force,”
he
said.
“Music
plays
a
most
important
part
in
all
of
my
films.”
Throughout
his
career
Jewison
worked
with
an
impressive
lineup
of
composers—Michel
Legrand,
Quincy
Jones,
Henry
Mancini,
John
Williams.
“Of
all
of
them,
Delerue
was
perhaps
the
most
sensitive
and
delicate
in
his
voice.”
55
55
le
cinéma
de
Georges
Delerue.
Universal
Music
France,
2008.
Album
liner
notes.
47
Chapter
Five:
Stoned
In
1985
Bud
Carr,
the
music
supervisor
for
Oliver
Stone,
contacted
Charlie
Ryan.
Stone
was
a
Vietnam
veteran
and
largely
unknown
writer/director
at
the
time,
and
had
just
made
a
film
starring
James
Woods
as
a
journalist
embroiled
in
the
politics
and
horrors
of
El
Salvador.
Ryan
proposed
Delerue
for
the
job
of
scoring
the
low-‐
budget
Salvador,
and
Stone
leapt
at
the
chance.
Delerue
attended
an
early,
four-‐hour
cut
of
the
film,
and
walked
away
determined
to
write
the
music.
“I
heard
afterward
from
Bud
Carr
that
he
wanted
to
make
this
movie,”
said
Stone.
“He
was
practically
crying,
he
was
shaking.”
“He
saw
the
movie
in
many
forms,”
said
Stone,
“because
it
was
a
violent
editing
process,
with
a
lot
of
changes.
Which
is
always
the
case
with
a
lot
of
my
music
scores.
So
the
composers
have
to
be
very
flexible.
Georges
was
a
pro.
He’d
been
around
for
a
long
time.
He
knew.”
Delerue
wrote
an
equally
violent
score
for
Salvador,
something
quite
unlike
his
body
of
work
to
that
point.
Relentless
percussion,
menacing
strings,
and
trumpets
paint
the
scene
of
an
unmerciful
war
zone.
“It
was
a
little
more
masculine,
shall
we
say,”
Charlie
Ryan
said.
“I
wasn’t
aware
of
it
at
the
time,”
said
Stone,
“but
after
the
film
was
done
people
would
say…it
was
not
an
aspect
of
Delerue
that
people
knew.
He
wanted
to
reinvent
himself,
and
I
think
that’s
what
he
did.”
48
Not
everyone
agrees
on
whether
the
musical
departure
was
a
success.
“I
always
felt
that
when
Georges
was
doing
action/adventure
that
he
was
operating
slightly
outside
of
his
wheelhouse,”
said
Paul
Hirsch.
“I
used
to
think
that
Georges
was
at
his
best
when
he
was
properly
cast,
if
you
will,”
said
Curtis
Roush.
Oliver
Stone
couldn’t
have
been
happier
with
the
results,
and
listening
to
the
music
you
can
hear
Delerue
taking
a
risk,
leaping
into
the
fray.
Yet
Delerue’s
familiar
heart
can
still
be
found
in
Salvador.
“I
asked
Georges
to
bring
a
romanticism,
frankly
it
was
a
French
romanticism,”
said
Stone,
“because
it
was
a
love
story.
Salvador,
at
its
essence,
was
the
pursuit
of
Richard
Boyle
for
Maria.
At
first
it’s
not
serious,
and
at
the
end,
of
course,
it’s
unrequited
love
because
they’re
separated
by
circumstance.
So
there
was
a
fatal
romanticism
in
it,
which
I
love,
and
I’m
a
bit
sentimental
in
my
filmmaking,
as
some
people
have
criticized
me
for.
But
Georges
was
in
tune
with
that,
and
wrote
a
beautiful
score,
a
romantic
score.”
56
“Delerue
is
French
to
the
core,”
observed
the
composer’s
Italian
collaborator,
Bernardo
Bertolucci,
“even
when
he’s
writing
for
Oliver
Stone!”
57
Maybe
in
a
different
way
than
Delerue’s
previous
films,
maybe
because
of
the
chances
he
took
or
the
profile
of
the
film,
Salvador
“let
people
know
he
was
in
town,”
56
In
the
Tracks
of
Georges
Delerue.
Dir.
Pascale
Cuenot.
Prelight
Films,
2010.
Film.
57
Ibid.
49
said
Ryan.
“It
started
the
ball
rolling.”
There
was
never
a
shortage
of
offers—if
anything,
he
was
constantly
turning
things
down.
“He
could
do
two
or
three
pictures
at
once,”
said
Ryan,
“and
nobody
would
be
the
wiser.”
58
Clipped
by
a
Barber
Collaborating
on
Salvador
naturally
led
to
composing
Stone’s
next
film,
Platoon,
a
potent,
semi-‐autobiographical
plunge
into
the
nightmare
of
Vietnam.
For
the
soundtrack,
Stone
wanted
to
employ
many
of
the
popular
songs
of
the
era,
and
the
orchestral
score
needed
to
accommodate.
He
was
also
taken
with
Samuel
Barber’s
“Adagio
for
Strings,”
a
heartbreaking
American
work
written
in
1936,
and
one
of
the
more
familiar
classical
pieces
to
the
general
public
(among
others,
David
Lynch
borrowed
its
emotion
for
the
climax
to
his
1980
film
The
Elephant
Man).
Stone
felt
that
the
“Adagio”
captured
the
essence
of
his
gloomy
Vietnam
tale,
and
had
placed
it
under
multiple
scenes
throughout
the
film’s
temporary
score.
He
asked
Delerue
to
attempt,
in
essence,
an
original
copy.
“When
I
said,
‘You
have
to
do
something
like
that!’
it
must
have
haunted
Georges,”
said
Stone.
“I
must
have
put
him
in
such
misery.
I’m
sure
he
had
sleepless
nights.
He
worked
so
hard
to
write
his
version
of
that
feeling
that
we
wanted.”
58
Charlie
Ryan.
Phone
interview,
October
1,
2010.
50
Delerue
wrote
a
lament,
an
adagio
(simply
meaning
a
piece
played
slowly)
in
the
same
spirit,
with
the
same
blunt
emotional
force.
When
he
recorded
the
score
in
Vancouver,
he
did
so
knowing
it
might
be
replaced
at
any
point
with
Barber’s
work
(to
his
credit,
Stone
had
been
forthright
about
that).
The
film
was
released
on
Christmas
Eve,
1986,
to
great
critical
response.
But
the
film
those
critics
saw,
though
its
music
was
credited
to
Georges
Delerue,
was
conspicuously
scored
by
someone
else.
While
Stone
retained
some
of
Delerue’s
“incidental”
underscore
in
the
film,
in
the
end
he
cleft
to
the
(oft-‐repeated)
strains
of
Barber.
“He
wrote
a
wonderful
score,”
Stone
said
years
later,
“but
it
never
was
the
equivalent
of
‘Adagio.’
It
broke
my
heart
to
tell
him
this,
but
he
took
it
very
well.
Very
well.
He
was
a
gentleman.”
