Sergio Miceli and the Italian way to international film music studies

On July 2nd 2016, the Italian musicological community of film music studies has lost one of its first and leading scholars, Sergio Miceli. Since the late 1970s, Miceli dedicated most of his academic activities to the systematic study of music in cinema, considered both from a historical and a theoretical point of view. Though not being, obviously, the very first Italian musicologist to deal with cinema — consider, for instance, Sebastiano Arturo Luciani (1884-1950), Guido Maggiorino Gatti (1892-1973) and Massimo Mila (1910-1988), — Miceli had a foundational role in the development of Italian film musicology as a distinct and recognizable disciplinary field, with its particular methodology of research, analytical tools and historiography. A quick look at the chronology and the general ‘state of the art’ within international film music studies between the 1970s and the 1980s1 would probably show that if Italian academia was able to provide a valuable contribute to the debate on film music history, theory and analysis, this was due almost exclusively to Miceli’s writings.2

Born in Florence in 1944, Miceli had a multifaceted education: apart from graduating in musicology under the mentorship of Mario Fabbri at the University of Florence, he had studied cello with Franco Rossi (member of the renowned "Quartetto Italiano") on a private basis and painting with Renzo Grazzini and Emanuele Cavalli at Florence Academy of Arts. To this training, one might add at least his passion for (and deep knowledge of) the photographical techniques, possibly fueled by his early experience as a factory worker for Ferrania Technologies during the 1960s. This interdisciplinary competence, together with his rigorous approach to research and his ability to combine clearness of exposition with a touch of literary (or performative) pleasure, were the elements that made his writings and his lessons unique.

Since then, the international relevance of Miceli’s scholarly activity was cemented by the translation of some of his best works: his 1994 monograph on Ennio Morricone — the first in-depth study on the roman composer — has been translated into Spanish and German11, while his monumental compendium (Film-Music. History, Aesthetic-Analysis, Typologies) was published in an English revised edition by Hal Leonard in 2013, after two Italian editions (2007, Pagani eBook and 2009, Ricordi LIM). His most recent writings in English are a chapter on Leone and Morricone’s contributions to Revisionist Western, published in The Cambridge Companion to Film Music (edited by Mervyn Cooke and Fiona Ford, 201612) and a long, articulated essay on Victor Hugo’s Les Misérables and its many interpretations in theatre, radio and cinema. Unfortunately, this last essay, partially published in Mediamusic e-journal, remained unfinished: though probably not constituting Miceli’s ‘best’ work — due to the difficult health conditions he experimented while working on it, — Les Misérables in the media was nevertheless the motivating force that helped him coping with the serious illness he suffered from in the last part of his life. During his long career, Miceli had many scholarly responsibilities: for what concerns international film music studies one may recall at least his involvement in the editorial boards of Music and the Moving Image (MaMI) and Mediamusic.

I would like to conclude with a personal note. The first time I met Sergio Miceli was in 2003 during his first course in Film Music History and Analysis at Sapienza University of Rome. To me (and to many others) this was a sort of ‘epiphany’: his scrupulous approach to research, his systematic yet emotionally compelling way of teaching and writing, his peculiar mix of high-, middle- and even lowbrow references, his enthusiasm and scientific curiousity combined with a typically Tuscan sense of humour, represented for me everything a scholar and teacher should be, everything I wanted to become (or, at least, try to become). Despite being a very cultivated person, Sergio never forgot the pedagogical mission of his job: his approach to film music dramaturgy and analysis never suffered from elitism or self-complacency, conscious as he was that his fundamental goal was to provide his readers and students with effective conceptual tools that could allow them a deeper insight into cinema, both as professionals and as spectators. I can’t deny Sergio was occasionally a difficult person to deal with: his bellicosity was the downside of his passionate and idealistic nature. Yet, his intellectual honesty never failed him. He was a man of strong convictions, never afraid to express personal likes and dislikes even when they could sound unpopular. At the same time, he showed a very respectful attitude towards students and young collegues: in thirteen years we had some friendly (though sporadic) disagreements, but he never tried to use his authority to influence me, not even when I was an undergraduate. He was not interested in creating ‘clones’, he wanted us to improve our intellectual resources and think for ourselves. For this and for everything he taught me, not only as a musicologist, I will always be most grateful.

