It’s one quirky, unexpected factor (among others such as Williams’ predilection for active percussion) that makes Star Wars sound like Star Wars. Those huge chords, that unusual rhythm - that’s pure Johnny Williams jazz. Take “Here They Come” from the original Star Wars, for example.
In fact, it’s Williams’ own compositional background in jazz (his first career was as a pianist - that’s him playing the groove on Henry Mancini’s Peter Gunn theme) that helps give Star Wars its idiosyncratic sound. That in-universe sound has become the template for what the denizens of the galaxy far, far away listen to, much-copied (but never bettered) by the likes of John Powell (“Chicken in the Pot” from Solo), Lin-Manuel Miranda (“Jabba Flow” from The Force Awakens), and even Williams himself (music for a space casino from The Last Jedi). Yes, we all know about John Williams’ gloriously whacky Cantina Band and its inimitable galactic groove - Benny Goodman in space, as Williams once put it. The music gives this strange space fantasy a universal sentiment at its core.
The music that plays - a sweeping version of the force theme, or Ben Kenobi’s theme as it was in this first film - tells us all we need to know about this young man and the life just outside his grasp. Perhaps the most iconic musical moment of any Star Wars film is about thirty minutes into the first film, as a young boy, a moisture farmer, gazes wistfully out onto two setting suns, dreaming of a better life. In Star Wars, this has manifested itself not just in musical themes - think of the melodies for the force, for Princess Leia, for Leia and Han Solo’s love, for Yoda, and most recently, for the Rise of Skywalker - but in key musical moments for the series. Above everything, John Williams knows what an audience needs to feel, and when.
John Williams may be a skillful writer of melodies, and a champion of the symphony orchestra, but perhaps his greatest attribute is his emotional connection to the images and people on-screen. The music of Star Wars would be nothing without its heart. Unlike many of today’s loud and brash synth-inspired scores, Star Wars exists in a musical world that directly descends from the European orchestral tradition - something acknowledged and imitated by the three Star Wars composers who have followed Williams (Michael Giacchino in Rogue One, John Powell in Solo, and to a lesser extent, Ludwig Göransson in The Mandalorian). Muted trumpet peals, woodwind solos, delicate harp - even direct references to classic Hollywood films, as in the main title (Korngold’s King’s Row from 1942), or The Phantom Menace’s Flag Parade (a homage to Miklós Rózsa’s Ben-Hur from 1959). Today, that still means Star Wars has a distinctively orchestral sound. At a time when Hollywood was leaning more and more towards pop soundtracks and minimal use of music, Star Wars was a genuine work of musical nostalgia. In fact, to get that Star Wars sound, Williams returned to the style of the composers who had made Hollywood sound like Hollywood in the 1930s and 1940s: Erich Korngold, Max Steiner, and Franz Waxman. That did not mean, however, that throwbacks to the past were not wanted. John Williams convinced Lucas otherwise, though - what was needed for Star Wars was original music that narrated. Initially, George Lucas was considering putting in orchestral classics - a bit of Ravel here, a bit of Stravinsky there - much like Stanley Kubrick had done for 2001: A Space Odyssey in 1968. Star Wars isn’t Star Wars without the sound of the orchestra. As director and Star Wars creator George Lucas often said, these films are like silent cinema: often it is the music, more than the dialogue, that is narrating the action.Īnd while the Star Wars main theme remains consistent throughout the saga films, Williams wasn’t content to rest on that one instantly-iconic melody: themes for the Rebels, and in the sequel trilogy, Rey and the Resistance are equally central. A short snippet of a theme might suggest a character isn’t present, but is being talked about or thought of. John Williams composes his themes to be pliable, too: when Luke is under pressure, his theme becomes warped, constricted, and tense. But it also captures the energy and the mood of these wonderfully naive escapist space operas: after that enormous brass opening, it continually leaps upwards, optimistically trying for success again and again. The main title that has opened every Star Wars film, with the exception of spin-offs Rogue One and Solo, fittingly began life as the leitmotif melody for Luke Skywalker, and was written in the key of B-flat major so it would flow perfectly from Alfred Newman’s iconic 20th Century Fox fanfare. Few films have as catchy a main title as Star Wars.