59
Delerue
was
hurt,
as
with
all
rejections,
but
such
was
the
business.
“He
was
frustrated
that
that
had
happened,”
said
Carlin,
“but
he
didn’t
feel
like
he’d
been
cheated
or
anything
like
that.
He’s
just
an
artist,
and
he
wanted
his
piece
to
be
done.”
60
59
In
the
Tracks
of
Georges
Delerue.
Dir.
Pascale
Cuenot.
Prelight
Films,
2010.
Film.
60
Dan
Carlin.
Phone
interview,
February
17,
2012.
51
Platoon
received
seven
Oscar
nominations
and
won
four,
including
one
for
Stone’s
direction.
It
was
the
kind
of
high-‐profile
film
that
could
have
made
Delerue’s
music
penetrate
American
awareness,
with
a
filmmaker
at
the
outset
of
a
successful
career.
It
was
an
opportunity
lost,
and
it
was
the
last
time
Delerue
collaborated
with
Stone
(who
moved
on
to
work
with
other
composers—most
notably
John
Williams).
52
Chapter
Six:
A
Purple
Theft
Georges
Delerue
experienced
four
great
blows
working
in
Hollywood.
One
was
losing
out
to
Barber
on
Platoon.
Two
were
the
result
of
scores
being
rejected,
as
they
were
on
Something
Wicked
This
Way
Comes
and
later
Regarding
Henry.
The
fourth
was,
ironically,
the
result
of
a
misplaced
and
mishandled
appreciation
for
his
music
by
another
composer.
It
was
a
normal
day
in
1985
when
Charlie
Ryan
received
a
request
from
Quincy
Jones’
short-‐lived
music
production
house,
Cinemascore.
They
wanted
a
copy
of
Delerue’s
1967
score
for
Our
Mother’s
House.
Requests
like
this
for
older
scores
were
fairly
common—they
were
used
in
temp
tracks
or
simply
as
references—and
Ryan
sent
over
a
record
without
giving
it
much
thought.
61
A
few
months
later
Claire,
who
lived
at
home
while
attending
USC,
was
doing
homework
at
the
kitchen
table
with
the
TV
on
in
the
background.
A
trailer
for
Steven
Spielberg’s
The
Color
Purple
came
on,
and
her
ears
perked
up.
“I
heard
something
that
just
sounded
very
Delerue-‐ish,”
she
said.
“I
couldn’t
really
put
my
finger
on
it,
but
it
sounded
like
my
dad’s
music.”
61
Charlie
Ryan.
Phone
Interview,
January
26,
2012.
53
Richard
Kraft,
Delerue’s
agent
(along
with
Ryan)
at
the
time,
saw
an
early
screening
of
the
film
and
noticed
it
too.
Kraft
was
a
film
music
fan
long
before
becoming
an
agent,
and
he
had
an
encyclopedic
knowledge
of
the
genre,
particularly
Delerue’s
work.
He
knew
exactly
which
score
the
theme
was
from.
The
gentle
flute
melody,
here
accompanying
the
innocence
and
suffering
of
young
Celie
in
turn-‐of-‐the-‐
century
South,
was
almost
a
straight
lift
out
of
Delerue’s
score
for
a
dark
British
drama:
Our
Mother’s
House
(directed
by
Jack
Clayton).
Kraft
called
Delerue
“in
a
panic.”
Delerue’s
response
was
incredulity.
“He
could
hardly
believe
that
something
like
that
would
happen,”
said
Claire.
“It
seemed
to
him
very
rude.”
He
contacted
his
lawyer,
Jack
Hayum,
who
in
turn
contacted
Quincy
Jones’
lawyer.
Musicologists
were
brought
in
to
analyze
the
two
scores,
and
the
patently
obvious
similarities—as
well
as
proof
of
Cinemascore’s
requesting
a
copy
of
Our
Mother’s
House—were
more
than
enough
to
bring
a
large,
out-‐of-‐court
settlement
against
Jones
and
Company.
“Everyone
in
Georges’
life
cautioned
him
to
take
no
action
against
two
of
the
most
powerful,
talented,
and
beloved
people
in
Hollywood
who
were
involved,”
said
54
Richard
Kraft,
in
reference
to
Jones
and
Spielberg.
“Georges
was
blissfully
unconcerned.
‘But
it
is
my
music,’
is
all
he
could
say.”
62
Adding
to
the
insult
of
uncredited
plagiarism
was
The
Color
Purple’s
Oscar
nomination
in
1986—competing
against
Delerue’s
own
Agnes
of
God.
Not
only
that,
but
an
astonishing
twelve
composers
(including
Jones)
were
credited
as
the
nominated
score’s
writers.
(The
Academy
amended
their
rules
the
following
year,
making
eligible
only
scores
written
by
a
“principal
composer.”)
Delerue
had
experienced
a
few
such
uncredited
quotations
in
France,
said
Claire,
“but
this
was
a
big
deal,
because
it
was
Hollywood,
it
was
Spielberg.
It
was
a
huge
hit
movie,
and
there
was
no
recognition
at
all,
no
acknowledgement
of
what
had
happened.”
63
62
Kraft,
Richard.
Memories
of
Me.
Intrada
Records,
2009.
Album
liner
notes.
63
Claire
Stancu.
Phone
interview,
December
19,
2011.
55
Chapter
Seven:
Comedy
While
perhaps
reinventing
himself
for
Oliver
Stone,
Delerue
also
scored
a
variety
of
comedies
and
lighter
fare,
at
which
he
was
particularly
adept—from
Maxie
(1985),
an
out-‐of-‐body
romance
starring
Glenn
Close,
to
The
Pick-‐Up
Artist
(1987),
an
early
Robert
Downey,
Jr.
vehicle.
In
1988,
Henry
Winkler—Happy
Days’
iconic
“Fonz”—made
his
feature
directorial
debut
with
Memories
of
Me,
a
sweet
comedy/drama
with
Alan
Ladd
and
Billy
Crystal
as
wisecracking
father
and
exasperated
son.
Winkler
said
he
“wanted
that
haunting,
emotional
sound”
of
Delerue’s.
Claire
translated
at
the
meeting,
and
Charlie
Ryan
remembered
Winkler,
the
itinerant
thespian,
acting
out
the
entire
film
for
Delerue
in
his
office
on
the
Paramount
lot.
“Delerue
understood
nothing
that
was
going
on,”
he
laughed.
64
Crystal’s
doctor
character
in
the
film
plays
the
trumpet,
so
Delerue
made
heavy
use
of
the
instrument
(voiced
by
jazz
trumpeter
Jack
Sheldon)
in
the
score.
The
film
opens
with
Delerue’s
jazzy
main
theme
on
solo
trumpet,
segueing
into
source
music
as
it’s
revealed
to
be
Crystal
playing.
The
rest
of
the
soundtrack
is
spare,
the
64
Charlie
Ryan.
Phone
interview,
October
1,
2010.
56
orchestra
cropping
up
with
delicate
statements
of
the
theme
only
when
necessary.
