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A Brief Discourse on the Importance of Music in Film

Perhaps it is my background in music that makes me prone to picking up so intensely on a film’s soundtrack, but I believe that a movie’s music is one of its most important aspects; a characteristic that is often taken for granted.  A film can reveal so much within its music.  Beyond the creepy background music of thrillers that tells you the killer is around the corner, music has the ability to expose characters’ feelings, actions, and a film’s tensions.

Just as directors carefully choose their shots, they also spend a great deal of time selecting their soundtrack.  Take acclaimed director Martin Scorsese for example.  Though Scorsese is an Oscar-winning director, he is also known for his impeccable use of music in his films.  He has directed a few documentaries on bands, including No Direction Home: Bob Dylan (2005), The Last Waltz (1978), and Shine a Light (2008); but Scorsese’s music in his feature films sticks out the most.  From The Rolling Stone’s “Gimme Shelter,” which has become a Scorsese trademark (played in three of his most famous films), to The Ronettes’ “Be My Baby,” the music picked has a reason for being there.  When “Monkey Man,” by The Rolling Stones, is played at the end of Goodfellas (when Henry Hill goes crazy because of his cocaine addiction), it is no coincidence.  The song isn’t arbitrarily placed there because it sounds good aesthetically, but because its lyrics reflect something in Henry’s psyche.  It is no accident that the lyrics, “I’m a sack of broken eggs/I always have an unmade bed,” encapsulate Henry precisely.

In a 2007 interview with Craig McLean from The Observer, Scorsese said that it is “not just the songs I use in the film. No, it's about the tone and the mood of their music, their attitude. The music itself.”  Referring specifically to The Rolling Stone’s songs (which he was willing to spend $30,000 of a $750,000 budget on), Scorsese puts an emphasis on the energy music can add to a film. 

In Todd Solondz’ Welcome to the Doll House (1995), powerful base-heavy music is played whenever the main character, Dawn, gets angry and wants to rebel.  It may be obvious that Dawn’s vexed, but the song accentuates the atmosphere and her aggression.  The beat is repeated throughout the film and becomes a motif that is symbolic of Dawn’s disconsolate life and even of the whole movie.  Similarly, if the climax of The Departed (2006) lacked music, it would just be another scene, with less importance and hardly any energy.  But The Dropkick Murphy’s punk-rock song “I’m Shipping Up to Boston” plays loudly, the scene becomes quite intense, and the audience is automatically engaged in the film and aware that something important is going to happen. 

Such as The Dropkick Murphy’s song gained huge popularity after being in The Departed, many movies procure esteem because of their soundtracks.  Garden State (2004) is known for it’s popular soundtrack, and often times its viewers come away from the film deeply moved solely because of the music’s emotional collaboration with the film’s content.  Some films that receive such acclaims due to their soundtracks are often movies about musicians (I’m Not There, 2007) or revolve solely on music for its content (Across the Universe, 2007), but music can be more than just a plot device.

Director Quentin Tarantino, another celebrated maestro of music in film, manipulates music as a sort of “magic object” through which his characters and events are tied together. In Reservoir Dogs (1992), music transports characters through different scenes and situations.  Whenever in a car, the radio plays “K-BILLY'S: ‘Super Sounds of the Seventies’ weekend” show.  In separate cars different characters, all in contrasting situations, seem to converge because of this unifying music on the radio.  Music plays an important role even at the beginning of this film.  Characters are introduced in the opening scene through the discussion of Madonna’s “Like a Virgin.”  Though the song isn’t actually playing, its placement works to reveal attributes of the characters: who is more vulgar, who is more sensitive, who doesn’t even like music, etc.  The concept of using music to illuminate characters’ qualities is maybe the most overlooked, but one of the most important roles music can play. 

Mary Harron’s American Psycho (2000) utilizes music both to reveal the deep mental derangement of the protagonist, Patrick Bateman, and to explicitly place the film in a time period.  Bateman can give a litany of seemingly unimportant facts about pop music, analyzing the minutest details of Phil Collins, Huey Lewis & the News, and Whitney Houston.  His obsession with analyzing and playing such music is a reflection of his inner ruthless behaviors.  Bateman explains that the song “Hip to be Square,” by Huey Lewis & the News, a smash-hit, isn’t “just about the pleasures of conformity and the importance of trends. It's a personal statement about the band itself.”  A band that Bateman believes has a “bitter, cynical sense of humor.”  Bateman’s close reading of the song and the band are important because they explain some of his sadistic behaviors.  Bateman repeats this musical examination again, explaining Phil Collins’ music’s “intangibility” and Whitney Houston’s “self-preservation and dignity.”  All of the things he touches upon are actually important aspects of himself, characteristics that are only implicitly exposed within the music.  Not only does the music (always juxtaposed with one of his violent acts) explain the inner workings of Bateman, but it also places the audience directly in the time period of the film, 1987.  If the clothing styles weren’t enough, the music successfully transports audiences into the 80s.  Though music does have this innate capability of recreating a cultural and historical time, it does not necessarily have to be reflective of the time to be effective.

