Steve Lannin and Matthew Caley (eds),
Pop Fiction: The Song in Cinema.
Bristol: Intellect Books, 2005.
ISBN: 1 84150 078 X
173 pp
£14.95 (pb)
(Review copy supplied by Intellect Books)
As more than one of the contributors to this volume notes, it is easy to regard the use of well-known pop songs in commercial cinema with a certain cynicism. Writing the practice off as little more than a marketing tool can prove very tempting in an era where the cross-promotion of music and film is becoming ever more widespread. This anthology effectively demonstrates that – whilst this attitude is often justified – the incorporation of a judiciously chosen song can prove an effective tool in shaping our experience and understanding of a movie.
The editors have designed their project well. Inviting contributions from writers whose expertise spans a wide variety of fields, they have restricted the scope of each entry to the functioning of a well-known popular song in a feature film (the musical genre excluded) of the past thirty years. In doing so, they have encouraged each writer to examine the use of a single song in a level of detail that is seldom found in more general studies of film music. The wide range of methodologies emerging from the contributor selection process provides a fascinating array of variations on a clearly focused theme.
The twelve essays address songs that relate in various ways to the films that house them. Many are non-diegetic whilst others are introduced into the narrative space through jukebox or radio play. One entry considers the performance of a well-known song by lead characters in the film. Another examines the use of a song in a posthumous documentary about its performer. Several writers have chosen songs occurring at or near the beginning of the film, since such songs take on substantial preparative responsibilities. Other writers discuss songs associated with important revelations about character psychology or relationships, or which occur at a key moment in the narrative trajectory.
A clear and impressive illustration of how potently a song can convey character information is provided by Ian Inglis in his account of the use of Frankie Valli’s recording of Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You (1967) in The Deer Hunter (US 1978). In an essay that proves one of the jewels of the book, he unmasks the extent to which a scene near the beginning of the movie “contains behavioural and emotional elements which are explicitly and significantly revisited later in the film” (65). Arguing that the “deliberate and strategic use” of this song is the lynchpin of this accomplishment, he shows how meaning arises from a complex interrelation of elements. These include the cultural significance of the song’s recording artist, musical style and year of release, its reception within the diegetic social situation and, not least, the lyrics’ implied commentary on the action.
In a detailed and thought-provoking essay, Morris B. Holbrook explores another way in which a song can imbue a scene with connotations that are not centred simply on the lyrics. He examines two performances of the song, My Funny Valentine (published 1937): one by Suzie Diamond (Michelle Pfeiffer) in The Fabulous Baker Boys (US 1989) and the other by Tom Ripley (Matt Damon) in The Talented Mr. Ripley (US 1999). He argues that although the performances are on one level patently diegetic, each introduces a plethora of meanings extrinsic to the diegetic realm. These, he suggests, may arise from one’s extra-textual knowledge of the song’s previous performers (Frank Sinatra, Kim Novak, Chet Baker), adding depth to the characterisation and thereby advancing the dramatic development.
While each of the songs discussed in this book was already widely known before their occurrence in the films at hand, the process of transferring meaning from one text to another has not always been a one-way process as Jeff Smith shows in his analysis of Grosse Pointe Blank (US 1997). He describes how the narrative placement of the Wings song, Live and Let Die, allows it to assume meanings never hinted at in its original use as the title theme of the 1973 Bond movie. “In an almost perfect example of intertextual symbiosis,” argues Smith, “Grosse Pointe Blank gives new meaning to the famous Paul McCartney song while the song itself extends and elaborates Blank‘s central narrative conceit” (136).
Robynn J. Stilwell takes this theme yet further, in an essay exploring the various possible readings of Phil Collins’ In the Air Tonight (1981) in Risky Business (US 1983). “Most of the time, we scholars talk about what the meaning of the song was to the audience of the film when it was released. But what happens if the song becomes more popular after the film is released …?” (151). This question hovers over the seemingly confident explanation of the song’s function that emerges from her technical descriptions of musical technique. Thus the chapter profitably acknowledges that not only is it ultimately impossible to lock down any single reading but, just as a song may take on new implications with each performance context, so the interpretative possibilities of films do not remain forever stable.
Impressive in its scope and variety, Pop Fiction is a well-formulated and scholarly work that represents a significant contribution to a field that is the subject of an escalating level of interest and intellectual activity. Although its entries cannot be described as universally excellent, the volume contains only one really weak chapter. Most of the authors have supplied detailed and insightful accounts of the various ways that a well-known song can contribute to our understanding and experience of a movie scene and, on occasion, how this conjunction may open up new readings of the song itself.
Deborah Allison
United Kingdom.
Created on: Thursday, 2 March 2006 | Last Updated: 2-Mar-06