Threaded: When Music and Movies Intertwine

The clip at the top is from the classic movie The Royal Tenenbaums (2001). It is one of my favorite films, and I believe, a fine example of when music and the motion of a movie have been “threaded” together. In fact, this scene is one of my favorite scenes in any movie because the music and motion are so clearly intertwined. Every detail between the music and the motion of the camera has been thought through. The way the bus stops and exhales before the door opens has been perfectly synchronized with the way Luke Wilson’s character Richie is sitting motionless waiting for Margot’s emergence. When she steps down from the bus, the music – the sublimely melancholy and wistful tune “These Days” by Nico – starts at the precise moment that it needs to. The moment is suspended in time, in slow motion time, as if declaring that both characters will be transfixed by each other in this moment like reveries trapped in a bottle. Look at the way the men in uniform behind Richie, perfectly spaced, move in fluid sequence behind him when the camera closes in on his face, their graceful and bounding steps match the graceful and lilting guitar from the song. It’s a gorgeous moment in cinema, in which every detail has been balanced and harmonized on the foundation of the music, and the music has embraced the motion capture with complete devotion.

There is a level of transcendence that art can achieve when motion and music are in perfect synchronicity. Yet it doesn’t even need to be narrowed down to art- this transcendence can remain as broad as a day in life.

If you’ve ever had your headphones on, listening to music perfectly suited to both the mood and what you are seeing, you might have an idea of what I mean. I recall walking down a suburban sidewalk and listening to music by the band Cotton Jones, specifically the unheralded album Paranoid Cocoon (2009), during the twilight on an autumn day in Kansas. It was sunny and mild, at the time of day the angle of the sun is most acute and the shadows of the trees are cast long and sleepy. The sun illuminated the tips of the tallgrass and a breeze made the trees and grass sway in languid cycles like a haunted metronome. I remember thinking to myself that in the moment everything was in it’s right place and that some transcendent moment in time had just been reached.

This is just one of the songs I might have been listening to- see if you can picture the moment:

 

“Some Strange Rain” Cotton Jones, Paranoid Cocoon

 

Or maybe it was this song:

 

“By Morning Light” Cotton Jones, Paranoid Cocoon

 

Either way, we’ve all had that moment existentially when the concert of life is in harmony. It’s an unique carving in time when the music you have personally selected (or maybe came on the radio by chance) intertwines with the world around you with remarkable ease. I think what makes these moments special and rare is when the details align in the most specific of ways. You can pick music that captures a moment in a general sense, or you can pick music that accompanies both a very specific feeling you are having, and every little detail surrounding you. When you are driving in the car and a song comes on that perfectly mirrors your thoughts and emotions, that may be fireworks. When you hear music that matches the motion of the world around you in addition to every internal feeling you are having, down to the slightest of details, that is what we call a supernova.

When it comes to film, rarely does the music truly intertwine with the images on screen with absolute fidelity. However, when it does, it can be described not only as a cultural highmark, but a transcendent expression. Original scores for movies, especially in contemporary times, often are made in broad strokes that capture the essence of the film, but rarely reach a singularity with the motion capture. It seems every other score these days is made by either Alexandre Desplat or Howard Shore, maybe James Newton Howard and Danny Elfman sprinkled in there for good measure, and these composers usually achieve a realization of the general spirit of the film, but typically nothing beyond. The movie score that might be flirting closest in intertwining with the cinema on display is Hans Zimmer’s soundtrack for Interstellar (2014), which was not only uncannily in sync with the movement of the film, but also expressed many of the intangible aspects of the experience, giving the film and it’s soundtrack a singular identity.

A singular identity is something many film scores and soundtracks lack. Most dramas, and especially the period pieces, opt for the sweeping melodrama of a symphony, or conversely, the quaint pluck of a string quartet if they want to envelope the film in domesticity. Action films lean towards the flares of factory-grinding guitar rock or something utilizing the dense mechanization of electronica. Indie films like to use a quirky pastiche of keyboards, mandolins, banjos, harpsichords, maybe triangles or anything else eccentric that produces an understated charm and unassuming smarm.

