Monday, 20 January 2014

The Sonic Playground: Hollywood Cinema and its Listeners

by: Gianluca Sergi 

Cinema is an audio-visual medium and the consumption of films involve both our visual and aural senses. This is a rather obvious fact which we may find hard to disagree with. Yet, when it comes to investigating the act of experiencing films scholars would seem to have concentrated almost exclusively on the visual impact of films.  
 
    It is not the aim of this essay to expound the (many) reasons behind this bias, others have already discussed this issue at length,[1] but rather to draw some light on the virtually unknown figure of the spectator as listener. In fact, one of the most obvious consequences of the image-biased approach is the focusing  on film audiences as 'viewers'. Countless accounts of spectatorship have emphasized this (presumed) one-dimensional nature: from the theory of the mirror image to the notion of looking and being looked at, film theory would appear to have accepted almost uncritically a view that is perfectly summarized in this passage by John Ellis:
    'The spectator looks up towards the image: image dominates the proceedings. It is the reason for cinema, and the reason for the spectator's presence at the event of the film projection'.[2]
This apotheosis of the image as the very reason why audiences all over the world flock to Hollywood movies is just a natural step from viewing the cinema experience as primarily a visual one and the film auditorium as reflecting, almost underwriting, this 'truth' by arranging seats so as to allow the audience to worship the screen. However, the undeniable fact that the screen is the focus of our 'visual' attention when seated in a cinema auditorium does not constitute sufficient evidence to suggest that Hollywood addresses its audiences relying solely (or even mainly) on visuals. The relevance of the image should not be interpreted as a hierarchical assessment  of what should be seen as worthy of attention.    Indeed, in the light of the developments which have taken place in the past thirty years, there would seem to be enough evidence to suggest that film sound has played a key role in Hollywood films' strategy to engage audiences and provide them with new 'pleasures'. 
 
   
Hollywood sound has undergone a huge change, both in production and, more relevant to us today, in reproduction:  "sentence out"  This new sound is experienced by audiences in a technologically advanced ‘space’ (the film theater itself) which is used, as we shall see, as a kind of sonic playground for the spectator to actively join in, make sense of what is around him/her and discover new pleasures.

Approaching audiences of Hollywood films from an aural perspective might therefore have far reaching consequences: if we are to accept that audiences not only look at, but also listen to films then we must be prepared to investigate a whole different set of cultural implications, skills employed and pleasures offered. Film sound requires the spectator to perform extremely sophisticated and demanding tasks which would seem to suggest a view of Hollywood audiences a far cry from the accepted view of being ‘comfortably inactive’. This would also clearly contrast with the notion of the audience as in a 'dreamlike state’, a kind of receptive state in which the spectator dozes off lulled by a succession of continuously edited sequences. This is a view widely accepted in psychology and often reported in film theory, as it is exemplified by the following quote from Bruce Austin’s book on film audiences: 
"The spectator gives himself voluntarily and passively to the action on the screen and to its uncritical interpretation supplied by his unconscious mind" [3]
We don’t hear eye to eye: experiencing films differently 

 It might be possible to suggest that there is at least one sense in which the difference in audience terms between viewing and hearing is obvious. As spectators, we bring to the cinema more than just our money and a coat, we enter the cinema complex already laden with our cultural background and the expectations that it elicits. Although it would be unwise to attempt to dissociate any particular component from its overall context, it is clear that within our cultural patrimony we move differently, select different ‘areas’ of knowledge and exercise our senses according to the stimuli we encounter. This is true of all activities including, of course, cinema going. However, in the (understandable) quest for unity in film criticism, this fundamental aspect has often given way to a rather more limiting and, at times, misleading view according to which there is no major conceptual difference between the two acts of seeing and hearing a film because the image structures our perception of the soundtrack. As in Ellis’s view, the image is seen as the primary (and often unique) source of useful information/pleasure for an audience.  

 This view, predominant as it might be, appears very debatable when we pay some  attention to the processes through which we learn to listen and to look. Crudely, we can identify several sources of aural and/or visual references which constantly ‘update’ and refine our hearing and viewing skills. However, it is immediately obvious that the sources primarily concerned with sound differ substantially from those relating to the image. In the latter case, photos, paintings, sculpture, graphics, etc. provide us with our main source of visual reference. In the former case, radio, home hi-fi systems, car stereo, pa systems, telephones, etc. absolve the equivalent function for our ears. The differences between these two sets of references are pervasive indeed, spanning from their historical and technological development to their modes of production, and from the condition of reproduction to the pleasures offered. 

 What is relevant to this study is that these sources provide us with an incessant flow of aural and visual ‘experiences’, both in a historical sense (in the sense of things learnt and ‘stored’ for future reference) and in a more interactive and dynamic sense (the way in which we react to those ‘experiences’ change according to our age, state of mind, circumstances, etc.). These not only guarantee us a vocabulary of images and sounds, but also provide us with the necessary confidence with which to articulate them. In other words, they shape our visual and aural expectations and our way to approach films. In short, visual and aural sources are not mutually exclusive, and indeed they often work together, they still remain profoundly different. 

 Thus, when we go to the cinema our experience of the event is informed and aided not only by past cinema attendance, but also by our ‘cultural’ understanding of sounds and images and the way they might interact. Hollywood filmmakers understand this particular dynamic and integrate it in their approach to film sound. As Cecilia Hall [4] points out, talking about John McTiernan’s 1990 film The Hunt for Red October, one of the key emotional aspects of the movie was to create a sound environment for the American submarine featured in the film that would feel somehow more familiar than its Russian counterpart. To achieve this she appealed to the audience’s (aural)  cultural background: 
"We wanted to create a friendly atmosphere. We used familiar-sounding computers. The matrix dot printer you are used to hearing in offices and that people recognize is exactly the kind of equipment that exists on those submarines" [5]
As a first step, then, it should not be too difficult to recognize that, although as spectators we bring ‘one’ cultural patrimony to the filmic experience, we also employ different strategies and skills, we refer to a different set of references, and we perceive sounds and images differently. In short, our way of listening to a movie is different from our way of viewing it: this is true in technological terms (different systems of production and reproduction), in physical terms (a different set of sensual expectations[[6 ]), and in mode of address (the sound track and the image track, although obviously working within the same narrative framework, cannot but differ in their address to audiences). 
  Pleasures on offer, tasks to perform. 
 The late sixties and early seventies saw a great advancement in all areas of sound technology, the latter was also fast becoming affordable for consumers on a mass scale. The general response of the public matched this developments and, as Charles Schreger reminds us: 
"In 1978, America seems sound-obsessed. You can feel the full impact of a symphony or a rock concert in your living room; you can take it with you in your car or in a pocket-size radio"[7]
Although this new ‘sound wave’ was rippling throughout the Western world, Hollywood lagged behind conspicuously. Indeed, the conditions of reproduction in cinemas in the same period were at a low point. The huge costs involved in upgrading from mono to magnetic stereo (the only ‘real’ alternative to mono) had de-facto frozen any meaningful development of the relationship between Hollywood films and their ‘new’ listeners. Audiences of Hollywood films, both in America and abroad, had now access to home hi-fi systems, they could attend concerts and experience earth-rattling amplification, and they could even enjoy better sound in their own car than at the local cinema[8]. Most crucially, this new ‘sound obsessed’ generation who went to concerts and owned hi-fi systems was roughly the same 15-30 demographic group which Hollywood was targeting, and had been doing so for some time. 

