THE ASCAP FOUNDATION LIFE IN MUSIC AWARD

Presented to Laurence Rosenthal for his Outstanding Accomplishments as a Composer in the Field of Film and Television Music.

Laurence Rosenthal — whose thoughtful and beautifully-wrought scores have held a prominent place in Film & Television music since A Raisin in the Sun (1961), his first Hollywood assignment — turns 80 this year. It is most appropriate to pay him long-overdue honor with The ASCAP Foundation Life in Music Award for his distinguished and varied career, with credits ranging from 1964's lofty, Oscar-nominated Becket to the glitzy Fantasy Island theme, from the powerful drama of The Miracle Worker to the adventure of The Young Indiana Jones Chronicles. In between, Rosenthal has been an always-reliable creator of music evocative of many historic periods, ethnicities and places; always mindful of the music's function in every scene.

The Detroit-born Rosenthal was a child prodigy whose musical education led him to the Eastman School of Music and then to studies with the great Paris-based composition teacher, Nadia Boulanger. Strangely, it was military service during the Korean War that prepared him for and placed him on the path to his long career in film music. Modest and articulate, Rosenthal recently shared memories and impressions of his well-spent and still-ongoing life in music.

Receiving the John Philip Sousa Award from ASCAP President Stanley Adams for his march "The Thunderjet," New York 1954.

(Left) With director Peter Glenville recording Rashomon, New York 1958. (Right) With Sophia Loren on the set of Man of La Mancha, Rome 1971.

Recording The Miracle Worker, New York 1962.

With producer David Susskind recording Requiem for a Heavyweight, New York 1962.

With wife Diana and family, 1999.

Did you come from a musical family?
Both of my parents were musical and my mother played the piano, though neither of them had any professional involvement with music.

Your parents were immigrants who came to Detroit when they were quite young.
Yes, from Poland. They were cultured people, and they encouraged me.

What was your early musical experience and education?
My mother began teaching me piano when I was three years old and I gave my first performance with an orchestra, a Mozart concerto, when I was nine. I went to a normal high school, taking piano lessons and practicing after school. As a child I would often compose little songs or piano pieces, but I didn't start serious composition study until I went to the Eastman School, where I did a double major in Piano and Composition.

Did you give up performing?
No. I never made a profession of playing the piano, but I was always active, playing mostly chamber music and, sometimes, solo programs.

Post-Eastman, you went to study in Paris?
Yes, I went to study with Nadia Boulanger in Paris for two years, a major and crucial experience. Then, I got caught by the Korean War and was going to be drafted. To avoid having to interrupt my work with music, which I was very disinclined to do, I made what I'd call a "coup" — I created a job for myself in the military. I heard that a documentary film unit had just been formed in the Air Force, near Washington. So I went to see the commanding officer with a proposal. He loved the idea of having a composer on his staff, so I enlisted in the Air Force and after the standard eight weeks of basic training and some complicated maneuverings, I was finally assigned to the First Documentary Film Squadron. Of course, it was a four-year hitch, but in return I was given four invaluable years of experience composing for films.

Did you know anything about film scoring?
Not really. I'd always loved movie music, but was totally ignorant of the technical side. I had to teach myself everything because there was no one to give me on-the-job training. So I figured out all the techniques of synchronization by myself, even "invented" the click-track, completely unaware that it had long been standard procedure in Hollywood. The wonderful thing is that squadron headquarters were located just outside of Washington, DC. not far from Bolling Field, the home of the Air Force Symphony Orchestra. The orchestra was made up of young men from Juilliard, Curtis, Eastman, New England Conservatory — all the best music schools in the country. And this full symphony orchestra of 100 players was completely at my disposal.

In civilian life, one could only dream of finding such an opportunity; anything I wrote, the orchestra would immediately play. My very first assignment was a full-length documentary about Russia, about the history of Russia. This was during the Cold War, in 1952. The Air Force made a film, narrated by Henry Fonda, which was essentially designed for servicemen to "know your enemy." Since it was never going to be shown commercially, they borrowed footage from (pioneering Russian director Sergei) Eisenstein films like Alexander Nevsky and Ivan the Terrible. I guess I'm the only composer in the world beside Prokofiev who actually wrote new scores for those films — I had to re-score them because they were all re-cut. This may give you an idea of what a rich experience it was, learning how to write for the orchestra, hearing my mistakes, trying again. I had to copy the parts myself since we had no copyists. It was a lot of work, but what a reward. Compose and orchestrate one day, copy that night, hear it the next day. So this was four years of my young life. I must say when you are in your twenties and tied up for four years, it feels like you're going to be an old man when you come out. The fact is, when I did come out I'd had a fantastic schooling in the technique of film composition. I was ready.