The soundtrack to Alfonso Cuarón’s Children of Men (2006) imitates the tensions and desperation within the film.  Though the film is sent in 2027, scenes are reflective of World War II concentration camps, reminiscent of the 2004 Abu Ghraib prisoner scandal, and hold the general, indignant attitude of the public during the Vietnam War.  The movie culminates in a world that has not learned from its past.  Children of Men’s music transcends time to seamlessly make relevant these feelings, to make the images more poignant. The song “Arbeit Macht Frei” by The Libertines, mimics a German phrase (in English: “work will set you free”) that prisoners of concentration camps believed would free them, and plays alongside images that imitate these camps.  The music not only exemplifies these tones, but also reflects the overall despair of the film by including songs such as The Rolling Stone’s “Ruby Tuesday,” whose lyrics read: “Cash your dreams before they slip away/Dying all the time/Lose your dreams and you/Will lose your mind/Ain't life unkind.”  The inclusion of such songs, along with the general themes of the film, are Cuarón’s warning that not learning from a world’s past can only end in hopelessness. 

Everywhere we go music follows us, making us desensitized to it.  Our habituation to music means we easily overlook music’s role in our lives, and even more so in film.  Music’s function is deeper than simply background music.  Focus on the songs the director chooses and you will have a much greater understanding of a film, you’ll learn and experience a good deal more.  

Battle in Seattle: An Emotional View of the 1999 WTO Conferences

In 1999, protesters opposing the World Trade Organization’s ministerial conference on American soil blockaded Seattle’s downtown.  These demonstrators were trying peacefully to make their voices heard concerning the problems with conglomerate globalization.  But peaceful protests became violent riots when anarchist groups took over, police brutality broke out, civil rights were defied, and mass illegal arrests were made.  These events that occurred in late November were a rude awakening to many.  Though the protests were overall successful in stopping the WTO conference, the events that transpired created much controversy over how the city reacted to the protesters.  Many were appalled by the governmental response.  Similar to the riots at the Democratic National Convention in 1968, the protests in Seattle have been an important part of history.  And just as Haskell Wexler made Medium Cool (1969) about the DNC riots, budding director Stuart Townsend made Battle in Seattle (2007).

Irish actor, Stuart Townsend, successfully makes his directorial debut with this film.  Townsend addresses the WTO conferences through the lens of many different people, all of whom are effected differently by the convention.  There are the activists.  These are the characters that have been organizing the peaceful protests against the WTO to raise awareness about the risks of globalization in Third World countries.  There are the politicians.  These are the ones who are at the heart of the convention, mainly Seattle’s mayor Jim Tobin (Ray Liotta).  There are the policemen.  The ones who are on the streets making sure that peace ensue.  And lastly, there is the media, which is responsible for how the convention and protests are portrayed to the general public.

The meshing and crossing paths of each type of character is engaging but since there are so many important roles, none of the relationships among them get enough playing time.  It seems that the audience is only allowed to go a little bit under the surface of many of the characters.  Leader of the activists, Jay (Martin Henderson), is constantly fighting against corporation expansion, but also seems to be fighting something that is within him.  The viewers (and even some of the other characters) learn what troubles Jay in snip-its, but never fully come to grips with what bothers him.  Even when a reporter covering the convention turns sides and joins the protests, her actions seem somewhat half-hearted and the audience is not only left asking why she did this, but also wanting to know more about her.  These characters and others’ stories are intriguing, but many of them are flat.  They are little more than plot devices.  A policeman’s wife, Ella (Charlize Theron), is attacked by his fellow officers, but her character’s purpose doesn’t go much further than that.  She is simply a plot device to show another side of police brutality, to show that everyone was a target during the riots.  Many of these character portrayals are only snapshots, a disadvantage to having so many characters.

But that’s not to say that aren’t any characters in the film that have meaning.  Mayor Jim Tobin, the fictionalization of former Mayor Paul Schell, is continually at odds with how to save his city from violence while doing what is right.  Often shot behind objects (obscured by glass, items on his desk, or someone else), Tobin struggles with his past as a Vietnam protester and his current political position.  These shots make him appear as though he is lost behind a sort of barrier that constricts him from making proper decisions.  He tells the protesters to “be tough on your issues, but be gentle on my town,” but when they don’t abide he calls in the National Guard to assuage the government’s nerves.   On the other side of the issues is Ella’s husband, police officer Dale (Woody Harrelson), who is forced to patrol the streets though dealing with life-altering home issues.  The audience sees Dale in heavy protective garb, wearing a helmet, and holding a billy club while crying.  The discord of a powerful, strong man weeping is an emotion that resonates quite strongly.  The image makes it clear that not everyone involved in the five-day protest wants to be there, not everyone agrees with what is being done, but still many have no choice.