 This meant two things. Firstly, Hollywood had to play ‘catch up’ with sound quality once again (indeed, this is something which has happened at regular intervals since the inception of sound in the cinema), it needed to react in order to gain the same aural appeal on young audiences that the new consumer technologies seemed to have. Secondly, and most importantly, this ‘reaction’ would have to deal with the now higher-than-ever set of aural expectations, born out of the availability of increasingly sophisticated means of sound reproduction, which that same young audience was bringing to the cinema. Perhaps not surprisingly, these two key aspects were perfectly clear  in the minds and intents of the emerging generation of filmmakers, like Lucas, Spielberg, Coppola and co. They understood the crucial relationship which exists between aural expectations born outside the film theater and what Hollywood film sound could offer to its listeners. They also showed a clear awareness of the importance of addressing  their listeners’ demands and expectations in a more ‘direct’ manner, as this words from Lucas indicate: 
    "The audience today know what good sound is, and they expect it. They don’t expect to walk into a theater and hear static and hiss and no low end. They know good sound, and they respect it"[9] 
Thus, the process of change that the industry eventually began in the early 70s, although mainly driven by external pressure (market considerations, availability of new technology) and internal innovation (the rise of the ‘movie brats’ generation of filmmakers) was also partly responding to audience demands and expectations. The introduction of new sound technologies and the rise of cultural phenomena (such as the rock ‘n roll concerts) had a huge impact on increasing film audiences (aural) expectations. These focused on several aspects: the quality of sound reproduction, the sonic pleasures on offer, and the kind of experience which could be expected by an audience. In other words, Schreger's ‘sound-obsessed' new generation of spectators craved and obtained a change which affected the whole axis film-theater-audience, as a closer look will reveal. 

 In short,  the 15-30 generation now expected and demanded powerful sound, capable of reaching the listener from a multiplicity of perspectives and in a more tangible/physical manner. Similarly, they expected the hardware available in theaters to be able both to match those characteristic and to compete with the kind of quality they had rapidly got used to hearing not only at huge concerts, but also in their house and, increasingly, in their car. To a certain extent, this search for a more sensual involvement should not be too surprising when we consider that this was also the generation of liberated sex and drug consumption on a mass scale. 

 Although a long time coming, Hollywood’s response to these demands was comprehensive[10]. From the mid-70s, films began to employ multi-channel technology capable of delivering extremely detailed sound from a multiplicity of perspectives (today’s digital systems  regularly employ six discrete channels - up to eight with Sony’s SDDS). The extension of frequency and dynamic range available in film sound (which used to lag a long way below human capability) was also dramatically increased by the introduction of Dolby at first, and digital sound later. In some respect, we are now on the opposite end of the scale, as Walter Murch humorously points out: 

"We've actually got too much dynamic range. We have to control it in the mixing or we will blast people out of the theaters" [11] 

It is, however, when we look at the developments concerning the place where these new breed of Hollywood films met their audience that the magnitude of this change appears most noticeable. First of all, cinema architecture began to reflect the acoustic demands of the new sound systems. The old movie palaces and even their smaller relations were fundamentally built still following blueprints which had rarely had to cope with any severe acoustic demands (stereo was a rarity and confined to a few first-run theaters in big cities). As Tomlinson Holman, the  inventor of THX, points out, this is a fundamental issue: 
"There’s a fundamental difference between a concert hall, which is a space for production(...) and a movie theater which is a space for reproduction"[12]
 
This new architecture needed to address a series of well-documented problems and worked to a precise brief. To name but some of the most important aims: i) to reduce the possibility of unwanted echoes (by employing better phono-absorbent material and avoid too many ‘bouncing' surfaces); ii) to minimize background noise (like sound spillages from adjacent theaters in multiplexes, the noise of the projector and air ventilation systems, etc.); iii) to accommodate surround speakers correctly (by arranging the placement of the speakers bearing in mind the layout of the seating plan and the needs of surround sound). This new attention and care in producing sophisticated soundtracks and spaces capable of reproducing them in all their dynamic potential shows an evident positive shift in the weight given to the figure of the spectator as listener (a change this which is made all the more significant by the lack of any similar developments with regard to the film image in the same period). 

 Secondly, in a somewhat logic extension of this development, the ‘aural lure’ of sound began to be exploited also ‘outside' the auditorium itself, by for example installing speakers throughout the cinema complex and playing back music and trailers from present and forthcoming films (in some cases even in the cinema toilets!). Far from being only a marketing device (though important as it is) this constitutes a further important element as it increases audience expectations by extending further the playground to the ‘before’ and ‘after’ of the filmic experience. Thus, the Hollywood sonic playground seems to extend well beyond the actual auditorium and the film projection, it pervades the whole of the theater experience, heightening our expectations and enticing us to ‘come in and play' from the moment we enter the cinema complex [13] 

 Once we reach the auditorium, we are confronted with a situation where we are placed ‘inside’ the filmic space, not just ‘before’ one (i.e. the images on the screen). The invitation to explore these new surroundings is emphasized by the way sound designers have approached the concept of audience space and the reproductive environment. As Gary Rydstrom points out: 

"People love surround in movies (..) it opens up the space" [14] 

This awareness of the correlation between audience involvement and (filmic) space is a key factor. Working on the soundtrack as a kind of architectural construct, Hollywood sound ‘architects’ have chosen to regard sound as an increasingly tangible expanse in which to arrange a series of sound objects for the audience to engage with. As Walter Murch points out: 

"You (the sound designer) are given an architectural space and you put things in it and make it look good" [15]
 
This powerful, sensual involvement with this three-dimensional (sonic) space is clearly designed to appease those high expectations we referred to before, heighten the cinematic experience and provide audiences with a constant source of pleasure. The Hollywood listener is bestowed with an aural experience which elevates him/her to a state which may define as the super-listener, a being (not to be found in nature) able to hear sounds that in reality would not be audible or would sound substantially duller. This is a new breed of spectators who can expect screen objects to fly above their heads into (and out of) the auditorium.  

 Most important, however, is the consideration that all this is not just simply ‘given’ to the audience, but it is there to be ‘earned’. In other words, the concept of the passive, uninvolved spectator suspending his/her mental functions does not apply to the Hollywood listener. The demands that Hollywood soundtracks place on the spectator are several and require rather complex mental and physical functions.  
 
   
Due to contemporary recording practices, where conditions on the set may require sounds to be recorded afresh in the acoustically-friendly studio environment, film sound is very often not produced by its visual source on (or off) screen. Indeed, most of the sounds we hear in Hollywood movies are literally designed. This is mainly because their real equivalent would often simply not sound ‘right’ for the kind of emotional and narrative impact that they are meant to achieve. If in doubt, try this little experiment: attempt to describe what the sound of one of Indiana Jones’s punches actually sound like. Its texture could never be produced by a fist hitting a face (or any other part of the body); its duration and ‘width’ greatly outlast the length of any impact.  

 The goal clearly is not reality, but expressiveness. In other words, audiences are asked by the filmmakers to accept an ‘interpretation’ of that sound that bypasses the original features of that sound (i.e. the actual straightforward sound recording of a punch) in favour of narrative effectiveness (i.e. the ‘designed’ punch sound).  

 This would at least seem to suggest that, regardless of how improbable this ‘interpretation’ may be, audiences show a remarkable willingness to give more ‘latitude’ to sound than they seem to be prepared to do with the image (to stick with the same example, can you imagine Ford’s fist grewing in size, cartoon-like, just as it is about to strike?).  

 To make matters even more intricate, some of these sounds are themselves a combination of sounds aimed at achieving that kind of ‘filmic eloquence’ mentioned above: from a soufflé of animal noises (employed in the creation of countless effects, including LaMotta punches, E.T.’s voice and even the fighter jets in Top Gun) to bicycle chains and plastic bags (famously, some of the helicopter sounds used by Murch and Coppola in Apocalypse Now).  
 This would again suggest that most Hollywood sound is not only ‘artificially’ constructed, but also not at all a unique event, rather a combination of events that the audience has to ‘splice’ together and make sense of.  