If you try to think back to some of the most memorable and successful movie scores, you will probably arrive, more often than not, at movie scores that can be described as “cinematic riffs”. Whether it is the wah-wah of Ennio Morricone’s signature riff for The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly (1966) or the impending dread captured in the staggered cadence of John Williams’ riff for Jaws (1975), these are still ultimately signature styles that align with the spirit of the movie and enhance the effect, but rarely intertwine with the motion capture.

Sometimes it is far tougher to collect a mix of previously-recorded songs and compose a soundtrack that suits both the motion capture and overall identity of a film. However, even if it may seem counterintuitive, these un-original scores can often become the soundtracks that reach the transcendence of aligning with the film in an original, singular manner.

Within the mixed-artist soundtrack, there is still the differentiation between soundtracks that match a style (much like the “cinematic riffs” of some scores) and those that intertwine with the motion capture to produce a singular identity. A good example of the former is the Reservoir Dogs (1992) soundtrack, which matched the retro style and swagger of the film nicely (most Quentin Tarantino soundtracks achieve this), yet only served to enhance the style of the film. A strong example of the latter may be the soundtrack to the film Drive (2011), an ultraviolent modern movie that placed both original and previously-recorded electronic songs throughout. What makes the soundtrack for this film remarkable is not only the way the songs are placed in the same long and expansive intervals that much of the dialogue in the film seems to be placed, but also the way the soundtrack aligns with the clean aesthetic of the motion picture. The electronica songs creep up within the spaces of the film in these clean, ultra-stylized, unabashed gestures much like the delivery of the entire film, synchronizing with the overall movement and mood with near flawless fealty.

Perhaps it’s through a process of scrutiny and careful song selection that makes it possible for the occasional serendipity when a song perfectly aligns with the moment in a film. After all, the expression of every human emotion, every distinct feeling, is out there in song form somewhere. Why compose an original score when the freedom to orchestrate can lead you farther from the truth? Why not use the director’s intuition to find the synchronicity between the feeling of a recording artist’s song and the feeling of a film?

Rare are the moments when there is this perfect overlap between music and motion within just one scene of a film.  Even rarer are the films that understand both the essence and details of the cinema in such an intimate way that the entire soundtrack intertwines. Is it possible for a director to harness this magic, bottle it, and use it on multiple pictures? Why yes, there may be one director that has managed this feat.

Before anybody groans, here enters Wes Anderson. If you are unfamiliar with his work, know that Wes Anderson has developed a singular style within his craft that has made his films instantly recognizable. Even if his penchant for bespoke fashions, handmade crafts, deadpan delivery, ironic dialogue, and fluid always-panning cinematography has been parodied countless times in every outlet of popular culture, he is still undeniably in touch with his unique vision. Another one of his penchants, also parodied, is his knack for selecting music perfectly suited to his films. In fact, most of his films reach a level of singularity between soundtrack and motion capture that can only be described as a “threading” of these elements.  The reason the fidelity of these two elements of his films is so great is probably because he understands the intricacies of his vision. In other words, his intimate understanding of the artistic expression he wants to create and the way his films exude a certain style contained in every detail, the way his actors behave, the nuances of the production, and most importantly, the way the scene moves on the screen, makes the perfect selection of music all the more likely.

Here is another choice scene, this time from Rushmore (1998):

 

The clip at the top of the post from The Royal Tenenbaums (2001) is just one of many prime examples of Wes Anderson’s ability to “thread” motion and music and all accompanying details into a thing of absolute beauty. It is a singular moment in artistic expression that makes the song by Nico better and the moment in the film a precious nugget in cinematic history.  Whether it’s Rushmore, The Royal Tenenbaums, The Life Aquatic, The Darjeeling Limited, Moonrise Kingdom, or The Grand Budapest Hotel, all of his movies exhibit this uncanny ability. The music exudes the same qualities as the action on the screen, resonating with the same mood and emotions, and producing a powerful effect that only a few talented directors like Wes Anderson can deliver. As I mentioned earlier, when music, a very specific feeling, and even the slightest of visible details are in harmony, the film’s expression can reach transcendence.

I hope to make this a periodic post in which other moments in film which display this “threaded” quality are posted. If you have scenes in mind that follow in a similar vein, please feel free to let me know in the comments section.