Silent cinema has always been hampered by that first word, “silent.” Already perceived as archaic, exaggerated and uninvolving, silent film is further burdened with the notion of being soundless, yet there was always music, and often foley sounds too. Unfortunately for too many years after the end of the silent era, the accompaniment we would hear was saccharine and old-fashioned, further destroying what great directors had so carefully crafted. In Paris, Henri Langlois, the founder of the Cinémathèque française, refused to screen silent films with any music at all, foolishly believing it spoiled the purity of the image, a damaging act that turned silent film in France into a rarefied art form “appreciated” by only a few. However, anyone sensitive to great film music in the sound era, by such masters as Franz Waxman, Ennio Morricone, Nino Rota or Mohamad Nouh, knows that the right melodies don’t force the image or anticipate the emotion but underscore what’s on screen, just as they continue to do with the best live silent film accompaniment.
So what’s the “right” sound for silent film? Perhaps it’s best to first talk about the wrong sound(s). Trying to imitate what was heard 100 years ago is usually not a good idea: some surviving original scores can still sound good, but often they were just cue sheets consisting of popular music from the era, and these generally lack a sense of cohesion. A more recent example of this method is the so-called score put together by Simon Coquet for the new restoration by the Cinémathèque française of Abel Gance’s 1927 masterpiece Napoléon. The new version, over seven hours long, premiered in Paris last July, and was a disappointment on multiple levels. Musically, the choice was disastrous: Coquet assembled excerpts from a large number of composers, including Brahms, Mozart, Elgar, Mahler and many others, all of which are glorious pieces of music but there was little connection to the film. Rather than developing themes for individual characters and moods, Coquet made a mash-up that sometimes fit the images, sometimes not, but never once held the film together. Think of John Williams’ thrilling leitmotif for Luke Skywalker: it captures his character, and its recurrence forms a thread throughout Star Wars. This is good film music, no matter whether for a silent film or a sound one, because it understands the rhythm of a film, attaching emotions to particular characters.
Another bad music choice is the use of DJs or techno to accompany silent films. This has become popular among programmers looking to interest new generations in old films, but invariably these contemporary sounds not only clash with what’s on screen, they make the images look ancient while relentlessly emphasizing the newness of the music. Rather than inspiring younger people to open themselves up to silent cinema, these screenings attract audiences for the music alone, with sounds that turn the films into wallpaper.
That’s not to argue against the use of contemporary music. The key is a sensitivity to editing, rhythm and character, finding a way to bring out a film’s emotions without forcing them. I’ve heard terrific accompaniment to Soviet silent films that use industrial sounds to not only mimic the noises of machinery but capture the sense of man as machinery. Jazz can be used effectively, as long as it still pays attention to what’s happening on screen. Western Orientalist fantasies can be undermined by Arab musicians playing traditional instruments, turning films into critiques while still being respectful to what’s happening on the screen. In April at Alfilm in Berlin, sound designer Rana Eid and pianist Cynthia Zaven put together a powerful accompaniment to films shot in Palestine during World War I (including the bombing of Gaza in 1917), using soundscapes, radio broadcasts and music in ways that grabbed hold of the emotions and reinforced the links between past and present. Would that work for, say, a Buster Keaton film, or Murnau’s Sunrise? No. Finding the right accompaniment requires an almost alchemical melding of image and music, but when the musician gets it right, the films feel just as fresh and new as the music itself. That’s the beauty of sound in silent film: one size does not fit all.