Music Theory

Kitsch and its place in film music


33 min read

The search for beauty and the effort to educate communities through the arts have long occupied the human species. Thinkers such as Plato, Aristotle, Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz, Alexander Gottfried Baumgarten, Immanuel Kant, and Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel all approached aesthetic questions with deep seriousness. Culture rests on four essential pillars: language, history, art, and religion. In the postmodern period, art passes through a particularly ambiguous phase, one that cannot be described as clearly evolutionary. The entertainment culture of ordinary people exerts a powerful pressure on contemporary art, which struggles to preserve its original role: the elevation of the soul and the projection of a cognitive vision of reality.

The enormous importance that beauty, both in nature and in art, has carried since the eighteenth century is now confronted by kitsch. This phenomenon gained real prominence when bourgeois civilization reached its peak in the late nineteenth century. After an overview of kitsch forms, typologies, and associations across music, history, architecture, sculpture, the decorative arts, interior design, choreography, and media, the focus shifts to film music. Here the central issue is the incongruous, unjustified, or unsympathetic pairing of music with other components of a film. Concrete solutions to these associative errors are presented through several sub-chapters: stylistic mismatches between a film's historical setting and the music that accompanies it; films that rely heavily on dissonant or atonal sound worlds; concerns about ethnic music that tip from authenticity into deformation; the interplay between national and international elements in Romanian cinema; memorable songs as commercial vehicles; and the general density of musical events within a movie.

When art meets mainstream culture

The framework through which kitsch is assessed depends both on the mindset of the critic and on the presence of the artwork across time and space. A difficulty encountered in the Anglo-American sources is the translation of the word "popular," which carries a tricky ambiguity in Romanian, sometimes erasing important distinctions. To avoid this, the present discussion will distinguish between "mainstream," referring to a fashionable, commercially oriented body of work favoured by a majority, and "folklore" or "folkloric works," which point to the ancestral art of a specific community.

This study is not a witch-hunt for kitsch in film music, but rather the attitude of a taster of kitsch elements that were aptly snuck in by the filmmakers.

Art films often move on a line between genuine art and straightforward entertainment. They are fictions grounded in imagination and fantasy, making it challenging to distinguish them from kitsch. The key aim here is to trace the bounds where musical kitsch appears and, more specifically, to examine how music works with, or against, the narrative and technical elements of a film.

Four pillars and the rise of the consumer

British philosopher Roger Scruton, citing Johann Gottfried Herder, described culture as "the life-blood of a people, the flow of moral energy that holds a society intact." Civilisation, by his account, is "the veneer of manners, law and technical know-how." For the German Romantics, every person in a community holds at least a common culture, but high culture requires cultivation. In Scruton's words, "High culture involves a repertoire, an accumulation of works of art and exemplary utterances, which create the common ground in which the new and the surprising are planted." Fiction plays an especially vital part here because its objects exist only in the imagination, and fictional situations can sustain long reflection and instruction.

A common culture dignifies people, by setting their desires and projects within an enduring context. It makes the spirit believable and commitment sincere, by providing the words, gestures, rituals and beliefs which moralize our actions.

In a highly mobile world, traditional local cultures can weaken or blend. People gravitate towards new small groups united by taste, leisure, and commercial art, fostering a mainstream culture that is adopted rather than inherited. This is not entirely novel: Raymond Williams argued that common people always had their own culture beside an elitist upper-class one. Because of his efforts, "the concept of culture was extended to describe the forms of popular art and entertainment in modern conditions."

Kitsch made its real ascent at the height of bourgeois civilization, in the late nineteenth century, when a part of the bourgeois class seized the role of shaping both daily life and art. Economic demands for cheap, fast production and rapid sales pulled art creation into a commodity logic. Art lovers turned into art consumers. "Consumption means rather the excitation of a function that produces the parading through everyday life of an ever-increasing flow of objects on the way between factory and dustbin," wrote Abraham Moles. "The object becomes a product, this is the new way of kitsch life." Kitsch always aims a little to the side—it pushes away the pure with the impure, even when describing purity. Educated viewers or listeners do, however, pick out its components and may rearrange or simply skip them.