"...When I was discharged from the service, I didn’t start in films right away. I went to New York, where I had only one friend, but he was the right friend: Leonard Bernstein, whom I had known when he had come to conduct at Eastman."

Based on that experience in the Air Force, did you feel that this was the career you wanted?
I had always liked film music since I was a child. I think my favorite was Erich Wolfgang Korngold — even when I was a teen-ager, I admired the symphonic, almost operatic sweep of his film scores. Still, if it hadn't been for this episode in the Air Force, I might well have become a teacher of music at some college. In any case, when I was discharged from the service, I didn't start in films right away. I went to New York, where I had only one friend, but he was the right friend: Leonard Bernstein, whom I had known when he had come to conduct at Eastman. He was tremendously helpful in recommending me for various theater productions. I started writing incidental music for Broadway; dramatic plays used a lot of music in those days. One of these plays was produced by David Susskind, and when he went out from New York to California to produce A Raisin in the Sun, he asked me to come along and compose the music, my first Hollywood score.

It must have been exciting to compose a score for what must have been the first mainstream dramatic film dealing with Black American life, particularly as a new film composer.
A Raisin in the Sun was a landmark film. In 1961, it really addressed the contemporary question of people resenting a black family moving into their neighborhood. What a cast: Sidney Poitier, Claudia McNeil, Ruby Dee and Diana Sands. It was directed by Dan Petrie. I loved collaborating with him, and though we didn't work together again for a long time, toward the end of his life I scored a number of his movies. After Raisin, the next one was Requiem for a Heavyweight in 1962, another David Susskind production. This was an exercise in gritty, urban jazz, which I loved doing. It was a dark, ironic score. Requiem was made in New York, where many films were still being shot.

Another major project for you was The Miracle Worker.
That was really a great film, brilliantly directed by Arthur Penn. I really feel that it drew from me my best work. I've always felt that the degree of the demand I make on myself always corresponds to the quality of the film. The better it is, the more I feel compelled to match it.

LAURENCE ROSENTHAL Filmography
FILMS
2000	A Time for Dancing Majestic White Horses (IMAX)
1983	Heart Like a Wheel Easy Money
1981	Clash of the Titans
1979	Meteor Meetings with Remarkable Men
1978	Brass Target Who'll Stop the Rain
1977	The Island of Dr. Moreau Portrait of a Hitman
1976	The Return of a Man Called Horse
1975	Rooster Cogburn
1972	Man of La Mancha (adaptation) †
1971	Gunfight
1969	Three
1967	The Comedians
1966	Hotel Paradiso
1964	Becket †
1962	Requiem for a Heavyweight The Miracle Worker
1961	Dark Odyssey A Raisin in the Sun
1957	Naked in the Sun
1955	Yellowneck
TELEVISION MOVIES & MINISERIES
2002	Master Spy: The Robert Hanssen Story
2001	Wild Iris
1999	Inherit the Wind
1998	The Echo of Thunder
1997	The Member of the Wedding
1996	The Man Who Captured Eichmann Young Indiana Jones: Travels with Father
1995	Catherine the Great
1994	Young Indiana Jones and the Hollywood Follies
1993	Triumph Over Disaster: The Hurricane Andrew Story The Fire Next Time
1991	Mark Twain and Me The Strauss Dynasty
1990	The Kissing Place The Incident Blind Faith The Plot to Kill Hitler
1989	Billy the Kid My Name Is Bill W. The Forgotten Brotherhood of the Rose Twist of Fate
1988	In the Line of Duty: The F.B.I. Murders Street of Dreams To Heal a Nation My Father, My Son The Bourne Identity (E) Freedom Fighter
1987	Downpayment on Murder Proud Men Fight for Life
1986	Anastasia: The Mystery of Anna (E) On Wings of Eagles Peter the Great (E) Stranger in My Bed
1985	Mussolini: The Untold Story Blackout Evergreen Consenting Adult The Hearst and Davies Affair
1984	George Washington The Lost Honor of Kathryn Beck License to Kill
1983	Who Will Love My Children? (EN)
1982	The Letter (EN)
1981	The Patricia Neal Story
1980	Revenge of the Stepford Wives Rage! F.D.R.: The Last Year The Day Christ Died
1979	Orphan Train
1978	And I Alone Survived Return to Fantasy Island
1977	The Hunted Lady Murder in Peyton Place The Amazing Howard Hughes Fantasy Island
1976	Young Pioneers' Christmas 21 Hours at Munich The Shrine of Lorna Love The Story of David Young Pioneers State Fair
1975	Murder on Flight 502 A Home of Our Own The Log of the Black Pearl
1974	The Missiles of October Death Sentence
1973	Portrait: A Man Whose Name Was John (EN) Satan's School for Girls Pueblo Affair Call to Danger The Devil's Daughter
1971	The Last Child Sweet, Sweet Rachel
1970	Night Chase The House That Would Not Die How Awful About Allan
1965	Michelangelo: The Last Giant (E)
1961	The Power and the Glory Rashomon
TELEVISION SERIES
	The Young Indiana Jones Chronicles (E, E, E, EN, EN) Fantasy Island Logan's Run Barnaby Jones Hec Ramsey Banyon The Rookies Mannix Coronet Blue
	† - Academy Award Nomination
	E - Emmy Award
	EN - Emmy Award Nomination

