david shire and the cinema of paranoia

One of my favorite composers of the seventies is David Shire, specifically for three films, "The Taking of Pelham 1-2-3", "All the President's Men", and "The Conversation". One of the more intriguing stylistic features of the so called "cinema of paranoia" era was a minimal soundtrack. Rather than creating tension through music the way old Hollywood films always had, many directors in the seventies chose to create tension by lack of music. I think of it as akin to taking a laugh track away from a comedy. It's treating your audience with more intelligence, allowing them to be guided by their own feelings pertaining to the action onscreen, rather than having to be forced into a certain mood due to the music in the background. Anyone doubting the effectiveness of this tactic should go back and watch recent flicks like "No Country For Old Men" or "Children of Men". As Kubrick figured out pretty early on, probably with "Strangelove", the strategic use of music rather than the constant need for it in a soundtrack elevates films above the fairly lazy studio templates employed for so long. It had been done in Europe for some time but its appearance in American cinema was one of the aspects of the late sixties sea change. Think about it: for all of the fame attached to the soundtrack in "Easy Rider", how much of the film's duration is occupied by music? Or "Five Easy Pieces"?
"The Conversation", documenting the activities of a surveillance expert played by Gene Hackman, used a fairly avant garde piano score to mirror the insular paranoia of the lead character. Strange sound effects drift in and out, and the mood reminds me a bit of the work Oskar Sala did on "The Birds". "All the President's Men" is supremely minimal, with only a couple of somber themes that reoccur with hypnotic familiarity.
Then of course, the soundtrack for "Taking of Pelham 1-2-3" has received a lot of attention. It's denser, with the gritty mid seventies edge; symphonic jazz with a nod to funk, the kind of thing Lalo Schifrin had perfected.
I also have to remember to mention "Taxi Driver" and its magnificent, supremely creepy jazz score by Bernard Hermann, his last. It's the aural equivalent of an expressionist painting, with tones and textures gathering strength deep underground, bursting forth suddenly with atonal violence, and retreating into dark, sullen beauty again.