A short etymology of kitsch

The term KITSCH first arose in German aesthetics in the second half of the 19th century. It was linked to a lack of style, a chaotic mix of styles, comfort achieved too easily, and a sense of disfiguring, degrading, deforming, altering, or imitating. Abraham Moles argued that at its root is a rejection of authenticity. The verb "kitschen" means to carelessly make something, and "verkitschen" indicates degrading, disfiguring, or altering. The necessary groundwork for kitsch is a mediocre education joined to a consumer society that relies on mass artistic production.

Several conclusions follow from Moles's book The Psychology of Kitsch. Art of Happiness. Kitsch is a constant that shows up in every art form and all historical ages, riding on a civilisation that produces for consumption and creates for production. Time accelerates within this cycle. Humankind becomes wound up in material possessions, and the value of objects slips in line with that subordination. Industrious copying, rather than the content or natural structure of a work, dictates market value. Many musical works are appreciated not because they sing with beauty, but because they are demanded.

Associating wrongly with kitsch

Aesthetic objects invite viewers to what Scruton described as "an interest of reason—a self-conscious placing of ourselves in relation to the thing considered, and a search for meaning which looks neither for information nor practical utility, but for the insight which religion also promises: insight into the why and whither of our being here." Kitsch treats this search cheaply, throwing together styles as if making a "salad," over- or under-sizing objects, and abandoning genuine functionality. Moles outlined a purposeful dichotomy: "creating" means bringing new forms into the world, an act of invention; "producing" means copying existing forms over and over. Kitsch in art concerns either objects themselves or the way they are gathered in a setting.

This essay aims to spot kitsch film music by finding its discord with other filmic units. Associations that misfire often follow patterns:

  • a useless accumulation of different styles and decorative units
  • limitless agglomeration of incompatible, anti-functional items, saved only for sedimentation
  • antagonistic pairs such as exotic vs. provincial, heroic vs. poor, science fiction vs. tradition, religion vs. drunkenness

Moles also spoke of "kitsch situations" like apartment art and decorative art; "kitsch acts" like industrialising souvenirs or industrial design; and "kitsch objects" sorted as sedimentary (crammed through time) or transient (made for quick disposal). All of them submit to principles driven by inadequacy, accumulation, mediocrity, comfort, and synesthetic perception.

Notorious Romanian kitsch

Following the principle that the easiest road to "good taste" passes right through "bad taste," a brief catalogue shows typical examples.

Historical kitsch. Dracula stands tallest—probably Romania's biggest kitsch. His brand confuses historical truth with made-up fantasy, aggressively marketed. Vlad Țepeș and Dracula share nearly nothing except the famous stakes lurid thrill-seekers fixate upon.

Communist kitsch. Elena Ceaușescu saw rather clouded judgment fashioning her into a world-renowned academic doctor-engineer despite having repeated fourth grade with poor marks. Moș Gerilă was forced into Romanian lore by Soviet influence to replace Saint Nicholas and Santa Claus in an anti-religious bid to secularise Christmas traditions.

Architectural and sculptural examples:

  • Bust in Scornicești
  • Maramureș gate on Ștefan cel Mare pedway, Iași
  • Ghilduș stake from Revolution Square, named Memorialul Renașterii
  • Eiffel Tower in Slobozia
  • Heart of Jesus in Lupeni

Fine art hit its low nationally after the Communist regime destroyed quality standards and turned down donations from Constantin Brâncuși. A janitor from the National Museum of Contemporary Art might genuinely ask, "This is art, or shall I throw it away?" with no surety of the answer.

Decorative and interior objects: tapestry portraying an abduction from a harem, 'aesthetic' cab interiors mixing plastic crosses and posters of nudes with icons, knit towels with folk patterns, glass ornaments, plastic flowers, stuffed animals set among garden gnomes.

