Duh-duh… duh-duh…
The right score makes or breaks a movie: it can build tension, emphasise a punchline, and elevate a good scene to an iconic moment. As Jaws turns 50, IFL contributors pick their favourite soundtracks that have taken their favourite films to another level, and examine what makes them so special.
If you’ve ever tried to watch a horror film on mute, you’ll be aware that without its score, the whole meaning and feeling of a movie can vanish. Arguably, that point is best illustrated by Jaws.
Half-a-century after its original release, Jaws is still a cultural phenomenon, ingrained firmly in the popular consciousness – but as good as the overall film is, so much of that reputation rides on its score. Famously, when John Williams suggested his theme would centre on just two notes, Steven Spielberg was sceptical. After initially having laughed as he thought Williams was “putting me on,” Spielberg would later credit the music for “half of the success” of the overall film.
As Jaws celebrates its 50th anniversary this summer, Indy Film Library asked some of its former filmmakers and contributors to highlight their favourite scores – and explain how they have helped to shape the cinema that they love.
Kino Lee, composer and 2021 winner of IFL’s Best Experimental Film category,on Yi Yi
Edward Yang’s 2000 film Yi Yi is a key moment in Taiwanese New Wave Cinema. It tells the story of a family across three generations, showing their lives, love, and struggles in Taipei in the late 90s.
The film is known for its quiet style, with very little music, long still shots, and a calm, thoughtful pace. One of the few pieces of music in the film is One More Moon by Kai-Li Peng.
This short piano solo plays during a scene where the camera looks out from a car window. The music feels gentle and honest, showing a moment filled with memory, hope, and the idea of a second chance. It begins with a simple and beautiful melody, then slowly becomes looser and jazzier, almost like someone thinking out loud.
The melody returns, but this time it climbs higher, as if reaching for something far away. Then a few chords cut in and stop the thought. Right then, we see a taxi stop and the main character meets his old lover.
The piece is less than two minutes long, but it captures deep emotion. In a culture where people often hide their feelings, this short piano track says more than the dialogue. It shows love, regret, and longing—all in just a few quiet notes.
Rob Taylor on The Darjeeling Limited
The Darjeeling Limited uses music from many of the Merchant-Ivory films that were a huge influence on director Wes Anderson, including the supremely enjoyable theme from Bombay Talkie by Shankar Jakishan, but it is a 60s pop-waltz that provides The Darjeeling Limited’s most appropriate piece.
Although it only appears briefly in the main feature, Peter Sarstedt’s Where Do You Go To My Lovely captures the sense of artifice that each character brings, sometimes knowingly, sometimes not. One of the film’s themes is about having a sense of identity, whether that means finding, understanding, or even creating one.
The song, about a poor girl from Naples travelling in upper-class circles, first appears in The Hotel Chevalier, the short film that precedes The Darjeeling Limited, as Jack, living the life he imagines a bruised romantic would live whilst hiding in Paris, prepares for a visit from his ex-girlfriend. He carefully organises his room to seem thrown together in a way that rooms never really are, and as she arrives, he plays Where Do You Go To… The façade is built so thoroughly that it feels almost inevitable, when the first thing she says is “What’s this music?”
The Darjeeling Limited is a somewhat divisive film amongst Anderson’s fans but while it has its faults, I believe that like all great art, and much art that falls short of greatness, the film contains a fundamental human truth. Better yet, I don’t know what that truth is, but I do know where it is – it’s hidden in Anjelica Huston’s eyes as she and her three sons try to reconnect after a long separation by expressing themselves without words. Here Anderson instead lets The Rolling Stones do the talking. “Play With Fire” is a perfect and very powerful complement to the sequence that unfolds as the film’s characters pass by on a train from some imagined reality, ending with a roaring tiger, the strength of character in Huston’s expression, and a belief that the family is reunited.
In the morning, however, the boys awake to find their mother has once again abandoned them, leaving them with just their breakfasts, a rogue tiger, and as always with a Wes Anderson film, an excellent soundtrack.
Milo Paulus, composer, and 2025 winner of IFL’s Best Score award, on The Musical Universe of Wes Anderson
With this year’s release of the extraordinary The Phoenician Scheme, I (re-)discovered just how delightfully fresh Wes Anderson’s worlds can be. He is undoubtedly one of the 21st century’s most original and recognisable voices. And while we can all easily identify his visual language via the symmetrical framing, colourful costumes, storybook-like set design, and caricatural personalities, I would argue that an essential component to his success as a convincing world-builder are the striking soundtracks that give his cinematic snow globes their recognisable shape, sound, colour and scent.
While he is no stranger in filling his work with needle drops (Bowie in The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou, 2004), world music (in The Darjeeling Limited, 2007), jazz (Ellington and Coltrane in Bottle Rocket, 1993), and classical music (Vivaldi concertos in The Grand Budapest Hotel, 2014), it is the music of film composer Alexandre Desplat — who has been Wes’ regular collaborator on every one of his feature films since the 2009 Dahl adaptation Fantastic Mr. Fox — that has added so much of the whimsy that we attribute to his style.
