All projects for one reason or another are a long time in the making. In the case of Alex North’s original score to 2001: A Space Odyssey, you could say it’s been almost forty years. It was a dream that most of us thought could never be realized, but about four years ago, the first crack of light in the darkness appeared. My very good friend Brian Jamieson, a veteran Warner Home Video executive and point-person for the Kubrick estate on all its projects, approached me to produce a multi-CD set of “Music from the Films of Stanley Kubrick,” as a tie-in to the corresponding DVDs. I was thrilled as a Kubrick fan to be involved, and so in association with Jan Harlan, the head of the Kubrick estate, and Leon Vitali, Stanley’s longtime assistant, we set about recovering all the music masters. At the back of my mind was the possibility of including Alex’s score, but where was it? And would the Kubrick estate sanction it?
I dimly remembered that Alex’s widow, Anna, a lovely woman with whom I had conversed a number of times over the years, had bequeathed a box of Alex’s music to the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences Margaret Herrick Library, and that contained therein was some material from 2001. I had been a guest in Alex and Anna’s home in 1988 when I interviewed Alex as research for a British TV program, and after Alex passed in 1991, I stayed in touch with Anna and kept her abreast of the restorations we were doing at Twentieth Century Fox. She was particularly interested in Cleopatra and when that was finally done, ironically in the year 2001, she was very kindly disposed toward us tackling the sensitive issue of Stanley Kubrick’s space masterpiece. Anna was devoted to her husband, and when he was gone, she remained a tireless champion of his cause. As anyone who encountered her knew, she could be very direct in her assessment of any situation; she didn’t brook fools or time-wasters, and her eyes would flash with impatience if she felt you weren’t measuring up. Berlin-born, she had met Alex in 1967, while she was the manager of the Graunke Symphony Orchestra. After they moved to America, their son Dylan came along in 1970. A small-framed, dark-haired beauty, Anna’s intelligence, energy and zest marked her as a force to be reckoned with.
When I called her about 2001, a long silence ensued. “Is it really worth dragging all that up again?” she finally said. “We’ve been disappointed before.” I told her I thought it was, that now the circumstances were different, that we had an opening, a slim one, granted, but an opening. I hit her with a cheap shot: “We thought we’d never get Cleopatra, and it only took eight years!” She sighed an exasperated sigh. “Well, for reasons I’m not going into, you can’t take eight years on this. 2001 is at the Academy, I think. I’ll call Warren Sherk and tell him to give it to you.” It was an amazing day in the summer of 2003, when Warren hand-carried the tapes of Alex North’s 2001 to DigiPrep, and we played them for the first time. These reels, albeit in mono, were practically pristine, displaying little sign of wear and tear, and Alex’s barbaric melodies for a long-ago time and place shook the speakers.
Fast-forward to early 2004. The Kubrick multi-disc music set for Warners had fallen apart on a series of complex legal and rights issues, and in addition, the Kubrick estate had not fully concurred with the inclusion of Alex’s score. Back to square one. I called Anna, “I don’t know what to say. I’m stalled at the moment, but I’m not dropping it. I’ll isolate the score on the next 2001 DVD.” I said, hopefully, “Maybe it’s supposed to be this way,” she replied. “It’s not going to happen, which is a shame because all I really want is for the Kubrick people to acknowledge Alex’s work.” Then she added, “You know I’ve been ill, and I’m not doing so well at the moment.” The last time I saw Anna was at Jerry Goldsmith’s funeral on July 21, 2004. After the service I took her arm. “Anna, I promise I’m going to make this happen. Those original tracks will one day be heard.” She sagged a little, her brow furrowed, and her eyes flashed. “Well, you had better hurry up.” My heart sank, because I knew she was dying. Anna passed away on March 4, 2005, and I was no nearer to releasing 2001, and it seemed hopeless. I was embroiled on other projects at Warners throughout 2005, which were hideously difficult to realize.
One favor that Stanley Kubrick had done for Alex was to let him retain ownership of his work. Therefore the rights had reverted free and clear to him, and now the decision was in the hands of the North estate.
Turning the wheel full circle, in the summer of 2006, I placed a call to Alex and Anna’s son, Dylan, and his wife, Abby. They were delighted with the idea of issuing this long-lost masterwork, and immediately became involved in setting everything in motion. Doug Fake and Intrada were quick to lend support, and in a storybook ending, Jan Harlan, on behalf of Stanley Kubrick and his family, sent the personal note of endorsement that Anna had so long desired.
I can’t thank Brian Jamieson, or Jan Harlan enough for what they did on this project, but it is to Anna that I dedicate it. I am desolate that I couldn’t make it happen more swiftly. But wherever you are, dear Anna, I hope that Alex’s music, and Jan Harlan’s words swirl and mingle together in the stars, and that for you, it’s the most beautiful sound imaginable.
Dedicated to Annemarie North (1940-2005)
