Jerome Moross’s The Big Country (1958)

“This is the way to do a western now; the way I did it in [The] Big Country.”

Buoyed by the wave of popularity for his score to The Big Country, composer Jerome Moross (1913-1983) claimed that he invented the archetypal western theme.  In an interview from 1978, he boasted, “This is the way to do a western now; the way I did it in [The] Big Country…a western with American rhythms, American tunes and a boldness and brashness about it.” For a composer who, in 1958, had limited experience with scoring films, and had only scored one other western, to make such a pronouncement was brashness itself.

While the inventor of the typically “American” theme is most often identified as Aaron Copland, the development of the music that we associate with the west, and western movies in particular, remains murky. The western film score evolved over the years from a variety of sources and influences, most of them stemming from American popular music, the “singing cowboy” films, and the well-known musical clichés that accompanied silent films.  Moross, however, can certainly take credit for introducing a fresh new approach to scoring westerns in The Big Country, in a style that is appreciated and imitated to this day. 

I have written about this topic extensively, including a book (Jerome Morros’s The Big Country: A Film Score Guide [Scarecrow Press, 2012]) and a chapter (“Reinventing the Western Film Score: Jerome Moross and The Big Country” in Music in the Western, edited by Kathryn Kalinak [Routledge Press, 2011]). I don’t want to completely duplicate those texts here. Instead, I feature video clips that illustrate the various points that I make in those publications.     

General comments about the score

To our sensibilities the film and its soundtrack are not extraordinary, but to the audience watching it for the first time in 1958 it was most likely astounding.  The music begins almost a full two seconds before the first visual appears, a stagecoach pulled by six horses at full gallop.  The initial shots focus on the horses until the first cadential point, when the focus shifts to the wide open plains, putting the stagecoach in perspective.  Gone was the opening song, reminiscent of something perhaps sung around a campfire; instead the audience is overwhelmed by the full sound of the strings as they reiterate a motive as consistent and captivating as the turning wheel on the stagecoach.  It is this opening that alerts us to a completely different kind of western film score; a score that demands attention.  At a time when film scores were moving away from the full symphonic orchestra, and more towards smaller ensembles and popular song tracks, Moross thrilled audiences with a big score to accompany this impressive film.

Moross was accustomed to composing music to accompany live gestures while expressing emotion, and this dramatic style informed his film scores.  (For more about Moross’s non-film compositions, see my chapter in Double Lives: Film Composers in the Concert Hall, edited by James Wierzbicki [Routledge, 2019]). Approaching his theatrical works more like operas, he viewed the action from a larger perspective, as part of the bigger picture.  Transferring this approach to the motion picture screen, he shunned the action-driven score, and unlike many western film composers refused to use the music to mimic what was happening on the screen.  As Moross explained, “. . . I like to get the sense of the scene that I’m going to compose for, and write a piece of music that will fit the scene, but I don’t want to follow the character’s every movement.  The sense of the whole scene I think, is more important…music can give the scene a sense of form and of unity. . .”  This approach to scoring films, and especially westerns, was radical. By aurally describing and accompanying the film’s most important locations and the emotional content, rather than its action, Moross’ score does what Aaron Copland thought a good score should do, it establishes atmosphere.