Where most modern movies that fill the cinemas these days have large, synth-infused soundtracks with orchestras and slick production quality, Anderson’s soundtracks are characterised by their small, chamber music-like quality. A carefully curated selection of unusual instruments playing jaunty rhythms and quirky melodies fill the screen when entering Wes’ world.
Every one of his films (that Desplat has worked on) has a special musical concept attached to it pertaining either instrumentation, melody, rhythm or all three. Desplat’s magnificent Oscar-winning score for The Grand Budapest Hotel — set in the fictional country of Zubrowska — is typified by its Middle-and-Eastern-European instrumentation. Greek zithers, Russian balalaikas, Austrian alphorns, Swiss yodelers, and the Hungarian cimbalom playing child-and-folk-like melodies, make this film’s atmosphere so convincing.
The sound-world of Asteroid City is made up of repetitive rhythms and bell-like fragments played by pianos, harps and celestas, punctuated by the occasional honk on a bass clarinet or thump on a timpani. The stop-motion animation of Fantastic Mr. Fox is accompanied by instruments as small as the puppets themselves. Banjos, mandolins, xylophone, whistles, nose-flute, mouth-harp and a children’s choir give this film its signature sound.
Set in the city of Megasaki, Isle of Dogs is interesting since almost the entire score is done with just Japanese taiko drums playing war-like rhythms. The absence of traditional melody and harmony throughout much (though not all) of the music gives this film once again a novel atmosphere that you don’t hear anywhere else.
I didn’t cover all of the films Desplat worked on with Anderson, but I can assure you this: each one of their collaborations is exemplified by these unusual musical concepts, so do yourself a favor, and enter the musical universe of Wes Anderson via the below playlist.
Jack Benjamin, IFL Editor, on 28 Years Later
When I sang the praises of 28 Years Later earlier in the year, one aspect of the film I wished I had more time to talk about was the soundtrack. A complete departure from the iconic work of John Murphy in the franchise’s first two films, Scottish band Young Fathers’ fearless alternative soundscape is essential to what Danny Boyle and Alex Garland set out to achieve.
There are rarely moments of peace in the film, which in the case of a more one-note score might be a problem. But the soundtrack (which has been on repeat on my Spotify ever since) works to blend its driven rhythms and murmured lyrics with echoing or augmented sounds from the world of the film. Amid the characteristically emphatic opening sequence, where a young boy runs for his life pursued by the infected in rural Scotland, Promised Land sees the feverish vocalisations of Alloysious Massaquoi, Kayus Bankole and Graham “G” Hastings blend together with the action – sometimes even coming across as grunts of exertion or aggression, amid the terrifying hunt.
In the track Happy Eater, the group appear to also work the haunting air-siren from the opening sequence into the score as an instrument. At the same time, the sound-design from the events of the film craft a relentlessly unnerving audio experience – where in those brief moments without a soundtrack, unrelated screams drift out of the surrounding woods, into loving conversations and moments of comfort, keeping us on edge and driving home the point that we are never close to being safe. All this creates an air where you are constantly on edge, because you can never be truly sure whether you are hearing non-diegetic music, or shrieking ambience from the horrific world around.
This kind of work really makes sure that you know Boyle and Garland returning to the 28 story is not going to result in a simple piece of fan-service retreading the same old beats. Instead, in a departure from Murphy’s original work, the soundtrack very much becomes a part of the scenery itself – keeping us from the audible safety of knowing where a comfortable piece of musical programming begins and ends. At the same time, it also builds upon one of the enduring themes that runs through the whole franchise: paternalism.
28 Days Later’s contrast between Jim’s caring but erratic surrogate father of Frank, and the manipulative presence of Major Henry West examine the ideological trappings of fatherhood – how even those trying their best can be led astray by assumptions that they should simply know best, or how they might lean into those assumptions to perpetuate a toxic and violent social order they have benefitted from. That played out in 28 Weeks Later with Robert Carlyle’s Don being consumed by the rage virus after giving into his weaker paternalistic impulses, and in 28 Years Later with Jamie battling against those same inner demons as a father doing his best, but increasingly drowning in a communal ideology which has primed him to ignore the emotional ties he has to his family.
In Lowly, which plays as Jamie wakes his son 12-year-old son Spike before a first adventure onto the dangerous mainland – prematurely ending his childhood for the sake of his view of what being a good man and father consists of – the lyrics begin “Father, let me dream”. The response which comes is both emblematic of a father doing their best to comfort their child, but who cannot escape a myopic focus on how they should be acting, rather than feeling: “Oh, my son. Is there any way to make it out of this island?”
In Promised Land, which plays as a vicar, and father, tries to comfort his son while also implying he needs to hide from an approaching horde of the infected. Handing him a cross to keep – a parting gift which suggests his son should run and survive – he suggests nobody is dying, and actually this is all just God’s plan to ‘save’ everyone. As he is taken in by the ravenous crowd, his crying son hiding metres away, the lyrics give voice to an unspoken truth: So much for the promised land. Don’t go down with me.” It is an acknowledgement of his inability to confront his feelings honestly – something which means as a father, he may not have prepared his son for what is to come – before wishing that his son can learn from his mistakes.
