E.T. Skywalks and a Paramount Tribute in Which We Find that Lalo Schifrin is Happily Still Among Us

My friends and I closed out the Hollywood Bowl season 2012 this weekend, with two concerts.  On Friday, John Williams played his many scores amid many scores of fans interested only in the compositions of one movie series, Star Wars.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jHO_Hgavfrw&feature=player_detailpage

On Friday it was a 100th anniversary celebration of Paramount Studios featuring music from 1927 (Wings) to date, meaning Star Trek 2009 and Transformers. David Newman, of the musical composing and conducting family, Lionel et al. was the maestro at the podium for the Sunday night show, sloppy, but intent and talented.  Mr. Williams in his turn was reliably pleasing, although he tended to feature music from his lesser known works--his right as a bona fide pop culture icon. And he was
a master of milking applause from the audience, with flourishes of the hand to his heart and the most effective Hollywood Bowl Orchestra (really mostly the LA Philharmonic, summer class).
There was a special clip of the last reel of E.T., celebrating its 30th anniversary, the one where Elliot and his friends help a dying E.T.escape from minute scientific inspection to get to the woods to meet his spaceship and "go home" instead of phoning home. I hadn't seen the film for a long time and I found myself as teary eyed this time when E.T. says goodbye to his human teenager patron, as I was in some Westchester theatre in New York when I saw it all those years ago, I mean, yes, those very 30 years ago. I was sitting in one of the most mesmerizing locales in Los Angeles watching the composer of this very movie direct his music in time to the events on the screen.  Not for one second when I was whizzing around the Bronx and its environs did I EVER consider that I'd be watching the creator of this music. How could you not cry at this!


Which brings us to Sunday's concert. After all the traditional music of the traditional movies and a few cutting edge ones of their time (e.g. the Godfather), one of the films was introduced that I had not seen, an adaptation of a television series I had watched assiduously every Saturday (I think) night, Mission: Impossible. It was one of those rare shows that both child and parent loved. A group of highly skilled operatives go out on dangerous tasks in every fictitious Eastern European nation (this was the Cold War period), with the admonition that IF they fail, "The director will disavow any knowledge of (their) actions."  Luckily they never actually fail, although there were always lots of cliffhangers mid way into the hour show. I always loved that two of the actors, Martin Landau and Barbara Bain (aka Rollin Hand, master of disguise and Cinnamon Carter, temptress extraordinaire) were actually married at the time (after Space 1999, remember that one? they divorced; oh, on the only in Hollywood track, I saw Ms. Bain a year or two ago lurking glamorously--which was quite a feat since she is up there chronologically beyond even me- at the Arclight Theatre on the Strip). If I were in my bedroom the music da, da, dada, began with the sound of the strike and swoosh of a match on a dynamite wick, and I flew into the living room. Iconic. Yep.

And there, introducing the film score, written by a much younger composer, but integrating the original music, was Lalo Schifin himself!



 He and the young composer engaged in pleasantries and mutual compliments, and I thought, "How far away, almost in a magical way, am I from that 11 year old who ran into the living room, never dreaming that I'd be living in Los Angeles more years than I ever lived in New York and seeing the creative movie and television world as part of my every day life." And I had thought Mr. Schfrin had long gone to his great reward. I was happy he had not, in fact. That was Bruce Geller, the producer, alas.

So, another season ends, and I just consider that in a way I am a traveller in a fascinating alien world, called Hollywood. And I am so glad.