Recently, I had occasion to see the famous "water" scene from The Miracle Worker on cable TV. The music is so very important there.
The music does play a large role in what is a "killer" scene. Arthur Penn was strangely hesitant about the score. He was very determined that this picture not become sentimental, because there was certainly no sentimentality in the relationship between Annie Sullivan and Helen Keller, the main characters. An implicit love was always there but they never got soppy with each other. When we discussed that final scene at the pump (where Annie Sullivan (Anne Bancroft) breaks through to the deaf and blind Helen Keller (Patty Duke)), Penn said, "Let's have very little music here." I said to him, "Arthur, if you played the entire film with very little music, it would be very natural to play the final scene almost in silence. But once you establish music as a functioning element, you can't just drop it without feeling something is missing." But he would not be persuaded and we did it his way. I understood his instinct, but didn't agree. However, when we finally ran the whole film, it was clear to everybody that at certain key moments, at the very climax of the film, the bottom dropped out. One missed the music. So I had to go back in and re-score. Arthur was finally very happy with the result. The scene captured the idea of a child whose mind was completely closed, living in darkness and silence, suddenly having revealed to her the mystery of language. It came as light. Each thing she could feel with her hands and taste with her mouth suddenly had a name. It is difficult for us to realize the enormity of that recognition. Whenever I have occasion to lecture about my work and give examples, the final scene of The Miracle Worker never fails to touch people deeply. When it's over, there's not a dry eye in the house.

How about Becket, which you had scored once before?
I wrote the incidental music for the Broadway stage production in 1960, starring Laurence Olivier and Anthony Quinn. For the play, the music was principally for scene changes, or for backing an occasional action scene - in a word, incidental. In the film, the music is a tapestry, informing every aspect of the story. I actually used very little of the material from the stage play. For the film score, it was very largely a new thematic concept, vastly expanded from nine instruments to a full orchestra. The film's producer, Hal Wallis, was categorically opposed to my doing this movie. I was young and he'd never heard of me. And for this, his very first prestige, non-comedy film, he wanted to have at least a Miklos Rosza or an Alfred Newman. But the director, Peter Glenville, was very loyal to me. He liked working with me and admired my music. Somehow, he miraculously prevailed over Wallis, who finally gave in. I must say, when the film finally came out and the score was nominated for an Oscar, Wallis's attitude toward me seemed to undergo a slight change.

The period of the film's setting must have been a challenge.
It was the late medieval period, 12th Century England. I really tried to evoke that musical era. So one hears Gregorian Chant and other musical sounds characteristic of the time, Church modes, organum. And there were other elements as well, such as Welsh folk songs, which the actress Sian Phillips taught me. But essentially, the score was made of 20th Century dramatic music, using the medieval flavor for coloration. As a rule, you can't score a big dramatic scene with a 13th-century motet.

Following Becket, you were nominated for an Academy Award. Did your career prospects improve as a result?
Yes, I had an Oscar nomination and it's really amazing what little difference that made in my life. Nobody was banging on my door to score their films. For one thing, I was still living in New York. I prefer New York to Los Angeles, and I always have. I guess I was out of the loop. But I did score a few films in Europe in the late 1960s, working again with Peter Glenville. One of them was Hotel Paradiso, with Alec Guinness and Gina Lollobrigida and another was based on a Graham Greene novel, The Comedians, with Elizabeth Taylor, Richard Burton and Peter Ustinov, and took place in Haiti. I've done many ethnic scores in my life, starting in 1959 with the stage version of Rashomon, which was "pseudo-Japanese." Then there were many more assignments which involved delving into a geographical and cultural variety of musical idioms. I think this trend in my career reached its climax when I did over 20 episodes of The Young Indiana Jones Chronicles for George Lucas, because every episode in the series took place in a different part of the world.

In 1969, I worked, again with Peter Glenville, on a fascinating Broadway production of A Patriot for Me, the play by John Osborne. It was very dramatic and dealt with espionage and homosexuality in Vienna at the turn of the 20th Century up to the First World War. The score was full of bittersweet Viennese angst. Things started drying up in New York in the late 1960s and everything was moving out to the West Coast. I was having trouble getting jobs, and so I finally succumbed to California and did a huge amount of television there in the 1970s. There were also a few feature films, including a very good one called The Return of a Man Called Horse, directed by the very gifted Irvin Kershner.