Synopsis of the Film

Like most westerns, The Big Country is not about cowboys, it is about men, and in this instance, about a peaceful man who finds himself in the midst of a war over water rights.  The Big Country is the story of an Eastern “dude,” Jim McKay (played by Gregory Peck), a sailor and son of a ship owner, who travels west to marry Pat Terrill (played by Carroll Baker), a girl he met while she was visiting acquaintances in Baltimore.  Almost as soon as he arrives, McKay becomes aware of the long-standing dispute over water rights with the Hannasseys, a less affluent and lower class family.  As McKay and Pat ride from town to the Terrill Ranch, Buck Hannassey (played by Chuck Connors) and his cohorts stop the wagon and pull McKay out, tying him up and generally causing havoc, but no harm.  Much to McKay’s dismay, this hazing episode becomes the catalyst for escalating tension between the Hannasseys and the Terrills. The following morning Major Terrill (Pat’s father, played by Charles Bickford) and his foreman, Steve Leech (played by Charleton Heston), organize a raid on the Hannassey ranch in retaliation for the hazing. Their attempts to involve McKay are unsuccessful and he refuses to be involved in any violence. While unresponsive to Pat’s need for him to prove his courage, he eventually succumbs to the challenges of Steve Leech and fights him in the middle of the night in a darkened field with no one watching.  As the relationship with Pat falls apart, McKay develops a friendship with the local schoolteacher, Julie Maragon (played by Jean Simmons).  When she is kidnapped by the Hannasseys, McKay finally enters the fray and goes to her rescue.  In the unavoidable duel with Buck Hannassey, it is the pacifist who proves to be the better man, as Buck cowers in fear. The film concludes with the death of Buck Hannassey, as well as both patriarchs, Major Terrill and Rufus Hannassey (played by Burl Ives).  Behind the end credits we see McKay and Julie literally riding into the sunset in a Hollywood “happily ever after” moment.

Analysis

To demonstrate how Moross’ score modernized the western film soundtrack and how he met Copland’s criteria, I analyze the cues from three scenes that are particularly pivotal to the narrative.  “Breakfast Scene/The Raid,” “The Attempted Rape,” and “Death of Buck Hannassey” frame the film to establish the pacifist theme and then bring it to a conclusion.  During the Breakfast/Raid scene, we observe the first indication that McKay is not going to participate in the violent lifestyle of the west.  Pat’s negative reaction signals the beginning of the end of their relationship.  At the other end of the spectrum, the death of Buck, which is foreshadowed in an earlier scene (the “Attempted Rape”), resolves the conflict in the film, establishing that the pacifist is the better man.  The music for these two notable scenes is related in a manner that highlights the emotional dissonance, and also features related melodic elements that are heard throughout the film.

The Breakfast Scene

We are first introduced to the serious animosity between the Terrills and the Hannasseys at the beginning of the film with McKay’s arrival.  However, it is not until the next morning, in the breakfast scene and the subsequent scene on the porch, that the extent of this feud is made evident.  Notable in these two scenes is how quickly the audience is clued in to the participation of McKay’s fiancé in this feud.  The music plays a key role in alerting us to this fact and subsequently establishing our expectation for the end of her engagement to McKay, a relationship we now suspect is not going to work.

Prior to Terrill’s men riding out to seek vengeance on the Hannasseys, there is a lengthy scene in the dining room where McKay is having breakfast with the Major, eventually joined by Pat and then Leech.  It is during this scene that Leech reveals to McKay that the Major is leading a posse of men to punish the Hannasseys for the hazing they gave McKay the previous day. It is at this time that the seriousness of the feud between the two families is revealed.  The music that Moross composed to accompany this scene (orchestrated, but not recorded) has its own thematic material, yet it previews the longer cue that accompanies the subsequent scenes on two levels. The most obvious connection is the introduction of the syncopated rhythms and reiterated seventh chords that continue through the breakfast scene and then, after a pause, resume in the scene on the porch.

The other idea, a melody in F minor (below), is associated with McKay and contrasts sharply with the syncopated seventh chords. This is one of the few moments in the score, with the exception of the music associated with the Hannasseys, when the music is not in a major mode. The introduction of these two musical elements in anticipation of the raid lends weight to the emotional content of the breakfast scene, as the seriousness of the feud is revealed.

In the film the breakfast scene is unaccompanied; Moross’s music was not recorded but not used. We can approximate what the impact of this cue may have had on the visual by adding a later cue, “McKay Alone." The main difference between the breakfast scene cue and “McKay Alone” is that the D-C-D melody is absent; instead it starts with Pat’s descending F-E motive. However, the remainder is fairly similar to what Moross composed for this scene.

This music is heard one last time in an extended cue toward the end of the film when McKay rides into Blanco Canyon to confront the Hannasseys and save Julie. In that cue, “McKay in Blanco Canyon,” the music is altered and carries with it a sense of finality. Musically, at least, McKay has now decided that he belongs with Julie and not Pat.

