With his score for The Book Thief, John Williams earned his 49th Oscar nomination, adding to his impressive achievement as the second most Oscar-nominated individual in history behind only Walt Disney, who earned 59 nominations. As with so many of his other scores, Williams constructs a large portion of his score for The Book Thief by stating and varying a handful of musical themes. The following film music analysis will provide a brief overview of the score’s style, then examine how Williams adapts several of his themes to various dramatic situations through the process of thematic transformation.

The Style of the Score

The Book Thief being a tale of the struggle for survival under Nazi rule during the Second World War, one might expect to hear echoes of Williams’ score for Schindler’s List throughout the film. But his music for The Book Thief actually bears the strongest resemblances to his score for the 1999 film, Angela’s Ashes, likely because both films present stories of life’s hardships largely from the innocence of a child’s perspective. Hence, there is a bittersweet quality to both scores that is reflected in Williams’ prominent use of lyrical themes in minor keys. The similarity between the two scores is most evident in their main themes. Here is that of Angela’s Ashes:

Now compare this to the main theme of The Book Thief:

The instrumentation for the two films is also quite similar, as both rely heavily on solos provided by the piano, oboe, and harp, and commonly draw on a full-bodied string sound for contrast. (Compare, for instance, the solo piano opening of each clip above.) In addition, both scores make use of playful, scherzo-like cues written mainly for strings for more lighthearted scenes. The two scores, however, differ in their details and the way in which Williams varies the themes to suit the unfolding drama. I explore three of the most prominent themes in the film below.

Liesel’s Theme (The Main Theme)

The above main theme of The Book Thief is associated with the main character, Liesel, a young  adolescent girl whose mother, fearing for her life as a Communist in Nazi Germany, takes Liesel to live with foster parents Hans and Rosa at the start of the film. En route, Liesel witnesses the death and burial of her younger brother. Thus, Liesel’s circumstances are not only emotionally difficult, but constantly dangerous as well. In addition to the bittersweet sound of the theme’s minor-mode lyricism, Williams infuses Liesel’s Theme with a sense of struggle through its musical intervals. Here is the full version of theme:

The theme divides into two eight-bar halves: the first half is the one we hear most often in the score, the second half acting as a kind of varied repetition of the first half. My analysis shows the contours of the melody with arrows above the staff.

Of note here is the way Williams shapes each two-bar phrase of the melody. In the analysis, notice that the first phrase is the only one that has an overall rising contour after an upward leap. After that, every phrase takes a downward turn following its initial rise. More than that, each descent is stepwise, suggesting a gradual fall from an initial burst of energy. In human terms, this technique suggests a negative force that is weighing down on the hopes of the protagonist, which is a fitting expression of Liesel’s constant emotional struggle of having those she most cares about whisked away by both the Nazis and the war.

The second half of the theme is even more pessimistic in a number of ways. First, it is jolted into a distantly-related minor key (much as Liesel must constantly adjust to jarring new situations). Second, now every phrase of the melody including the first is dragged down in steps at its end. And third, the chord in bar 13 that prepares for the final phrase is what is called the “Neapolitan” (or flat II) chord, which lowers the second degree of the scale and creates a more melancholic sound (as flattened notes tend to do). All of these musical features serve to reinforce, indeed enhance, the emotional content of the theme’s first half.

Variations of Liesel’s Theme

Williams subjects Liesel’s Theme to several variations according to the narrative situation. When Liesel first goes to the house of the Bürgermesiter (the mayor), she is apprehensive about entering his property, no doubt due to the Bürgermeister’s strong affiliation with “the Führer” and Liesel’s Communist background (about which there are rumours). The statement we hear of Liesel’s Theme here is accordingly hesitant, with the piano sounding its first three notes and pausing before playing the next three notes of the phrase. After a short orchestral comment from the strings, the same phrase is then restated in varied form but with the same hesitant qualities. Hear these in the track below:

At other times, Williams uses only the four-note “tail” of the theme’s second and fourth phrases. When Liesel and Rosa say goodbye to Hans at a train station, as he has been conscripted into the German army, we hear the four-note tail clearly twice at the beginning, at 0:29, 1:03, 1:13, 1:28 (extended to eight notes), and repeatedly from 1:44:

The use of this tail as the basic material for the cue could be understood as a reflection of the Nazi’s overwhelmingly negative effect on Liesel during this scene. And yet the cue’s lyricism still manages to express much of the love she and Hans feel for one another.