Lyrics are often the last thing we talk about in terms of original scores that feature in the actual scenes of a movie. I suppose they are the last thing I will be talking about. But they are very much worth discussing – especially when it comes down to the way the soundtrack helps to make the film. Lyrics can be hard to get right without seeming too literal, but when they are more open to interpretation they get overshadowed by the actual dialogue. But several of the tracks in the Young Fathers’ score strike what I think is the perfect balance: alluding to familial tensions noticeably, but without being heavy-handed.
Dimitra Alexiou, composer and 2025 IFL Jury member, on Decision to Leave
I have been trying to think what is one of the most influential soundtracks so I can write about it. It is really hard: Music is such a core part of the film and an important element in our lives, that ironically, if it works well in the film, I do not exclude it, almost forget its separate entity and just merge it with the total experience. Meanwhile, this year alone there were several films where music was not just an element, but almost the core element of the film; think of Sinners, Wicked, The Phoenician Scheme (one of my favourites of Desplat so far), and many more to come for sure. In those films there is no soundtrack as a separate element, it is as if it is written in the script, as if it is the character that defines all character relationships.
However, in this piece I would like to talk about something completely different, a soundtrack that without it the film is unimaginable. Decision to Leave, a film made by Park ChanWook in 2022, features a complex story, not completely realistic but unquestionably compelling. A detective is investigating a possible murder, but in the process gets infatuated (to say the least) by the victim’s mysterious wife. That encounter and relationship sets off a play of cat and mouse, with no clear roles, with magic and humanity. In this piece I will mostly talk about the non-diegetic music, so the song that is featured in the detective’s iPod or the songs that we hear during the film will not be given much attention, without it meaning they lack importance for the film.
The piece that stands out is not made for the film; I would argue though that it is made for all films simultaneously. Mahler’s Adagietto from the 5th Symphony is a piece that fixed mankind. It is beautiful, tells a story on its own. It is used in such a poetic way in the film as well, always in places where the audience needs to connect with the main character or the story itself. The Adagietto is immediately connected to the relationship between detective and widow, their dynamic and their twisted relationship. It is a familiar piece to all audiences (it was also present in Visconti’s ‘Death in Venice’) and it is immediately imprinted in the audience’s brain once they hear it in the film for the first time.
That same year, 2022, Mahler’s 5th was also a core element in another big film, Tár by Todd Field. While the film is about a conductor and the music used by Mahler but also besides him is impeccable, the film left me angry and disappointed. So, while I will not get into that specific film and the importance and symbolisms that occur with the extended use of Western Art Music, it is important to be mentioned that the Adagietto is a piece that can fit perfectly into any context, both visual and narrative.
Of course, the film has also an original score. Orchestral, as well, seems to follow the typical mystery / suspense trope. The pieces are longer, quite to my liking, and are used to highlight feelings in the scenes but also to accompany montages that are used to pass the time faster in the film, where events and developments are important but the plot needs to proceed. Aesthetically the music itself is magnificent, the orchestration very well made and the melodies guide the audience in the most discreet way. There is also great communication with the dialogue and sound design. As a non-Korean speaker (although trying my best) the music and dialogue were a beautiful blend of sounds and melodies that helped me get even more immersed in the atmosphere of the film. The ups and downs of the musical phrases were immediately connected to the emphases in the dialogue and the energy of the characters in each scene. The strings are always present one way or another, from beautiful and suspenseful moves to extended eerie techniques. The piano plays a core part; the most humane instrument is always present and vibrant and guides the rest of the music towards what needs to be said. The woodwinds come in most of the pieces as fresh air, only to be drowned again from the suspenseful atmosphere of the stings and the film itself. The original score could easily be a symphony on its own, starting from the beginning of the story to the ending without missing a single piece of detail or information. Props to the composer, Cho Young-wuk, and the whole sound team for the great balance in the film. Finally, this score contributes to the fantastical atmosphere and gets rid of any realism in the plot, helping us get immersed in the twisted and irrational love story that is created and followed in the whole film.
Some scenes that are usually overlooked when talking about music in films are the scenes of silence; by that I mean, of course, musical silence. The scenes between the unorthodox couple having normal conversations are free of music, and it only comes in as a reminder of the manipulative character of the widow, when she is seducing him, either physically or mentally (which is, to be fair, most of the time). In the second part of the film, the detective sees her again after a long time, and the music only comes in with the harp (the dreamiest instrument of all, angelic) when we see a crack in her perfect façade. Silence is a friend of music, underlines the everyday conversations and situations, and enhances music’s effectiveness.
Overall, the film is a must-watch, and the soundtrack is a must-listen. Whether one wants to combine it with the film or not, the music is enticing and captivating. It also goes without saying that Mahler’s 5th Symphony is a masterpiece (as all Mahler’s works) and it would be so much better if you went to the concert house and listen to the work performed live! I promise you, the more you get into Western Art Music, the more you will crave and understand it.