Staff Pix 1/30: Soundtrack!

“Everybody’s Talkin’” by Harry Nilsson (In Midnight Cowboy)

Harry Nilsson’s “Everybody’s Talkin’,” is the ghost that haunts Joe Buck’s journey in Midnight Cowboy. Despite only appearing as a whole in the film twice, motifs and cuttings extracted from the larger body make themselves known throughout, usually overlaying scenes of Joe exploring New York and generally seeming out of place. As he wanders in stark contrast with his surroundings, an ideal cowboy against the drabness of New York,  so too does “Everybody’s Talkin’,”reflect not only a contrast with the city but with the film as a whole. As things grow worse and worse for Rizzo and Joe, Nilsson’s lilting strings only seem to soar higher and higher, musicality contrasting and accentuating their circumstances. Despite the saccharine musicality the desperation remains, however, as the lyrics, while delivered in Nilsson’s light and airy tenor, in truth express the darker facets of Joe’s psyche. As the chorus goes, “Everybody’s talkin’ at me, I don’t hear words they’re sayin’, only the echoes of my mind.” Nilsson’s singing directly reflects Joe’s staunch denial of his past and his circumstances attained through his adaptation of the cowboy persona, depicting how a dream can shield one from reality, completing the parallel when, in the song’s final appearance, it reprises itself in a sad and dour manner in congruence not only with a pivotal loss of a main character but as well with Joe’s abandonment of his persona, the lyricism matching musicality matching the man whose own internal and external circumstances now match his outward facing self as well, making the first steps towards Joe’s reconciliation with himself finally possible. — Declan Ireland

“I’m Deranged (Lost Highway Edit)” by David Bowie (In Lost Highway)

The title sequence of David Lynch’s Lost Highway is unforgettable. Headlights beam shakily, almost frantically on broken center lines leading straight into the abyss. The camera is so close to the road that you can practically feel the asphalt, as if you are some duct-taped masthead of a getaway car. The skittery industrial beat of David Bowie’s “I’m Deranged,” keeps tempo with the streaks of caution-tape yellow bulleting off the road into the camera. Names fly out of the darkness and hang on screen, while Bowie slinks in with a haunting croon: “Funny how secrets travel/ I start to believe/ If I were to bleed.” A minor-key synthline hums in unholy harmony behind Bowie’s lilt, which is an unsettling mixture of sensual and sinister. As he utters that midnight command, “Cruise beyond/ Cruise me, babe,” his vibrato quivers with lust. Amidst the silvery darkness he cries out: “I’m deraaaaanged.” Free-form jazz piano sprinkles into the rock elements as Bowie cries out once more. It is unclear where in the dark Lynch is leading us, but with all the adrenaline Bowie shoots us up with, a possibility emerges: the underworld where there is “No return, no return.” — Christian Jones

“Just Like Honey” by The Jesus and Mary Chain (In Lost in Translation)

Thank you to this prompt for giving me an excuse to rewatch Lost In Translation for what seems like the thousandth time. Sofia Coppola’s needle drops are of course always so flawlessly picked, but her use of “Just Like Honey” by The Jesus and Mary Chain in her 2003 film Lost In Translation is my personal favorite. The film features Bill Murray and Scarlet Johansson as two lonely strangers visiting Japan who meet and form an unlikely bond, and the noise-pop classic epitomizes the dreamy visuals of city nightlife that make the story. The track plays immediately after the two protagonists say their final bittersweet goodbyes to each other before resuming their separate lives. I know that a number of people think that “Just Like Honey” represents something more suggestive, and while that could be true, I still personally think that it perfectly encapsulates that hyper-specific feeling of simultaneous warmth and overwhelming, crushing loneliness. I first watched Lost In Translation super late at night during Covid, and the only two things I remembered were Scarlet Johanssons shiny pink wig and the final shots of her character walking back alone into the busy Tokyo streets, smiling to herself while the song echoes with its soft snare and distorted guitar. Each time I rewatch it, the ending destroys me a little more–but it also makes me wanna dance. — Julia Schramm