 Moreover, audiences are asked to perform these tasks under fairly extreme physical conditions.
  
Contemporary sound systems are powerful enough to move a significant amount of air. As a consequence, the spectator can be 'hit' with sound, and thus experience the film with a far greater degree of physical involvement than ever before. This creates a situation where audiences have to deal with enough constant sound pressure to lead to physical exhaustion, if exercised  over time. Sound designers are aware of the physical demands they place on their listeners, as this quote from Cecelia Hall, speaking about Top Gun, clearly illustrates:  
"Our biggest fear was that we were going to pound them (the audience) into oblivion. We knew the sound effects could not be unrelenting because by the time you got to the end of the movie, you’d be so exhausted that you’d have no energy" [[16] 
Thus, a listener is required to sustain physically aggressive soundtracks, to process dozens (sometimes hundreds) of different tracks in any single moment of a  film, to navigate in this ocean of sound by correlating sound direction and its (visual) source, and to constantly update his/her own personal sound data bank with sounds never heard before. All this, as ADR (Automatic Dialogue Replacement) supervisor Juno Ellis correctly points out, requires a great deal of engagement and discernment: 
    "Audiences have gotten more sophisticated in what they want from sound"[[17]
Indeed, this combination of heightened expectations (beginning before the actual film performance) and increased aural sophistication have produced a highly demanding, active and discerning listener of Hollywood films. This new generation of listeners expects to enter a playground where sound objects are, to follow Murch's analogy, placed around for him/her to play with. The promise is a world of sonic wonders and pleasures which is very appealing even though, or perhaps precisely because, this requires a certain degree of physical and mental participation. 

Chaos in the hall: who is in charge of the soundtrack?  
 Hollywood's careful 'orchestration' of all the aforementioned issues notwithstanding, the relationship between Hollywood films and its listeners is far from being devoid of blurred areas. There are contradictions to be found, both in the theater and out, which makes this a rather difficult partnership to assess. 

 On the one hand, Hollywood has been investigating thoroughly its potential: from the introduction of new technologies (such as Dolby, THX and Digital sound) to their use in production (multi-channel, increased dynamic range, multi-layered soundtracks), from their reproduction in theaters (now built with sound demands in mind) to their home fruition (where the circle has now closed again and home consumers can enjoy cinema-like sound quality after the recent introduction of Home THX and Digital sound systems), the signs of the industry's desire to explore its spectators as listeners are all too apparent.  

 On the other hand, there are aspects of this relationship which betray a rather more chaotic situation than what it might appear on the surface. Most noticeably, the concept of a unique soundtrack, experienced by a 'unified' audience is a famous casualty. We can in fact identify at least two other 'parallel soundtracks' to the film's own: the 'structural' soundtrack (i.e. sound produced during the film performance by the cinema structure itself), and the audience's very own soundtrack (i.e. sounds which initiate from the audience). The issue of a structured soundtrack  can be defined as being directly dependent to those conditions of reception which may affect our experience of the film soundtrack. These possible 'influences' include aspects already mentioned, such as sound spillages from adjacent theaters, noisy ventilation systems, lack of proper insulation of the projection booth, distortion due to excessive volume levels or inadequate speakers, and so on. Any, indeed, all of these factors inevitably interact with the film's own soundtrack creating a sort of hybrid difficult to assess also because it is likely to vary from theater to theater. However, this would still seem to be a problem mostly related to a technological/architectural nature and therefore in some ways 'adjustable'. Far more complex is the situation pertaining the 'audience' soundtrack. 

 As in any respectable playground those who visit it wish to be more than just 'observers', they want to interact with it. In this sense, theater architecture, noticeably seating arrangements, has limited the degree of visual interaction of the spectator (it is impossible not to acknowledge the 'restraining' nature of the cinema seat, obliging the audience to face the screen and limiting audience physical movement). This is not, and could not be, the case with sound, given the latter's modern dimension as multi-perspective (i.e. sound is generated from various points in the auditorium). As a logic result, audiences are relatively 'free' to establish a rather complex interaction with the film soundtrack. This begins outside the auditorium (from the usual socializing 'chitchat' to talking about the film one is about to see; from food munching to drink sipping, etc.) and is then somewhat naturally carried on inside the auditorium itself.  

Once inside, this 'interaction' takes a different form. The talking may stop, but the munching, drinking and, more importantly, the laughing, crying, screaming, does not. This interpretation of the relationship between audiences and sound as having a different dynamic from the one with the image would also seem to be 'institutionally acknowledged' by the fact that although the audience is made well aware that there is to be 'no talking' during the projection, there is no perceived need to adopt a similar strategy for the image (perhaps with a similar request that there should be 'no looking away'?). Indeed, there are many ways in which one could see how the audience's own soundtrack could support, undermine, reinforce or even contradict the film's own (by, for example, laughing at the 'wrong' time, screaming when prompted through a scary moment, applaud (or boo) at the end of the film, etc.). 

 Hollywood filmmakers seem to be aware of this 'threat' to the integrity of their soundtrack and have tried to address it. A good example of this attempt is Lucasfilm's revolutionary and comprehensive sound program which includes THX and TAP (Theater Alignment Program). Crudely, the THX program aims at recreating in the theater the same conditions and sound quality which can be found in Hollywood mixing studios. Its stringent criteria also address the issue of the 'parallel soundtracks' by demanding that a series of parameters regarding 'structural' conditions, such as those already illustrated above (background noise, sound insulation etc.) must be met if certification is to be awarded. Moreover, realizing the further problem of the differences between theaters that a print may encounter, the TAP program was created to complement the THX treatment. The Theater Alignment Program also comprises, amongst many other sophisticated quality controls on the film's sound and image track, a series of 'print policing' strategies (including a 1-800 phone line and a web site for cinema customers to report any problems encountered when viewing/listening to a TAP-managed print). Behind all this remarkable and unprecedented interest in the quality of both recording and reproduction of the film soundtrack lies the awareness that, regardless of the individual efforts of the filmmaker, a variety of factors 'outside' their control interact at the point of reception, hence, as this quote from James Cameron clearly indicates, the desire to minimize the 'damage': 
    "All that stands between us and entropy is TAP. We work so hard to create quality, it is a relief to know that there exists an organization whose sole purpose is the preservation of quality at the actual place where the film and the audience first meet[[18]] 
Paradoxically, this glaring contradiction of Hollywood filmmakers creating a very 'inviting' and playful sonic environment whilst at the same time hoping to standardize the condition of reception (hence, somehow regulate the audience reaction to sound) still presents us with the most damning piece of evidence that audiences as listeners are indeed active and constantly involved in an interactive relationship with the film's soundtrack. This view of an active listener is also reinforced by the situation existing in the other, often overlooked, place of fruition of Hollywood films, the home.
 
 At home, audiences of Hollywood movies are free to manipulate virtually all aspects of a film soundtrack, such as sound direction (by arranging speakers at will), loudness (simply by pumping the volume up or lowering it down), the relationship between surround and front channels (most home surround processors have separate controls for them) and, perhaps most importantly, their talking and commenting over the film soundtrack are not anymore 'forbidden' and are free to reach level of sonic interaction with the film unobtainable in a cinema[[19]].  

Thus, given these considerations, it would seem unwise, at best, to address the issue of the interaction between Hollywood films and their listeners/viewers as a unified event and, similarly, to talk of a passive, uniform spectator of that event.  
 
