Staff Inquiry: Our Favorite Marriages Of Sound And Vision
In the beginning, there was light. It moved, it danced, it enthralled, but in the end, it was just light. Even in the silent era, exhibitors recognized the value of sound, coming up with a wide array of live and pre-recorded solutions to the problem of representing reality with only one of our five senses (and drained of color at that). The optical soundtrack solved that issue once and for all, giving filmmakers another avenue with which to delight audiences. In recent years, sounds may be used more so to overwhelm than delight, but there’s no question that its value to cinema has remained a constant for nearly a century now.
But sound is just one part of the cinematic audio landscape, music as used in film is almost a whole world unto itself. Whether heard by the characters in the film (termed “diegetic sound”) or added to the soundtrack for the audience’s benefit (you guessed it, “non-diegetic”), music serves to heighten emotions, punctuate scenes, and offer the filmmaker another aesthetic element with which to craft their imagined worlds.
Film music is largely divided between the score, an original musical accompaniment, most often instrumental, and the soundtrack. Pop songs included in a film lend it, or work against, some of their connotations; which film comes to mind first when you hear “Singing’ in The Rain”? That one example represents the push and pull between a film’s audio and visual content, developed as much over decades as during a film’s production. What follows further explores that relationship, so without further ado, here are some of our favorite uses of music in film.
Alex Lines – World’s Greatest Dad (2009) – Suicide Note Scene
Dir. Bobcat Goldthwait
Seeing this film back in 2010, this particular scene stood out for me as a terrific mix of music and visuals, which ties all the established characters together and hits its desired emotional beat perfectly. World’s Greatest Dad is Bobcat Goldthwait’s brilliant 2009 black comedy that provided Robin Williams with one of his last great feature film roles and a demonstration on how to perfectly pull off gallows humor that isn’t mean or constantly bleak.
Whilst the marketing cleverly hid the film’s main plot, the story of World’s Greatest Dad concerns failed writer-turned English teacher Lance Clayton (Williams), a single father who is struggling to raise his rebellious slacker son Kyle (Daryl Sabara). When Kyle accidentally kills himself when performing erotic asphyxiation, Lance is understandably devastated. Not wanting to tarnish his son’s legacy, he tells everyone that Kyle hung himself, and writes a lengthy suicide note for him.
The suicide note goes viral and Kyle becomes a tragic savant, which prompts Lance to kickstart his failed writing career through the pseudonym of his dead son. As you can see, it’s quite a dark premise, which Goldwait handles perfectly. Whilst the film uses black comedy to keep the film entertaining, it never feels like its laughing at the subject matter, and it genuinely feels as if he is taking his characters and the constantly revolving emotions they are experiencing seriously, which really makes the film work.
The scene in question takes place just as Kyle’s suicide note has been published in the local newspaper, which is read by each of the characters in the film. What makes the scene so eerie and quite unsettling when watching it now is that the suicide note is delivered via voice-over by Williams. Knowing now of the tragic death of the beloved comedic actor, the added context adds quite a depressing and haunting layer to an already effective scene.
The Deadly Syndrome’s “I Hope I Become A Ghost” provides the soundtrack for the scene, a seemingly upbeat rock song which delves into suicide and one’s legacy, lyrics which reflect the themes being addressed on-screen. It takes place halfway through the film, with all the main characters and basic motivations being set up previously. With the unifying theme of Kyle’s fake suicide note, each of the characters retroactively see Kyle in various forms, such as a perfect student, art genius, friend to the bullied and more, which is a harsh juxtaposition to what the character was actually like: a disliked rebel who didn’t have many friends.
This completes one of the main themes so well that this scene can just be a separate short film on its own, with the theme being how the death of a person can change our perception of them, viewing the past with rose-coloured glasses and projecting our own ideals onto the deceased. It ends with quite a creepy visual, with the deceased Kyle hanging in the closet (all imagined by Lance), who looks up and says “I Love You Dad”, an image that would fit quite well in any atmospheric horror film. It’s the flawless gut punch that ends the scene, delivering that brutal emotional impact that really closes it off powerfully. Alongside this, it also deals with guilt and dealing with grief, especially that associated with a tragic death, shown by Lance’s miserable attitude.