The Raid (Part One) and Pat’s “Angry Music”

From production documents, including scripts, memos, and continuity lists, we know that in the rough cut that Moross viewed in early February, 1958, the first part of the raid scene did not include any shots of Pat. Once Pat retreats into the house, leaving McKay alone on the porch, we don’t see her until much later in the film. An early version of the script (dated August, 1957) describes McKay’s somber attitude, “Unsmiling, troubled, he watches the Major and Leech as they go.  McKay continues to stare after them, his expression that of a man who does not believe what he sees.”  The shot then dissolves to the Terrill men riding, returns to McKay, and then shifts to the main street of San Rafael.

At some point after Moross finished the composition of the cue and after it was orchestrated (but not yet recorded), the scene was revised to include three new cutaway shots of Pat: changing her clothes in the bedroom, riding her horse quickly across the horizon, and finally dismounting and sitting under a tree. These intervening shots tangibly communicate her anger and frustration at McKay’s perceived cowardice in not participating in the raid.  Moross revised the music based on the new visual content to integrate Pat emotionally into the scene.

This new music, which solely underscores Pat’s cutaway scenes, continues in collaboration with the main title theme that accompanies McKay.  Moross adjusts these statements to match the new emotional climate rendered by Pat’s music. The result is that Pat’s aggression colors the music of the raiding party as it rides away, even while we hear the main title theme when viewing the situation from McKay’s perspective.  

The changes in the music reflect their differing personalities and priorities.  The result adheres to Copland’s suggestion that the music express the unspoken thoughts of the characters, as it communicates the unequivocal difference between the couple.

This music returns a third time in a similar fashion in “Pat’s Mistake,” the cue that was intended for later in the film when Pat finds out (too late) that McKay has purchased Big Muddy for her as a wedding gift.  It is likely that the entire scene, including Julie riding away and the shots of Ladder Ranch, was edited and the beginning of the cue was left out. Instead the editors begin with the slow descending minor motive used elsewhere to reflect Pat’s disappointment —but not her anger—thus significantly altering our feelings for Pat. Here is the scene with the first part of this cue restored.

The Attempted Rape

This cue went through a variety of changes and was eventually cut during post-production. Moross later commented “[Film editor Robert] Swink is busy shuffling around and wrecking my cues for Reel 15 [The Attempted Rape]—he was even unsatisfied with the re-write. I refuse though to do it other than I can. I don’t care what the hell he does with it. I am never going to see it or hear it in his version.” This was only one instance of Moross’s disagreements with the editor who insisted on altering or even replacing several of Moross’s cues. (You can read more about these changes in Chapter 5 of my Film Score Guide.)

Clearly Moross was being pushed to intensify the opening of this cue, so when revising yet again, he reversed the placement of the musical materials. The strident chords of the contrasting section accompany the beginning of the scene, when Julie wakes up, while the syncopated, tension-building section is heard when Rufus enters. With this revision we miss the correlation of the music with the visual that results from seeing Buck sneaking in to the syncopated strings. Also lacking is the alternation between the contrasting registers of the low brass and strings, and the high woodwinds, which parallels the contrast in the visual as Buck cowers on the floor while Rufus towers over him.

In the final release of the film, the first section of the cue was cut, and the music does not begin until Rufus enters the room. Ironically, with this edit, the cue begins as Moross had originally intended (with the syncopated strings), yet synchronized with the wrong visual. The end result is that we miss the tense music that accompanies the initial part of the scene (as Buck sneaks into the room) and also the ternary structure is lost. As Moross observed in his letter (quoted above), Swink’s meddling in this cue completely changed the conception and alters the experience for the audience.