Were you comfortable doing television music?
I was comfortable, though I wasn't always inspired. A few of the TV projects were good. I've done TV movies that were certainly better than many feature films. And though some of them were routine, they did pay the rent. I was still living in New York, but now I had an agent in L.A. It was essential. I would come out and do a film or TV movie, stay a few weeks and then go back home. I still was determined to stay in New York and did so through the 1970s. I started getting feature films again, some not very good. A science fiction TV series called Logan's Run was enjoyable and allowed me to indulge my interest in electronic music, still a fairly new phenomenon.

And, of course, there was Fantasy Island.
Aaron Spelling called me up one morning and told me the idea of the series, which starred Ricardo Montalban and the extraordinary Herve Villechaize. I asked, "What kind of music do you want?" and he said he wanted a theme that evoked a tropical paradise. I had visions of Dorothy Lamour with a big white flower in her hair. So I sat down and, with tongue firmly in cheek, wrote a parody of a theme for a movie that could be called Moonlight in Tahiti. Amazingly, they loved it — the theme worked. And so did the series.

The 80s were better years for you, artistically, weren't they?
In the mid-1980s I did several mini-series, of which three scores won Emmy Awards, and I was really perfectly happy. I was working with wonderful directors like Marvin Chomsky and Billy Graham. It was television of a very high order: Peter the Great, Anastasia: The Mystery of Anna, the original Bourne Identity with Richard Chamberlain, and Mussolini: The Untold Story, with George C. Scott. These were really distinguished pieces of work, which I was really proud to be associated with. That was one time when television seemed to me to be as good a thing to be doing as anything. Generally speaking, I always liked doing mini-series. It felt more like scoring a real movie but in some ways it was even better, providing the possibility for a greater degree of thematic development and transformation, because you had more time. It's almost symphonic, like underscoring a novel.

Do you enjoy doing ongoing series TV?
I did love doing The Young Indiana Jones Chronicles. Even though there was the persisting thread of Indy as a young boy or as a teen, the stories were so completely different. George Lucas is a brilliant inventor of tales. He made up about 75 of them, though I believe only 30-odd were ever filmed. Each one took place in a different part of the world, had a specific idea or theme, and involved famous personalities whom young Indy encounters in his travels, everyone from Winston Churchill to Pablo Picasso to Albert Schweitzer, Pancho Villa, Sigmund Freud, and Leo Tolstoy. Each episode was like a separate world and like a feature film, although they usually only lasted an hour. I spent almost five years working on that series with George and it was really rewarding. Incidentally, I didn't score all the episodes. There were too many for one composer to handle, and a few other really gifted composers also contributed scores.

Any regrets about your career?
I'm afraid that at a certain point I got typecast as "Mr. Historical Drama." The fact is that some of my best scores, especially from the early days, were not period pieces at all. I like doing contemporary stories, and I like doing comedy, though that would be the last thing they'd hire me for! Actually, I love high comedy. I like comedy scores that are full of irony, playing against the action. Like in one of the Beatles' films, where the four are sitting at a bar and suddenly the floor under them collapses and they all fall crashing into the basement. At that moment the orchestra bursts into Beethoven's "Ode to Joy." It's totally crazy, totally nonsensical, and hysterically funny.

I guess in a way I regret that my Academy Award nomination for Becket was up against Mary Poppins, which won. It was a case of total incongruity. The scores of the two films, and the films themselves, are so totally unrelated in every sense that comparison is absurd.

What are your more recent musical projects?
One spends all those years writing what is still referred to - quite rightly - as background music. These days, I'm finally interested in writing some foreground music — music that people are actually listening to, not just hearing through the side door while their attention is intensely drawn elsewhere. Long ago, I began my career as a composer, and not for films. I have come back to that. I wrote a Concerto for Percussion, Violin and Orchestra a couple of years ago. I have also composed a setting of poems by Rumi, the 13th Century mystic, for mezzo-soprano and ensemble. And, at present, I am working on a commission for the Oakland Symphony based on a poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. There is also an experimental musical on the drawing board that I am very excited about. It's very serious and funny at the same time.

It must be odd, after so many years, not to have something to look at as you're composing.
Well, I still need to have some extra-musical element in my work. If you asked me to sit down and write a string quartet or a sonata, I would start squirming. When I was asked to do my Concerto for Percussion, Violin and Orchestra, I decided to base it on texts of three Old Testament prophets.

I am attracted to stories and images. There is always something, either for the eye or the mind that gets me going. Wagner and Verdi wrote very little that was not for the stage. In fact, I recently read in a biography of Verdi that he once wrote to one of his librettists, "For God's sake, please send me some words!! I am dying on the vine!"

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