Ben Shapiro’s recent clip drawing attention to the musical roots of John Williams’ greatest scores is more than fan service — it’s a reminder that American culture still produces transcendent art worth defending. In a time when our institutions are eager to tear down the past, it’s refreshing to see a conservative voice championing the very soundtracks that shaped generations. The short feature highlights how Williams’ work is rooted in melody, craft, and a love of orchestral storytelling.
John Williams is not some Hollywood gadget-maker; he is a national treasure whose partnership with Steven Spielberg and other filmmakers helped define modern American cinema. That decades-long collaboration produced an unmistakable body of work that ranges from sweeping adventure to intimate moments of wonder, and it’s the product of steady, disciplined creativity rather than woke marketing campaigns. Appreciating Williams is appreciating the engine of storytelling that bolsters wholesome, patriotic narratives in our films.
What Ben and sensible Americans recognize is that Williams’ music draws on the classical tradition — Beethoven, Stravinsky, and the full symphonic palette — not the chopped-up, manufactured noise that passes for “score” in many contemporary pictures. Williams treats the orchestra like a living thing, an American institution in its own right, and he composes with the craftsmanship of a builder rather than the gimmicks of a trend-chasing producer. That classical lineage is why his themes endure and why children hum them decades later.
Look at Close Encounters: the famous five-note greeting and the way Williams braided the childhood strains of “When You Wish Upon a Star” into an encounter with the sublime shows true musical storytelling. Spielberg and Williams used that familiar melody to root a strange, cinematic moment in nostalgia and moral clarity — something contemporary filmmakers would likely over-intellectualize or censor. Williams didn’t pander; he elevated the scene by reminding audiences of shared cultural touchstones.
Or consider Jurassic Park, where Williams matched orchestral sweep to the literal sounds and rhythms of the film to create a sense of awe and terror that served the story, not the other way round. He listened to the material — the film’s sound design and Spielberg’s direction — and composed themes that made the movie’s wonder feel genuinely American, grand and unapologetic. That kind of craftsmanship is a rebuke to the cynical, politically motivated art the coastal elites keep trying to sell us.
Even now, late in his career, Williams’ presence is a reminder that excellence endures beyond the churn of headlines and culture wars; his recent work and continued collaborations show an artist committed to legacy over publicity stunts. Conservatives should champion figures like Williams who unite families and communities with beauty, not those who divide for clicks or ideological purity tests. The fight for our culture isn’t merely political — it’s about preserving the soundtrack of a free, flourishing society.
So when a conservative commentator points out where our favorite movie music comes from, take it as a call to defend the higher things: melody, tradition, and the institutions that teach craft. Turn off the noise, queue a Williams score, and remember why so many Americans still believe in excellence over trendiness. If we want to save what’s best about this country, we start by insisting our culture be worthy of it.