Death’s Theme

As both a concept and a character, death plays an important role in The Book Thief. Most prominently, Death narrates the film as a disembodied voice. Williams therefore writes a theme for the character that returns several times:

The theme is scored for solo piano, which emphasizes the loneliness one feels in having lost a loved one. Harmonically, the theme is built largely on the sorrowful sound of minor chords, but always with an extra semitone added to the chord, which adds a sense of pain through its biting dissonance. The theme also drifts from C minor through Bb minor to E minor, giving it a wandering and unpredictable character, much like Death itself. Notice as well the melody’s stepwise descents, which, like Liesel’s Theme, suggest a heavy emotional weight, now of grieving the death of a close relation.

This theme is heard at the opening of the film, as Death begins the narration, and returns shortly afterward at the funeral for Liesel’s brother. But a couple of other cues introduce some appropriate variations. When the German town in which Liesel and her family live is bombed, for example, Death’s narration enters again, but the theme is now unharmonized and scored entirely for solo oboe, adding a sharp poignancy to the scene of destruction that is about to play out. Hear this in the track below:

In the film’s final scene, we see the inside of the New York apartment of the adult Liesel, presumably after her death. As Death narrates how she lived out the rest of her life, we glean that Liesel became a successful writer as the camera pans across a few small stacks of her novels while Death comments that “her stories had touched many souls.” As this scene begins, we hear Death’s Theme, still played softly on the piano, but now transformed into a major key. This subtle change allows the theme to take on a positive connotation, in the same way that Liesel took her wartime experiences with death and turned them into stories that “had touched many souls,” ending the film on a more optimistic note. Hear this below:

Max and Liesel’s Theme

After the war breaks out, a young Jewish man named Max comes to Hans and Rosa in flight from the Nazis. As Max’s father saved Hans’ life in World War I, Hans and Rosa agree to keep Max in hiding at their home. Liesel, who has been learning how to read from Hans, forms a friendship with Max (as a sort of brother she no longer had) through her skills of reading and writing. Max, for instance, gives Liesel a journal at Christmas, and Liesel reads books aloud for Max when he is seriously ill.

We hear the theme when Max decides it too dangerous to continue to stay with Hans and Rosa after a neighbourhood shopkeeper’s Jewish roots are discovered and he is taken away. As Max is explaining to Liesel why he must leave, we hear the following form of the theme:

Once again, this theme is set in a minor key, now to express the heartbreak Liesel feels at Max’s departure. Notice how the bass line takes up the four-note tail from Liesel’s theme, not only suggesting the same negative effect of the war on Liesel, but also subtly expressing how close-knit the two characters have become.

We also hear the theme when Liesel learns that Max has recovered from his illness and will live on. As she rushes home to see Max again, the theme is clearly in a major key to reflect Liesel’s joy in hearing the good news. But notice that the four-note tail is absent from this version, aptly reflecting the small victory in overcoming the Nazi’s oppressive force:

After the war, when Liesel sees Max again after fearing him dead, we hear the theme once more, now more similar to its form when Max departs, but with an important alteration. This time, Williams changes the opening bar to start on a major chord (this is clear on the second chord we hear, when a dissonance in the bass resolves) while the rest of the theme remains largely as it was. This harmonic change reorients the theme so that we now hear the theme as emerging from a major rather than a minor key. In technical terms, Williams converts the theme so we hear it as beginning in the relative major of the original minor key. The four-note tail is gone as well, all of which suggests the positive new beginning to the old relationship Liesel and Max began under more negative circumstances. Listen to this version below:

Conclusion

With his score for The Book Thief, John Williams continues to demonstrate his talent for thematic invention and transformation. And as with his other scores, he manages to write music that is highly tailored to the emotional nuances in a given scene. With consistency like this, it is no wonder he has earned so many Oscar nominations over his career.

Coming soon… Thomas Newman’s Saving Mr. Banks.

Miklós Rózsa won his third Academy Award for Best Music with the 1959 epic Ben-Hur. The music is often touted as Rózsa’s best film score and one of the finest in Hollywood’s history, in part due to “Rózsa’s ability to write in a contemporary musical idiom while maintaining a direct emotional appeal to general audiences,” as Roger Hickman observes in his book on the score for Ben-Hur. At the same time, Hickman points out that “in many respects, Rózsa’s music for Ben-Hur also represents the end of the Golden Age of Hollywood film music.”

Considering that Rózsa was a major figure in Hollywood’s Golden Age (and thereafter), it is no surprise that his score for Ben-Hur­ retains several practices from that era such as scoring for a large orchestra, the use of leitmotifs, and thematic transformation. The film music analysis below will examine thematic transformation in three prominent leitmotifs from the film: those for Esther (or the love theme), friendship, and hatred.