The most poignant and heart-wrenching character though may be the one who has the least amount of screen time.  Dr. Maric (Rade Sherbedzija), a physician representing Doctors Without Borders, depends on the WTO conference to inform and get support from the delegates so he can raise money for the prevention and treatment of disease in Third World countries.  But as the activists work to stop the convention, Dr. Maric is left without an audience to plead to.  His silent desperation is saddening.  It’s an emotion that is furthered by the shot of Maric in is his empty lecture hall looking dolefully out the window at the protesters and rioters.  They are making their point on the outside, while he is trying to make the same point on the inside.

It is more the composition of shots than the film’s characters that truly make the movie what it is.  In order to keep the movie’s pace at a steady, heart-palpitating, and utterly nerve-racking rate, shots are never very long.  Townsend is incessantly cutting from shot to shot in order to show many different types of action and perspective, but also to keep the viewers alert.  The quickness of the camera imitates the high tensions, stress, and nerves of those involved - even the governmental officials in their offices with large desks and leather-bound books, move at a fast, anxious speed.

Another interesting technique Townsend employs is the use of actual footage from the 1999 protests.  Just as other historical fiction films before it (such as Emilio Estevez’s Bobby [2006]), Battle flawlessly weaves this live footage of the events into its storyline.  This creates an even more urgent sense to the film. The viewers realize that what is being depicted fictionally actually occurred.  Along with this emotional intensity created by the footage, realism is created with statistics.  The film’s opening credits roll as a voice over explains what the WTO is and how it’s gotten to Seattle.  The viewers are thrust into what they believe to be a illusory story, while all the while being constantly reminded that what is happening was, at one time, real.  And though the audience sighs a breath of relief when the WTO conferences are officially canceled and the activists seem to have won, there is an ominous afterword.  Words move menacingly across the screen reminding the viewers that the WTO still exists, that conglomerates are still ruining Third World countries, animals are still being killed, and these same protesters are still fighting an uphill battle.

Battle’s character’s may not be developed enough for our liking, but the emotion that trickles out of them along with the sentiments that the film’s cinematography creates is enough to make Townsend’s film a triumph.  It’s a movie that should be seen as a reminder of not only what happened on the rainy streets of Seattle many years ago, but also as a reminder of the passion that protesters hold within them, even those in today’s political forum. 

A Narrator's Ability to Manipulate Film

    Narrative has always been a crucial element of a film, even a central part of its theme.  From the establishment of film, going back as far as Lumière’s silent films, many movies have used and manipulated narration.  Some films, such as Chaplin’s The Gold Rush (United Artists, 1925) and Porter’s The Great Train Robbery (Edison's Manufacturing Company, 1903), utilized subtitles as their means of description because the use of sound remained undiscovered.  These silent films would incorporate slides that simply narrated what was about to happen or what was happening in a scene.  It was then up to the viewer to interpret the plot with the knowledge they gained from the slides.  Once sound was incorporated into films however, directors were able to create a new type of narrator to verbally explain a film’s plot. 

    Narration in films can be as simple as a voice over that describes who is who and what is what, the kind of narration that’s in detective films that sets the scene for the audience.  But these voice overs can reveal much more, as well.  Narrators may be biased or omniscient.  They can reveal a character’s true emotions or trick the audience into believing something false.  Some films even rely solely on a narrator to tell the story.  In short, narratives can skew an entire film.  Three films that exemplify such strong narratives include Dan Harris’ Imaginary Heroes (Sony Picture Classics, 2004), Oliver Stone’s Platoon (Orion Pictures, 1986), and Emmanuel Mouret’s Un Baiser S’il Vous Plaît (TFM Distribution, 2007).  Each uses voice over narrative but utilizes it in a different function. 

   Imaginary Heroes follows a family after their golden-boy son commits suicide.  The film’s narrated by the family’s youngest son, Tim Travis (Emile Hirsch), who is also the protagonist of the film.  Tim’s narrative is biased, the audience only sees through his perspective and no one elses. Yet, while the spectators are only aware of his point of view, it seems to be the most important view because Tim was the last person to see his brother, Matt, before his suicide.  Tim therefore knows more than anyone else.  Yet, the most interesting aspect of a first-person narrative is that the narrator has the ability to tell only what he wants to, and he also makes the audience believe anything he says.  Just as though Tim was telling the viewers a close personal story, they believe everything he says and trust that he is not only telling the truth, but also telling the whole truth.   Imaginary Heroes breaks our trust in the narrator though.  The film shows us narrators like Tim can lie and distort our view of an entire film. 