Old Thunder

Before discussing the death of Buck Hannassey, I’m going to take a short detour to comment on another unused cue, “Old Thunder.” There are three separate scenes where this ornery horse is featured: before the breakfast scene, when Leech tries to get McKay to ride him, and then two separate scenes as McKay tames the horse. The latter scenes are interrupted by a shot of Buck being captured by the Terrills. The cue that accompanies the introduction of the combative horse, Old Thunder, is comedic. In his sketches, Moross labeled this cue “funny—not fast.” The cue begins with an introduction, which is in a slow tempo, mistakenly giving the impression that the horse is old and not likely to move very quickly. This mood is dispelled as the main melody is heard. This quirky tune is the first in the film that is not in a simple duple meter; it is in 6/8 and mimics a lurching gait. It is characterized by grace notes that add to its idiosyncratic nature. The melodic line is reminiscent of the mule motive from “On the Trail” in Ferde Grofé’s (1892-1972) Grand Canyon Suite. It is unclear for which of these scenes Moross intended this cue, or perhaps he was planning to utilize these materials in different ways. (I have approximated what I thought might be a suitable placement in the video, with the main motive synchronized with the children coming to watch the spectacle.)

Although the cue was recorded, it was not utilized for the film—the first two scenes lack any music and the end of the third is accompanied by stock carnival-like music. The absence of this music has two consequences. First, the lighthearted atmosphere that Moross sought to create with the music is lost. The humor communicated through the music was intended to complement the visual and dispel the tension of this initial confrontation between Leech and McKay. Thus, the audience is deprived of this enhanced conception of the scene. Second, when the Old Thunder motive (specifically the introduction) returns later in the film, during the duel between McKay and Buck, we are unable to place its source, and thus the important narrative connection that Moross intended through the music is missing.

Throughout The Big Country Moross musically differentiates the Hannasseys and the Terrills. This starts early in the film, during the hazing scene, where the dissonant chromatic line stated in the brass indicates a tense and potentially violent situation. (It is short-lived, however, and neither McKay nor the music takes the hazing very seriously.) The subsequent cues associated with the Hannasseys are similarly dissonant and harsh, particularly those in the latter half of the film, including those associated with the kidnapping of Julie Maragon, the attempted rape, the duel, and finally the death of Buck.  All of the music associated with these scenes feature strident orchestration, chromatic melodic motion, and dissonance; a sharp contrast from the consonant melodies associated with the “good guys,” the Terrills and Julie Maragon.

In “The Duel” the ascending chromatic material from the hazing returns as McKay and Buck stand back-to-back, ready to pace off, representing the antagonism between the two men.  In this instance, however, the tempo is slower and the original melodic line is fragmented and repeated as the tension mounts.  The music stops just before Buck preempts Rufus’s instruction to fire and strikes McKay in the forehead.

The Death of Buck Hannassey

The death of Buck Hannassey, with its poignant and stirring music, brings to the forefront the tragedy of the violence that permeates this film.  That Buck’s father shoots him makes the scene particularly significant. The cue for the death of Buck consists of music heard previously in different contexts, although most of it is re-cast in keeping with the tragic nature of the scene. By recycling this music, Moross establishes continuity in the narrative as he refers back to previous scenes and comments on this unfortunate event through the changes he makes in the music.

The music begins as Buck cowers by the wagon and McKay throws down his gun. The cue opens with an altered version of the music that was to accompany the scene with Old Thunder. Instead of D major, however, we hear it in C-sharp minor, in a slower tempo, played by the trumpets as a dirge (in the earlier cue it was played by the strings). Moross also changed the rhythm from 6/8 to 4/4, which emphasizes the funereal quality. The low dark tones in the strings sustain as Rufus jumps from the wagon and approaches Buck, then spits on him.

As Buck struggles for the gun, the reprise of the music from the attempted rape reminds the audience of his violent nature as it was demonstrated in that scene.  It also recalls the tussle with his father.  When this music was heard previously, his father told him, “Someday I may have to kill you.”  Here that comment comes to mind unbidden when we hear the same music. The three-chord motive repeats, as it did during the attempted rate, with a final statement rhythmically augmented at the end of this section, heard as Buck collapses into the water barrel. 

The music that accompanies Rufus and Buck as they approach each other continues the unsettled feeling generated by the alternating major and minor, yet these are further complicated by the dissonant added seventh; the music amplifies the horror and shock that Rufus feels when he realizes what he has done.