Esther / Love Theme

This theme is a leitmotif for both Esther and the love between her and Judah Ben-Hur. It is first heard when Esther is introduced as she elegantly descends a staircase while Judah looks admiringly upon her. In this form, the theme has a warmly romantic feel with its scoring for strings, slow rhythmic motion, and emphasis on the positive sound of major chords, all of which confirm the deep-seated love Esther and Judah have for one another (hear up to 0:47):

Later in the film, when Judah finally returns home after four years, he awaits Esther’s arrival in the very room where they proclaimed their love for one another. Here, the love theme’s character takes on a more apprehensive and lonesome quality with the melody sounded delicately in the alto flute overtop of a light tremolo accompaniment in the strings, as though to suggest Judah’s fluttering heart as he wonders whether Esther still loves him. Although this scoring remains as Esther enters the room, upon her reminiscence to her and Judah’s loving goodbye with the line “but now it seems as if only yesterday…”, the theme becomes warmer and more sure-footed. The tremolo disappears and the scoring returns to the romantic strings, indicating not only that Esther’s feelings for Judah are as they were before he left, but also Judah’s comfort in hearing this reassuring news. Here are these versions of the theme:

Only minutes later, the conversation between Esther and Judah turns to Judah’s former friend Messala, now a commanding officer of the Roman legion who sent Judah to be a galley slave and apprehended his mother and sister. At this point, another altered form of the love theme enters, this time to suggest how Judah and Esther’s love will be negatively affected by Judah’s hatred of Messala. Just as Esther looks concernedly at Judah and is about to utter Messala’s name, we hear growling, dissonant chords in the brass, which suggest the hatred Esther knows Judah feels. Then a distinctive figure (musically speaking, a “turn” figure) from the love theme appears repeatedly overtop, even obsessively, as though Judah’s fixation on revenge will destroy his relationship with Esther. Also, these figures are accompanied by a slowly descending chromatic line, again implying the negative effects this emotion will have, and perhaps even Esther’s own “sinking feeling” about Judah’s hatred. This version of the theme occurs below:

The Friendship and Hatred Themes

Introduction of the Themes

These two themes and their transformations, particularly that of the friendship theme, musically describe the relationship between Judah and Messala and are given clear statements in their normal form before being transformed. At the start of the film, the two are delighted to revitalize their close friendship from childhood. The music here participates by announcing the friendship leitmotif, which is based almost entirely on the positive sound of major chords warmly scored in the sustained strings in a pleasing middle register:

Before long, however, Messala asks Judah to inform on any Jews who are opposed to the Roman Empire. When Judah refuses, Messala gives him an ultimatum: either he is for Messala or he is against him. After Judah is forced to admit, “if that is the choice, then I am against you,” we hear the hatred leitmotif, a theme that depicts this emotion through its dissonant harmony, dark colouring of the Phrygian mode, the melody’s low, sinister register in the cellos and basses, and the aggressive sound of muted trumpets in the accompaniment:

After the hatred theme is immediately repeated with the melody in the violins, Judah returns home to his mother and sister, and relays Messala’s attempt to extract the names of dissenters from him. At this point, the music wavers between the friendship and hatred themes. On the heels of the hatred theme, for example, the friendship theme reappears for two statements but now lacks its major-chord support, instead beginning with the dissonant interval of the tritone against the bass. Two statements of the hatred theme then return essentially in its original guise before yielding once more to the friendship theme, which is now harmonized with melancholic minor chords. Such quick alternations between the two themes, along with the transformation of the friendship theme, suggest an erratic emotional state in Judah, one in which his strong sense of friendship for Messala is being poisoned by his new-found hatred. Hear these versions of the themes below:

The Death of Messala

After the famous chariot race in which Messala is fatally injured while trying to sabotage Judah’s chariot, Judah comes to visit Messala on his death bed. While we might expect the hatred theme to accompany this scene, it is actually the friendship theme that makes an appearance. Indeed, when Messala says to Judah, “triumph complete, Judah. The race won. The enemy destroyed,” Judah replies “I see no enemy.” The use of the friendship theme accords with this magnanimous statement better than the hatred theme would have. Even so, the friendship theme is transformed by its slower tempo, its harmonization with funereal minor chords, and its scoring, which is now in the low register of the violins and violas, doubled by the cellos and basses, with sustained chords in the horns. Thus, in its scoring, the theme has taken on aspects of the hatred theme, suggesting the devastating toll the hatred between the two men has had on their friendship. Listen below:

The Crucifixion Scene

This scene presents the final transformations of the friendship and hatred themes in the film. As Christ is being nailed to and raised up on the cross, we hear the hatred theme. But when Judah enters the scene and beholds the crucifixion, we hear the same transformation of the friendship theme we heard with Messala’s death, but with one important change. This time, the tail end of the hatred theme is inserted as a repeating motif in the low trombones between the notes of the friendship theme. The use of these themes at all in this scene is surprising since Messala is no longer in the film at this point. It is possible, however, to hear the two themes as “broadening” in their associations, from the personal relationship of Judah and Messala to the relationship of Christ to the Romans and even humanity in general. The hatred theme, for example, can easily be understood as applying to the Romans and their hatred of Christ. Similarly, the transformed friendship theme could well represent the consequences Christ faces due to hatred of his teachings of a sort of friendship among all people, or more specifically, of a love and tolerance of others. At the same time, since Christ seeks to absolve the world of its sins through his own suffering and death, the simultaneous use of both themes in this scene suggests the toxic effect of hatred on the world’s friendships generally. This highly negative expression allows the “heavenly” Christ theme that ends the scene (and returns to end the film) to enter as though from the darkest of depths, the musical equivalent of a salvation. Hear the hatred theme, then its combination with the friendship theme below from 1:03:18:

Conclusion

Thematic transformation of leitmotifs was one of the central features of film scores in the Classical Hollywood style. Miklós Rózsa, who began scoring films in the Classical Hollywood era, continued to draw on many of these features into the post-Classical era (after 1950), thematic transformation being one example. Perhaps the greatest advantage of this technique is its ability to follow characters’ developments and clarify their changing emotional states throughout the course of a film. In Ben-Hur, the technique was particularly effective since it allowed for an enhanced understanding of Judah’s relationships to the two other characters with whom he interacts with the most—Esther and Messala.

Coming soon… Themes in Ennio Morricone’s Once Upon a Time in the West (Part 1 of 3)

Erich Korngold’s music for the The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938) remains one of his most admired and enduring film scores. Indeed, the score was awarded the Oscar for Best Original Score and is one of the best examples of music written in the style of the studio era of the 1930s and 40s, or what is known as the Classical Hollywood era.

In large part, the filmmaking style of Classical Hollywood revolved around coordinating the filmic elements to present the narrative with as much clarity as possible. Film scores of the era aided in this goal through such techniques as leitmotifs (themes, especially for the principal characters), sudden loud chords at intense moments (known as “stingers”), and musical imitations of physical gestures onscreen (called “Mickey Mousing” for obvious reasons).

The leitmotif technique, however, does not consist merely of sounding the same form of a theme each time a character appears onscreen. On the contrary, over the course of a film, most leitmotifs undergo some kind of variation in order to reflect physical, psychological, or emotional changes of a character at various points in the narrative. When applied to places and objects, the variations might suggest a character’s reaction to the place or object, or may simply be a guide as to how the viewer ought to interpret a scene. This process, called thematic transformation, is an important part of how film music is used and certainly applies to Korngold’s Robin Hood, as shown in the following film music analysis of two of its most prominent leitmotifs, those for the Merry Men and Robin himself.

The Merry Men’s Leitmotif

Initial Form

This is the leitmotif we hear at the very start of the film over the main titles. Its setting as a march aptly depicts the military prowess of the merry men, and yet its jaunty major key simultaneously reflects the men’s cheerful spirit and depiction as the “good guys”.

Here it is in the main titles (up to 0:56):

Waltz

While this form of the leitmotif returns in the film when the men ambush Sir Guy and his party in Sherwood Forest, it is also subjected to some transformations. For example, when the men are preparing a grand feast on the spoils of the ambush, we now hear the Merry Men’s leitmotif in triple time as the introduction to a graceful waltz that suggests the celebratory atmosphere of the event:
 

Disguise

Later, the men approach Nottingham Castle disguised as the entourage of the Bishop of the Black Canons, who has been coerced into following Robin’s plan. Here, the Merry Men leitmotif appears in a threatening minor key to suggest the situation’s potential danger to the men. The leitmotif is also supported by the fifth note of the scale (the dominant) instead of the first note (the tonic) as it was at the film’s opening. This subtle change adds a sense of anticipation to the scene as dominants usually suggest that a resolution to the tonic is nearing with every passing beat. Hear these changes below:

Once the men are about to enter the castle’s interior, we hear the leitmotif once more in a minor key, but with yet another change: the melody is now pared down to a mere outline of the Merry Men tune. While it remains recognizable, its relationship to the original tune is somewhat hidden, just as the Merry Men themselves are in disguise in the scene. Hear this in the above clip from 1:53.