Fashion contradictions: tracksuits paired with court shoes, furry slippers, bling, woven plastic shopping bags.

Choreographed banality. Dances mix ancestral rituals intended for chasing crows with erratic limb flailing resembling exorcism spasms, plus something of a teenage game known as "lapte gros."

Media and digital: the OTV channel, Acces Direct TV show, cheap holiday mass texts.

Religious counterfeits: plastic icons displaying a pixelated online copy of Arsenie Boca, sold as devotion. Christian Orthodoxy remains a mainstay of Romanian people, but exploiting it by peddling altered symbols hurts rather than supports belief. Meanwhile the heritage of real power writes its own case: Voroneț Monastery nicknamed the Sistine Chapel of the East, Neamț Monastery, and others.

Mr. Bean's film Bean: The Ultimate Disaster operates as a subtle joke on the kitsch of contemporary behavior.

Kitsch within musical organisation

Where demand drives speed and easy sales, compromise on value shows no hint of shame throughout recent civilisation. Aesthetes documented the historic struggle between capable music and commercial interests: Ludwig van Beethoven throughout life paid for rented houses; Franz Schubert owned no piano of his own, yet triumphed in the long haul. Few composers, such as Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina, Giuseppe Verdi, or Paul McCartney, built wide connection at once tied squarely to deep excellence in craft.

The market has bent proper course for many a strong aim. American magazines Billboard and Rolling Stone printed passionate musical commentary early on but steadily slid into bottom-line choices and by the 2000s had softened nearly all edge, flowing afternoon-newscast softness.

MTV, which started in 1981 with an intention to circulate admirable pop music, helped channel passive watching into regularised comfort—low demands on substance. Producers chasing audiences accelerated the next slow fade into kitsch by boosting careers away from practice rooms right into gym destinations and beauty studios.

Certain patterns now yield foundation recipes:

  • chords and lines without dissonance, overwhelmingly simple, or at the other side: discord placed as though "intellectually" smashed together in fierce discomfort
  • timing styles arranged not for complexity's worth but to mangle an audible orderly clarity
  • tones painted as synthetic explosions, leaning designed far from honest colours
  • arrangements left glassy and demode-seeming as if set out to irritate
  • original desire exchanged for trend-centered subject matter
  • ubiquity of spicy sentiment, layered gesture, exposed skin, and cloying delivery

A touch of history and purpose in film music

When Alexander Gottlieb Baumgarten sounded changes in aesthetics, art and natural beauty by 1750 moved swiftly into intellectual leadership leaving ripple effects lasting until our present moment. This 18th century expansion placed art's study on whole new level.

Art was no longer merely a source of leisure but, above all, a vehicle for instructing and refining the soul. Summarizing Immanuel Kant’s aesthetic writings, Roger Scruton notes that “the aesthetic is a realm of value” (2017, p. 52). In the nineteenth century, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel’s Lectures on Aesthetics essentially defined the Romantic movement as “the exaltation of the subjective over the objective, and the inner yearning over the outward form” (Scruton, 2017, p. 69). Then, for over a century, modernism dominated. Under the principle that everything is for sale, “value is price and price is value, where feelings are bartered, and the sentimental fake no longer distinguished from the genuine article, the artist becomes a modernist, and culture escapes to a garrett, high above the market place” (Scruton, 2017, p. 96). Figures like Richard Wagner, Charles Baudelaire, and Édouard Manet initiated this period, its central ideas embodied especially in the works of the poet T. S. Eliot.

Film music as a whole does not strictly follow the foundational principles debated by great aestheticians and philosophers through the ages, but the field of aesthetics today seems more slippery than ever. Even the concept of catharsis, which Aristotle understood as purification through art, carries a variously nuanced palette in contemporary discourse.