The comfortably active spectator.  
 The concept of being active or passive spectators is one that in film scholarship has been firmly located in the spheres of meaning and intepretation. The argument is deceptively  simple: a film that is 'easy' to understand will not call for an active involvement on the part of audiences. On the other hand, a movie whose meaning is somewhat 'cryptic' (or open to alternative interpretations) will solicit an active response from the spectator. Leaving aside for a moment the rather slippery notions of meaning (films are not necessarily about 'meaning something') and intepretation (is there ever one single 'correct' interpretation that we can isolate from the many possible ones?), this view overlooks the aural dimension of film going and  underestimates other dimensions of movie-going where audience behaviour may be categorised as 'active'. 

 The playful nature of the audience relationship with movie soundtracks is one such dimension. As we have seen in the case of the 'audience soundtrack', audience members interact aurally with each other and with the film in many ways. In the former case, there is talking to each other, commenting on the film, etc.; in the latter case, the same interaction is achieved through clapping, booing, munching, sipping, laughing, crying, and so on. Whilst the level of sonic interaction varies considerably from culture to culture (clapping and cheering at the actors/events on screen, for example, is a practice more commonly accepted in some countries than others), this interaction is too evident to be unnoticed.  
 Similarly, as we have seen, contemporary sound systems are capable of producing intense sound pressure on film audiences, thus involving the latter also on a physical level. This is more than just about being 'loud'. Unlike the bi-dimensional image, the three-dimensional nature of sound allows soundtracks to be enveloping. Moreover, multi-channel, multi-directional sound is today organised around the auditorium, not around the image on screen. This is not to underestimate the importance of the image: images clearly suggest sounds (although the degree of this relationship clearly varies from film to film). However, sound is directed to and orchestrated around the seats to put the spectator literally 'inside' the film, reducing the distance between audience and narrative world. Audiences are invited to share the same sonic dimension as the characters on screen: as Michael Cimino once remarked, 'sound can demolish the wall separating the viewer from the film'[[20]]).  

 On a different level, the popularity throughout the world of theatres bearing the THX logo or boasting the latest digital sound systems, not to mention the remarkable diffusion of home sound systems, suggests a third dimension where the contemporary Hollywood listener can be seen as active. By choosing in which cinema to see a film audiences actively seek the best comfort available. In this respect, sound plays again a key role: audiences know that a cinema showcasing the THX logo will almost inevitably guarantee comfortable seats, large screens, and high-quality sound. The commercial success and huge popularity of high-end sound reproduction systems (all mainstream Hollywood productions are now released in digital sound format) testifies to the relevance of this particular audience choice[21]. 

 This combination of technological comfort, physical involvement and social interaction suggests a figure of the Hollywood listener that we might be tempted to define, in opposition to the view originally expressed in the quotes by Austin and Ellis at the beginning of this article, as 'comfortably active'. The industry has long acknowledged the importance of providing audiences with the necessary aural comfort and choice: filmmakers provide enough visual clues to facilitate the process of linking image to sound (no matter how improbable that link might be), and cinemas provide all the necessary 'creature comforts' to make sure that contemporary audiences enjoy an aurally sophisticated environment in which to be active part of the ride, in the many ways we have detailed previously, and not merely passive 'spectators'.  

 Today's Hollywood listener is a discerning, demanding auditor, whose aural expectations fillmakers attempt to appease. Whether this makes for 'better' soundtracks or rather leads down a path towards theme ride style soundtracks is a debatable issue. What appears certain is that contemporary audiences have at their disposal an unprecedented array of choices and possibilities to be actively involved in the movie-going experience, and that sound plays a key role in this picture. Recent developments point towards and even greater attempt to position audiences inside the sonic playground. The introduction of the new Dolby EX sound system is one good indicator of this continuing trend. Developed by Lucasfilm and Dolby Laboratories, Dolby EX is the brain child of sound designer Gary Rydstrom. It basically adds a channel to the surround (centre surround), allowing sound to be much better placed around the auditorium: now audiences are within a sonic environment where sound can reach them from no less than six different directions: front left, front centre, front right, surround left, surround centre and surround right. The sonic playground is becoming ever more playful. There appears to be plenty of audiences ready to play. 
 
 
 

[1]See, for example, Rick Altman's 'The Three Sound Fallacies', in Sound Theory, Sound Practice (Routledge: New York & London, 1992).   
[2] John Ellis, Visible Fictions (London & New York: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1982), p.41.  
[3]Hugo Mauerhofer as quoted in Bruce Austin, Immediate Seating - A Look at Movie Audiences (Belmont, CA: Wadsworth Publishing, 1988), p. 46.  
[4] Cecelia Hall has been responsible for some of the most innovative soundtracks of the last twenty years, including Beverly Hills Cop, Top Gun, and The Hunt for Red October for which she won an Oscar.   
[5] Cecilia Hall, in Vincent LoBrutto, Sound-on-Film - Interviews with Creators of Film Sound (Praeger Publishers: Westport, CT, 1994), p.191-192.  
[6] It is worth remembering that where the image is two-dimensional, sound is a three-dimensional construct.  
[7] Charles Schreger, 'Altman, Dolby and The Second Sound Revolution', in Elizabeth Weis and John Belton (eds.) Film Sound - Theory and Practice (Columbia University Press: New York, 1985), p. 349.  
[8] It is interesting to note that regardless of the advances made in the past few years by large screen televisions, the depth, width and quality of the cinema image stands virtually unchallenged by any consumer products.  
[9] George Lucas, in John Young, 'Sound Revolution', Hollywood Reporter, (June 22, 1993) p.T-12.  
[10] Here, it is important to acknowledge that it would be virtually impossible to  conduct a meaningful empirical study of the many kinds of audiences of Hollywood cinema. Therefore, these considerations are more based on Hollywood's own perception of audiences needs, with all the risks and omissions that this inevitably entails.  
[11] Walter Murch, in Vincent LoBrutto, op. cit., 1994, p.99. 
[12] Tomlinson Holman, in Vincent LoBrutto, op. cit., 1994, p.204.  
[13] Obviously, conditions of reception can vary widely from cinema to cinema, but I am mainly referring here to today's most popular place of fruition of Hollywood films, the multiplex cinema.  
[14]  Gary Rydstrom, in Vincent LoBrutto, op. cit., 1994, p.238.  
[15] Walter Murch, in Vincent LoBrutto, op. cit., 1994, p.92.  
[16] Cecilia Hall, in Vincent LoBrutto, op. cit., 1994, p.195.  
[17] Juno Ellis in Vincent LoBrutto, op. cit.., 1994, p.218.  
[18] James Cameron, quoted in TAP publicity material Aligned Success (Lucasfilm, 1992), available from LucasArts Entertainment Company- THX Division- P.O. Box 2009 San Rafael, California 94912, or at THX web site (www.thx.com).  
[19] Obviously, television is perfectly aware of this issue and has attempted to incorporate, at least partly, the audience soundtrack in their programmes by giving it an 'institutional' role. The best example of this is to be found in the use of audience-laughter in sitcoms.  
[20] Michael Cimino, in Charles Schreger, op. cit., 1985, p. 351.  
[21] In this sense, it interesting to notice that audiences are active also in the sense of demanding regulation on issues like sound levels. Following audience complaints about sound level in film trailers, Dolby Laboratories have now designed a loudness meter to prevent trailers from being too loud.  

 http://filmsound.org/articles/sergi/

Sound Effects in Science Fiction and Horror Films

Talk held at the International Conference on the Fantastic in the Arts 21 March 1996 


Composer David Raksin says that Alfred Hitchcock wanted no music for the 1944 film Lifeboat, because the characters are ''out on the open ocean. Where would the music come from?'' Raksin replied, ''Go back and ask him where the camera comes from and I'll tell him where the music comes from!'' (Kalinak xiii). 