Robin’s Leitmotif

Initial Form

This theme undergoes several transformations throughout the film. The first time we hear it, it accompanies a close-up of Robin’s face, clearly associating that character with the music, as is typical of Classical Hollywood scores. Here is that version of the theme:
 

Heroic/Danger

When Robin first enters the castle, he is carrying on his shoulders a dead deer he took the blame for killing in order to save Much from being arrested by Sir Guy. Robin enters the room brazenly, knocking down two guards with the deer and leisurely sauntering in. At the same time, the situation is full of danger as he is completely surrounded by his enemies. This mixture of confidence and peril is indicated musically through the leitmotif’s militaristic opening figure (a rising fourth, suggesting something powerful) and through the unusual string of three chords that follows the figure (chromatic chords, suggesting the danger and precariousness of the situation), which are also given a confident, sure-footed rhythm. Here is that version of the theme:
 

Romantic Longing

Later in the film, as Robin and Marian develop their love for each other, Robin secretly scales the wall of the castle to Marian’s chamber to meet her and declare his love. As this scene begins, we hear Robin’s theme, but this time it is divested of its heroic quality. Instead we hear it played softly and lyrically in the strings, which lends it a romantic sound. Even more prominently, the harmony of the theme has now been transformed into a single chord, one that is much more dissonant than the heroic chords we heard before. This dissonant chord is called a half-diminished seventh chord and it’s one that became famous with the opening of the prelude to Wagner’s opera Tristan und Isolde. Because the chord has a mysterious quality and yet still requires some kind of resolution to its dissonance, it is a fitting musical symbol of Tristan and Isolde’s infinite yearning in their ill-fated romantic love. Here is the opening of the Tristan prelude, the half-diminished seventh chord entering at 0:10:

Now hear the same chord (though transposed) in Robin’s theme at the start of the love scene:

With the Tristan prelude as a conceptual backdrop, it becomes clear that the transformation of Robin’s theme indicates his romantic longing to be with Marian even in the face of great danger.

Triumph

A final transformation of Robin’s leitmotif occurs at the very end of the film, when Robin and the Merry Men have returned King Richard to the throne, been granted pardons from their accused crimes, and when Richard permits Robin and Marian to marry. For these triumphant events, Korngold scores Robin’s theme in the strings as in the love scene, emphasizing the romance of Robin and Marian in its new-found freedom. Korngold also uses mainly major and minor chords within a single key rather than the dissonant half-diminished seventh, suggesting the stability of the situation with Richard once again as king. As the film winds down to its close, and the crowd cheers Robin and Marian as they leave the room, we hear this same version of Robin’s theme but with the brass instruments added as a final gesture of triumph.

Thus, far from merely signalling the Merry Men’s and Robin’s presence onscreen, these two leitmotifs follow the characters through their adventures, mirroring their physical and emotional states through the process of thematic transformation.

Coming soon… Thematic Transformation in ­Ben-Hur

While films of the 1930s and 40s were mainly furnished with orchestral music, they also drew upon popular songs. These films, however, made a major distinction between these two types of music: whereas orchestral music usually provided the non-diegetic accompaniment, which is not heard by the characters in the film, sung popular music was diegetic in that it had its apparent source in the fictional world of the film. The reason for this distinction appears to be that, once the voice began to be synchronized with film, and therefore become diegetic, it was always considered to be diegetic, regardless of whether voices spoke words or sang songs. Apparently, the idea of a disembodied voice filling the soundtrack was just too unpalatable in the early sound era, but later it was to become an important way in which film music is used.

This began to change in the 1950s, and by the late 60s, the popular song had claimed its place as a viable alternative to orchestral music in the non-diegetic accompaniment. This post explores some of the historical steps in this changing use of popular songs in film from diegetic to non-diegetic music.

Popular Songs as Diegetic Music

The Jazz Singer (1927) was a landmark film because it was the first to feature entire sequences of synchronized sound with dialogue. Naturally, almost all of these sequences involved the main character, Jakie Rabinowitz (Al Jolson), singing jazz, the popular music of the day. Although jazz does enter non-diegetically, it is always purely orchestral music. The use of the voice is restricted to the diegetic world. Here’s a short clip featuring Jolson singing “Toot Toot Tootsie” (by the way, Jolson’s words here, “Wait a minute! Wait a minute! You ain’t heard nothin’ yet”, are the first words ever synchronized on film):

Once films began to be made with completely synchronized sound, the potential for this diegetic use of popular songs grew and thus musicals became quite common in these early years of sound film. One famous example is The Broadway Melody (1929), which was the first sound film to win the Academy Award for Best Picture.