    Imaginary Heroes begins with Tim talking about his brother’s extraordinary talent for swimming, that he was the best at it, that he had countless awards, and was on track to go to the Olympics.  But Tim says that he knows something no one else does – that his brother hates swimming because his father pressures him into doing it and gets zero enjoyment out of winning.  Cut to Tim’s brother sitting at the edge of his bed, anxiously looking up at Tim.  Shortly after, Matt kills himself.  Because of the relationship between the camera and Tim’s narration, the audience is meant to believe that this was the last moment Tim saw his brother (before finding his dead body in a pool of blood).  As the film presses on, the audience learns that Tim has been physically abused and has the massive bruises to prove it.  Tim makes it seem like he was just another victim of his high school’s bully.  And of course, the viewers accept and believe Tim’s story.  The family’s depression changes Tim by the end of the film, and his suppressed anger is revealed.  With this anger also comes honesty.  A quick series of shots reveal that it was Tim’s brother that was beating him up; their relationship was deeply troubled.  Now the camera becomes the narrator, showing the spectators that on the evening of his brother’s suicide, Tim knew what Matt was going to do. The previous angle of the camera that showed Matt sitting on his bed looking at Tim is moved higher now to show Matt holding a gun.  He asks Tim if he’s going to do anything to stop him.  Tim just walks away.  Tim now tells the audience that it was the only time his brother asked for his help and he let him down. 

    The audience is meant to be shocked.  The narrator made them believe one thing for almost two hours, just to suddenly change everything that the film created.  Again, that is one of the most important aspects of such a biased narrator.  Because the audience only gets one view, this narrative can manipulate them into believing anything, which also allows for more suspense and, in a film like Imaginary Heroes, can even create more drama.  Tim’s narrative was more than simply explaining the plot, it instead furthered it.  The narrative kept the audience captivated.  Though a biased narrative functions to do this, other types of narratives can create similar emotions in different ways. 

  Narrative is a strong determinate of emotion.  A narrator can explain deep, powerful emotions that may not be apparent on a superficial level.  Suppressed emotion is common in war films because they depict a type of person who is not supposed to show sentiment, but clearly has very strong feelings.  That’s why looking at the narrative of Platoon is important. Private Chris Taylor (Charlie Sheen), the protagonist, narrates the film.  Not only does the film follow Chris through the tribulations of the Vietnam War, but also gives a first hand perspective of a novice in war.  The characters in the film are burly men who are there to kill; the audience sees very little emotion from them in any other form other than hostility towards others.  But Chris shows us a softer side through his voiceovers.  He confesses that he has no idea what he is doing and is too tired to function properly.  He says, “Somebody once wrote Hell is the impossibility of Reason.  That's what this place feels like.  I hate it already and it's only been a week .”  He is honest and brings the audience fully into his inner thoughts.  Chris explains what exactly his platoon is doing but goes deeper than just plot.  He elucidates the difference between good and evil among men that are at war.  He brings all the underlying feelings of those in war to surface.  New York Times reporter Vincent Canby says, “Another measure of the film is the successful way Mr. Stone has managed to create narrative order in a film that, at heart, is a dramatization of mental, physical and moral chaos.”  Platoon’s narrative is less about plot twists, though the film is full of them, and more about emotion.  Just as Platoon works with the audience’s feelings, some narratives function strictly to tell a plot. 

    Un Baiser S’il Vous Plaît/Shall We Kiss? utilizes a narrative that works mostly to move the plot forward and to tell a story.  A woman meets a man.  She is in the city for work, but only for that single day.  The man is charming and handsome and naturally the two hit it off.  They go out to dinner and when it comes to saying goodbye he tries to kiss her, but she hesitates.  Her reasoning lies within the story of her friend.  The man does not understand and asks her to explain, so she does.  She begins the long tale of her friend who kissed a man, who was not her husband, and fell into a deep hole of adultery and unhappiness.  As the woman tells her story, the audience is no longer watching the woman and man on their date, but instead this new story (narrated by the woman).  Emmanuel Mouret, the director, uses the two parallel couples to not only tell the story, but also to show the depth of temptation.  The narration of Shall We Kiss? moves in and out of voice over, and back and forth from each couple, the couple that the story is about and the couple that is destined to repeat the other’s mistakes.  The audience is once again dependent on narration because without it there would be no story.  So even though Mouret has clearly set up the couples and the narration to show one’s desire, he also uses it to simply tell the story. 

    Films don’t need to have a narrator, there are many other cinematic means of portraying emotion or plot and adding twists and turns to a film.  But it’s clear that narration can be a successful technique in which character’s sentiments can be represented or just an interesting way of telling a story.  There is much more to narration than is usually assumed.  Its development from silent films to its complicated usage today is extraordinary.  Perhaps in the future, directors will find even more ways to manipulate this technique into something even greater.