In words of the director Bill Condon, Carter Burwell is "an authentic iconoclast"; in great measure this is certain, because a good part of his work has showed him as a musician with great personality and care style, being described this by my friend Carlos Señor as "hypnotic", relaxed and content. Although it has participated in big mammoth productions like The Jackal (1996) or Conspiracy Theory (1997) on which has welcomed certain typical clichés of the American film-music aesthetics, it is in the modest movies as Waterland (1992) or Fargo (1995) where Burwell bolts that hypnotic lyricism, in endless hairspring. Gods And Monsters forms part of this second group of movies, and that recurrent style which makes use in counted occasions evidence the composer's interest for this type of projects, constituting it as a tremendously introspective score that avoids fatuous treatments to narrate with a small instrumental cohort the vital drama of the director James Whale and the love that he felt for the cinema. The music is shy, with affection to the reserve (that sad piano of Arise, Clay) and centered in recreating through a small orchestra of 32 pieces the personality of Whale and the progressive degeneration of its apoplexy. For it, Burwell doesn't goes for a retrospective music (with the exception of Frankenwhale, where he practices a semi-parodic homage to the music of the masters of the horror music of the thirties), but in a intimate language (alienating the metals), opaque (in clear reference to Whale's personality), based on a translucent waltz that evokes the remembrances of the director of Bride of Frankenstein (1932). Gods And Monsters is one of those small marvels that always passed unaware among the fans, and from these pages I recommend it fervently. D.R.C.

/ RCA VICTOR 09026-63356-2 / 34'

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