World’s Greatest Dad is easily Bobcat Goldwait’s best film and one of the best black comedies of the past ten years, a film which completely straddles the line between pitch black comedy and existential drama in a way which is completely entertaining and emotionally impactful.
Emily Wheeler – Hanna (2011)
Dir. Joe Wright
Love it or hate it, you can’t ignore the score in in the action-thriller Hanna, and that’s precisely how it should be. Nothing about this film is subtle, from its leering villains to director Joe Wright’s flashy cinematography, which makes the pulsing score from electronic group The Chemical Brothers fit right into the milieu.
A fairy tale of the grimmest kind, Hanna pulls influences from various places, and what emerges from the uneven quagmire is a tale about growing into the adult world, where you make bonds and encounter complications that leave you bewildered and overwhelmed. The score synthesizes these ideas best, using cold beats and whimsical melodies to nail the uneasy feeling of broaching adulthood, especially if that period is marred by murderous CIA agents and a vague science fiction background.
It’s hardly new for electronic groups to be recruited for action film soundtracks, but few hone in so precisely on what the film is trying to accomplish. Wright takes full advantage of this success, blaring it during action sequences and allowing it to step on emotional moments without getting in the way. I mean, what could be a more ominous accompaniment to Cate Blanchett’s husky line delivery of “better” than the clangs of “The Devil is in the Details”? Perhaps only Tom Hollander’s whistle of a recurring theme as he prepares to strike.
Sadly, the score to this film will probably never play as well at home as it did in the theater, where the beats pounded your lungs and made you feel the disorienting nature of the wider world. If you can, watch Hanna with the sound turned to full blast. It’ll be worth the hearing loss.
Jay Ledbetter – Boogie Nights (1997) – “Sister Christian”
Dir. Paul Thomas Anderson
The “Sister Christian” scene in Boogie Nights is an absolute masterclass in the building of tension. Paul Thomas Anderson uses all of the tools at his disposal to make you feel as though you are in as much danger as Dirk, Reed, and Todd are. The three former porn stars have hit rock bottom and, desperate for cash, have decided to trick drug dealer Rahad Johnson into buying a half-kilo of baking soda. High on crack, Rahad is far more interested in his mixtape than testing out the product, having an almost out-of-body experience while listening to Night Ranger’s “Sister Christian”.
All the while, a young Asian man, whose role in Rahad’s life is left to question, sets off firecrackers in the corner. These intermittent pops take on a whole new meaning when Rahad reveals a gun and decides, in his infinite cracked-out wisdom, to play Russian roulette. Right as he is pulling the trigger, the camera cuts to the three anxious “drug dealers” and we hear another loud pop. This time, though, it could be a gunshot.
All the while, “Sister Christian” is blaring unrelentingly, the power ballad almost signaling a sad, loud end after a self-inflicted fall from fame. Often forgotten in this scene are the other two songs, which are every bit as important and effective. The poppy riffs of “Jessie’s Girl” build up as Rahad takes another hit of crack and he begins to sing along (poorly). The camera sits motionless on Mark Wahlberg for what seems like an eternity, our paranoia building. Wahlberg goes into a completely blank headspace, seeming to accept his impending fate. This was a bad, bad idea. He pops out of his hypnosis and tells Rahad that he and his buddies need to get going.
Dave Fontana – The Lord of the Rings Trilogy
Dir. Peter Jackson
If there could be just one set of soundtracks that would define my love for film, it would be Howard Shore’s scores for The Lord of the Rings trilogy. When I think back to the films (and rewatch them for about the 100th time), the fiery and passionate score is always one of their most memorable aspects, especially during the epic battle scenes of both The Two Towers and Return of the King. My absolute favorite use of music, though, is the way Shore plays with leitmotifs, specifically that of the hobbits and of the Fellowship in the trilogy’s first film, The Fellowship of the Ring.