Clearly, film music—with its generic music, narrative music, leitmotifs and thematic development, background music, representative songs, and ending music—cannot be objectively analysed if extracted from the context for which it was created, thereby losing some of its expressivity. A gestalt or neo-formalist analysis can therefore offer a more precise image of film music’s quality, whether congruous or incongruous with other filmic units. Limiting analysis to musical language elements, compositional procedures, sound processing techniques, or performance methods may lead to inaccurate conclusions. Film music must be integrated across the three cinematic planes: stylistic, narrative, and thematic. The role music plays in films derives from motivations justified realistically, compositionally, trans-textually, and artistically, or from exogenous motivation, as well as from its perceptual, cognitive, and emotion‑shaping functions.

The use of pop music or other non‑academic genres—rock, folk, rap, and so on—for representative songs in film music has often had exogenous motivations. These songs, whether diegetic or nondiegetic, on‑screen or off‑screen, addressed the film’s theme or a specific moment more or less directly, and clearly helped popularize the film in the movie market. Often their fame depends on awards received—the Oscars being most notorious—on sales of audio materials containing sound samples (called a soundtrack), on the popularity of the performer or composer, and on the congruence of the music with the other filmic units or the intrinsic musical value of the piece—though these last criteria are unfortunately the least considered. Among the many valuable film songs we mention masterpieces such as “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” from The Wizard of Oz (1939), music by Harold Arlen and Herbert Stothart, sung by Judy Garland, or “My Heart Will Go On” from Titanic (1997), music by James Horner, performed by Celine Dion—the former appearing even as diegetic music, the latter serving as the basis for the entire score written by the late American composer. However, this essay also discusses other songs that, sheltered by justifications such as congruence with other filmic units, empathetic music, or a simple lack of production funds, raise questions about what aesthetic justifications lay behind their composition or interpretation. Considering the elements of musical language, compositional procedures, sound processing techniques, and basic performance rules, these songs do not do justice to the art of sound in general or to film music in particular.

4. Kitsch art in cinema

In cinema, as in all arts, “artistic tradition is a constantly evolving system of conventions, allusions, cross‑references and shared expectations. Themes, forms, ornaments and styles are things both inherited and invented, and the inheritance is part of what makes the invention possible” (Scruton, 2017, p. 62). Yet “in art, meaning does not arise from conventions or rules. On the contrary, conventions and rules arise from meaning. […] Art […] is intrinsically suspicious of this standardising process. Convention is tolerable only as a background to other and more individual meanings: if it becomes the foreground of the artistic enterprise, the result is cliché. The constant lapse into cliché, and the fastidious fear of it, are marks of a high culture in decline” (Scruton, 2017, p. 63). As a movie‑goer, I have found that many films produced in the last twenty or thirty years suffer tremendously in terms of music and originality.

The first concrete protest against transforming cinema art into a commercially structured commodity was the founding of United Artists by Charlie Chaplin and D. W. Griffith, mainly as a reaction of frustration to the restrictions imposed by managers who prioritized selling the cinema product (Borden, Duijsens et al., 2010, pp. 10‑15). In the context of social and economic development from the late nineteenth century, the commercialization of modern life led Oscar Wilde to comment that “a cynic is a man who knows the price of everything, and the value of nothing” (Scruton, 2017, p. 79).

On the whole, art film contains, more or less, unrealities generated by imagination or fantasy. However, “while the unrealities of fantasy penetrate and pollute the world, those of the imagination exist in a world of their own, in which we wander freely and in full knowledge of the really real” (Scruton, 2017, p. 79). “Fantasy covets the gross, the explicit, the no‑holds‑barred display of the unobtainable. […] It eschews style and convention, since these impede the building of the surrogate, and veil it in thought” (Scruton, 2017, p. 80). “The matter of imagination is not realised but represented. It comes to us, as a rule, heavily masked by thought, and in no sense is it a surrogate, standing in place of the unobtainable. On the contrary, it is deliberately placed at a distance, in a world of its own” (Scruton, 2017, p. 81). “Imagination idealizes, ennobles, embellishes and re‑presents the world. […] Fantasy, by contrast, is frequently degrading. For it begins from the premise of a given emotion, which it can neither improve nor criticise but only feed. It is a slave of the actual, and deals in forbidden goods. Where imagination offers glimpses of the sacred, fantasy offers sacrilege and profanation” (Scruton, 2017, p. 80). In conclusion, “the emotions inspired by serious art belong to imagination, not to fantasy” (Scruton, 2017, p. 83).