Director John Carpenter, who creates and performs the music for almost all of his own films, agrees that the soundtrack should be implicit. ''[Y]ou shouldn't be aware of what I'm doing. Yeah, when it's scary or action-filled, you'll hear it, and it's fine. But you shouldn't be sitting there listening to music, or aware of it. It should be working on you. ... I don't want you to be aware of the technique. I just want you to feel it'' (Droney 118).   

Sometimes the composer does want you to be aware of his technique. The most obvious soundtrack technique, known as ''mickeymousing,'' is just barely considered respectable by respectable film composers. Mickeymousing is when the music blatantly matches the action. When King Kong climbs the Empire State building, the music likewise rises and falls with each of his movements. In what has become a cliché, mickeymousing even has the music giving away the action about to happen (Bazelon 24). A heavy brass chord announces danger; a low, sustained tone creates mystery; sliding intervals of gliding strings  imply seductiveness. This musical signal, that prepares the audience for the dramatic events to follow, is known as the stinger. 
 
The modern audience has become sophisticated enough to be conscious of these musical cues. The recognition value of really 
successful music like the Jaws and Psycho themes allows them to be parodied. James Homer's soundtrack for Aliens makes musical allusions to Capricorn One and Star Wars (Karlin 151), and it is parodied, in its turn, by Evil Dead III: Army of Darkness. In comedy films, composers can also use contrapuntal music that plays directly against the textual theme. When Stanley Kubrick introduces the song ''Try a Little Tenderness'' to accompany two planes refueling in midair at the beginning of Dr. Strangelove, he makes a joke that contrasts with the dark and deadly implications of the rest of the film (Bazelon 112) 

Where do composers get their ideas from? Different musical instruments and noises create different emotional impacts, so a lot of their work is already done for them. Music has power to affect the visual field and the imagination.  

Synthesizers are almost always used in SF and horror films because they can produce otherworldly sounds. But for straightforward emotion, horns are used too. These are associated with pageantry, the military, and the hunt, so they are used to suggest heroism. Movies featuring death-defying heroes such as Star Wars and RoboCop use a lot of horns (Kalinak 13). Such triumphant music implies certain guarantees, however. Carpenter says that for his version of The Thing, he insisted on  grim music: ''If we had made the audience feel that we were in a heroic situation, that movie would be a cheat. ... When they hear that heroic sound they go, Oh, okay, everything's going to be all right. But it's not going to be all right ...!'' (Droney 118).  

The length of a sound from its beginning to its peak is called attack, which may be fast (like a door slamming) or slow (like a dog growling). Fast attack sounds loud. Loud sounds are more frightening than soft sounds, and sudden loud sounds are the most frightening of all. If you are shooting a scene about a woman alone in a house on a stormy night and you want to show how terrified she is of the situation, one way is to use loud claps of thunder. When old radio mystery shows wanted to suggest 
someone alone in a dark house with a killer on the loose, what did they use? Sounds with eerie attack. The ticking clock, the thunder and rain beating against the window, the howling wind, the shutters banging against the side of the house, and -- creepiest of all -- the sound of steps coming slowly up the creaking stairs. These are still very popular in films today, not because we need the audio clues, but because they are such familiar shorthand for this clichéed but still exciting situation (Mott  
17-22).   

Bemard Herrmann's theme for the Psycho shower scene uses high-pitched string instrument notes with very fast attack. Strangely enough, the theme nearly didn't get written, as this was another scene for which Hitchcock didn't want any music. But Herrmann wrote it anyway, and Hitchcock agreed that it was too good to throw away (Karlin 15). Herrmann also uses mostly strings and percussion to build suspense in the movie Fahrenheit 451 (Darby and Du Bois 363). Lots of movies use 
high-pitched music to build fear.
 
In Jerry Goldsmith's score for Planet of the Apes, after the three astronauts see the bizarre scarecrows up on the scaffolds, ''Goldsmith introduces high, exotic percussion sounds -- metal twangs produced by stainless-steel mixing bowls'' (Bazelon 86 -- 87). Again in that movie, when the female astronaut is discovered in a state of advanced decomposition, the strings seem to scream (Darby and Du Bois 518). The 1951 version of The Thing features brass and high strings (Darby and Du Bois 252), though horns play along with the howling winds when the alien saucer is discovered in the ice -- this version was heroic. High strings seem ideal to express stress and tautly stretched nerves (like in The Omen). Or, they can evoke weird psychic goings-on (like in Poltergeist or for the theme to The X-Files) (Daiby and Du Bois 518). 
 
The sound mixers for the Michael Crichton movie Congo found that even high organic noises can build suspense. In the jungle, the birds and insects create a high ambient whine that pretty quickly gets on your nerves. As one of the mixers said, ''when they want to create a real feeling of anxiety, these insects are going to be played loud'' (Kenny, ''Sound for Three'' 83 -- 84) 

The violin in Psycho is so effective because it is used as percussion (Daiby and Du Bois 363), suggesting the knifestrokes. Deep sounds also sound percussive, and in fact you can feel them literally penetrating your body if the volume is strong enough. Jaws uses a sinister but very simple double bass which begins in long, heavy notes gradually acquiring a much faster attack (Darby and Du Bois 534). Another example of low music for suspense occurs in the opening of the Malcolm McDowell vehicle Time After Time. A prostitute stumbles past a London pub. We hear garish popular Victorian music from within. Then this switches to a deep, ominous double bass as the prostitute looks up and sees ... Jack the Ripper. But she thinks she sees just a well-dressed gentleman, so the soundtrack cleverly switches back to the pub music. The music is sinister just long enough for the audience to register the threat, but it doesn't insult us by playing on and on during the murder of the prostitute (Daiby and Du Bois 318).   

In the Star Wars movies, the appearance of the villains onscreen is likewise accompanied by deep or military sounds (Darby and Du Bois 537). What most audience members don't notice is that most protagonists also have their own theme music. The main Star Wars theme, written by John Williams, plays whenever Luke Skywalker and Princess Leia face important decisions, and when Obi Wan Kenobi dies. 
 
The same was true of the old Star Trek series, when the soundtrack used to be composed by a live orchestra watching the film footage. Bach character had his or her own individual theme music, which was always 
played whenever they were on screen (Whitfield 375). Mr. Spock's theme, for example, is played by ''an instrument that couldn't possibly be romantic, a bass guitar, down in the low register, with no resonance. It just klunks out the theme'' (Karlin 20). Star Trek Classic also played with the voices of alien characters. They would electronically raise or lower the voices of these actors to create an inhuman effect. A dangerous cat woman in Star Trek V: The Final Frontier has a voice made of real cat noises mixed with distorted James Brown screams (Spomitz 44). To make ''alien'' languages sound real, they are sometimes made from spliced-together bits of exotic Earth languages, such as Gikuyu and Nepali. This causes much hilarity when the movies play in countries where these languages are spoken (Berger 130) 

Just as live characters are accompanied by mechanical effects, sometimes machinery is given a soundtrack that contains the  sounds of living beings. ''High-tech is boring,'' says effects mixer Adam Jenkins, who worked on the movie Star Trek Generations. ''And I don't mean that high-tech sounds are a bad thing. They're just boring over time, and fatiguing on the brain. Which is why we would consistently pull back on the telemetry tracks [meaning the computer noises and high-tech-looking equipment]. Otherwise, it would begin to sound like a phone is ringing through the entire scene'' (Kenny, ''Star Trek Generations'' 78, 80)

