4.2.3: Music

Exploring the Art of Sound Design

One of the most recognizable elements in the sound of cinema is, of course, music. And its importance actually pre-dates the synchronization of sound in 1927. Musical accompaniment was almost always part of the theatrical experience in the silent era, and films were often shipped to theaters with a written score to be performed during the screening. Predictably, the first “talking picture” was a musical and had more singing than actual talking.

As the use of sound in cinema has become increasingly sophisticated over the last century, music has remained central to how filmmakers communicate effectively (and sometimes not so effectively) with an audience. At its best, music can draw us into a cinematic experience, immersing us in a series of authentic, emotional moments. At its worst, it can ruin the experience altogether, telling us how to feel from scene to scene with an annoying persistence.

But before we try to sort out the best from the worst, let’s clarify some technical details about how and what type of music is used in cinema. First, we need to distinguish between diegetic and non-diegetic music. If the characters on screen also hear the music we hear, that is, it is part of the world of the film or TV series, then it is diegetic music. If the music is not a part of the world of the film or TV series, and only the audience can hear it, then it is non-diegetic music. Too abstract? Okay, if a song is playing on a radio in a scene, and the characters are dancing to it, then it is diegetic. But if scary, high-pitched violins start playing as the Final Girl considers going down into the basement to see if the killer is down there (and we all know the killer is down there because those damn violins are playing even though she can’t hear them!), then it is non-diegetic.

Diegetic versus non-diegetic sound is a critical concept in the analysis of cinema, and crafty filmmakers can play with our expectations once we know the difference (even if we didn’t know the terms before now). For example, non-diegetic music can communicate one emotion to the audience, while diegetic music communicates something entirely different for the characters on screen. Think about the movie JAWS (1975). Even if you haven’t seen it, you know those two deep notes – da dum… da dum – that start out slow, then build and build, letting us know the shark is about to attack. Meanwhile, the kids in the water are listening to pop music, completely oblivious to the fact that one of them is about to be eaten alive!

And this concept applies to more than just music. Titles, for example, are a non-diegetic element of mise-en-scene. The audience can see them, but the characters can’t.

Second, we need to distinguish between a score written by a composer and what we could call a soundtrack of popular music used throughout that same motion picture. The use of popular music in film has a long history, and many of the early musicals in the 1930s, 40s, and 50s were designed around popular songs of the day. These days, most films or TV series have a music supervisor who is responsible for identifying and acquiring the rights for any popular or pre-existing music the filmmakers want to use in the final edit. Sometimes, those songs are diegetic – that is, they are played on screen for the characters to hear and respond to – or they are non-diegetic – that is, they are just for the audience to put us in a certain mood or frame of mind. Either way, they are almost always added in post-production after complete filming. Even if they are meant to be diegetic, playing the actual song during filming would make editing between dialogue takes impossible. The actors have just to pretend they are listening to the song in the scene, which is fine since pretending is what they do for a living.

But the type of music that gets the most attention in formal analysis is the score, the original composition written and recorded for a specific motion picture. A film score, unlike popular music, is always non-diegetic. It’s just for us in the audience. If the kids in the water could hear the theme from JAWS, they’d get out of the damn water, and we wouldn’t have a movie to watch. It is also always recorded after the final edit of the picture is complete. That’s because the score must be timed to the rhythm of the finished film, each note tied to a moment on screen to achieve the desired effect. Changes in the edit will require changes in the score to match.

It is in the score that a film can take full advantage of music’s expressive, emotional range. But it’s also where filmmakers can go terribly wrong. Music in film should be co-expressive with the moving image, working in concert to tell the story (pun intended, see what I did there?). The most forgettable scores simply mirror the action on screen. Instead of adding another dimension, what we see is what we hear. Far worse is a score that does little more than tell us what to feel and when to feel it. The musical equivalent of a big APPLAUSE sign.

These tendencies in cinematic music are what led philosopher and music critic Theodor Adorno to complain that the standard approach to film scores was simply to “interpret the meaning of the action of the less intelligent members of the audience.” Ouch. But, in a way, he’s not wrong. It's not about the less intelligent bit. But about how filmmakers assume a lack of intelligence, or maybe awareness, of the power of music in cinema. Take the Marvel Cinematic Universe, for example. You all know the theme of JAWS. You probably also know the musical theme for Star Wars, Raiders of the Lost Ark, and maybe even Harry Potter. But can you hum a single tune from any Marvel movie? Weird, right? Check this out:

The best cinema scores can do so much more than simply mirror the action or tell us how to feel. They can set a tone, play with tempo, and subvert expectations. Music designed for cinema with the same care and thematic awareness as cinematography, mise-en-scene, or editing can transform our experience without us even realizing how and why it is happening.

Take composer Hans Zimmer, for example. Zimmer has composed scores for over 150 films, working with dozens of filmmakers. And he understands how music can support and enhance a narrative theme, creating a cohesive whole. In his work with Christopher Nolan, The Dark Knight (2008), Inception (2010), and Interstellar (2014), his compositions explore the recurring theme of time:

Musical scores can also emphasize a moment or signal an important character. Composers use recurring themes, or motifs, as a kind of signature (or even a brand) for a film or tv series. The most famous of these are the ones you can probably hum to yourself right now, again like Star Wars, Raiders of the Lost Ark, maybe even Harry Potter. Composers can use this same concept for a specific character as well, known as a leitmotif. Think of those two ominous notes we associate with the shark in JAWS. That’s a leitmotif. Or the triumphant horns we hear every time Indiana Jones shows up in Raiders. That’s a leitmotif.

Oh, and all those movies I mentioned just now? They all have the same composer. His name is John Williams. And he’s a legend:

While we are not analyzing a Studio Ghibli film in this section, I would be remiss not to mention Mamoru Fujisawa, better known by his professional name, Joe Hisaishi, a Japanese composer and conductor whose partnership with Miyazaki began in the early 1980s. In fact, Hisaishi's success and global recognition garnered him the moniker ‘the Japanese John Williams.’

Yet, as amazing has Hisaishi and Williams are as composers, cinema is set apart as an art form for its ability, and need, to blend all of the arts into something more, and it is the blend of Miyazaki's artistry and vision, Hisaishi's emotive compositions, and uniquely Japanese sentiment that creates Ghibli's magic.

For instance, Shantanu Singh over at Medium notes:

One of the things that Miyazaki often talks about is “Ma”, or as he calls it, the silence between the clap. “Ma” is a Japanese concept that refers to the respite between activity. Miyazaki deftly integrates this respite within his work. He makes sure that there is stillness between the chaos. A moment where you can pause and just enjoy the beautiful scenery, the vibrant colors, and the music that accompanies it all.

We do have the option, however, of studying another notable collaborative duo, Shinichiro Watanabe and Yoko Kanno, who created Cowboy Bebop, Samurai Champloo, Space Dandy, and others, who are directly inspired by not only a genre of music but are crafted like a (delightfully) self-contained album.

GammaRay gives us a nice documentation of Shinichiro's inspirations as well as how Kanno inspired Watanabe in real-time:

COWBOY BEBOP: The Art of Music Scoring Anime