But even when films were not musicals, popular songs always had their source clearly established in the film’s diegetic world. All of the popular songs in Casablanca (1942) for instance are grounded in performances we see onscreen. And even though the popular song “As Time Goes By”, which first appears as a diegetic song, is used in Max Steiner’s non-diegetic score, it once again is used only orchestrally, never vocally. The scene in which Rick first sees Ilsa again demonstrates this well, as Sam’s diegetic singing and playing give way to a non-diegetic orchestral variation of the tune when Rick’s and Ilsa’s eyes meet (watch from 1:20):

High Noon and the Vocal Song as Non-Diegetic Music

Although not in a popular style, the main title music of High Noon (1952) set an important precedent for later films. Sung as a western ballad by Tex Ritter, Dimitri Tiomkin’s “Do Not Forsake Me Oh My Darling” was used at various points throughout the film as non-diegetic music. In this way, it clearly expressed the psychological state of marshal Will Kane (Gary Cooper). Here’s a clip of the end of the film, where the song enters as non-diegetic accompaniment to Kane and his wife Amy’s departure from town (the song enters at 1:50):

Popular Song as Non-Diegetic Main Title Music

Blackboard Jungle (1955) is well known for its use of Bill Haley & His Comets’ “Rock Around the Clock” in the main title sequence. This non-diegetic use of a popular song was groundbreaking in film history as it not only validated rock ‘n’ roll as a viable alternative to the orchestral sound (just as Alex North’s score to A Streetcar Named Desire and Elmer Bernstein’s for The Man with the Golden Arm did for jazz), but it also used popular song in a way that did not have its source in the film’s fictional world. In this case, however, the song does not reappear in the film proper as it does in High Noon. Even so, its impact was powerful enough for it to be reused as the main title music for George Lucas’ American Graffiti in 1973, which had an all-popular soundtrack. View the main titles of Blackboard Jungle below (the song begins at 0:41):

Popular Song as Performance-Based Non-Diegetic Music

The Beatles’ musical comedy A Hard Day’s Night (1964) uses only the band’s songs as musical accompaniment. In almost every case, we see the band performing the song, so the music remains grounded in the film’s world as diegetic music. In one scene, we hear “Can’t Buy Me Love” while the band enjoys a playful time outdoors. A similar treatment of the same song occurs again later in the film. Both instances are non-diegetic uses of popular song, and yet at the same time, as Buhler, Neumeyer, and Deemer observe in Hearing the Movies,

“Although music is not simply the product of onscreen performance in A Hard Day’s Night, the presence of the Beatles clearly motivates and so also contains the music. If ‘Can’t Buy me Love’ offers a kind of nondiegetic commentary on the scene, it nevertheless seems that the band is commenting on itself, much like a character’s voice-over narration might in a dramatic film. There is in that sense little separation of the music from the character(s).”

In this film, then, the nondiegetic popular music is not completely independent of the film’s diegesis. It still remains grounded by the idea of musical performance, in much the same manner as a music video. View the scene here:

Popular Song as Pure Non-Diegetic Music

The Graduate (1967) is really the film that set the popular song free from its diegetic use in film. In this case, we hear the songs of Simon and Garfunkel as non-diegetic accompaniment for Ben (Dustin Hoffmann), especially in scenes that focus in on the character’s face, suggesting that he is lost in thought. The music now has no source in the diegesis and is present to enhance our understanding of Ben’s state of mind. This purely non-diegetic use of popular song opened the door for countless other films that featured such songs in much the same way, Easy Rider (1969) being a famous example that followed only two years later. Here is a well-known montage from The Graduate that is set to “The Sounds of Silence”:

From this point on, popular songs appeared non-diegetically anywhere in a film and commonly as the entire soundtrack, a trend that continues in many films today.

Conversely, non-diegetic music is understood not to emanate from the film itself, so the characters do not hear it. Other names for this type of music include “underscore”, “accompanimental music”, “commentary music”, “interpolated music”, and perhaps most commonly, “background music”. Most film music is non-diegetic music, one of the most familiar instances being the music for the shower scene in Psycho.

The distinction between diegetic and non-diegetic music forms an important part of how film music is made because they generally have markedly different functions. Diegetic music is usually used to clarify time and place, social circle, or nationality. The frequent use of this type of music in the Godfather films helps to paint a convincing picture of Italian culture, particularly through Italian folk song and Italian opera. The wedding sequence in the first film is one example among many:

Non-diegetic music, which is far more common in film, typically reflects the psychological state of the characters onscreen, or suggests how we ought to emotionally interpret the images we see. Because this type of music especially helps us to immerse ourselves in the film’s fictional world, it tends to be a more prominent part of films in the genres of action and fantasy, where the suspension of our disbelief is especially crucial. Hence the lavish scores of such film series as Star Wars and The Lord of the Rings.