“He
was
just
a
man
of
economy,”
said
Winkler.
“Simplicity
is
elegance.”
65
Comedy
director
Ivan
Reitman—hot
off
the
success
of
Ghostbusters
and
capitalizing
on
the
box
office
appeal
of
Arnold
Schwarzenegger—hired
Delerue
for
his
wacky
concept
comedy
Twins
in
1988.
Schwarzenegger
and
Danny
DeVito
played
scientifically
engineered
twins
separated
at
birth,
who
go
on
a
search
for
their
shared
mother.
Reitman
temped
parts
of
the
film
with
Delerue’s
existing
music,
and
wanted
the
“very
warm
and
loving,
romantic
feel”
associated
with
the
composer.
“I
just
thought
that,
for
this
story
about
family,
his
music
would
bring
a
lot
of
emotionality,”
he
said.
The
film
also
had
a
contemporary
Los
Angeles
and
muscular
action
tone,
and
Reitman
wasn’t
sure
that
Delerue
could
handle
the
whole
gamut.
(Delerue
demonstrated
his
“hipness”
and
ability
to
score
contemporary
urban
life
with
the
jazzy,
drum-‐machine
number
in
Maxie,
which
could
have
easily
been
the
main
title
for
a
1980s
sitcom).
Reitman
hired
emerging
composer
Randy
Edelman—who
became
a
Reitman
staple—to
supply
the
film’s
contemporary
voice.
65
Henry
Winkler.
Phone
interview,
December
9,
2011.
57
Reitman
spotted
the
film
with
the
composers
separately.
He
liked
Delerue’s
dreamy
main
theme
(which
spins
like
a
baby’s
nursery
mobile
on
piano
and
glockenspiel)
so
much
that
he
asked
Edelman
to
integrate
it
into
his
material.
The
two
composers,
as
un-‐twin-‐like
as
the
pair
in
the
film,
never
actually
met.
Reitman
carefully
integrated
the
two
scores,
which
were
also
recorded
separately,
for
the
final
result.
“I
loved
his
work,”
he
said
of
Delerue.
“Thematically
it’s
just
very
beautiful
and
very
evocative…I’m
very
happy
that
I
worked
with
him.”
66
In
1990,
Delerue
scored
John
Patrick
Shanley’s
Joe
Versus
the
Volcano,
an
offbeat
comedy
starring
a
young
Tom
Hanks.
“I
was
looking
for
a
strong,
romantic
theme,”
said
Shanley,
who
gave
Delerue
some
classical
pieces
as
a
point
of
reference.
As
usual,
Delerue
delivered
on
the
romance,
and
summoned
the
talents
of
a
choir
and
full
orchestra.
“Because
I
was
a
neophyte
film
director,”
said
Shanley,
“I
didn’t
realize
that
I
needed
several
minutes
of
orchestral
scoring
at
the
end
of
the
film
for
the
final
credit
roll.”
They
were
on
the
recording
stage
when
Shanley
told
Delerue,
“I
need
like
another
seven
minutes
of
score.”
Delerue
just
looked
at
him
and
said
“okay.”
“He
came
in
the
next
morning,”
said
Shanley,
“looking
completely
ragged,
and
he
had
it.”
Another
eleventh
hour
component
was
the
lyrics
to
the
love
song,
“Marooned
with
You,”
which
Shanley
penned
during
a
break.
“When
he
finished
conducting
the
score,”
said
66
Ivan
Reitman.
Phone
interview,
January
17,
2012.
58
Shanley,
“he
broke
open
a
bottle
of
champagne
and
poured
it
for
members
of
his
orchestra,
who
all
visibly
adored
him.”
67
67
John
Patrick
Shanley.
Phone
interview,
September
16,
2010.
59
Chapter
Eight:
Steel
Magnolias
Delerue
had
a
gift
for
summoning
a
rare
sensitivity
for
films
about
and
aimed
at
women.
It
would
be
simplistic
to
chalk
this
up
purely
to
his
French
blood,
although
there
would
certainly
seem
to
be
a
correlation.
He
simply
had
within
himself
music
that
addressed
and
embodied
the
tenderness
and
passions
of
the
“fairer
sex.”
Two
of
the
most
successful
“women’s
pictures”
that
he
scored
in
America
were
Beaches
in
1988,
and
Steel
Magnolias
in
1989.
He
wrote
a
lush,
bouncy
theme
for
Beaches,
which
was
directed
by
Garry
Marshall
and
starred
Bette
Midler
and
Barbara
Hershey
as
lifelong
girlfriends.
The
project
brought
him
more
than
one
kind
of
satisfaction.
Through
a
clause
in
his
contract,
his
“Friendship
Theme”
was
guaranteed
a
spot
on
the
song
soundtrack
album,
and
he
enjoyed
generous
royalties
sailing
with
Bette
Midler’s
hit
single,
“The
Wind
Beneath
My
Wings.”
68
The
number
of
original
scores
that
got
albums
during
this
time
was
spotty,
and
the
market
for
them
has
always
been
relatively
small—with
a
few
blockbuster
exceptions
(Star
Wars,
Chariots
of
Fire,
Titanic).
Along
with
other
niche
genres,
film
music
has
enjoyed
the
age
of
the
internet,
allowing
independent
record
labels
to
know
and
communicate
directly
with
their
audience.
From
a
money
standpoint,
the
68
Kraft,
Richard.
Memories
of
Me.
Intrada
Records,
2009.
Album
liner
notes.
60
soundtrack
albums
that
have
always
fared
best
have
been
the
ones
attached
to
hit
songs
and
popular
artists.
In
that
sense,
Beaches
was
Delerue’s
only
real
“hit.”
-‐-‐
Steel
Magnolias
was
adapted
from
a
popular
off-‐Broadway
play
about
a
tragedy
that
hits
a
group
of
Louisiana
women.
Directed
by
Herbert
Ross,
the
film
reunited
Delerue
with
editor
Paul
Hirsch—who
was,
in
fact,
responsible
for
the
composer’s
inclusion
late
in
the
game.
David
Shire
was
originally
on
board
to
score
the
film,
having
previously
worked
with
Ross.
The
director,
absent
while
on
honeymoon
in
Europe,
put
Hirsch
in
charge
of
temping
a
rough
cut
of
the
film
and
walking
through
his
musical
choices
with
Shire.
The
two
disagreed
on
almost
every
point
about
the
music’s
function
in
the
film.
Hirsch
temped
an
early
scene,
in
which
Sally
Field’s
character
pins
a
corsage
on
her
daughter
(Julia
Roberts)
in
the
girl’s
childhood
bedroom,
with
Delerue’s
lullaby
from
The
Escape
Artist.
At
the
top
of
a
long
list
of
complaints
after
the
spotting
session,
Shire
found
the
corsage
scene’s
music
especially
“over
the
top,
just
awful.”
A
few
weeks
later
Ross
watched
the
editor’s
cut.
