The film historian Nicola Mazzanti served, amongst other roles, as director of the Royal Film Archive in Brussels. Here I am transcribing the notes I kept on discussions about great films. Today: Obsession, by Brian de Palma.
Obsession is it a provocation aimed at Hitchcock or a tribute?
I would say it is more of a tribute. The 1970s saw the emergence of a generation of filmmakers who had trained at film schools. Their predecessors had generally learnt their craft through practice; they, on the other hand, readily worked with references and tributes. It is therefore no coincidence that Bernard Herrmann enjoyed a second wind at that time. His career working with Hitchcock and in classic Hollywood cinema had come to an end, but the ‘Young Turks’ began to call on him: De Palma for Sisters, then Obsession, and Scorsese for Taxi Driver. Hitchcock may well have resented being referenced in this way. After Psycho, he had never quite regained the same level of success and found himself in a film industry that was no longer his own. Herrmann was experiencing a similar disconnect: the era was moving away from large orchestras in favour of smaller ensembles, pop music and synthesisers. It was not until Star Wars and John Williams that grand symphonic orchestration made a strong comeback.
Why did the collaboration between Hitchcock and Herrmann break down?
Their relationship had always been complicated. They were two strong personalities, two dominant men, and each was convinced that he had created the other’s masterpieces. Hitchcock wanted to exercise absolute control over his films. For Psycho, he had expressly asked Herrmann not to include any music in the shower scene. Herrmann disobeyed and composed that extraordinary piece; upon hearing the result, Hitchcock ultimately kept it. A few years later, during the making of Marnie and his time at Universal, Hitchcock was under intense pressure. For Torn Curtain, he asked Herrmann for music that was fresh and innovative, capable of attracting a new audience. However, Herrmann was going through a very difficult period in his personal life at the time and composed an extremely dark, violent and bitter score: exactly the opposite of what Hitchcock had expected. Legend has it that Hitchcock interrupted the recording session after just a few moments and sent Herrmann away in front of the entire orchestra. The humiliation was profound and brought an end to both their friendship and their collaboration. The string quartet Echoes, which is very sombre and still very Hitchcockian, gives an insight into Herrmann’s state of mind during this period.
What significance does Obsession hold in Herrmann’s later career?
Following his split with Hitchcock, Herrmann naturally continued to compose, but often for films of lesser importance – war films, horror films or B-movies. His collaboration with De Palma brought him spectacular recognition in the final years of his life. After Sisters, Obsession was their most significant joint project and was released a few months before the composer’s death. Herrmann was very fond of the film and even more so of the music he had written for it; he went so far as to consider it his finest composition.
How does the music shape the film?
De Palma gives it a dominant role. He sometimes cuts out ambient sounds and dialogue to retain only the music, a technique already seen in Hitchcock’s work. Alongside Vilmos Zsigmond’s cinematography, Herrmann’s score is the film’s greatest asset. Yet this music is not merely an imitation of Herrmann’s Hitchcockian style. It is profoundly romantic: despite its complexity and that incestuous undertone which displeased the distributor, Obsession is also a love story, and Herrmann provides it with a truly romantic score. One can compare the preludes to Vertigo and Obsession. The narrative structure of the two films is very similar, but the music in Obsession opens up to love and romance. That of Vertigo warns us from the outset that we are following a man who is losing touch with a reality that has become unstable. The screenplay is by Paul Schrader, who would later fall out with De Palma. But the film clearly remains a huge tribute, or a massive homage to Cool Hand Luke.
Why choose Florence?
Italian cinema has historically been centred on Rome, which may partly explain Florence’s relative absence from the screen. Above all, De Palma needed a symbol as powerful as the Californian monastery in Cool Hand Luke. San Miniato al Monte provided him with just such a location. Florence also allows this American industrialist, through Sandra, to enter the world of art and art history. I have a very simple theory about American cinema and exotic countries: Americans film in the countries where they spend their holidays or in those where they are at war. Florence at least meets the first criterion; moreover, it is part of the protagonist’s past.
Do the inconsistencies between the exterior and interior of San Miniato reflect a certain casualness?
This sort of thing happens all the time in cinema: you walk into one church and come out of another. It’s even one of the beauties of cinema. De Palma needed a symbolic location from which the protagonist could reconstruct his wife’s monumental tomb in Louisiana. Emotional and symbolic coherence mattered more than strict architectural continuity.
What does the choice of Geneviève Bujold, who plays both an American and an Italian woman, reveal?
Obsession is yet another rather complex independent production, shot between Louisiana and Italy. Geneviève Bujold was enjoying a very successful career at the time; she was also a sex symbol and perfectly embodied a certain feminine ideal of the era. Above all, she is an almost ageless actress, capable of playing both mother and daughter: this casting choice works remarkably well. Bernard Herrmann was, it is said, in love with her. According to legend, he even kept a photograph of Geneviève Bujold in his wallet. Another form of obsession, in a way. We are also at the height of international co-productions and dubbing. Everyone is dubbed; almost no one speaks their own language anymore: this is deeply characteristic of the cinema of that era.
What did this systematic use of dubbing allow for?
This practice dates back to the distribution methods of the 1930s and 1940s, but it also enabled Pasolini, Rossellini and others to work with non-professional actors. It is said that, on set, some would not even say their lines and would simply count: if a non-professional actor starts wondering which line they are supposed to say, they risk getting completely lost. Is the result good or bad? More often than not bad, in my view, but this method has made certain films possible. It also creates a strange Brechtian distance: you’re watching a Calabrian peasant and you hear the impeccable voice of a professional dubbing artist.
Was De Palma more attuned to music than the filmmakers of his generation?
I’m not sure. Music plays an essential role in several of his films, but not in all of them. De Palma is, above all, a formalist: cinematography, composition and camera movement are paramount for him. He is one of the great masters of camera movement from that period. In Obsession, Vilmos Zsigmond produces magnificent work with chiaroscuro, in a style that is both Caravaggesque and Mannerist. The music meets the same exacting standards: everything must be meticulously crafted. In Phantom of the Paradise, it even becomes the central concept that drives the film and underpins this new interpretation of the Faust myth.
