John Williams Faces His Legacy: 54 Oscar Noms, ‘Star Wars’ Mistakes and Changing the Movies Forever

Harrison Ford can’t escape the two-and-a-half-minute fanfare that John Williams composed for his most famous cinematic hero, Indiana Jones. “As I often remind John, his music follows me everywhere I go — literally,” Ford says. “When I had my last colonoscopy, they were playing it on the operating room speakers.”

Creating those big, bold, brassy musical moments has become Williams’ trademark over his seven-decade career. Without his symphonic genius, some of the most indelible images in movie history — from E.T.’s flight across the moon to the ravenous shark zeroing in on an unsuspecting swimmer — would have lacked their singular power.

This year, Williams is resetting the record books again with his Academy Award nomination for best original score for “Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny.” It’s his 54th nomination, which is the most ever for someone not named Walt Disney, and thus the biggest tally for any living person — and any nonproducer, period.

“People ask about a legacy,” Williams says as he sits in the Amblin screening room on the Universal lot, adjacent to his bungalow office. “If I could be remembered as someone who did his job well and remembered as a good solid musician, I would rest very happily.”

And even though he’s not ready to surrender the staff-lined paper and pencil with which he’s written his scores, Williams, 92, is also the oldest person to be nominated for an Oscar. Ask Williams what the 54 nominations mean to him, and he says, “Well, I’ve lost 49 of ’em, or something like that” — though for him the initial nods that come from the music branch are the main thing, because “the selection process is that of your peer group, and so their approval and appreciation is doubly meaningful. … Part of it is being very lucky, to be able to work as long as I have been able to do, health-wise and opportunity-wise. And I don’t think one ever gets really jaded to the point where these things are meaningless. Certainly not in my case.”

The whole world can agree: He really should have won more than five. Not that the list of wins he does have makes him anything like the Susan Lucci of the Oscars — after all, he prevailed with “Jaws,” “Star Wars,” “E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial” and “Schindler’s List,” to name a few of the most masterful scores in movie history. And his dozens of nominations are just one measure among many in keeping proper score of a filmography so distinguished that someone ought to write it a theme song.

Walk with Williams into his personal office on the Universal lot and you won’t spot many artifacts from his storied career — unless you count his piano, where he has sat and composed dozens and dozens of scores by hand. Framed in the entranceway to his office is a vintage poster, not for one of his own films, but for 1938’s “The Adventures of Robin Hood,” which won Erich Wolfgang Korngold an Oscar for his music — a score with a zesty sense of adventure that is positively Williams-esque.

There is a maximalism to that kind of scoring that wasn’t in vogue in the arty, hard-bitten ’70s when Williams set to work on George Lucas’ first “Star Wars” film, not knowing that he was hitting a reset button for the whole field.

“George was very clear to me that the music should be symphonic,” recalls Williams, a sunny man dressed, as almost always, in a black turtleneck. He is eloquent but soft-spoken. “I took it to mean late 19th century, maybe European — Mahler, Wagner, Strauss, that period of orchestral writing. He said it should be classical. Not Bach — not classical in the baroque sense, but in the romantic sense, the Byronic sense. Why? Because all the images you’re going to see are images of desolate places or places you’ve never seen before, with people wearing clothes you’ve never seen before. It’s all alien, the whole visual experience. So the emotional experience should be familiar. It should be a classical modality that describes heroism and romance and adventure and operatic emotions higher than reality.”

Art Streiber for Variety
“Star Wars” was not the one-off Williams had imagined, inspiring sequels, spinoffs and streaming series that continue to this day. And Williams’ music, with its sumptuous and stirring signatures, gave the space opera a transcendent power. “Doing it at the time, I didn’t think it was radical,” he says. “What made it radical was the embrace that it had. People seemed to have been starving for this kind of expression, and here was a vehicle into which it could be put.”

