A composer’s job in the film industry is to provide a musical soundscape that matches, heightens, or compliments the visual imagery it is paired up with. Out of all of the sound elements in cinema, scores are the oldest iterations, as music was played live to silent works as accompaniment. During the silent era, these scores would have to do all of the heavy lifting. Without dialogue, ambience, and other audible noises (aside from the music itself), silent films are strictly a visual medium. That’s why the scores for these films aim to embody as many cues as possible. This rendered these scores as a singular identity of their own, as songs would often slip out of visual scenes, continue over title cards (despite the visual pauses), and may also end on their own terms (rather than when a scene ends).

To get a sense of what a silent film score would be like if you’re unfamiliar, here is the entire film A Corner in Wheat from 1909.

What about now? Well, scores can now be cut into scenes and mixed where necessary. A composer can create a soundtrack or score before seeing a film (if given the proper cues), or after seeing a form of the nearly-finished project (to get a sense of what songs to write); they can even write during production, as they’re given scenes to reference. Unless a film is meant to embody only one mindset, a score will cover as many feelings and moods as possible, with different songs taking on different responsibilities. Here are ten such possible scenarios.

Joy/Beauty

A composition can try to bring out the best of a film’s characters, maybe in brighter scenes. These include fluttering melodies, soothing harmonic structures (scales, for instance), and uplifting timbres. Decent songs of this nature allow the performers to shine, as the music serves as a backdrop. The best kinds of joyful compositions will seem like their own character, or like an element of a character; the realization that someone is full of glee, or an observation that someone is beautiful to the point of being spellbound.

Georges Delerue’s acclaimed score for the French New Wave classic Jules et Jim features many moments of pure happiness. The song “Brouillard” (any version) starts off curiously, before diving right into the main melody, which waltzes like a friend or loved one walking alongside you. Here’s the song by itself.

In the following scene, friends and lovers are catching up with one another, and the same song brings out the tenderness of being with someone you have dearly missed, and are so glad to see again.

Quirkiness/Curiosity

In comedic films or sillier moments within more serious works, there may be a call for some more quirky sounds: oboes filling in a void, string instruments being plucked clumsily, or a piano played giddily. Being excessive with sillier sounding structures will result in a purposefully awkward sound. Holding back a bit and being more quaint in this way can sound like curiosity, or whimsy. It all depends on whether a scene calls for a character to look stupid or rightfully inquisitive (amongst other scenarios).

In recent years, Alexandre Desplat has been fantastic at conjuring up both silly and mysterious melodies. He achieves both in The Grand Budapest Hotel. Here is such an example, with “Mr. Moustafa”.

In the actual scene, you can see the discussion about the actual Mr. Moustafa. The scene itself carries sincere intrigue, but the song isn’t overly serious, allowing the film to get zanier whenever it needs to; the film, and its score, remain succinct throughout regardless.

Triumph

If we’re riding the wave of positive emotions, we must discuss triumphant moments in films. Scores will be bombastic, feature swelling crescendos, and hit a high to match climaxes or exciting scenes. These moments usually stand out on complete soundtracks, because of the extra amount of ambition these songs may carry (compared to more quaint, scaled down songs anyway).

For me, no composer achieved triumph better than the master himself Ennio Morricone. “The Ecstasy of Gold” from The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly is a classic example that has achieved a life of its own even outside of the film, thanks to its largely scaled nature.

What’s astonishing is that the scene the song is featured in is very simple: a spot that has been searched for the entire film is discovered, and now it has to be explored through. That’s it. Yet, the exhilaration of this scene — and what the on-screen character feels — comes from the song emphasizing what a huge ordeal this moment really is.

Resolution

The opposite of an extremely triumphant moment may be the similarly-optimistic song of resolution. A wall of splendour is also used here, but song structures are much less intense. Expect warmer brass sections, soothing string sections, and percussion to maybe take a backseat here. Songs like this are meant to bring a heightened moment back down, or to allow performances to take prominence.

John Williams is almost synonymous with this type of composition. Put on any Steven Spielberg film with a Williams score, and you will find many examples. One of the finer examples is found in the biopic Lincoln.

The song is used in a scene where character Thaddeus Stevens faces racist bigots during the debate to end or continue slavery; he insists that everyone is worthy of freedom, including those that he himself hates (the intolerant). The song compliments his speech, rather than steals the show.

Comfort/Nostalgia

In a similar way, songs can cause a scene to feel comfortable amidst other moments; maybe a character is feeling at peace, or a compromise has been made. This can also translate into nostalgia, as someone finds solace in their own thoughts or mementos. Similar to the above song examples, these types of tracks are warmer, calmer melodies. However, I think the difference is the allowance of the songs here to take prominence within a scene, as if to evoke what a character is feeling, rather than the mood of the scene itself.

