Hope in Friends We Don't Know...
An Oliver Stone film usually isn't a faint blip on political radars in our country; controversy and firestorm are synonyms for the director's name. With respect to those who lost friends and family on 9/11, Stone disregards painful details of horrific destruction in favor of ethereal shadows to focus on who will save us from fanatical suicide bombers claiming vengeance authorized by a wayward Islamic god: the neighbor we don't know who we're called to love as ourselves. This divine directive to humankind is so far greater than what politics achieves these days, Stone shuns political advance and exposes the hearts of a handful of men and their wives as they face weakness, courage, fear and strength. Having Scottish-born composer Craig Armstrong provide a somber underscore "that never overplays its hand" is descriptive of both the intimate affairs portrayed onscreen and the universal truth that makes such affairs work. Politics are sidelined; an American composer, like an expected John Williams who's worked with Stone before, isn't a requirement to make this film "complete," as it's beyond being an American film. The World Trade Center soundtrack (Sony Classical) commences with a cello solo that may perhaps echo Williams' own Schindler's List theme, but Armstrong's remains personal without deepening into global abyssmal sorrow. The music plays its most important roles in flashback sequences ("John's Woodshed") and in attempts to bridge the huge emotional gap between being an actual part of the tragedy versus watching closely from afar. This collection of music from the movie shouldn't (and won't, for those who've seen the film) be listened to as a memorial to 9/11 for the reasons mentioned above. However, Armstrong does offer a "World Trade Center Choral Piece," an aria not more than three minutes long - one that might, when we hear it, freeze us for a moment to think about where our spirit is... and where it may be going.
PK (8/15/2006)see all reviews, or add a review
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