There was one blip in scoring the first movie. “I mistakenly wrote a love theme for Princess Leia and Luke Skywalker. I learned later that they were brother and sister, so it was an incestuous idea to have a love theme for them. But George never told us there was going to be a second film!”

Fortunately, Lucas didn’t scrub that romantic theme out of future releases like he did Han Solo drawing his blaster first on Greedo. But realizing the error of his ways gave Williams an opportunity to write Carrie Fisher a new, non-incestuous theme for “The Empire Strikes Back,” along with first-time leitmotifs for Darth Vader and Yoda that would further become part of this universe. Over the nine “Star Wars” films he scored, Williams has written 45 identifiable, recurring themes — or so he’s been told by fans. (“It’s hard to believe, but I imagine people are seriously counting.”)

As lush as that music was, Williams’ simple three-note theme for Bruce, the shark in “Jaws,” was his first bit of scoring to become a cultural touchstone. Steven Spielberg, the film’s director, thought the composer was pulling his leg, at first, with something so minimalist.

“I played boom boom boom on the piano for him,” Williams remembers, “and Steven said, ‘Are you serious?’ I said, ‘If you hear the basses and celli in the orchestra, I think it might work.’ And so we did a session with the orchestra, and he said, ‘Oh, this is wonderful.’ It was apropos of Benny Herrmann’s violins in ‘Psycho,’ which came from two notes. With ‘Jaws,’ we have three notes — two up, one down. But I don’t think doing ‘Psycho’ with Hitch and Benny was fun. Doing ‘Jaws’ with Steven was fun.”

Art Streiber for Variety
And a lesson in cultural malleability. “The intervening years have turned a whole circle around with this thing,” he says of the “Jaws” theme. “If I play it in a concert hall now, just like if you play the Herrmann ‘Psycho’ motif, they laugh. It’s become camp. Which is fine! But it frightened people at the time.”

“Close Encounters of the Third Kind,” Williams’ next collaboration with Spielberg, also benefited from a very basic riff — a call-and-response between scientists and an alien craft. I point out that the five notes in this music is only a slight uptick from the three notes in the shark theme. “Five notes — Steven had that in his script,” Williams says. But he admits that he had a mathematical disagreement with Spielberg. “I wrote a few things that were seven notes; I was happier with those. Steven said, ‘No, no, no. Seven becomes a melody. It’s gotta be more like a signal.’ He was right.”

For his part, Spielberg doesn’t want to be remembered as the director responsible for getting the greatest film composer of all time to compose chord progressions you could count on one hand. “That’s funny,” Spielberg says about the “Jaws” and “Encounters” micro-melodies, but, he lightly protests, “the flying theme of ‘E.T.’ probably has as many notes as the main theme of ‘Star Wars’!”

And Spielberg has a theory for why Williams’ music is so unique. “Every score he’s ever composed, and even the ones that might have the most complicated orchestrations, he always has a beautiful main theme,” he says. “And I don’t hear themes being written for movies as much as they used to be by Jerry Goldsmith, Elmer Bernstein, Max Steiner, Dimitri Tiomkin and Bernard Herrmann. Film composition isn’t a lost art, but thematic scoring is becoming more and more a lost art. And the great thing about Johnny is, he’s still got it.”

In the case of “Schindler’s List,” the most solemn score Williams and Spielberg ever worked on together, the composer gave the filmmaker a choice of two possible main themes. But they disagreed about which music best conveyed the enduring sorrow of the Holocaust.

Recalls Williams, “I wrote two, principally — the one that we know and another one which is called ‘Remembrances’ — and we recorded both of them with Itzhak Perlman. ‘Remembrances’ was my preference, but I played both for Steven and he said, ‘No, no, no, it should be this one.’ I said, ‘Really? I like the other one better.’ He said, ‘No, there’s a spiritual aspect to this one.’” (Parts of the other theme remain, and film score buffs can still be found online debating which of the two is more heartbreaking.)