Renata Scognamiglio

I was often at odds with him, but we were sworn brothers, truly. It was really painful when Sergio passed away. I want to say again what Miceli was for me: he had studied my scores well, he noticed everything I did not notice. I wrote my music and I did not know I had done so well, I ‘tried’ to do well but I was not conscious about it. I realized it thanks to him and his writings. Listening to things [= my pieces], he was able to express his opinion about what I was doing. He agreed with some things and not with some others, but — incredibly — he agreed and spoke very well to me of [pieces] that I did not expect he would have appreciated so much. For instance, the main title of Sergio Leone’s third film [In fact, Morricone is referring to Sergio Leone’s sixth film as a director, Giù la testa | Duck, You Sucker!, 1971], where I wrote a very “suspended” piece, without sustaining points: [in that scene] the main actor had to urinate, and I wrote this piece that was… how could I say?.. [extract from Duck, You Sucker!]

Ennio Morricone remembers Sergio Miceli

(*courtesy of "Creuza de Ma" Film Music Festival, Cagliari)

I treated the tonal system in a ‘serial’ fashion, to put it simply; everything was “suspended” and Miceli liked it very much. Sometimes a certain, minimal melody appeared, I just introduced it and then resumed it after a few seconds. He really appreciated this piece. Actually, he knew more about me than anything I could myself reveal him. As a musicologist he showed extraordinary, I mean “extraordinary” heroism, because he was snubbed by the academic milieu he legitimately belonged to: those who study film music are regarded as ‘inferior’ scholars. I am really grateful to him, not only for what he wrote about me, but first of all for what he believed film music to be (which is, in fact, what I believe and have always believed): film music is all kind of music, from contemporary music to tiny little tunes, to… everything that is done, rock music, everything. ‘Tomorrow’ will have to come to terms with film music because it represents what music is today. Then there is the field of ‘real’ contemporary music to which I belong myself and that’s another matter. But that is something distinct, that stands on its own. In the movies there is EVERYTHING.

They called him the Dean

The title of this testimony sounds like the title of an unknown spaghetti Western or an unrealized project by Sergio Leone, possibly with music by Ennio Morricone. Well… it’s none of the kind. But, somehow, it’s a plausible plot for someone who devoted part of his life to study the music of the above mentioned composer, particularly in relationship with Leone and other important directors. The main character of our imaginary movie is, of course, Sergio Miceli, aka the Dean. Yes, the Dean of film music study in Italy. Indeed, he was. Although not the first scholar to work in the field in Italy, he was certainly one of the most dedicated musicologists of his time, and one who tirelessly promoted film music as a serious discipline in a country where that kind of music was looked upon with great suspicion by the academic world. He is likely to be remembered mainly for his work on Morricone, but his contribution to film music goes much beyond that. Sergio’s wide perspective on the field and vast array of interests were delivered in his opus magnum that, as its title says, covered History, Aesthetic-Analysis, Typologies of film music in both national and international cinema.

It is possibly this array of interests that made my friendship with Sergio something long-lasting. We shared a thorough passion for music, cinema and technologies. He added also his love for art, design, flying planes and, towards the end of his life, Chinese language and culture. Even in his last, unfinished work on Les Misérables, whose translation of the first part has been recently published in this journal ( >>> ), he continued to broaden his point of view on music and transcend the frontiers commonly imposed by the official musicology. His unruly intellect would have driven him much further, I’m sure, had he had more time to unfold his innate curiosity and talent for interdisciplinary studies. That curiosity for things other than music is what we also had in common: in one of the last emails I received from him, he told me that he had never thought of me as a “true” composer because throughout his life he had met many so-called “true” composers and they only ever talked about music, usually their own. He was definitely right and I took it as a compliment. Indeed, we never talked too much about my profession as a composer; there were always more important musicological situations to examine. And there was also time for good food and wine (he liked wine so much that I never really felt like disappointing him with my complete inaptitude to appreciate its taste).

He was for me a maestro in a broad sense, but I never felt that I was one of his students. I didn’t have the chance to take his courses in music history and film music. My direct experience with him as a pedagogue is based on a few short-term seminars that Sergio shared with Morricone and Franco Piersanti. However, I wouldn’t minimize the impact they had on me. It was enough to make me easily appreciate Sergio’s effortless capacity to convey his thoughts in a clear-cut way and the healthy pragmatism he used while attempting to collapse aesthetic speculations into provable facts. (Perhaps one of the best example of this is Sergio’s “level theory”, an analytic method that, as its author repeatedly stated, was dictated by mere pedagogical needs.) That seemed to me the right attitude, one much needed in film studies, one that permits a discipline to be dynamic and scientifically credible. Putting all pieces together, Sergio was the result of a quite peculiar combination of features that are seldom found in the same person: a bright intellect impulsively moved by a relentless curiosity that did not get bogged down into nitpicking, but always maintained a sense of concreteness and practicality. He was much more than that, of course, but the details of it are of an unspeakable nature and thus they should stay.

Marco Alunno
(photos by Grassi, Borracino, and Lensini
taken from Sergio Miceli’s archive, Florence)

31.12.2016