The hobbit theme is easily the most distinctive of Shore’s scores in the three Lord of the Rings films. Light, delicate, and breezy, much like the creatures themselves, it presents itself even after the hobbits have left the Shire, either when they are reflecting on their home or just sharing a tender moment with one another. Leitmotifs are obviously not unique in the world of film, having been utilized by film composers nearly since the medium’s inception, but Howard Shore’s use of them in these films is just so brilliantly orchestrated, especially once he starts to blend the different themes together.
There is a moment about halfway through The Fellowship of the Ring when the distant echo of the hobbit theme can be heard in the background. It happens right when Frodo and the rest of the Fellowship have left Rivendell in order to make their way to Mordor. Though recognizable at first as the music reflecting the Shire, the soft twangs suddenly grow and crescendo into the energetic and monumental theme of the Fellowship.
Before this point, although the hobbits were bravely completing a task assigned to them by Gandalf by bringing the ring outside of the Shire, it was really because there was no other choice. But now, without any provocation, they have willingly chosen to embark on an even more dangerous journey. They have fully stepped out into the world, and have joined something much grander than themselves. Through Shore’s blending of the two separate themes, such a transformative moment is clearly seen and felt on screen.
At its heart, The Lord of the Rings is a story about four hobbits stepping out of their peaceful, carefree life into the wider world, and discovering what it means to be a part of it. Howard Shore’s themes clearly reflect that, and it is for that reason that it is one of my favorite uses of music in film.
Mike Daringer – 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968)
Dir. Stanley Kubrick
2001: A Space Odyssey‘s score is as memorable as that for Jaws, or say Raiders of the Lost Ark. But the difference with 2001, as opposed to other notable film scores, is that director Stanley Kubrick barely used an original score, and took all of the music from a trio of composers: Richard Strauss‘ orchestra, “Thus Spoke Zarathustra”, Johann Strauss‘ waltz, “The Blue Danube”, and György Ligeti‘s modernist vocal compositions all made up the core themes of this incredible film.
Kubrick‘s esoteric film about the übermensch, or superman, can ultimately be boiled down to an observation of light and the transformation of man from a lowly beast into a new being full of bright intellect. The films opens with Ligeti‘s haunting vocals and crescendos with Richard Strauss‘ “Sunshine,” which also reappears at the end with the birth of the Starchild. “Sunshine” bookends the film, giving it the notion that universal transcendentalism has come full circle, and that man is no longer subject to time but a master over the physical realm. Once Dave Bowman and HAL enter the monolith, the mysterious cube of enlightenment, the film goes full-throttle with Ligeti‘s vocals, and it doesn’t let go until Dave is ready for self-reflection.
In what could be considered the most famous scene of the movie, “The Blue Danube” is played over as a Pan Am shuttle docks in orbit with a NASA space station. Originally Kubrick had picked another piece of music to accompany the scene, but upon hearing “The Blue Danube”, Kubrick opted to use it instead and had to re-cut the entire sequence to fit the music. The final cut made such an impact when the movie was released that NASA now uses “The Blue Danube” to wake up their astronauts every morning. Oh, the wondrous powers of fictional sight and sound.
2001 is a seminal film whose importance cannot be overstated or underappreciated. Kubrick was a genius of the art form, and when it came to showing the grandeur of captured light, he knew no better way than to give it an equally effective and weighted audio companion to rival the mythic gods.
Alistair Ryder – Blue Velvet (1986) – “In Dreams”
Dir. David Lynch
This has been the most difficult team collaboration article for me so far. My favourite movie scenes, the ones that burn deep into my memory and get played back in full clarity long after a film has been forgotten, are always the ones scored by the perfect choice of a pop song. How do I choose just one? So with due respect to Oscar Isaac’s sinister dancing in Ex Machina and the mournful/melancholic singalongs in Magnolia and Almost Famous, I’ve decided to go for the most sinister, least explicable – and unforgettable in the most perfect way.