He
was
demonstrably
moved
by
Hirsch’s
choices
and,
not
aware
of
what
was
said
at
the
earlier
spotting
session
with
Shire,
praised
the
corsage
scene’s
music
in
particular.
Hirsch
told
him
about
Shire’s
antithetical
reaction,
and
Ross
exploded:
“Get
him
on
the
phone
right
now!”
he
61
shouted.
“I’m
gonna
tell
him
to
write
music
exactly
like
that.”
As
the
cracks
of
opposing
visions
began
to
widen,
an
exasperated
Ross
asked
Hirsch
what
to
do.
“Well,”
Hirsch
said,
“I
think
Georges
would
be
perfect
for
this
picture.”
“[Delerue]
came
in
and
looked
at
the
picture,
and
he
said,
‘Leave
it
to
me,
I
know
just
what
to
do,’”
said
Hirsch,
in
imitation
French
accent.
“He
did,
and
he
wrote
this
magnificent
score.”
When
Delerue
played
his
early
theme
sketches
for
Ross
and
Hirsch
at
his
house,
he
opted
for
a
mournful
tone
for
a
scene
late
in
the
film,
after
Roberts’
character
has
been
hospitalized,
when
the
infant
grandson
of
Sally
Field’s
character
toddles
towards
her.
“Georges,
you
have
to
give
us
a
break
here,”
Ross
said.
“This
is
just
too
heartbreaking.
When
she
sees
the
child,
you
have
to
lighten
it.”
Delerue
complied.
“He
changed
it
to
this
brighter
theme
that’s
even
more
heartbreaking
than
the
tragic
music!”
Hirsch
said.
The
film
may
err
on
the
side
of
melodramatic,
but
Delerue’s
central
theme
for
Steel
Magnolias
is
one
of
his
most
moving.
A
full-‐bodied
string
section
moves
in
sympathetic
rubato—expressing
a
theme
of
mother-‐and-‐daughter,
of
life’s
fleeting
62
mortality
(“I
love
the
velvety
quality
of
strings,"
he
told
the
Los
Angeles
Times).
69
Flute
and
oboe
intermittently
take
over
the
narrative,
harp
glissandi
and
syncopated
bursts
of
trumpets
punctuating
the
effect
with
the
composer’s
innate
elegance.
After
they
recorded
the
cue
attending
the
climactic
cemetery
scene,
which
Delerue
scored
with
a
fragile
violin
and
cello
duet
representing
the
mother
and
daughter,
the
entire
orchestra
burst
out
in
applause.
“He
just
had
a
gift
for
writing
the
most
phenomenally
beautiful
themes,”
said
Hirsch.
“Nobody
writes
melodies
like
Georges.”
70
69
Smith,
Steven.
“He
Adds
Sound
Of
Music
To
Silent
‘Casanova’”.
Los
Angeles
Times
21
Jan.
1986:
Print.
70
Paul
Hirsch.
Phone
interview,
September
19,
2010.
63
Chapter
Nine:
Classical
As
a
young
man
Delerue
went
into
composing
for
film
and
television
almost
defiantly.
He
wanted
nothing
to
do
with
the
serialism
and
atonality
characterizing
the
concert
hall
at
the
time,
music
he
considered
“sterile.”
After
ten
years
of
resistance,
however,
he
surrendered
to
the
“classical”
lure—on
his
own
terms,
of
course—and
went
on
to
write
a
body
of
more
than
60
works,
comprised
of
quartets,
concertos
(for
various
instruments),
ballets,
symphonies,
and
operas.
“He
had
a
lot
of
creativity
he
had
to
express,”
said
Colette,
“but
his
expression
was
music.
It
always
seemed
to
me
that
there
was
always,
always
notes
in
his
mind.”
71
Rather
than
go
on
vacation
or
indulge
in
any
non-‐musical
hobby
(other
than
good
food
and
the
occasional
swim),
he
filled
his
time
outside
cinema
by
writing
more
music—sometimes
commissioned,
often
because
his
well
simply
refused
to
dry.
While
he
enjoyed
the
collaborative
nature
of
writing
for
film,
he
also
loved
the
freedom
outside
of
it.
Still,
he
never
thought
more
highly
of
one
venue
over
the
other.
“I
don't
like
to
be
labeled,”
he
said.
“Film
music
is
an
expressive
aesthetic
form
like
any
other,
with
its
own
high
values.
In
France,
more
than
elsewhere,
one
has
a
tendency
to
label
film
music
with
some
disdain,
no
doubt
because
cinema
is
an
71
Colette
Delerue.
Phone
interview,
September
8,
2010.
64
obviously
commercial
form
of
art.
In
Britain
and
in
the
United
States,
a
film
composer
is
considered
simply
a
musical
composer.”
“It
is
obvious
that
when
I
compose
a
musical
theme
for
a
film,”
he
said,
“I
naturally
put
at
least
something
of
my
own
being
into
it.
And
when
I
need
to
feel
a
complete
liberty
in
creation,
I
compose
a
quartet
or
a
concerto
or
some
chamber
music.
I
have
always
needed
that
other
string
to
my
bow,
or
what
I
call
my
other
hat.”
As
a
film
composer
who
rarely
expressed
insecurity
about
his
abilities,
he
admitted:
"When
I
compose
classical
music,
I'm
always
afraid
of
boring
the
listener.
If
I
notice
that
I
am
boring
myself
while
composing,
I
can't
help
but
imagine
that
the
listeners
will
be
bored
too.
And
so
I
tear
up
what
I've
written
and
start
again."
He
shared
many
of
his
non-‐film
compositions
with
Bruce
Beresford,
who
noted
how
different
they
were
from
the
composer’s
cinematic
output.
“He
seemed
to
be
two
different
people,”
said
Beresford.
One
thing
remained
constant
between
the
two
worlds.
"I
always
try
to
put
as
much
human
warmth
as
possible
into
my
compositions,”
Delerue
said,
“and
I
also
like
65
things
to
be
said
quickly.
It
serves
no
purpose
to
compose
unending
developmental
passages.
My
goal
is
always
for
my
music
to
go
straight
to
the
heart."
72
-‐-‐
When
Claire
was
attending
USC,
Delerue
wrote
a
concerto
for
four
guitars
and
orchestra
for
the
L.A.
Guitar
Quartet
(Claire’s
guitar
professor,
William
Kanengiser,
was
a
founding
member).
It
wasn’t
a
commission,
said
Kanengiser,
but
simply
a
“gesture
of
good
will.”
Kanengiser
said
“there
are
moments
in
the
piece
that
were
transcendent,”
but
confessed
that
he
wasn’t
sure
(at
least
at
the
time)
that
the
piece
held
up
as
a
whole.
“It
might
also
be
that
I
was
too
musically
immature
at
the
time.
But
there
was
definitely
some
editing
that
had
to
be
done.
The
third
movement
began
with
a
sort
of
unrelenting
moto
perpetuo
[perpetual
motion],
with
a
pointillistic
[nonlinear]
melody
in
unison
on
all
four
guitars.
It
was
almost
impossible
to
play—to
have
four
guys
hit
it
perfectly
was
pretty
unlikely.