5. The issue of musical kitsch in movies and possible solutions for avoiding such mistakes

The most effective method of identifying and analysing aspects of musical kitsch in films is the practical approach of using concrete examples. In this chapter I analyse film fragments where the music exhibits several kitsch features, whether from a strictly musical perspective or as part of the overall filmic unit, giving rise to stylistic, narrative, or thematic incongruities that can be interpreted as kitsch associations. As comparison criteria, I consider several aspects related to the concordance between music and film themes, the periods in which they were created, and the stylistic and narrative elements of the films in question.

5.1. Stylistic inconsistencies between filmic units vs. features of the era augmented by music

Alexander, 2004, music by Vangelis vs. Troy, 2004, music by James Horner

The basic feature of Vangelis’s music, which gives his cinematic works their sonic identity, is the predominantly electronic sound. The score written for Alexander seems inferior to his Oscar‑winning score for Chariots of Fire (1981) or the much‑publicized “Conquest of Paradise” theme from 1492: Conquest of Paradise. Justification is found in the example from the scene in Alexander that earned six Golden Raspberry nominations: Alexander the Great entering Babylon. Here the composer chooses:

— A conventional theme built on a diatonic scale of six sounds, incongruent with the musical history and traditions of ancient Babylon or the Macedonians, according to historical research;

— The timbre chosen for the theme has an unclear, imprecise color, being a synthetic imitation of brass wind instruments; moreover, most electronic timbres used in this film seem outdated, outmoded, coming from the generation of timbres used in the 1980s and 1990s;

— A repetitive rhythmic‑harmonic structure. The sound the Greek musician had accustomed audiences to in previous films is simplified here, with no variation or development, already seeming like a cliché.

Seeking to augment a monumental, grandiose scene, Vangelis opts for simplistic, even bombastic music incongruent with the other filmic units, meant to highlight Alexander’s triumph.

In contrast, an example of congruence between storyline and music is the final scene depicting the battle between Hector and Achilles in Troy. The outrageous cruelty of the victor is underscored by music that empathizes with the pain of Hector’s close relatives witnessing the scene, generating a heartrending emotion, a state of suspension beyond any reason. In the soundtrack of Troy, the late American composer James Horner uses musical themes from the Balkans and Asia Minor, perhaps with influences from the Near and Middle East:

— The vocal score is modal, chromatic or even enharmonic—microtones are used in modal scales presented as accompanied monody;

— The performance of Macedonian soloist Tanja Tzarovska, “sprinkled” with decorations, glissando, vibrato, makes one wonder whether she is “sweetening up” certain intervals with untempered intonation;

— Rubato rhythmic moments performed on big drums;

— A surprising and discreet plurimelodic piece in the second part;

— An interesting detail is the use of A = 432 Hz tuning.

King Arthur, 2004, music by Hans Zimmer vs. Kingdom of Heaven, 2005, music by Harry Gregson‑Williams

The musical score for King Arthur seems more tailored to the taste and expectations of the early‑third‑millennium music consumer than composed to reflect the early Middle Ages—the legend evokes human communities of Germanic tribes roaming Europe from east to west in the fourth to tenth centuries. This hypothesis is backed by the lack of medieval musical instruments, the sparse use of musical language elements (only a few rhythmic and rare melodic elements stand out), and the musician’s tendency to use electronic effects and timbres. The chosen fragment, “Woad to Ruin,” is an example where Hans Zimmer alternates between homophony and accompanied monody, with a tonal‑modal sonic organization integrated with symphonic orchestra timbres, voices, and sometimes rhythmic structures with ternary subdivisions played by percussion instruments.