As Rufus holds the dead Buck, the music continues with a funereal dirge.  Starting with a gong (rarely heard in this score) and building in intensity, it is a recasting of Pat’s “angry music” from the raid scene. The melodic line is stated slowly and accompanied by a reiterated motive in the brass that heightens the tragic atmosphere. This thematic material was also included in the cue “Pat’s Mistake” (discussed above) and although the melodic motive in this instance is essentially the same, it is re-orchestrated to fit the tragic setting and altered by the rhythm in the accompaniment, which gives the scene a sense of finality. The music composed by Moross for this part of the scene contains all of the emotions: the horror, the relief, the tragedy, and the eventuality of this moment.  

That Moross would link Pat’s motive with Buck’s death invites speculation.  The intent may have been to link the two important characters with one narrative theme: Pat and Buck’s relationships with their fathers.  Both these characters seek parental approval by participating in the pursuit to obtain Big Muddy, and by their actions both encourage the feud between the two families.  Eventually neither succeeded, and although Pat does not die, she is not seen after her breakup with McKay.  The subtle manner in which Moross brings out this narrative connection speaks to his concern for molding the drama through the music.

The section of Moross’ cue that features Pat’s music was cut in the final release of the film. In the film the music fades away when Rufus says “I told you! I told you I’d do it.  I told you, but you wouldn’t believe me, damn your soul,” and there is silence as McKay, Julie, and Ramone get on their horses and ride away.  The editors may have wanted to ensure that this line be heard and also provide a solemn silence.  However, the sketch includes a pause (“G.P.” grosse pause), so that the music could resume after Rufus’ statement (and after Buck has breathed his last).

(I have purposely left out the dialogue and sound effects in this video so that the music can be heard loud and clear. I am convinced that Moross’s music in this scene would have made Burl Ives’s academy-award winning performance even better.)

Significantly, this same musical material was also cut from Pat’s scene (discussed previously).  That the editor would remove both of these instances of tragic music suggests that they didn’t like the overall affect the music conveyed.  Perhaps it was too loud or considered distracting. Moross admitted to being present at the dubbing of The Big Country, so he would have been aware of these editorial changes.  He defended the role of the editors, however, stating that they knew what they were doing, so he wouldn’t argue with them if they cut his music.  He had faith in their expertise and felt that they edited the film with the best intentions, independent of their egos. 

Conclusion

These cues exemplify how Moross composed music not for individual character representation, but more for atmosphere and situation, while expressing the unspoken emotions.  These are standards that Copland set as well in his film scores, and may have passed along to Moross while they worked together in Hollywood.  Moross’ interactions with Copland’s Young Composer’s Group also influenced his compositional style, particularly their shared search for establishing an American sound that could differentiate their music from the predominant European approach.  

While taking the western film score in a different direction, Moross’ music draws the audience into the story, engaging their attention with vibrant orchestration and lucid formal structures not previously seen realized so completely in the western genre. He felt strongly that a solid musical structure could enhance the dramatic action, which is why many of his film scores are able to stand alone, without the visual, and his soundtracks continue to sell. 

Moross was often asked about this score, since it is probably the best known and most appreciated of his compositions.  With great humility, he usually responded that he did it in his own style,  “Style is something so deep in you that it exists in what you write without your really thinking about it and it varies and alters according to the needs of the moment.” Nothing about this composition was artificial or imitation.  As Moross explained, “I was surrounded all my life by American music and American folk music. . . I found myself writing themes that used the intervals and the rhythms . . . that I was surrounded by.  They became part of me, they’re part of my style, I don’t have to think about it, it’s there.”   Moross concluded,  “….my own style is American, unconsciously American, I just write that way.”

Works Referenced

Aaron Copland, Copland on Music (Garden City, NY: Doubleday 1960).

Aaron Copland, What to Listen for in Music (NY: McGraw-Hill, 1957).

Howard Pollack, Aaron Copland: The Life and Work of an Uncommon Man (New York, NY: Henry Holt, 1999).

Neil Lerner, “Copland’s Music of Wide Open Spaces: Surveying the Pastoral Trope in Hollywood” The Musical Quarterly 85 (3), Fall, 2001, pp.477-515.