The Unconscious Manipulation
By George Ammerlaan
When we think about film, our minds often jump to the famous names of actors and
directors: Leonardo DiCaprio and Brad Pitt in a new Quentin Tarantino release, or Emma
Stone and Ryan Gosling in a musical by Damien Chazelle. These are major, globally
celebrated productions with massive audiences. Yet, as surprising as it may sound for
some, these big names aren’t the only ones responsible for the smile on your face or the
tear that quietly escapes down your cheek. Behind every film lies an entire collective of
creators, constantly — and often unconsciously — manipulating us as viewers.
Creating effective manipulation — or rather, evoking a film’s feeling and emotion — is no
simple task. Randy Thom, a renowned American sound designer, delivered a remarkable
lecture for the School of Sound on precisely this subject. Titled Designing a Movie for
Sound. His presentation explored how emotion emerges through sound design and how
filmmakers can use sound to strengthen their storytelling.
After years of closely observing and analyzing films, Thom realised something fascinating:
the most compelling sound design is not necessarily created for a film, rather, films are
often designed in ways that allow sound design to flourish. That insight left me with a
burning question: what then makes a film well-designed for sound?
It begins, Thom suggests, with perspective: the way we look at a film. Filmmaking, he
believes, should be approached like creating a creature from Dr. Frankenstein’s
laboratory. We piece together separate elements to build a living, breathing creature. The
power to make this creature speak, to make it sing, lies in allowing it to be heard. And yet,
this essential possibility is often neglected in cinema. In order to hear, of course, you need
ears, and so, ears must be fashioned for the film. The crucial question is: from whom or
what do we hear the things we see on screen? The answer to this question shapes
perspective and opens the door to an array of possibilities.
Take Apocalypse Now, directed by Francis Ford Coppola. The film opens not with a wide
establishing shot, a line of dialogue, but with the ear of Captain Willard. We hear a
helicopter, but not a real one. It is a synthesized sound, crafted to resemble the sound of
a helicopter. In that moment, we as viewers are gently swept into a dreamlike state,
immersed in Willard’s hazy thoughts and fragile emotions.
This opening sequence is a classic example of a POV scene: a point-of-view moment
where we experience events through a character’s perception, seeing and hearing what
they do. According to Thom, POV scenes are invaluable tools for sound design, a
sentiment I wholeheartedly share. A POV shot makes it remarkably easy for an audience
to believe in whatever sound design you present. It gives you the freedom to experiment,
to search for the sound choices that most powerfully reinforce the film’s emotional core.
Thom urges sound designers to forget how things actually sound — at least temporarily
— and instead focus on how a sound feels.
For example, I have always believed the sound of adhesive tape dragged across a violin
creates a far more sinister, unsettling creak than any wooden floorboard ever could. Try it
yourself, you will see what I mean.
Sound design can clarify narrative elements, but it can also introduce ambiguity. Radio
producer and writer Piers Plowright once described ambiguity as one of the most
essential tools any artist can use. Thom agrees, suggesting ambiguity is not just effective,
but deeply compelling. As viewers, we tend to think we have the answers. You may not
fully understand what is happening in a film, but you suspect you are onto something.
And it is precisely that feeling — that illusion of insight — which is pure gold for
storytelling.
Naturally, you don’t want to reveal who is the killer in the opening act. Doing so would
strip the narrative of tension. What you do want is to constantly tease your audience with
subtle clues. If done well, viewers won’t feel confused, instead, they will get the quiet
sense that they are starting to piece things together. Maybe they recognize a familiar
voice on a tape recorder and start suspecting a character. And then, with a clever sound
cue or tonal shift, you send them down a completely different path. That is the power of
ambiguity in cinema. When screenwriters discuss these narrative clues early on with the
sound department, the result can be an explosion of creative ideas. It keeps the audience
engaged and actively participating in the story.
Lastly, I want to reflect on the creative process itself, in filmmaking or in any artistic
discipline. People often claim to begin with nothing, but that is a myth. You always start
with something: an idea, a memory, a feeling. The best work often comes from borrowing,
even if it’s something small. Sometimes it happens unconsciously; other times, quite
deliberately. It’s a tradition that exists for centuries. The Romans even had names for it. It
begins with translatio: translating someone else’s idea. Then comes imitatio: imitation or
emulation. And finally — the most important stage — aemulatio: to surpass, to go beyond
the work that inspires you.
Thom believes, as do I, that almost all art is made through a fusion of inspiration from
other works and the artist’s own lived experience. It is in that collision that magical
connections are made. He insists that the secret to artistry is to make a great deal of work
and to gather as many experiences as you can. In doing so, you build a kind of creative
toolbox. One you can carry with you wherever you go. Good artists inevitably stumble
upon surprises: those unexpected, electric moments that make the work truly come alive.
So, mainly take emotion or feeling as a starting point, tease your audience with clues,
lead them astray, build yourself a creative toolbox and perhaps most importantly,
remember this:
Film is not something to which sound is merely added. See modern cinema as a whole: a fusion of all its parts. The assembled monster of Dr. Frankenstein, a collective creation that delivers not just a story, but an experience, a feeling, an emotion. The unconscious manipulation.