For this reason, the effects on Generations are surprisingly organic. Editors used natural sounds -- birdsong, human voices, wind noises -- all processed and mixed into the backgrounds, which is critical on Star Trek, since so much of the action takes place on the same ship, and if the backgrounds aren't diverse enough, it will sound too homogenous and claustrophobic. Of course, sick bay sounds different from the bridge, which sounds different from the more intimate confines of Whoopi  Goldberg's quarters or Captain Picard's stateroom (Kenny, ''Star Trek Generations'' 80) 

The definitive rumble of the starship Enterprise was invented by sound effects creator Alan Howarth, who has worked on every Star Trek film. He created the ship's sound from a white noise generator, plus an exhaust fan, plus the air conditioner at Paramount Studios. Howarth says, ''The bridge background of the 60's was electronic music with sonar beeps. And our challenge was to take these musical instruments and make sound effects -- without having them sound like a series of filters and oscillators. They wanted the tracks to be organic, to be more emotional and appealing. So, something like the ship's ... phasers,  was a difficult effect, because it has to be pleasing, which we normally associate with high end, and it has to be full-bandwidth -- it has to have that low end  to give it size. It just so happened that [for Star Trek Generations] we got two days of an electronic storm in Southern California, which is unusual in itself, and we recorded some very good lightning, which worked as phasers.'' 
 
The noise of the Klingon bird-of-prey spaceship contains the songs of whales, ironically enough. The mysterious Nexus energy wave which appears at the climax of Generations combined more than 30 elements, including animal cries to give it a subliminal sense of a living, deadly creature (Kenny, ''Star Trek Generations'' 78). When the Klingons destroy the Voyager probe in Star Trek V, the explosion contains the sounds of a woman's scream and the cartoon character the Tasmanian Devil (Spotnitz 44). Another unexpected organic quality can be found in The Empire Strikes Back, in which a large door was given no mechanical-sound basis but does have a lion's growl buried subliminally in it (Berger 130) 

There are plenty of other surprises to be found in the sound studio, where a sound effect is very often not what you think.  More information that Trekkers might like to know about their favorite show is that the transporter's Beaming down sound is made by piano wires strung across a literal beam (Kenny, ''Star Trek Generations'' 76). When you see the sliding doors opening and closing, what you hear is a bunch of different sounds including an air gun reversed and somebody's sneakers squeaking on the floor to give it the rubber-seal effect (Kenny, ''Star Trek Generations'' 76). The photon torpedo blasts don't sound like what they really are -- the recording of a Slinky (Spotnitz 44) 

Raiders of the Lost Ark opens with Indiana Jones fleeing a runaway boulder. That noise was actually the sound editor's Honda Civic rolling down his driveway (Spotnitz 42). The light sabers in Star Wars are the sounds of a TV picture tube and an old 35mm projector (Spotnitz 44). Luke Skywalker's land cruiser is the noise of the Los Angeles Harbor freeway traffic heard through a vacuumcleaner pipe (Spotnitz 44). Star Wars goes for gritty sounds, which is why those movies sound like our world and Star Trek sounds like a better one (Spotnitz 44)
 
The crew on Congo found that the gorilla's natural cries weren't scary enough -- gorillas actually make a soft, hooting noise, whereas the director wanted a booming, Jurassic Park effect. So the post-production men recorded the sound of howler monkeys, which do have a low, throaty growl (Kenny, ''Sound for Three'' 83 -- 84). Does that seem deflating? At least the sounds were made by wild animals. The sound designer for Jumanji had to come up with vocalizations for unusually intelligent and mischievous monkeys from a wild, exotic, paradimensional world. What did he use? His eight-year-old son (Kenny, ''Monkey Business'' 113)
 
Though horror films can often feature supernatural creatures and events, ironically enough what they need is an uncomplicated sound that will disturb the audience viscerally rather than interest them intellectually. You might think I'm talking about sound effect libraries, of wolves growling or boots stalking down an alleyway -- and you're right, soundtracks do use these. But they also use much more mundane sounds. For instance, the sound studios of horror movies are frequently littered with fruits and  vegetables to make various body-snapping sound effects. The recent Hellraiser IV went through a lot of melons (Stokes 74) 

Another interesting monster sound was achieved in the made-for-TV movie based on Stephen King's The Langoliers. The langoliers are nearly all mouth, so they needed to have a predatory effect. But King had described the sound of their approach as being reminiscent of Rice Krispies. Although the langoliers, who literally eat the world, would realistically require combinations of grinding, screeching, scraping and the crunching of metal, pavement, and earth, the executive producer was adamant that they should not sound mechanical. Sound editor Ray Palagy says, ''We actually spent an entire day recording cereal sounds -- dry cereal, wet, mushy; in a bowl, in a tub ...'' They took all of these sounds and made processed versions of all of them. Then they added effects such as Velcro, car doors, subway screeches and lion growls to yield ''signature'' sounds that are hard to categorize as animal or machine. Because supernatural creatures such as the Langoliers are based on no equivalent in the real world, they have to sound unique (Eskow 164) 

Another example of sound design ingenuity can be found in the opening of Terminator 2. The camera pans across burned-out car bodies and a devastated playground from the year 2029 A.D. We hear a desolate wind ... and then, CRUNCH! A robotic foot crushes a human skull. The sound of the wind actually comes from the crack of an open door to the main mix room at Skywalker Sound, combined with the sound artist vocally going ''whoooooo.'' The sound of the crushed skull is actually a 
pistachio being crunched by a metal plate (Kenny, ''T2'' 60 -- 61).
  
The Terminator 2 sound crew got very inventive. They had to design the sound of the T-1000 Terminator moving into and out of liquid metal, the quality that makes him virtually indestructible. ''It's not really liquid ...'' sound man Gary Rydstrom says. ''It doesn't have any bubbles in it. It doesn't gurgle. It doesn't do anything visually except flow like mercury ...'' So Rydstrom gathered a number of sound elements and played them while watching the screen to see what sounded good. When the T-1000 
is just sort of flowing and transforming, that's Rydstrom plunging a microphone covered with a condom into a mixture he made of flour and water with Dust-Off sprayed into it. ''It would make these huge goopy bubbles,'' he says. ''And the moment when the bubble is forming, it has this sound that's similar to a cappucino maker ... Funny enough, it had this metallic quality to it, so I believed it for [the] transformation.''
 
For the sound of bullets hitting T-1000, Rydstrom slammed an inverted glass into a bucket of yogurt, getting a hard edge to accompany the goopy sound. In the psychiatric prison where Sarah Connor is held prisoner, the T-1000 flows around and through a gate of steel bars. That sound is actually dog food being slowly sucked out of a can. ''A lot of that I would play backward or do something to,'' Rydstrom says, ''but those were the basic elements. What's amazing to me is ... Industrial Light & Magic using millions of dollars of high-tech digital equipment and computers to come up with the visuals, and meanwhile I'm inverting a dog food can'' (Kenny, ''T2'' 64)
 
So far it sounds like fun and games, but sound mixers face a lot of difficulties beyond inventing new sounds. One problem is trying to read the film director's mind. Directors usually don't know anything about music scoring and don't know how to articulate what kind of soundtrack they want. For example, the producers of the Star Trek: Next Generation TV show wanted the Enterprise transporter to sound like its old recognizable self, but at the same time to sound more high-tech and 
intense. And Gene Roddenberry ordered them to ''add a sense of mystery.'' So the sound mixers took the basic musical chord and added a series of tri-tones, performed on the Synclavier. By the time Generations rolled around, the sound has changed quite a bit, always finding some new high-end sparkle to match the new opticals (Kenny, ''Star Trek Generations'' 76)
 
There is also the eternal problem of the ''sound of space,'' an important point because technically, there is no sound in space.  ''But it's a film, and you have to have something, so Howarth recorded a couple of spring reverbs for that bwwooiiiinngg, and  played it back to create a crawling effect'' (Kenny, ''Star Trek Generations'' 76). We scientifically literate movie viewers will have to put up with these things.  