James Horner’s work in A Beautiful Mind is full of moments of comfort and nostalgia hidden amidst the more hectic scenes. The following song “Of One Heart, Of One Mind” begins hesitant, before becoming vulnerable with an overwhelming burst of instrumentation.

In this scene, Alicia Nash comforts her husband John by sticking by his side, as she asks for him to try and understand her as well. With this song in the scene, you don’t feel concerned that this won’t bode well, or treat the scenario as a joke. This is clearly a turning point for both characters, as they find solace in one another.

Sorrow

Now, let’s get into the more negative sounds that a score can elicit. Sorrow is like the negative “triumphant”, as it is similarly as overwhelming, but made to extract sadness out of you (rather than excitement). This means lingering chords, rhythm that feels damning, and sadder sounding scales.

Angelo Badalamenti is an expert on getting these types of emotions, even by using just synths. The main theme of Mulholland Drive sets dread and sadness in an exquisite way throughout the film.

In this particular scene, the song may not seem to represent sadness all that much; maybe more mystery than anything. However, in the fuller context of the film, this is a memory being recollected by a depressed character wondering where it all went wrong. Also notice the change in song once the character reaches the party, as the diegetic music helps compliment the backdrop. The main theme overtakes the entire scene, as the character’s weariness within the scene is present, and her sadness remembering the scene circulates audibly.

Fear

To create full-on fear, scores have to feel different than what we’re accustomed to when it comes to comfortable listening. This means frantic strings, heavy percussion, surprise sounds, and even other types of experiments. The goal is to create uneasiness, whilst still sounding melodic to some degree (composers in the twenty first century have found neat ways to push these boundaries, including Thomas Bangalter putting in high-pitched frequencies to make one feel nauseated during Irreversible).

Legendary composer Bernard Herrmann nailed these types of sounds while working with Alfred Hitchcock and other filmmakers. In Psycho, he has countless examples of scary-sounding melodies. Here’s one such example.

In the scene from the film, the character Marion is on the run. As thoughts swirl around her head, and rain begins to pour, Herrmann’s song only adds to the panic of the scene. It perfectly replicates a scared person’s brain not settling down and stirring into a frenzy.

Suspense

Suspense works similarly to fear, but for me it has more to do with the dread of what’s coming next, rather than the panic of what’s currently happening. This means melodramatic scales, festering low notes, and similar types of uneasiness. Passages can linger or creep up, and resolutions will sound doomed, without a hint of hope in sight.

Henry Mancini’s work in Wait Until Dark broods the entire time, until it punishes you. With the dread this song conjures up, there doesn’t seem to be a chance of a happy ending. You’ll wonder what will happen next, because everything is going wrong.

In the same scene, Susy — a recently blinded woman — realizes that she is in grave danger, as she tries to figure out a way to get out of her predicament. Unbeknownst to her, there are more intruders in her house than she realizes; this only adds to the score’s pessimism, as we know she is in a much worse position than she realizes.

Tension

Similar to suspense, tension is used to either represent a current debacle or an upcoming situation. String instruments reverberate, sections repeat and drone, and literal instrumental friction is caused. Unlike fear or suspense, these songs aren’t as specific; they can be geared towards anger as well.

In our generation, Mica Levi is the greatest composer of scores that are full of tension. The song “Children” from Jackie is full of uncertainty, that is drowned out by combatting instruments: pulsating strings, impatient snare rolls, and a melodic “voice of reason” that is ignored.

In the eyes of Jackie Kennedy, this scene of her and John F. Kennedy arriving in Dallas is tainted by his eventual assassination. The scene itself is played so happily, but Levi’s score taints the entire moment, causing us to feel on edge. It’s now just a build up to the worst moment in Jackie’s life; the scene also leads into her revisiting her husband’s death verbally.

Anger/Hate

Finally, scores can get as dark as possible, and inspire angry sensations or even hate. Scales are full of low notes. Instruments are daunting to the point of irritation. Distortion may be included, to add a lack of comfort. Of course, it would be silly to make audiences feel angry, but the idea is to represent this anger in an identifiable way.

Howard Shore’s work on The Silence of the Lambs is mostly suspenseful, but “Return to the Asylum” is a song that feels burdened with subliminal anger.

In the scene, Clarice Starling is beginning to be fed up with Hannibal Lecter toying with her. As she begins to exhibit signs of impatience, the song kicks in. Lecter himself isn’t mad, and Starling isn’t exactly shouting or cursing, but you get a strong enough sense of her frustration with his lack of cooperation.

Andreas Babiolakis has a Masters degree in Film and Photography Preservation and Collections Management from Ryerson University, as well as a Bachelors degree in Cinema Studies from York University. His favourite times of year are the Criterion Collection flash sales and the annual Toronto International Film Festival.

Distance Learning Film: Moods Created by Scores