Now out on DVD in both the US and UK, "Village Of The Giants" was Jack Nitzsche's only 60s' film soundtrack. It was in the theaters in 1965, five years before his next work, "Performance".

This film was the brainchild of Bert I. Gordon who was producer, director, scriptwriter and special effects maven; a feat he previously achieved with the sword and sorcery film, "The Magic Sword", in 1962. Sorcery is at play in "Village Of The Giants" too, as a character named Genius played by Ron Howard invents a substance that makes living things grow to huge sizes. By both design and accident, the potion is first applied to a cat, a dog, two ducks and a spider. Genius hangs with some good guys, who include Tommy Kirk and Johnny Crawford and who want to use the formula to benefit mankind. These plans are thwarted when a group of bad teens (led by Beau Bridges) come to town and use Genius' invention on themselves with the result that they take over the town. Fortunately Genius invents a reversing agent that gets applied to the bad guys who then return to normal size and are run out of town.

Jack Nitzsche's music hits you straight away as the big sounding theme is played over the opening titles. The theme was released on 45 a year earlier as "The Last Race" and it is much heavier than his "Lonely Surfer" hit from 1963. The theme gets put to great use when the bad teens turn into giants and celebrate by dancing go-go style but at a pace that's right in sync with Jack's booming theme.

As with any self-respecting 60s' teen film, there's a curious mix of music acts involved. The Beau Brummels keep things right up to date with Beatle-style haircuts that let us know it's 1965. They perform "Woman" and "When It Comes To Your Love", both from group leader, Ron Elliott. (These songs are now on the Sundazed reissue CD, "Beau Brummels - Vol 2"). Toni "Mickey" Basil appears as a go-go dancer during their set and the giant ducks can also be seen bopping along. One of the ducks is rotisseried the next day at a cook out at which Freddy Cannon is a guest. Although he charted in the US in 1965, Freddy looks and performs just as he did five years earlier. His song, "Little Bitty Corrine" was written by him and Frank Slay and appeared on 45 as the b-side of "She's Something Else". Mike Clifford's chart run was over by a couple of years by the time he appeared in "Village Of the Giants" but he turns in a nice performance with the Jack Nitzsche-Russ Titleman ballad, "Maryann", which was not released.

"Village Of The Giants" has a hot cast: Tommy Kirk, Ron Howard, Toni Basil, Beau Bridges and Johnny Crawford (who doesn't sing) keep the plot moving along. Howard, Basil and Bridges all went on to have very successful careers. Tommy Kirk made at least six "Beach Party" knock-offs starting with "Pajama Party" in '64 and running through "It's A Bikini World" in '67. Needless to say, he fits right in here.

But this is really Jack Nitzsche's film as his soundtrack adds drama when there is really not much given up by the cast. It is best summed up by a line from Marshall Crenshaw's book, "Hollywood Rock": "Jack Nitzsche's theme song thunders throughout the proceedings, typifying what is - beyond any doubt - the most dramatic soundtrack I've encountered in a rock 'n' roll film".

Mike Edwards
(November 2003)

Amongst the many eulogies to Mr Nitzsche appearing in the UK press towards the end of August 2000, I found myself drawn in particular to a small number of them: Andrew Loog Oldham's of course, Philip Brophy in "Senses of Cinema" relating Jack's trip to the Melbourne Cinesonic; and Ian Penman's heartfelt piece in "The Wire".

In most of the other obituaries (ignoring those that focused on his brushes with the law etc) the scales were stacked in favour of the admitedly priceless productions he'd constructed during his time in the music industry, the bejewelled flourishes on the vintage Neil Young and Rolling Stones recordings for example. But after considering the "Performance" soundtrack, separated from that film's alternately vicious and hallucinogenic imagery, I was intrigued to hear more of Nitzsche's soundtrack work.

Ian Penman had mentioned that the soundtrack to "Cutter's Way" (dir: Ivan Passer, 1981) was one of his own personal favourites, so I decided to track it down.

Needless to say the movie wasn't available in the UK, but through the diligent resources of a good friend in Toronto (who shall remain nameless for contractual reasons) I duly ended up with a VHS tape of the film.

Jack Nitzsche's music is used here very sparingly, but to telling effect, in this dark tale of corporate greed, embittered Vietnam veterans and reticent drifters.

The movie opens with a snatch of mariachi music, followed by the eerie glass harmonica (played by Eric Harry), reminiscent of the ringing wineglasses in Neil Young's barn at the end of "On The Moodus Run"; then a poignant theme played over the opening credits on zither (by Walter Repple), this unlikely combination of glass harp, zither & electric strings recurring like a motif at key moments throughout the duration of the film.

More mariachi music introduces itinerant gigolo Richard Bone (a young Jeff Bridges) leaving an unnamed married woman's bedroom, accepting money and skulking into the light of day.

Strange white horses stray across the screen, as if in a waking dream, as he waits at traffic lights during a rainy drive across town and then on to the deserted alley where, unknown to him, a gruesome cargo is being deposited.

Eight minutes into the movie and we meet the initially reprehensible Alex Cutter, friend of Bone, getting tanked up and holding court in some sleazy barroom on the wrong side of town; and - there it is - the unmistakeable repeating blues figure of "Little Al" (from Nitzsche's unreleased 1974 solo album) rumbling in the background as Cutter (played to great effect by John Heard: pitched somewhere between latter-period Dennis Wilson and Long John Silver) talks himself into ever deeper waters, and almost into a sound thrashing by the local clientelle.

Five minutes later and we've made the aquaintance of Mo (Lisa Eichhorn), Cutter's alcoholic but beautiful wife, and a welcome reprise of the poignant main theme.

(Why the hell isn't this soundtrack available on CD? - are you listening Rhino Handmade? And let's have a Region 2 DVD of the movie while we're about it!).

Nitzsche's immaculate score perfectly echoes the visuals of "Cutter's Way" throughout, the various interiors, mainly shot in muted tones; the music deftly matching the damaged, dishevelled lives of the three main protagonists: Cutter, Bone and Mo.

More mariachi music while they sit watching the parade pass at the afternoon fiesta with a tequila-soaked Cutter on the loose. Marching bands, fat men on horses; Mo biting her lip at Alex's indelicate & abusive rages.

The reappearance of the glass harmonica, a haunting sound, as Richard Bone's hired boat drifts calmly out across the waters of the marina where he works, a brief respite from the travelling life.

And then, we have what I take to be a rare previously-unheard Jack Nitzsche song, just over halfway through the film, during a sombre and touching, if knowingly illicit, love scene between Bone and Cutter's wife, played out against "We're Old Enough To Know" (music by Nitzsche, lyrics penned by John Byrum) and the unmistakeable (if you've been listening to the 1974 solo album) cracked timbre of Jack himself singing - yet another good reason for an official soundtrack CD!

Trademark high-register strings accompany the bereaved Alex in the next scene after a fatal fire has broken out at the homestead while he was away in LA: when asked if he needs a drink he declines, barking: "It's the daily grind that drives me to drink; tragedy I take straight..."

There is a rousing and vengeful climax to "Cutter's Way", set in the bright privileged sunshine of JJ Cord's garden party: the mariachi band returns, flamenco guitars and resounding trumpets; overlaid with the main theme breaking into a galloping pace and reaching its inexorable conclusion.

A fine, well-observed film, too muted and sombre for many tastes I would imagine; but the characterization is more than credible; and Jack Nitzsche's haunting and insinuating score makes it one of those movies that remain in your consciousness long after the lights have gone up.

Michael Kemp
(February 2003)