The sound crew of Generations must have been amused when told that they were going to have to create the sound of the Enterprise crashing into a planet, destroying hundreds of feet of terrain, and yet not totally self-destructing in the process. What is the sound of a starship hitting a planet? The basic noise is a recording of ''dry ice on bare metal, which gives this annoying moaning, groaning, wrenching, metallic sound.'' Then they added noises like earthquake rumbles, cars skidding through gravel, tree cracks, and explosions. ''The idea is to introduce variety to sustain interest'' in the audience, who subconsciously expect a variety of sounds to match the changing picture on screen (Kenny, ''Star Trek Generations'' 78).  
 
The Terminator 2 sound crew faced a lot of challenges. In one scene, Arnold Schwarzenegger participates in a major shootout with the police outside the Cyberdyne building. Sound man Gary Rydstrom says, ''The difficulty was that [Arnold] is so in control of shooting this gun, that the destruction he creates has to be within  reason. It has to be such that you don't believe any cops are dying. So, we couldn't use ricochets, because standard Hollywood ricochets would imply that the bullets are flying out of control and killing somebody. And we couldn't use explosions on the 
cars, which look like they are exploding, because they weren't exploding. They were just being demolished to the point where they would collapse. It was tricky to just use hits on metal, and glass [breaking] ... and ricochets that sounded like thuds'' (Kenny, ''T2'' 64).
 
Another major problem is trying to get a clean recording of dialogue when your background is noisy. The production sound mixers for Congo found that ''Few shooting locations on the planet can be more challenging ... than a tropical rain forest. It's  wet, even in the dry season. It's hot. And the insects are big and loud, making it difficult to pull clean dialog tracks out of the backgrounds.'' Mixer Ron Judkins, who won an Academy Award for Jurassic Park, described it as ''the most strenuous  working situation I've ever been in.'' And one location was right on the edge of an extinct, but still hissing volcano crater (Kenny, ''Sound for Three,'' 76).  
 
The sound effects team for The X-Files needs a sense of humor too. ''The biggest difference between this show and other shows,'' says production mixer Michael Williamson, ''is that UFOs never land in the middle of the city during the daytime. They always land in the middle of mountains or out in the water, and it has to be raining, and it has to be muddy, and it has to be windy, so those are the problems we have. If we're out in the bush and they decide they want to have wind blowing through the trees, we have to try [to] isolate the dialogue to a point where you don't hear the wind machine.'' (Moshansky 93). He adds, ''Another thing is that it never fails that our lead actor [David Duchovny] gets beaten up, and ... that brings a whole host of new problems. If you're in a very wild environment and there's lightning machines going off and rain towers spreading rain all over the place and wind machines going nuts, and the only way you can really get good, solid, clean sound is by putting a wireless on a guy, and he's got to go into a fight, then all of a sudden, the wireless isn't going to be any good. Everything is a challenge'' (Moshansky 91)
  
So next time when you go to the movies, give the sound effects a round of applause. Rydstrom, sound designer for Terminator 2, says, ''Your first thought when you see a lot of special effects is that sound's job is to not only do something as fantastical as the visual, but also to make it real. It's not competing with the special visual effect, because people perceive the visual and the sound differently. [Sound designer] Walter Murch had a way of putting it: The eyes are the front door, and the ears are the back door'' (Kenny, ''T2'' 61).
 
But one thing is certain: As visual effects for movies become more and more sophisticated, we can be sure that sound effects will need to be more and more inventive -- even if it's only to think of things to do with a condom, yogurt, or a dog food can. As Tamara Rogers, a sound expert in Hollywood, puts it, ''audio is the last frontier'' (Stokes 77). 

Works Cited
 
Bazelon, Irwin. Knowing the Score: Notes on Film Music. New York: Van Nostrand Reinhold, 1975.   
 
Berger, Ivan. ''Soundtrack of the Lost Ark'' in Audio 68.11 (Nov. 1984): 130.   

Blake, Larry. ''Sound for Film: Go Back and Listen: Classic Film Sound Tracks'' in Mix: Professional Recording * Sound  and Music Production 19.8 (August 1995): 110.   
Darby, William and Jack Du Bois. American Film Music: Major Composers. Techniques, Trends, 1915 -- 1990. Jefferson,  NC: McFarland & Co., 1990.   
Droney, Maureen. ''John Carpenter: One-Stop Movie Shop'' in Mix: Professional Recording * Sound and Music  Production 19.12 (December 1995): 109, 112 -- 118.   
Eskow, Gary. ''Animal Meets Machine: Sound for The Langoliers'' in Mix: Professional Recording * Sound and Music  Production 19.5 (May 1995): 157, 162 -- 164, 197.   
Kalinak, Kathryn. Settling the Score: Music and the Classical Hollywood Film. Madison: U of Wisconsin P, 1992.   
Karlin, Fred. Listening to Movies: The Film Lover's Guide to Film Music. New York: Schirmer, 1994.   
Kenny, Tom. ''Monkey Business: Vocalizations for Jumanji'' in Mix: Professional Recording * Sound and Music Production  20.3 (March 1996): 113, 118.   
Kenny, Tom. ''Sound for Three Summer Blockbusters'' in Mix: Professional Recording * Sound and Music Production  19.6 (June 1995): 76 -- 86.   
Kenny, Tom. ''Star Trek Generations'' in Mix: Professional Recording * Sound and Music Production 19.1 (January 1995):  72 -- 83.   
Kenny, Tom. ''T2: Behind the Scenes with the Terminator 2 Sound Team'' in Mix: Professional Recording * Sound and  Music Production 15.9 (September 1991): 60 -- 62, 64, 66, 116.   
Moshansky, Tim. ''The X-Files Files'' in Mix: Professional Recording * Sound and Music Production 19.6 (June 1995): 89,  91 -- 93, 216.   
Spotnitz, Frank. ''Stick it in your Ear'' in American Film 15.1 (October 1989): 40 -- 45.   
Stokes, Jim. ''Using Sound Effects: Foley'' in Post: The International Magazine for Post Production Professionals 10.10  (Oct. 16, 1995): 73 -- 84.   
Whitfield, Stephen E. and Gene Roddenberry. The Making of Star Trek. New York: Ballantine Books, 1968.   


 http://filmsound.org/articles/horrorsound/horrorsound.htm

5 Ridiculous Origins of Movie Sound Effects



Sound design is one of those things that makes a huge difference in a film production, but that you never really think about. We're not talking about music here -- everyone knows the themes to Jaws, Indiana Jones, Star Wars and The Godfather (three of those made by the same guy, incidentally). We mean the robot beeps, heavy footsteps, massive explosions, monster roars, sword clangs and laser blasts that help bring a fantasy universe to life.

All of that stuff has to be created from scratch, usually by just one or two people. And usually, the high-tech sounds are created by whatever random shit they have nearby. For example ...

#5. The Star Wars Blaster Sound Is a Guy Smacking a Cable with a Hammer


The Effect:
This one is instantly recognizable. The wonderfully distinctive "pew-pew" of blaster fire in the Star Wars films sings through the action, whether Greedo is shooting first or the Stormtroopers are missing everything in sight.


Laser blasts kind of sound like bullshit in either case.

One would assume that the sound effect for a deadly piece of future technology would be made with ... well, technology. A computer mixing board or a synthesizer or some other engine of bleep-bloop witchcraft has to be responsible for creating those wicked laser sounds, right?

