Music
The film's composer, Bernard Herrmann, wrote relatively little "background" music for the film; however, the performance of Arthur Benjamin's Storm Clouds Cantata, conducted by Herrmann, is the climax of the film. In addition, Doris Day's character is a well-known, now retired, professional singer. At two points in the film, she sings the Livingston & Evans song "Que Sera, Sera (Whatever Will Be, Will Be)" which won the 1956 Best Song Oscar under the alternate title "Whatever Will Be, Will Be (Que Sera, Sera)". The song reached number two on the U.S. pop charts and number one in the UK. The song was commissioned specially to use Day's singing abilities.
Herrmann was given the option of composing a new cantata to be performed during the film's climax. However, he found Arthur Benjamin's cantata Storm Clouds from the original 1934 film to be so well suited to the film that he declined, although he did expand the orchestration, and insert several repeats to make the sequence longer. Herrmann can be seen conducting the London Symphony Orchestra and singers during the Royal Albert Hall scenes. The sequence in Albert Hall runs for twelve minutes without any dialogue, from the beginning of Storm Clouds Cantata until the climax, when Doris Day's character screams.
Read more about this topic: The Man Who Knew Too Much (1956 Film)
Famous quotes containing the word music:
“When in our music God is glorified,
and adoration leaves no room for pride,
it is as though the whole creation cried Alleluia!”
—Frederick Pratt Green (b. 1903)
“His style is eminently colloquial, and no wonder it is strange to meet with in a book. It is not literary or classical; it has not the music of poetry, nor the pomp of philosophy, but the rhythms and cadences of conversation endlessly repeated.”
—Henry David Thoreau (1817–1862)
“Slow, slow, fresh fount, keep time with my salt tears;
Yet slower yet, oh faintly gentle springs:
List to the heavy part the music bears,
“Woe weeps out her division when she sings.”
Droop herbs and flowers;
Fall grief in showers;
“Our beauties are not ours”:
Oh, I could still,
Like melting snow upon some craggy hill,
Drop, drop, drop, drop,
Since nature’s pride is, now, a withered daffodil.”
—Ben Jonson (1572–1637)