I
asked
him
if
he
would
mind
if
we
just
broke
the
melody
up,
had
two
guitars
play
eight
notes,
then
the
other
players
play
the
next
eight
notes.”
Delerue
happily
agreed.
“It
seemed
that
he
deliberately
went
out
of
his
way
to
write
something
that
was
not
Spanish,
that
didn’t
use
the
expected
or
overused
guitar
effects,”
Kanengiser
said,
72
Georges-‐delerue.com
66
describing
the
concerto.
“There
wasn’t
that
much
strumming.
It
was
more
atmospheric.
He
used
a
lot
of
octatonic
scales
to
bring
out
that
pantonal
harmony
[a
modern
sound
that
blurs
the
tonal
center].
I
distinctly
remember
the
second
movement
having
some
really
incredible
orchestrations—very
unexpected,
super
low
sustained
tones
against
super
high
sustained
winds.
Almost
like
a
brain
wave
kind
of
simulation.
It
had
a
wonderful
elegiac
quality
to
it.”
73
Claire
discovered
something
interesting
about
her
father
when
she
worked
on
a
piano
reduction
of
the
concerto.
She
noticed
that
a
theme,
written
in
the
treble
clef
during
the
third
movement,
reappeared
in
augmented
form
(the
same
musical
line,
only
stretched
out
in
duration)
in
the
bass
a
page
later.
Impressed
by
the
design,
she
mentioned
it
to
her
father.
“I
was
sure
that
was
all
planned
out,”
she
said.
“He
looked
at
it
and
said,
‘Wow,
I
never
knew.
I
had
no
idea.
Yeah,
you’re
right,
it’s
an
augmentation.
I
had
no
idea.”
With
years
of
training
in
harmony,
orchestration,
counterpoint,
and
analysis,
Delerue
simply
had
a
set
of
tools
at
the
disposal
of
an
intuitive
fountain.
73
William
Kanengiser.
Interview,
January
17,
2012.
67
“He
just
was
not
one
for
analyzing
what
he
had
done,”
said
Claire.
“He
was
not
a
cerebral
composer
like
others
are…But
there’s
always
a
cohesion,
there’s
always
a
logic.”
74
Many
film
composers
have
dabbled
in
the
concert
world,
often
with
uneven
results.
John
Williams’
classical
work,
for
instance,
has
a
markedly
modern,
aleatoric
feel—
as
opposed
to
his
richly
melodic
film
music.
Many
composes
have
simply
reappropriated
their
film
work
into
concert
form
(such
as
a
suite).
Beresford
particularly
found
the
Italian
composer
Ennio
Morricone’s
(composer
of
The
Mission
and
Cinema
Paradiso)
efforts
in
the
field
“absolutely
abysmal.”
But
in
his
mind,
Delerue’s
classical
work
holds
up.
“Georges’
music
had
a
sort
of
dynamism,”
Beresford
said.
“It
was
more
jagged,
more
dissonant
than
his
film
music.
It
didn’t
have
those
easy,
flowing
melodies.
But
it
was
still
very
appealing,
very
strong.”
75
74
Claire
Stancu.
Phone
interview,
September
23,
2010.
75
Bruce
Beresford.
Phone
interview.
September
28,
2010.
68
Chapter
Ten:
Beresford
and
Beyond
Steady
composer-‐director
relationships
are
often
the
key
to
great
projects
in
Hollywood,
and
they
frequently
yield
the
best
musical
results.
In
France
Delerue
had
Truffaut,
in
America
he
had
Stone
and
Nichols—but
both
of
those
partnerships
eventually
fizzled.
With
the
exception
of
Bruce
Beresford
(whose
most
successful
film,
Driving
Miss
Daisy,
was
scored
by
Hans
Zimmer),
Delerue
had
no
Spielberg
(as
did
John
Williams)
or
Hitchcock
(as
did
Bernard
Herrmann).
This
may
be
one
reason
why
he
failed
to
land
many
high-‐caliber
films
from
1980–1992,
and
one
can
only
speculate
how
different
his
American
chapter
might
have
been
had
he
hitched
himself
to
the
stars
of
more
high-‐caliber
directors.
Bruce
Beresford
began
making
films
in
his
native
Australia,
a
pioneer
in
the
country’s
own
“new
wave”
of
cinema
during
the
1970s.
His
1980
war
film
Breaker
Morant
was
a
critical
success,
and
served
as
the
impetus
for
his
move
to
Hollywood.
He
directed
a
string
of
high-‐profile
films
(with
varying
success),
mostly
dramas,
during
the
1980s.
Delerue’s
sound
became
a
hallmark
of
his
aesthetic,
as
they
collaborated
five
times
until
their
untimely
denouement
in
1992.
Delerue
met
Beresford
through
the
latter’s
regular
editor,
Anne
Goursaud.
She
was
peripherally
involved
in
the
restoration
of
the
1927
silent
film
The
Loves
of
Casanova,
which
Delerue
wrote
a
new
score
for
in
1985
(at
no
charge),
and
69
conducted
live
performances
to
picture
in
France,
Italy,
and
Germany.
The
Los
Angeles
Times
praised
the
score
as
“a
sweet
ballet
bouffe,”
adding
that
it
“reinforces
the
tone
and
the
dynamic
of
virtually
every
scene
with
carefully
synchronized
affect.”
76
Originally
Delerue
was
simply
asked
to
provide
music
from
his
own
back
catalogue,
but
he
offered
to
pen
something
new
because,
in
his
words,
“each
film
has
its
own
personality.”
(“I
didn't
realize
the
film
was
two
hours
and
15
minutes
long!”
he
later
joked.)
77
In
1986
Goursaud
was
editing
Beresford’s
Crimes
of
the
Heart,
a
black
comedy
about
three
sisters,
and
thought
Delerue
would
make
a
great
addition
to
the
team.
“I
introduced
them
to
each
other,”
she
said,
“and
they
fell
in
love.”
78
Beresford
was
an
avid
and
knowledgeable
music
lover.
“We
saw
life
the
same
way,”
Delerue
said.
“We
were
very
buddy-‐buddy.”
79
In
one
scene
in
Crimes
of
the
Heart,
Sissy
Spacek’s
character
plays
a
melody
on
the
saxophone.
Beresford
asked
for
a
simple
tune
for
the
scene
before
filming
(Delerue
gave
him
three
to
choose
from),
and
Spacek—who
had
never
touched
a
saxophone
before—learned
how
to
play
it.
76
Bernheimer,
Martin.
“New
Score
by
Delerue:
Ucla
Screens
Brilliant
‘Casanova’
Restoration.”
Los
Angeles
Times
22
Jan.
1986:
Print.
77
Smith,
Steven.
“He
Adds
Sound
Of
Music
To
Silent
‘Casanova’”.
Los
Angeles
Times
21
Jan.
1986:
Print.
78
Anne
Goursaud.
Phone
interview,
September
17,
2010.
79
Merluzeau,
Yann.