Even in one of David Lynch’s most narratively straightforward films, he can’t help but infuse it with nightmarish imagery that warps our perception of the reality he is presenting. The “In Dreams” sequence of Blue Velvet is entirely irrelevant to the story, but the lyrics in the song are Lynch’s least oblique commentary on how the settings of his films are mere dreamscapes, where conventional narrative logic is superfluous. But from a less analytical perspective, it is simultaneously creepy and hilarious as hell, an interlude that manages the strange feat of both draining the tension and amplifying it tenfold.
Only a master director like Lynch, uninterested in portraying normal human behaviour, would be able to achieve such thematic accomplishment and cinematic thrills whilst defying convention, all in a sequence of mere lip-syncing. When the movie snaps back to its narrative, this sequence never becomes significant outside of its horrifying nature, turning an innocent song into the stuff of nightmares – as well as leaving you to wish that Lip Sync Battle even remotely resembled this scene.
Arlin Golden – Koyaanisqatsi (1982)
Dir. Godfrey Reggio
If we’re talking about the cumulative effect of Sound and Vision on the viewer, I can think of no better example than Koyaanisqatsi. Unlike most films, especially documentaries, this one is unthinkable without its iconic and innovative score, furnished in this case by Philip Glass. Though he had provided songs for a few short documentaries previously, most notably for the industry powerhouse Kartemquin films while still in its infancy, this was the modernist composer’s first feature film score.
Similar in tone and character to his operatic and symphonic works up to that point, the score was composed to a rough cut of the film, which was then re-edited to match its beats and tempo. From the opening chanting of the film’s title to the closing theme of Glass‘ keyboard, the music provides a road map for the viewer in this dialogue-free cinematic journey; it tells us when to wonder, when to breathe and when to just bury our face in our hands.
Like Errol Morris’ signature blackout cuts, Glass, who would be tapped by Morris a few years later to score his seminal work The Thin Blue Line, uses silences to punctuate the chaos of the film’s densely packed and ever shifting diegesis. Some of the film’s most powerful moments are those which follow a flurry of time-lapse photography depicting the modern urban nightmare, accompanied by a torrent of minimalist horn, string and keyboard loops. The score then stops abruptly, finding itself among the clouds, contemplative, as if the players were taking a breath to decide on the next piece while grabbing a quick swig of water, before the marathon begins again.
Koyaanisqatsi, and its sequel Powaqqatsi, are probably the only scores on which I regularly drop a needle for my leisure (and always during games of “Risk!”). There’s really no one else who makes music like Philip Glass; frantic yet serene, rushed yet contemplative, dense with simplicity and clear in its profundity, his compositions have just the right qualities to help convey this film’s heavy thematic material. In tandem with a masterclass in montage from editor/cinematographer Ron Fricke, Glass’ score propels Koyaanisqatsi to the pinnacle of the flat audio-visual medium; telling us nothing but conveying everything.
Film is an inherently visual medium, with what is projected on the screen as the chief focus of this who make it their trade. But if you look at a film reel, just to the side of the space occupied by the frame, you will find waveforms that could only be representative of audio. Every movie you have seen that was projected from a film reel has this there, and the importance of sound’s place in the world of film is similarly obscured by the comparatively giant image adjacent to the soundtrack. But the final product is not of sound and image adjacent to one another, but overlapping, forming one cohesive “image”.
Music, representing the aesthetic height of sound, might also embody the height of human creativity. I say that because no matter what might be depicted on the screen, the tone of the music can and will supersede that, if that is the filmmaker’s intent. In this primarily visual medium, music holds the trump card, able to corrupt, though not entirely usurp, the effect of the image. It is in this way that music and film are like a binary star, engaged in a continuous cosmic dance that is all but invisible to the observer, but essential in its perception.
What is your favorite use of music in film? Share your thoughts below!
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