Not clear what this is about, but perhaps the music will illuminate . . . quasi-mythical tableau of an ancient and perhaps imaginary Italy . . . plangent opening, string harmonics, tubular bells, rubato, declamatory vocal line, but this singing from Helga Davis is atrocious, she may be a good singer but she’s all wrong for this kind of music . . . Prologue dispensed, here is Scene 1, triple-meter feel-good style ‘world’ music, the film is that of the sun on the horizon . . . now there’s an aria for “Man,” a bass-baritone, with text from Dante . . . derivative, now here’s the Middle Eastern/Renaissance flavor . . . this is not going well, it’s doing everything you would expect and what it is leading one to expect is the obvious, the clichéd . . . tonal, has very strong tonal centers and resonance, but it’s stating the obvious as if it were something profound . . . percussion line under the stentorian singing is very glam-metal, but without the wit . . . this vocal writing is frankly infantile, it has no art and the taste of the cover of a bodice-ripper . . . Scene 2, the music doesn’t differentiate what is supposed to be happening, and the movie seems to have disappeared, but since it had almost no content I hadn’t noticed . . . very weird, slightly harsh and pointless ululation solo now . . . Prestini is trying to capture the quality of traditional Italian folk songs, which stretch tunings and are full of ululation, but she either lacks understanding of what the material is or the technique to adapt it in any way that makes organic, musical sense within her piece . . . this scene of women in the fields presents itself as the central focus, but I don’t think it’s supposed to be that . . . now voice and marimba, exceedingly obvious and treacly . . the film is now the eye on a face . . . this is wrong in so many ways, one on top of the other . . . waves on a beach and Italianized, folked-up Délibes . . . the movie actually dumber and more amateurish than the music . . . the music has nice, simple and lyrical in the strings, but at this point it’s hard to care . . . now a waltz, and a bearded dude is playing the squeezebox and singing Italian, badly, oh il mio papa! Sorry, I forgot that’s there’s a didgeridoo in the orchestra . . . this is like Eros Ramazzatti singing music from The Lion King as orchestrated by Enya, when it could use a healthy does of Paolo Conte . . . Fundamentally, this is sentimental in a completely immature way, and the musical choices come out of that, and it’s also completely self-serious . . . hold on, squeeze-box fu! This appears to be the conclusion, at least I hope it is, and the dramatic importance of the music has noting to do with anything that has gone on. Actually, it doesn’t seem to know how to end, so maybe it never will . . . I don’t know what the future holds for Oceanic Verses, but I think it needs to be rethought from scratch.