Soundtrack,
Number
42,
June,
1992.
70
After
that
first
film
Beresford
and
Delerue
never
used
an
interpreter.
They
collaborated
again
on
1989’s
Her
Alibi
(which
flopped
at
the
box
office).
When
the
time
came
to
hire
a
composer
for
the
director’s
next
film,
Driving
Miss
Daisy,
the
producers
wanted
someone
hotter:
Hans
Zimmer.
Beresford
put
up
a
fight,
but
in
the
end
had
to
relent.
Zimmer
wrote
an
undeniably
toe-‐tapping
theme
for
the
story
about
a
southern
woman
and
her
black
chauffeur,
but
performed
on
oddly
anachronistic
synthesizers
(the
story
takes
place
in
1950s
Georgia).
The
film,
Beresford’s
highest
grossing
to
date,
was
nominated
for
nine
Academy
Awards—none
of
them
for
its
music.
Our
Friend
Hans
Zimmer’s
path
actually
intersected
with
Delerue’s
more
than
once.
An
emergent
composer
from
the
rock
world,
Zimmer
got
his
start
orchestrating
and
ghostwriting
film
music
in
the
early
’80s.
In
1988
the
producers
of
a
small
independent
film,
A
World
Apart,
solicited
Delerue
for
a
score,
but
he
couldn’t
fit
the
project
into
his
schedule.
With
their
small
budget,
the
producers
settled
for
the
unknown
Zimmer.
Upon
hearing
the
music
in
that
film,
director
Barry
Levinson
(The
Natural,
Good
Morning,
Vietnam)
was
moved
to
hire
Zimmer
for
Rain
Man
that
same
year.
The
Best
Picture-‐winner
was
a
colossal
hit
and,
as
Charlie
Ryan
said,
“that
unleashed
our
71
friend
Hans
on
the
world.”
80
Zimmer
went
on
to
become
one
of
the
most
in-‐demand
and
influential
composers
in
cinema.
In
1991,
Mike
Nichols
hired
Delerue
to
score
his
film
Regarding
Henry—starring
Harrison
Ford
as
a
heartless
lawyer
whose
life
is
altered
by
a
bullet
to
the
head.
Delerue
wrote
and
recorded
a
lyrical
score
with
flavors
of
Copland
Americana
and
lovely
solo
violin
passages.
“The
themes
just
poured
from
him,”
said
music
editor
Suzana
Peric,
“gracing
the
film
with
deeper
meaning
than
was
on
the
surface.
The
music
became
another
character
in
the
film,
not
just
underscore.”
The
movie
fared
poorly
in
test
screenings.
In
a
last-‐ditch
effort
to
“rescue”
it,
Nichols
and
the
producers
threw
out
Delerue’s
score.
His
replacement
was
Hans
Zimmer.
“[The
film]
was
so
saccharine
in
certain
ways,”
Charlie
Ryan
said,
“that
I
think
Delerue
doing
his
thing
on
top
of
it
probably
scared
everybody.”
The
composer
was
despondent,
not
least
because
his
old
friend
shared
some
of
the
blame.
Nichols
later
redeemed
himself
when
he
wrote
a
contrite
letter
to
Delerue,
apologizing
for
pointing
the
composer
in
the
wrong
direction
(an
uncommon
gesture
by
a
director
after
dumping
a
composer).
He
promised
they
would
work
together
again,
but
the
opportunity
never
came.
81
80
Charlie
Ryan.
Phone
interview,
October
1,
2010.
81
Lerouge,
Stéphane.
Unused
Scores.
Universal
Music
S.A.
France,
2011.
Album
liner
notes.
72
Scoring
History
After
relenting
on
Driving
Miss
Daisy,
Beresford
came
back
to
Delerue
three
more
times
(and
would
have
indefinitely,
he
said,
had
the
composer
lived
longer).
For
Mister
Johnson
in
1990,
Delerue
wrote
a
violin
concerto
for
the
tale
set
in
British
colonial-‐era
Nigeria.
The
suggestion
came
from
Beresford,
and
Delerue
embraced
it.
“He
wrote
a
concerto
that
could
have
been
written
by
Delius
or
Elgar,”
said
Beresford.
“It
was
really
sort
of
English
music,
written
by
a
guy
who
was
very,
very
French.”
The
(mini)
concerto
is
a
solemn,
contemplative
piece
that,
as
with
so
many
others
by
the
composer,
requires
no
visuals
to
support
its
fullness
in
form
or
spirit.
Beresford’s
favorite
score
from
his
time
with
Delerue
is
for
his
1991
film
about
a
group
of
French
Jesuits
among
the
Huron
tribe
in
Quebec.
“I
think
Black
Robe
is
one
of
the
best
film
scores
I’ve
ever
heard,”
he
said.
“It’s
all
about
these
missionaries
going
up
river,”
he
told
Delerue,
“and
they’re
having
a
terrible
time
with
the
Indians
that
are
wiping
them
out.
And
it’s
freezing
cold.
I
want
the
music
to
represent
their
fate,
but
I
also
want
to
tell
the
audience
how
courageous
they
were,
and
how
this
was
all
an
amazing
adventure.”
“And
he
came
up
with
a
theme
that
I
thought
fit
both
things
perfectly,”
Beresford
said.
“That
couldn’t
have
been
easy
to
do.”
73
The
score
integrates
liturgical
music
for
chorus
and
boy’s
choir
with
a
grand,
religious
theme.
“I
don't
define
myself
as
religious,”
Delerue
once
told
the
Los
Angeles
Times,
“but
even
before
I
composed
for
film
many
people
told
me
there
was
a
very
mystical
quality
to
much
of
my
music.
I
cannot
really
find
that
in
myself,
but
it
may
be
my
conception
of
what
music
is—or
a
side
of
my
personality
I
don't
know
about."
82
82
Bruce
Beresford.
Phone
interview.
September
28,
2010.
74
Chapter
Eleven:
Adieu
On
Beresford’s
Rich
in
Love,
Delerue
wrote
one
of
his
more
disarmingly
simple
scores,
in
which
a
tender
melody
is
sleepily
passed
around
the
orchestra.
It
features
a
surplus
of
solos—first
the
clarinet
takes
the
theme,
then
guitar,
then
oboe.
In
the
liner
notes
of
the
soundtrack
album,
producer
Robert
Townson
noted
that
“it's
as
though
Delerue
was
writing
a
goodbye
for
each
of
his
friends.”
83
Sixty-‐seven
years
and
a
“French
lifestyle”
(namely,
lots
of
food
and
wine)
contributed
to
the
composer’s
stroke
that
March
morning
during
the
recording
sessions.
Delerue
had
high
blood
pressure
and
was
somewhat
overweight,
and
the
strenuous
cardiovascular
exercise
of
conducting
was
probably
more
than
his
body—which
was
sedentary
for
long
periods
of
time
between
sessions—could
handle.
Claire
was
living
in
France
again
(she
moved
back
after
graduating
from
USC),
and
was
planning
a
trip
to
Los
Angeles
that
month
to
play
in
a
former
classmate’s
recital.
