To those who know me, it will come as no surprise when I go on record here and say that I have an almost fanatical interest in film and television soundtracks.
Now, while I occasionally enjoy game soundtracks, and appreciate their worth, my focus remains firmly on cinematic and televised music but the principle is the same: a good soundtrack will elevate a scene, imbuing it with emotion and meaning, whereas a poorly chosen soundtrack can undermine its impact entirely.
Soundtracks function as more than mere accompaniment; they operate as a narrative device, shaping audience perception and guiding emotional engagement. Michel Chion, a leading theorist in film sound, argues that sound possesses the capacity to “add meaning” to the image, creating what he calls the “added value” of sound (Chion, 1994). Music, as a form of sound, can underscore a character’s psychology, hint at narrative developments, and even foreshadow events.
At the risk of getting self indulgent the James Bond film franchise exemplifies this principle
The iconic opening strains of the main Bond theme are inseparable from the action and spectacle they accompany. Beyond its musical qualities, the theme signals to the audience the arrival of danger, excitement, and heroism. To imagine a Bond sequence without it is almost unthinkable; the scene would lose a crucial layer of identity and tension. Even so, amongst the fans, opinions vary about which iteration of the theme is the most effective – the Barry fans know who they are and which theme they would select as being better – that being said, Monty Norman’s audio brand mark still stands as a fine example to highlight how music resonates subjectively while maintaining a crucial narrative function
To take a another example from my particular memory banks, Ridley Scott’s Blade Runner (1982) demonstrates the symbiotic relationship between visuals and sound. The film’s realization of futuristic cityscapes are striking in isolation, but it is Vangelis’ synthesizer-driven score that renders them truly immersive. The music transforms the visuals, providing an emotional texture that conveys both the wonder and melancholy of this imagined world. Without Vangelis’ contribution, the city would remain visually impressive, but the haunting, contemplative atmosphere that defines Blade Runner would be diminished. In this sense, the soundtrack does not merely accompany the film; it co-creates the diegetic world, blending seamlessly with mise-en-scène to evoke a fully realized sensory experience.
A note should also be made of music that originates as a standalone composition—whether popular or classical—created with the intention of being performed or listened to in isolation from any visual accompaniment. Such works often find their way into film soundtracks, typically as diegetic sound: a band performing on screen, a radio playing within the mise-en-scène, or a character engaging directly with the source. Yet over the past four to five decades, directors and music supervisors have increasingly drawn upon pre-existing pieces for their intrinsic musical or emotional qualities, selecting them in the hope that these sonic characteristics will enrich the film’s visual narrative. From my own record collection, I would offer Ryuichi Sakamoto’s chamber piece Bibo no Aozora as a prime example. When used in Babel (2006), the composition imbues the accompanying sequence with an enigmatic sense of sophistication and gravitas, its melancholic restraint amplifying the emotional and aesthetic tone of the scene far beyond mere accompaniment.
The transformative power of soundtracks is also evident in the way they manipulate audience emotion. According to Claudia Gorbman (1987), film music often functions as a “subtle guide” that structures the viewer’s emotional response, creating alignment with narrative intent. For example, in horror films, dissonant or atonal music amplifies tension and fear, while in romantic dramas, melodic orchestration can heighten intimacy or nostalgia. Beyond guiding emotion, music in film can also carry symbolic or thematic weight, offering cues about character, setting, or narrative arc without explicit exposition. In this sense, soundtracks operate as a form of semiotic code, capable of communicating meaning both consciously and subliminally.
The impact of a soundtrack is deeply personal. Each viewer brings their own memory, cultural background, and taste to the experience, meaning that while the function of music is universal, its resonance is subjective.
A single theme can elicit nostalgia, tension, or exhilaration depending on the individual listener’s engagement. This subjectivity highlights an important aspect of soundtrack analysis: it is not sufficient to evaluate music purely in terms of technical composition or genre conventions. One must also consider its reception and the ways it interacts with memory, expectation, and cultural knowledge.
In recent years, the boundaries between film, television, and interactive media have blurred, with video game soundtracks increasingly adopting cinematic techniques. While I am not a gamer, it is worth noting that games such as The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild or Red Dead Redemption 2 employ dynamic, adaptive scores that respond to player actions, creating an immersive environment that parallels cinematic storytelling. These developments underscore the universality of music as a narrative tool across media platforms, not least as these examples have gone on to garner an audience outside of the gaming world.
Ultimately, soundtracks serve as a bridge between the visual and emotional dimensions of storytelling. They are an essential tool in the filmmaker’s arsenal, capable of elevating imagery from mere spectacle to profound narrative experience. As these examples demonstrate, music is not an accompaniment to the visual—it is a co-author of meaning, shaping how audiences perceive, interpret, and remember the stories they encounter. From the suspenseful allure of Bond’s theme to the melancholic futurism of Blade Runner, soundtracks transform perception, creating a holistic experience that lingers long after the screen goes dark.
References
Gorbman, C. (1987). Unheard Melodies: Narrative Film Music. Indiana University Press.
Chion, M. (1994). Audio-Vision: Sound on Screen. Columbia University Press.