“Sound & Color” by Alabama Shakes (In Waves)

The end credits roll. Tears imminent. A cosmic glow permeates the scene. Scraps of a Florida summer day transforms into ebbs and flows of blues, reds, purples. What else is left: a humming vibraphone and an impending sense of both doom and… relief? For a film that is consistently unnervingly heart wrenching, navigating cyclic waves of loss and newfound love, the end’s honest, quiet ending is cathartic. And characterizing this ending scene is Alabama Shakes’ pensive track “Sound & Color.” The song revels in its simplicity, a bare setup with minimal gear, the band’s vocals and lyricism taking the forefront. Its quiet demeanour remains throughout with no build-up or anticipated beatdrop to fulfill, the reverberated lyrics “Ain’t life just awful strange?/ (Sound and color)/ I wish I never gave it all away/ (Sound and color)” consuming the atmosphere of warm harmonic layers of cello and violin. It’s a perfect song for a perfect ending. Dwelling in melancholy, sitting in the pit of my heart. — Sophie Parrish

“Si No Te Hubieras Ido” by Marco Antonio Solis (in Y tu mamá también)

If you want to talk about doomed relationships it would be an actual crime to leave out Julio Zapata (Gael García Bernal) and Tenoch Iturbide (Diego Luna). In Alfonso Cuaron’s 2001 masterpiece Y tu mamá también, Marco Antonio Solis’ 1998 hit “Si No Te Hubieras Ido” plays an hour and 30 minutes in, creating the entire ambience for the last 15 minutes of the movie. The song only plays for around a minute before it cuts off but the lyrics still linger in the scenes to come. The tension in Julio and Tenoch’s final conversation can be summed up entirely with the song’s chorus; there isn’t anything harder than living without each other, a coldness of one body yearns for another, and if they were still together they would be happier than before. The scene only gets more heartbreaking as narrator Daniel Giménez Cacho informs us that this is the last time they’ll ever speak to each other, even if they promise to call each other to catch up. To me, this is the most beautifully devastating thing ever put to film. Without Cuaron’s inclusion of the Marco Antonio Solis classic, the film would not have the same impact, and I, along with any others, would not be sobbing throughout Frank Zappa needledrop (which is also incredible) as the credits roll. — Mario Sierra

“アラベスク” by Lily Chou-Chou (in All About Lily Chou-Chou)

“Tell me about Lily. Or about the Ether” Backing a dreamlike sequence of our protagonist wandering a vast grass field, the opening track of Shunji Iwai’s 2001 film All About Lily Chou-Chou immediately immerses the audience into the disconnected headspace of our characters. Is this real? Where am I? What am I? The lush, somewhat dissonant, production perfectly captures the film’s themes of youth, escapism, and obsession, all of which are exaggerated by the genesis of online culture. Even more on brand is the fact that Lily Chou-Chou does not exist. The group was formed for the sole purpose of the film’s soundtrack but later reunited in 2011, further blurring the bounds between reality and fiction. All About Lily Chou-Chou is a difficult watch but undoubtedly authentic. Refusing to shy away from the harsh realities of growing up, Iwai created a raw portrait of adolescence. So Lily Chou-Chou doesn’t exist, what really does? — Madison Decina

“First Kiss” by James Righton (In Benjamin)

I’m not sure when the first time I watched the 2018 independent film Benjamin by Simon Amstell was, but I remember watching it over and over (somehow for free on YouTube at the time) after discovering it. Benjamin is an awkward British romcom-drama that follows a young filmmaker struggling to produce a second film after the instant success of his first, whilst simultaneously navigating the challenges of a burgeoning romance with a French music student. First Kiss is a quiet, but emotional piano theme that follows the quiet, personal nature of the story. It serves as the perfect theme for the two main characters as they get to know each other throughout the film, and I, from time to time, have found myself listening to it on repeat just as I have found myself rewatching the film. — Hanlon Lowther