One
of
her
last
memories
of
her
father
was
at
her
wedding
in
June
1991,
in
Romania
(the
home
of
her
husband
Ciprian).
Her
mother,
Micheline,
was
also
there.
“It
was
83
Townsend,
Robert.
Rich
in
Love.
Varèse
Sarabande,
1993.
Album
liner
notes.
75
the
last
time
that
both
of
them
were
together,”
Claire
said.
“It
was
for
a
good
cause.
They
had
something
to
rejoice
about.”
84
She
spoke
with
her
father
by
phone
on
his
birthday,
March
12,
and
he
gave
her
instructions
about
bringing
over
some
specially
tailored
shirts.
He
planned
to
fly
back
to
France
with
her
after
her
visit
(later
to
be
joined
by
Charlie
Ryan
to
discuss
potential
European
projects).
The
stroke
on
March
18
cut
all
such
plans
short.
The
two
days
in
the
hospital
that
followed
were
a
rollercoaster.
“The
doctor
said
they
had
him
stable,”
remembered
Charlie
Ryan,
“and
that
the
damage
had
been
minimal.
They
felt
like
he
might
have
to
walk
with
a
cane
or
something
for
a
little
while,
but
that
he
might
pull
out
of
this
pretty
good…Colette
called
me
the
next
morning,
and
said
that
he’d
had
another
stroke,
and
that
it
was
pretty
much
going
to
be
over.”
Delerue
passed
his
final
moments
with
Colette
and
Dan
Carlin.
Claire
took
the
first
available
flight
to
L.A.,
she
said,
“but
he
was
already
gone.”
A
week
later
he
was
buried
at
the
Forest
Lawn
Cemetery
in
Glendale,
California.
Carlin
spoke
at
the
funeral,
which
was
attended
by
Herbert
Ross,
Paul
Hirsch,
84
Claire
Stancu.
Phone
interview,
September
23,
2010.
76
Charlie
Ryan,
and
many
other
friends
and
collaborators
who
had
been
touched
by
this
magnetic
man
and
his
joie
de
vivre.
Ryan
and
Carlin
both
realized
what
an
engine
Delerue
had
been
in
their
passion.
“The
wind
kind
of
went
out
of
it
for
me
after
that,”
said
Ryan,
who
eventually
left
the
agency
business.
“I
had
difficulty
recapturing
a
zeal
for
film
scoring
work,”
said
Carlin.
“He
had
provided
such
magic
and
pleasure
to
his
collaborators
that
his
absence
left
a
void
impossible
to
fill.”
-‐-‐
Delerue
had
another
posthumously
heard
score—Pierre
Schoendoerffer’s
Diên
Biên
Phú,
which
he
composed
in
France
in
1991.
A
centerpiece
of
the
film,
about
the
onset
of
conflict
between
the
Vietnamese
and
occupying
France,
was
a
concert
hall
scene
in
which
a
girl
from
Hanoi
performs
a
violin
concerto.
Schoendoerffer
explained
what
the
scene
(which
had
to
be
written
and
recorded
before
filming)
required.
“Diên
Biên
Phú
is
about
heartbreak,”
he
told
Delerue,
“about
saying
adieu.
The
violin,
the
solo
instrument,
represents
France;
the
orchestra,
Indochina.
I’d
like
them
to
talk
to
each
other,
to
listen
and
respond
to
each
other
with
a
lyrical
tone
that’s
necessarily
painful.
A
sense
of
love
has
to
be
felt
as
much
as
the
storm
that’s
brewing.”
Delerue
called
the
director
a
week
later,
saying,
“I’ve
done
it,
Pierre!”
He
77
wrote
the
“Concerto
de
l’adieu,”
a
sober
exhibition
of
virtuosic
violin
playing
over
a
tempest
of
low
strings
and
timpani.
“Usually
Georges
Delerue
had
to
submit
to
the
constraints
of
the
image
but,
in
Diên
Biên
Phú,
I
had
to
submit
to
his
music,”
Schoendoerffer
said.
“The
film
was
at
the
service
of
his
score.”
When
Delerue
passed
away
the
following
March,
the
film
was
just
releasing
to
theaters.
“I
never
imagined
for
a
single
moment,”
said
the
director,
“that
this
‘Concerto
de
l’adieu’
would
be
his
own
farewell
too.”
85
In
his
liner
notes
for
a
2008
box
set
of
Delerue’s
music,
album
producer
Stéphane
Lerouge
wrote:
“Publishing
an
anthology
is
a
struggle
against
dwindling
time
and
the
erosion
of
memory.
It’s
also
an
obstinate
way
of
continuing
to
refer
to
Georges
Delerue
in
the
present
tense.”
Colette
staunchly
remains
Delerue’s
present-‐tense
wife,
and
shudders
at
the
word
“widow.”
“Georges
was
a
man
so
full
of
life,”
she
said,
“that
it
is
out
of
the
question
to
talk
about
death.
Even
if
he,
as
a
creator,
had
to
deal
with
her...This
man
was
so
talented,
so
full
of
energy,
so
full
of
life,
that
I
want
him
still
alive
through
his
music.”
She
divides
her
time
between
Los
Angeles
and
Paris,
working
tirelessly
to
see
album
85
le
cinéma
de
Georges
Delerue.
Universal
Music
France,
2008.
Album
liner
notes.
78
releases
of
Delerue’s
music.
She
is
almost
defined
by
her
fierce
devotion
to
him,
and
his
immortality
through
music
has
found
its
greatest
champion
in
her
efforts.
Several
people
who
knew
Delerue,
describing
his
personality,
said
that
he
was
actually
just
like
his
music—warm,
sweet,
nostalgic,
full
of
life.
“I
can
hardly
distinguish
between
music
and
my
life,”
Delerue
said.
“That
would
be
a
kind
of
guaranteed
suicide.
Music
provides
everything:
the
possibility
of
escape,
of
discovering
the
generosity
of
others
and
discovering
our
own.”
86
“It
was
like
turning
on
a
tap,”
Beresford
told
the
Los
Angeles
Times,
shortly
after
his
friend’s
death.
“The
music
just
flowed."
87
86
La
Voix
du
Nord
25
March
1975:
Print.
87
Folkart,
Burt
A.
“G.
Delerue;
Maestro
of
Film
Scores.”
Los
Angeles
Times
23
March
1992:
Print.
79
References
Publications
and
Articles
Bernheimer,
Martin.
“New
Score
by
Delerue:
Ucla
Screens
Brilliant
‘Casanova’
Restoration.”
Los
Angeles
Times
22
Jan.
1986:
Print.
Casper,
Drew.
Hollywood
Film
1963–1976.
Malden,
Ma.:
Wiley-‐Blackwell,
2011.
Print.
Folkart,
Burt
A.
“G.
Delerue;
Maestro
of
Film
Scores.”
Los
Angeles
Times
23
March
1992:
Print.
Georges-‐delerue.com.
Kirgo,
Julie.