The Reality:
Legendary sound designer Ben Burtt (Star Wars, Indiana Jones, E.T., Willow ... basically, this guy made the soundtrack to your childhood) decided to eschew the old sci-fi cliches of synthetic beeps and buzzes when he worked on Star Wars. Sure, he could've just used a synthesized oscillator to make the laser sounds, but he went above and beyond the call of duty. Way above, as it happens.

Star Wars Wiki
He also made the whummmm whum whum tssssssh whum. Bless you, sir.

Burtt, armed with a tape recorder and a microphone, climbed a nearby radio tower (this was before 9/11, when people could do things like that for no reason). Then, presumably while trying his very best to look like he knew exactly what he was doing, he beat the ever-loving shit out of one of the guide wires with a hammer, recording the sound of the strikes. After a little bit of cleanup in the production studio, voila! Laser sounds! Subsequent generations of nerdy children could now be kept safely indoors.

Getty
"I bet if I smashed that with a hammer it would sound like the future."

#4. The Dinosaurs in Jurassic Park Are Whales, Horses and Koala Bears


The Effect:
Obviously, no one knows what a dinosaur actually sounds like.
That being said, arguably most people's knowledge of dinosaurs comes courtesy of one film: Jurassic Park. That movie showed us all what dinosaurs looked like, how they moved and (most importantly for this article) what noises they made. That last part is the brainchild of one man, sound designer Gary Rydstrom.

Many scientists insisted that dinosaurs didn't really roar the way we might imagine them to, and more likely just made gurgling sounds, but Rydstrom saw how totally lame that was and decided that this time, science could go screw itself.


"Gurgles can suck it. The T. rex sounded like a freight train made of teeth."

The result was a library of dinosaur roars, screeches, grunts and snarls that has essentially become a scientific document in the popular consciousness.

The Reality:
Tasked with imagining the vocalizations of several distinct varieties of long-dead creatures with absolutely no frame of reference, Rydstrom started where you'd expect -- by recording some contemporary dangerous animals and tweaking the sounds. But it wasn't as simple as "record a lion and make it more dinosaury." It was much more insane.

There are about a half a dozen animals involved in his "voice": a whale (for the breathing), lions, alligators and tigers (for the low frequencies of roaring), an elephant (his primary, gut-busting roar) and a freaking koala (for the grunting).

The part where T. rex eats the lawyer off the toilet? That visceral chomping sound is a horse eating a corncob. The raptors breathing? That's the same horse, just relaxing. And later on, when T. rex bursts into that clearing like the Kool-Aid Man and eats a gallimimus? That sound is another horse, a female in heat screaming at a nearby stallion, because it is completely reasonable to assume that giant lizard monsters made noises like that.

#3. The Opening of the Doors on the Starship Enterprise Is Paper Sliding from an Envelope


The Effect:
So you have your Federation-class starship, a sleek, futuristic environment that looks clean enough for neurosurgery. But what about the doors? They can't just swing open on creaky old hinges, that would be totally ridiculous.

And Star Trek is never ridiculous.

So the doors on the Enterprise slide open autonomously, making that distinct whooshing noise we've all come to recognize. Check it out here, in this Star Trek: The Next Generation clip (which not only illustrates our point, but is also a tour de force of unintentional comedy):
Picard's hilarious and vaguely sexual commands aside, what could be the source of that futuristic "fssshh" noise made by the door to his office?

The Reality:
Believe it or not, that sound is just a piece of paper getting pulled from an envelope and somebody's shoe squeaking across the floor. Honestly, that's all it is; listen again and it'll spring out at you clear as day. Every time Kirk or Picard goes through a door: fssshh, paper from an envelope, squeaky shoe.


Sometimes space sounds like a guy in wingtips opening his mail.

The new J.J. Abrams Star Trek film used a different inspiration for the door slide -- a vacuum flush toilet, because apparently he wanted to take the series in a different direction while still preserving its dignity.


#2. The Doctor Who TARDIS Noise Is Keys Scraping on Piano Wire


The Effect:
Doctor Who, the proud flagship of the BBC sci-fi department, is either a boring cheesefest or a grippingly engaging, witty drama, depending on how old you are when you watch it. Arguably the most recognizable element of the show to both fans and nonfans is the TARDIS, a blue police box that flies through space and time because in Britain that's called "imagination."


Eh, still better than crappy CGI.
Anyway, as you may have guessed by now, the TARDIS makes a unique and instantly recognizable sound that has solidified itself in the minds of nerds across the globe over the past half century.
Again, it seems like far-out electronic space noises, something that could only be produced by computers or keyboards or some kind of tone-deaf robot.

The Reality:
That timestream-slipping sound is just house keys scraping along piano wire. Layer in some static for the buzzing, add some reverb and boom, it's TARDIS time.

Why don't we keep our police in boxes?
The effect was created by the BBC Radiophonic Workshop, which in the 1960s was the foremost sound department in the world, pioneering new sci-fi sound effects that mixed organic and synthetic sources into a strangely awesome cacophonic blend.
The most awesome part of the TARDIS noise? They're still using variations of the original effect that the Radiophonic Workshop made 50 years ago.

#1. The Voices of LotR's Balrog and Ringwraiths Are a Concrete Block and Plastic Cups, Respectively

The Balrog Effect:
Even if you aren't a fan of The Lord of the Rings or only saw the first film, chances are you'll probably recognize the Balrog scene, if for no other reason than the now-famous phrase "You shall not pass!" inhabits the Internet in about a billion different memes that we assure you are only getting more hilarious:
The Balrog is pretty goddamned fearsome, in particular its hellacious bellowing roars. How did the sound of the Balrog take shape? By now you're probably thinking it was the same as with the Jurassic Park dinosaurs -- a bunch of dangerous animals and a microphone.

Or putting a microphone near Viggo Mortensen when he was being manly.


The Balrog Reality:
When David Farmer (sound designer on the LotR project) came up with the original template for the Balrog, he wanted it to sound like it was something that would live in the very bowels of the world, sort of like a big flaming turd with a sword and a whip. Or a giant horned tapeworm, if you will.
To that end, the Balrog's voice, and some of its movement, wound up being something ingenious in its simplicity: a cinder block scraping along a wooden floor at different speeds. That delightfully cracky, grinding sound that accompanies the demon is made of a mixture of rocks grinding together and the cinder block tearing over someone's parquet. Go and listen to it again and see if you can hear it.

Also listen out for "What the fuck are you doing to my floor?!" at 0:55.
The Ringwraith Effect:
And then you have the Nazgul, aka the Ringwraiths, aka the nine black-clad bad guys on horses who chase Frodo and company in pursuit of the ring. Part of the dread they inspire is their horrible eldritch screaming, like nails on a blackboard or fingertips on a balloon. Something about it sets your teeth on edge and sends even the mightiest pair of gonads retreating back into their body:
Surely there can be no other source for this sound than the hollow, demented screams of actual undead spirits.

The Ringwraith Reality:
As it turns out, the noise of fear itself is just a couple of plastic cups scraping together. No animals, no lunatic sound design interns screeching into a microphone -- just the cups, the kind you play beer pong with. To be fair, the sounds have been sweetened in the studio with some layering effects, but at their base it's just a guy with a microphone playing around with disposable party cups.

"Who's ready to PAR-TAY ... hey, where's everyone gone? Hello? I'm so lonely."
It's cool to know that in an industry dominated by CGI supercomputers and nine-figure budgets, there's still room for a creative guy and some shit he found in his kitchen cabinet.

http://www.cracked.com/article_19639_5-ridiculous-origins-movie-sound-effects_p2.html