A Third Category: Source Scoring

While the difference between diegetic and non-diegetic music is clear, some film music cannot be described as entirely one or the other. In his book, Scoring for Films, Earle Hagen argues for a third category of film music he calls source scoring, a combination of source music and dramatic scoring (or non-diegetic music):

This kind of music is like source in its content, but tailored to meet scoring requirements. … This kind of cue can start as pure source music and change over to source scoring. … The main difference between Source and Source Scoring is that source scoring takes on a much closer relationship to the film. It follows the framework of the scene more critically and matches the nuances of the scene musically.

A few examples will demonstrate how this kind of music operates in film.

Example 1: The Man Who Knew Too Much

In Hitchcock’s The Man Who Knew Too Much (1956), the final concert scene involves a performance of Arthur Benjamin’s “Storm Clouds Cantata”, which clearly begins as diegetic music. In this clip, the cantata starts at 0:17 (by the way, that’s the film’s composer, Bernard Herrmann, conducting):

But as tension mounts, so does the music. And instead of non-diegetic music coming in overtop of the cantata, the cantata itself acts as non-diegetic music in that it seems to comment on the scene. When Ben (James Stewart) arrives at the concert hall in order to prevent the murder of the Prime Minister, he is obviously distressed. It is at this point that the cantata begins its noticeably more active second half. But it is also here that the orchestra stops being shown for a few minutes while Ben tries to find the assassin. The character of this music matches Ben’s emotional state so well that it starts to sound just like non-diegetic music. And interestingly, there is no dialogue through this part of the scene. Indeed, as Royal S. Brown notes in his book, Overtones and Undertones, it is almost “as if it had come straight out of the silent era.”

At the same time, we are of course aware that this is actually the cantata being performed, so both the diegetic and non-diegetic realms merge. This, then, is a perfect example of source scoring. Watch the above clip from 5:45 to see how the use of the music changes when Ben enters. Notice how many of the characters’ actions are choreographed to the music—for example, when Ben reaches his wife Jo (Doris Day) at 6:01, the music suddenly begins a new phrase, as though to articulate the moment as important. The same thing happens when Ben leaves Jo to look for the assassin at 6:16.

Example 2: The Adventures of Robin Hood

In The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938), Prince John attempts to set a trap to capture Robin by holding an archery tournament. For the start of this scene, Erich Korngold wrote a rousing fanfare for trumpets, and we actually see the trumpeters play the beginning of this music. We also hear a snare drum, but it is not difficult to imagine a drummer just offscreen somewhere. So at this point, the music seems clearly diegetic. But with the cut away from the trumpeters, the music suddenly becomes more richly scored, adding strings, French horns, and cymbals, and so, lacking any source onscreen, suggests it has now become non-diegetic. Compare these moments in the following audio clip starting from 6:00:

Korngold’s score for the film is entirely orchestral, and despite being presented as diegetic music, the opening fanfare in this scene retains that orchestral feel. The sound quality of the fanfare has exactly the same “studio sound” as the richer music that follows, and the fanfare ends with a timpani “thud” that again suggests the unseen orchestra of a non-diegetic score. Thus it seems that non-diegetic music is being treated as diegetic music. Why not just leave it as non-diegetic music? With the addition of trumpeters to ground the music in the diegetic world, the scene is made to feel more authentic, as is the case with most diegetic music. This is the opposite situation of The Man Who Knew Too Much, where the music in the concert hall scene was always diegetic, but sometimes acted non-diegetically as well. Both scenes, however, are examples of source scoring.

Example 3: American Graffiti

Source scoring does not only work with orchestral music. In American Graffiti (1973), the music is a virtually continuous series of popular songs from the 1950s and 60s. Because these songs are almost always understood to be coming from a source in the film’s fictional world (usually a car radio), they qualify as diegetic music. And their function would therefore seem to be clear: to re-create the sound world typical of American adolescents during the early 60s. But the way in which the songs, and particularly the song titles, merge with the images and dialogue suggests that they go further than this.

Consider some of the scenes with John (Paul Le Mat) and Carol (Mackenzie Phillips). John initially asks a carload of girls whether any of them wants to ride with him in his car. The only volunteer is Carol, the younger sister of one of the girls. Feeling that she is too young for him, John is contemptuous of Carol and embarrassed to be seen with her. When Carol first gets into John’s car, the song playing is Buddy Holly’s “That’ll Be the Day”. As Peter Larsen observes in his book, Film Music, the song is initially commenting on John’s request to the carload of girls to consider “going steady” with him. But as the scene progresses, it appears to become an ironic commentary on John and Carol’s relationship. In other words, “That’ll Be the Day” seems the perfect way to describe any possible romance between the two. View the scene here (“That’ll Be the Day” enters at about 1:20):

