John Carpenter is arguably the greatest living director of horror films. He is almost inarguably the greatest living director of horror films who also scores his own films. And his live show—which stopped by the Lincoln Theatre in D.C. on Wednesday—is something that fans of the 68-year-old director need to experience at least once before they die at the hands of Michael Myers or under the wheels of Christine or by the shotgun of Rowdy Roddy Piper.
Carpenter’s scores are integral to his work. Consider Halloween. Would it be the same without the theme’s chilling de-de-de-de piano work; the bassy, dread-inspiring synth line lurking in the background like a masked killer; and the almost rattler-like drums? In recent years, the director has released a couple of albums containing tracks that didn’t quite fit in with the movies he had been working on. Lost Themes and Lost Themes II play like instrumental albums released by mediocre rock groups you half-remember: There’s nothing particularly virtuoso in the synth-drum-guitar stylings offered by Carpenter and his house band. Nevertheless, you can feel the power of the tracks, their simplicity demonstrating why they would make good main themes or audio backing for action scenes.
In concert, the tracks off these albums are highlighted by the simplest of light shows: reds and blues, mostly, with bright lights highlighting whichever band member is putting on the most impressive performance. These were the tunes during which audience members (unfortunately) got up to hit the head—"here’s a song from our new album" is always a cue to go to the bathroom or buy another round, even when the guy making the announcement is a movie legend.
It’s not the lost themes that the audience is there for, as interesting as the performances are. No, we’re here for the themes we love and revere, the themes that back the movies we grew up with, the themes we have heard on cable over and over again, the themes that roused us in the theater and inspired our nightmares for years afterwards.
Hunched over a keyboard, Carpenter swayed back and forth as he led his backing band on a sonic tour through his four-decade-long filmography. Behind Carpenter and his crew rested a four-part multimedia screen: one directly behind the musicians that played clips from films in which the theme appeared, while two on the side and one on the ceiling of the stage played snippets, images, short scenes, and vignettes designed to heighten the mood.
Carpenter’s musical choices have always been synth-heavy and weighted in a way that would make them ripe for rock adaptations. Kicking off the show with the theme from Escape from New York, Carpenter gives increased prominence to guitars and drums. And he does it all while playing in front of what amounts to a re-edited version of the film, the notes hitting their highs and lows in perfect time with the re-cut version of Kurt Russell’s Snake Plissken’s maiden adventure.
Indeed, the most impressive thing about Carpenter’s performance isn’t that he is playing live—to be honest, he often seems barely to be playing—but that he has managed to pair the music with the films in a way that makes perfect sense. He has condensed 90-to-120-minute films into three-to-four minute vignettes with apparent ease. It’s a virtuoso job of editing, all in the service of thrilling a few hundred fans in any given city on any given night; those of us in the audience who are unfamiliar with a particular Carpenter title—as I was with Prince of Darkness—never feel lost.
It is in many ways a multimedia experience: Carpenter immerses the audience in the proceedings, ensuring that they feel as though they have some tie to whichever film is being celebrated at the moment.
During the performance of the theme for The Fog, for instance, smoke machines kick into high gear. Matching the dangerous mist that brings a group of zombified sailors back onto the California coast, the fog drifted into the crowd, leaving our vision hazy and smoky. Later, as the theme for They Live kicked into gear, Carpenter and his crew put on black-framed sunglasses, mimicking the look Rowdy Roddy Piper fought so hard to make popular with his fellow transients.
At around 75 minutes, the show is briskly paced—much like a John Carpenter film, few of which stretch much beyond 100 minutes. As he ushered the crowds into the night, he closed with a rousing rendition of the theme from Christine. It was the perfect cap to a pretty fantastic show, a not-so-subtle reminder that danger can come at you no matter where you are. But that’s the beauty of John Carpenter. He keeps you off balance, no matter where you are: your home, your car, or your local music hall.