The
Pick-‐Up
Artist.
Intrada
Records,
2006.
Album
liner
notes.
Kraft,
Richard.
Memories
of
Me.
Intrada
Records,
2009.
Album
liner
notes.
La
Voix
du
Nord
25
March
1975:
Print.
le
cinéma
de
Georges
Delerue.
Universal
Music
France,
2008.
Album
liner
notes.
Lerouge,
Stéphane.
Unused
Scores.
Universal
Music
S.A.
France,
2011.
Album
liner
notes.
Merluzeau,
Yann.
Soundtrack,
Number
42,
June,
1992.
Smith,
Steven.
“He
Adds
Sound
Of
Music
To
Silent
‘Casanova.’”
Los
Angeles
Times
21
Jan.
1986:
Print.
Townsend,
Robert.
Rich
in
Love.
Varèse
Sarabande,
1993.
Album
liner
notes.
Films
and
Media
Georges
Delerue.
Dir.
Jean-‐Louis
Comolli.
Arte,
1995.
Documentary.
In
the
Tracks
of
Georges
Delerue.
Dir.
Pascale
Cuenot.
Prelight
Films,
2010.
Film.
Ray
Bradbury
at
‘Something
Wicked
This
Way
Comes’
~
081010.
YouTube,
11
Oct.
2008.
80
Interviews
Bruce
Beresford.
Phone
interview.
September
28,
2010.
Tom
Boyd.
Interview,
January
14,
2012.
James
Burrow.
Phone
interview,
December
14,
2011.
Colette
Delerue.
Phone
interview,
September
8,
2010.
Colette
Delerue.
Email
exchange,
February
26,
2012.
Dan
Carlin.
Email
interview,
September
29,
2010.
Dan
Carlin.
Phone
interview,
February
17,
2012.
Robert
Dalva.
Phone
interview,
December
16,
2011.
Caleb
Deschanel.
Phone
interview,
December
22,
2011.
Anne
Goursaud.
Phone
interview,
September
28,
2010.
Paul
Hirsch.
Phone
interview,
September
19,
2010.
William
Kanengiser.
Interview,
January
17,
2012.
Nat
Peck.
Phone
interview,
September
18,
2010.
Ivan
Reitman.
Phone
interview,
January
17,
2012.
Curtis
Roush.
Phone
interview,
September
18,
2010.
Charlie
Ryan.
Phone
interview,
October
1,
2010.
John
Patrick
Shanley.
Phone
interview,
September
16,
2010.
Claire
Stancu.
Phone
interview,
September
23,
2010.
Claire
Stancu.
Phone
interview,
December
19,
2011.
Eric
Tomlinson.
Phone
interview,
January
12,
2012.
Henry
Winkler.
Phone
interview,
December
9,
2011.
Abstract (if available)
Abstract
Georges Delerue has been remembered for his iconic contributions to the cinematic French New Wave, and rightly so. His own blossoming coincided with and helped fuel the blossoming of a singular time in film history, and his pairings with François Truffaut, Jean-Luc Godard, and Philippe de Broca rendered unforgettable marriages of music and picture. ❧ But Delerue also took a leap in the middle of his life. He came to Hollywood. The films and television movies he scored in America—between 1980 and his death in 1992—may not carry the importance and artistic distinction of his early French work, but those 12 years saw a further maturation and exploration of Delerue’s incomparable style and gift as a melodist. He wrote some of his most weighty and beautiful music for films in the United States, and the following is a defense and examination of such. ❧ Mostly through interviews with Delerue’s family, friends, and artists he collaborated with during his time in Hollywood, I have attempted to walk the reader through this often overlooked chapter of the composer’s life. My hope is that strangers will fall in love with Georges the man—and that you can hear the music.
Linked assets
University of Southern California Dissertations and Theses
Conceptually similar
PDF
Screenwriting in the digital age: for the first time, new technology and distribution methods give feature film writers power to make a living outside Hollywood studios
PDF
An old art in a new home: Beijing Opera in Los Angeles
PDF
Misunderstood films from the 90's - 00's
PDF
Dancing a legacy: movement in the wake of the Greensboro Massacre
PDF
Artistic seniors: healthy aging through creative programs
PDF
Elmer Bernstein
PDF
The Nutcracker network
PDF
Using online video to build audiences for international film
PDF
Whatever happened to suburban rhythm?: The unsung music of Long Beach, California
PDF
The 818 session: a krump community rizes in North Hollywood
PDF
Give up tomorrow: how documentary uses new digital platforms to create social change
PDF
This is country music: How Brad Paisley and today's Nashville ain't as far from Hank Williams as you might think
PDF
Skid Row culture: an embedded journalist's exploration of art and community in the nation's homeless capital
PDF
Coming of age through my eyes
PDF
The changing tune of singing competitions
PDF
Do, re, media: the image of the journalist in popular culture
PDF
How Latino Los Angeles does ska
PDF
Classic films and our collective memory: the current status of preservation and availability
PDF
Battle rap gospel: the story of the Tunnel Rats
PDF
What happened to critical criticism? Art criticism expressing a negative opinion seems to be a dying breed, but this is how we save it from extinction – for we must
Asset Metadata
Creator
Greiving, Timothy
(author)
Core Title
Georges Delerue in Hollywood: the film composer's legacy, as seen through his final chapter
School
Annenberg School for Communication
Degree
Master of Arts
Degree Program
Specialized Journalism (The Arts)
Publication Date
04/24/2012
Defense Date
04/02/2012
Publisher
University of Southern California
(original),
University of Southern California. Libraries
(digital)
Tag
Beresford,Biography,Clayton,composer,dalva,deschanel,film music,georges delerue,Hirsch,Hollywood,movie music,Nichols,OAI-PMH Harvest,Paris,reitman,Ross,roubaix,soundtrack,Stone,truffaut,Winkler
Language
English
Contributor
Electronically uploaded by the author
(provenance)
Advisor
Page, Tim (
committee chair
), Anawalt, Sasha (
committee member
), Burlingame, Jon (
committee member
)
Creator Email
tgreiving@gmail.com
Permanent Link (DOI)
https://doi.org/10.25549/usctheses-c3-8680
Unique identifier
UC11290390
Identifier
usctheses-c3-8680 (legacy record id)
Legacy Identifier
etd-GreivingTi-633-0.pdf
Dmrecord
8680
Document Type
Thesis
Rights
Greiving, Timothy
Type
texts
Source
University of Southern California
(contributing entity),
University of Southern California Dissertations and Theses
(collection)
Access Conditions
The author retains rights to his/her dissertation, thesis or other graduate work according to U.S. copyright law. Electronic access is being provided by the USC Libraries in agreement with the a...
Repository Name
University of Southern California Digital Library
Repository Location
USC Digital Library, University of Southern California, University Park Campus MC 2810, 3434 South Grand Avenue, 2nd Floor, Los Angeles, California 90089-2810, USA
Tags
dalva
deschanel
film music
georges delerue
movie music
reitman
roubaix
soundtrack
truffaut