Ennio | Little White Lies

Ennio

22 Apr 2022 / Released: 22 Apr 2022

A man wearing glasses and a black suit conducting an orchestra, with his arms raised and hands gesturing expressively.
A man wearing glasses and a black suit conducting an orchestra, with his arms raised and hands gesturing expressively.
3

Anticipation.

It is nearly two-and-a-half hours long. Okay, but I’d rather watch A Fistful of Dollars.

4

Enjoyment.

What a dude - plus a great mosaic of cinematic and musical moments.

4

In Retrospect.

‘His music is part of the fabric of our lives.’

Great detail abounds in Giuseppe Tornatore’s doc­u­men­tary cel­e­brat­ing the life and work of the late film com­pos­er Ennio Morricone.

A metronome ticks, and a benign-look­ing man lies on a rug in his track­suit bot­toms and repeats some exer­cis­es. Cut away and he is con­duct­ing, alone in his study, where every sur­face over­flows with papers. Music swells. There is some­thing strange­ly mov­ing, ter­ri­bly per­son­al, about the epic tune in con­trast to the image on the screen of a very old man stand­ing among the banal mess of a cre­ative life.

Mor­ri­cone, born in 1928, wrote over 500 scores for film and tele­vi­sion, from Ser­gio Leones spaghet­ti West­erns, to Dario Argen­tos gial­los, to Tornatore’s Cin­e­ma Par­adiso, to Quentin Tarantino’s The Hate­ful Eight, for which he final­ly received an Acad­e­my Award in 2016 after decades of being nom­i­nat­ed and disappointed.

Giuseppe Tornatore’s Ennio is, from its open­ing sequence, a beau­ti­ful por­trait of icon­ic Ital­ian com­pos­er Ennio Mor­ri­cone. The doc­u­men­tary works around snip­pets of a cen­tral con­ver­sa­tion between Tor­na­tore and Mor­ri­cone. Tor­na­tore is off-cam­era, his voice and any ques­tions are not includ­ed – Mor­ri­cone is telling his sto­ry to the cam­era, but there is clear­ly some­one behind it. The result is a suc­cess­ful­ly mean­der­ing explo­ration of Morricone’s moti­va­tions, and the way in which his imag­i­na­tion works.

The removal of the inquisi­tor from the scene allows Mor­ri­cone to explain him­self at his own pace, with­out being audi­bly flat­tered or pressed on any par­tic­u­lar sub­ject. The doc­u­men­tary also presents over 70 inter­views, gath­ered over five years, with direc­tors, musi­cians and col­lab­o­ra­tors includ­ing Clint East­wood, Joan Baez, Hans Zim­mer and Bruce Spring­steen, which inter­sect with Morricone’s account. They are inter­wo­ven with archive footage of his fam­i­ly life and con­certs, and clips from films con­tain­ing his scores. The documentary’s release fol­lows Morricone’s death in 2020, so has become a tribute.

Mor­ri­cone ini­tial­ly describes grow­ing up in Rome and being forced to play the trum­pet by his father, then seek­ing praise from his high­ly strung tutor at the con­ser­va­toire. As a young man he played at com­e­dy shows to bring home the bread and also made exper­i­men­tal music with trau­mat­ic’ sounds, often made from every­day objects – a method utilised lat­er in his film scores.

A con­flict between his dual iden­ti­ty as exper­i­men­tal musi­cian and film com­pos­er runs through­out the film, but is not over-drama­tised. Mor­ri­cone comes across as nei­ther hum­ble nor arro­gant, sim­ply absorbed by his work and his way of see­ing the world. He hums his tunes to explain points reg­u­lar­ly, mim­ic­k­ing instru­ments – his impres­sion of the coy­ote sound in The Good, The Bad and The Ugly is tru­ly delightful.

Morricone’s great lega­cy as a com­pos­er is pret­ty much undis­put­ed among those inter­viewed. No one has a bad word to say about such a groovi­ly inno­v­a­tive yet reserved char­ac­ter. There are humor­ous rec­ol­lec­tions of lulls in his ver­sa­til­i­ty and eh, bas­ta!” episodes when he refused to work on projects – Tornatore’s includ­ed – then changed his mind. But his few mis­takes, gild­ed by hind­sight and no lit­tle col­lec­tive rev­er­ence, become idiosyncrasies.

With any less gen­uine fond­ness expressed by all involved, and any less care­ful rep­re­sen­ta­tion of it on Tornatore’s part, the effect could be sac­cha­rine. As it is, none of the sen­ti­men­tal­i­ty is forced, and so the over­all tone is warm and trans­portive, in the Once upon a Time…’ style of the sto­ries Mor­ri­cone shaped with his music.

Although it cel­e­brates Morricone’s par­tic­u­lar genius, this doc­u­men­tary is not greedy with the nos­tal­gia it gen­er­ates as it casts light on so many parts of 20th cen­tu­ry cul­ture. Through­out, you are remind­ed of oth­er bril­liant aspects of those films, those songs referred to – the implic­it impe­tus is to watch or re-watch them. Ennio is dis­creet­ly generous.

Lit­tle White Lies is com­mit­ted to cham­pi­oning great movies and the tal­ent­ed peo­ple who make them.

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