Later on at the drive-in diner, John becomes embarrassed at being seen with Carol by a friend. John introduces Carol as his cousin, whom he says he is “babysitting”. Carol becomes upset and leaves the car to wander the streets alone. John, obviously harboring some feelings for Carol, goes to pick her up when he sees her being taunted by some other male teens. All the while, we hear The Monotones’ hit song, “The Book of Love”. The song seems to suggest the budding romance between John and Carol despite John’s attempts to pretend otherwise. View this scene below:

In a later scene, John encounters another car full of girls, one of whom throws a water balloon at John. The balloon instead hits Carol in the face and as retaliation, John and Carol deface the girls’ car with shaving cream and flatten one of their tires at the next stop light. The song we hear during all this is Chuck Berry’s “Johnny B. Goode”, which again seems an ironic commentary on the pranks the teens pull on each other. Watch the scene here:

Conclusion

Although most analyses regard film music as either diegetic or non-diegetic, there are times when a combination of the two is at work. When this occurs, the music can be viewed as source scoring. While blurring the boundaries between diegetic and non-diegetic music may seem undesirable, it allows the music to perform the functions of both types of music without changing anything about the music itself. Thus, source scoring is useful in creating a particularly smooth flow in the film experience, as is certainly the case with the examples above.

Feature 1: Short Length

To say that a leitmotif is short does not mean that it can’t start out as, or be developed into, something longer. Indeed, many of the leitmotifs of classical Hollywood are true “themes” of more than a bar or two of music. But all that is needed to identify the leitmotif is the opening one or two bars. Think of the Indiana Jones theme. Sure, the theme is given a full-blown presentation as the “Raiders March”, but usually all we hear are the first few notes of its melody, and that’s enough for us to recognize the leitmotif.

Feature 2: Distinctiveness

Because we are expected to remember it when it comes back, a leitmotif is always made distinctive in some way. This is usually done by setting a melodic string of notes to a certain rhythm, but the accompanying harmony is important as well because it gives us the emotional quality of the leitmotif. In Darth Vader’s theme, the chord progression in the first couple of bars moves between two chords in a minor key, I and minor VI. Because in a minor key VI is a major chord, its appearance as a minor chord here creates a darker sound appropriate to the “evil” quality of Vader and the Empire.

Feature 3: Consistency

A leitmotif is always consistent in its presentation in order for it to remain recognizable with each statement. This is not to say that leitmotifs are always played in exactly the same way, because they certainly aren’t! Even when their orchestration, harmony, and accompaniment style are drastically changed, leitmotifs still remain identifiable because of their consistent melody and rhythm. In Ennio Morricone’s score for Once Upon a Time in the West, for example, the villain Frank is introduced with a threatening melody in the electric guitar. But near the end of the film, this same theme is heard in a low trumpet with a funeral march accompaniment, indicating Frank’s imminent death. Hear (and see) the difference for yourself. The first version occurs at 0:40 in this scene:

and the second version occurs at the start of this scene:

Functions of Leitmotifs

One powerful function of leitmotifs is to indicate someone or something that is present in the scene but not visible in the frame. The most familiar example is the famous two-note leitmotif for the shark in Jaws, whose presence is often only implied by the music. Even less literally, a leitmotif will sometimes be played to suggest a character, place, etc. that is not physically present in the scene but is being thought about or somehow has an impact on the current scene. In The Godfather, for example, in the famous scene in which a movie producer wakes up to a find severed horse’s head in his bed, we hear leitmotifs associated with the Godfather, clarifying that the deed was done at the Godfather’s request.

As suggested above, one other important function that leitmotifs have is to express the emotional quality of the thing to which it refers. Obvious examples are the romantic sound of melodies in the high strings, or the heroic sound of themes in the trumpets. But there are many examples of unusual music used as leitmotifs. In Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey, almost every appearance of the monolith is associated with the “Kyrie” from György Ligeti’s Requiem. The fact that this music avoids recognizable chords, melodies, and rhythms makes it emotionally quite unsettling. And this unsetting effect is an ideal fit with the monolith, which abstractly seems to represent that which we do not understand. And that which we do not now understand, Kubrick seems to be saying, strikes fear in the hearts of us all.

In fact, since the resurgence in popularity of the leitmotif in the 1970s with films like Star Wars, composers have often sought out unusual sounds to act as leitmotifs. In The Dark Knight (2008), Hans Zimmer’s leitmotif for the Joker is a buzzy metallic sound composed of two tones—one that stays the same and another that gradually slides up, producing an eerie sound that suggests the twisted mind of the character. Have a listen to it here:

Clearly, the leitmotif has served films well, both for its denotation of a character, place, etc., and for its emotional connotation. Considering that movies are all about relating characters and places to us in an emotional way, it is no wonder the technique continues to be such an important one.