In contrast, the music of British composer Harry Gregson‑Williams, critically acclaimed by specialists, demonstrates his knowledge of medieval music across early Renaissance to neoclassical cultivated music, Near Eastern ethnic music, and electronic music. The soundtrack for Kingdom of Heaven—set in the Crusader era of the eleventh to thirteenth centuries—is an example of syncretism in film music, where medieval vocal themes are arranged according to models from the dawn of polyphony, and instrumental modal themes from the Western European Middle Ages alternate with those from the Near East, depending on the geographical location of the action. The score exhibits moments of polyrhythm, surprising harmonies where dissonances are not resolved in line with classical harmony, and a richness of timbre colors, with instruments from the symphonic orchestra, synthetic instruments, and medieval or archaic instruments.

5.2. The use of predominantly dissonant or even atonal sonorities in films

Neamul Șoimăreștilor, 1965, music by Theodor Grigoriu vs. Planet of the Apes, 1968, music by Jerry Goldsmith; Telegrame, 1959, music by Mircea Chiriac; Undeva în Est, 1991, music by Cornel Țăranu

The Romanian composition school of the twentieth century can be identified in the scores for Neamul Șoimăreștilor and Undeva în Est. From Neamul Șoimăreștilor, I examine a love scene accompanied by incongruous music from Theodor Grigoriu. The consonant harmony fundamental to love is not reflected in the dissonance‑dominated music that accompanies the little love story unfolding in nature. Only the hypothesis of a connotative function—incongruent in this sequence but potentially justified toward the film’s end—could argue for using such sonorities, but a gestalt analysis of Grigoriu’s score from this film suggests that the Romanian musician did not find empathetic solutions. This is an example of music valuable in its own right but applied rather awkwardly to the film and not integrated with the context.

On the other hand, Undeva în Est, which tells the harrowing story of a family mocked by communists during the collectivization period, benefits from highly qualitative music composed by Cornel Țăranu—both intrinsically and in terms of its congruence with the other filmic units. The drama, turmoil, and tragedies of Romanian peasants are perfectly reflected by predominantly dissonant or even atonal sounds, dominated by monody. We also encounter non‑thematic scores or narrative music built on musical themes close to Romanian folklore, masterfully arranged, sometimes in an expressionist manner. The instability or lack of a tonal center of attraction in Cornel Țăranu’s score amplifies the state of fear in the micro‑universe of Romanian villages from the 1950s, where people were disoriented and unable to form hypotheses about what was to come.

A representative example of atonal film music is the hunting scene from Planet of the Apes (1968), with music by Jerry Goldsmith. The horror and desperation of humans chased by the ruling apes are perfectly reflected and amplified by the music, masterfully superimposed on the images. The composer uses dissonant harmonies/sound clusters, maximum nuances, repeated rhythms. I note the intensive use of the entire orchestral apparatus.

But dissonant sonorities are not only used to underline negative moods or feelings. Humour can also be enhanced by predominantly dissonant music. Here is a wonderful scene from Telegrame (1959), with music by Mircea Chiriac, featuring Grigore Vasiliu Birlic, the Charlie Chaplin of Romanian cinema, in the main role. The comedy resulting from situations where characters think highly of themselves but act foolishly can be underscored by simple melodic lines, sometimes even oligochordal, but played simultaneously a semitone apart or built on deliberately chosen dissonant harmony, possibly a semitone away from the melody. Technical instrumental or vocal performance procedures—using exaggerated vibrato, glissando, flutter tonguing, tremolo, etc.—can play an important role in bringing out the comedy.

5.3. Exploring different cultures: ethnic music between distortion and authenticity

The song “Arabian Nights” from Aladdin, 2019, music by Alan Menken vs. The Kite Runner, 2007, music by Alberto Iglesias; the song “Pi’s Lullaby” from Life of Pi, 2012, music by Mychael Danna and Bombay Jayashri

In the film Aladdin, multi‑Oscar‑winning American composer Alan Menken paints the world of the Middle East as American audiences would like it to be, rather than as it really is. Highly acclaimed especially for animation scores, this musician reworks or even invents musical themes not truly part of the Arab‑Persian space. Throughout the score we notice only a few glissandos, discreet ornaments, and sporadic use of the augmented second or Phrygian cadence—all transposed into the tempered system and tonally pronounced, not in line with the richly ornamented and untempered modal music of the native culture. Furthermore, the film’s signature song, “Arabian Nights,” is presented as diegetic music with a mediocre performance by actor Will Smith. In my opinion, to create predominantly congruous and empathetic music that enhances cinematic emotions, musicians must know and use the full range of stylistic elements and musical language specific to an era, region, or culture, and only then make allowances for their audience’s taste. Examples supporting this are the scores for The Kite Runner and Life of Pi.

In the score Alberto Iglesias wrote for The Kite Runner, we find untempered intonations and sonorities specific to the Middle East, created through ethnic and archaic instruments and oriental rhythms. We notice the Spanish composer’s predilection for monodic or heterophonic discourse supported by ethnic percussion instruments, in a surprising and pleasant symbiosis with the guitar or modern synthetic effects. The theme from “Pi’s Lullaby” composed by Mychael Danna is a demonstration of mastery in the synthetic composition of film music. Here we have a vocal song in the Tamil language, performed by artist Bombay Jayashri.

adopting a style reminiscent of South Asian music, engaging in dialogue with untempered ethnic instruments. The song is supported by alternative rhythms and ethnic percussion instruments that blend naturally with electronic timbres or the accordion, presenting a modern vision of tonal-modal harmony.

5.4. National and international in Romanian movies

Queen Marie of Romania, 2019, music by Giancarlo Russo vs. Ștefan cel Mare – Vaslui 1475, 1975, music by Theodor Grigoriu; Cu mâinile curate, 1972, music by Richard Oschanitzky; Răzbunarea haiducilor, 1968, music by Mircea Istrate.

The historical film Queen Marie of Romania, directed by Alexis Sweet Cahill in 2019 with music by Italian composer Giancarlo Russo, was a film I eagerly anticipated, and my expectations were largely met. However, while the referential meanings—both explicit and implicit—are properly highlighted on the narrative plane, the musical score lacks any motif or theme of Romanian specificity. I have identified only two moments where the music seems incongruous with other filmic units: a scene of the Queen offering food to poor citizens on Bucharest’s outskirts, accompanied by music in an English waltz-like ternary rhythm, and another where the Queen, dressed in Romanian folk costume, learns that her European efforts for Greater Romania’s recognition have succeeded. In both cases, the composer chooses music devoid of national “sonorous colour” or patriotic fulfillment.

Romanian historical films do not necessarily require predominantly national musical language, but inserting musical illustrations or folklore-inspired adaptations throughout the soundtrack, along with creating original scores that approach the specific sound of music Romanians play and listen to, would more realistically and effectively enhance cinematic emotion. Composer Mircea Istrate demonstrated great mastery in the 1968 film Răzbunarea haiducilor, directed by Dinu Cocea, where picturesque characters develop an “attractive and well-articulated plot” woven with folkloric motifs, according to critic Călin Căliman (Căliman, 2000, p. 210). Besides the original music, congruous with other filmic units, the soundtrack also contains fragments of folk music. The choral fragment accompanying the final scene shows the potential of Romanian music in emphasizing the national element in films. A remark is needed: Romanian films do not always meticulously credit the origin of all musical sources included in the soundtrack.

Thd main musical theme from Ștefan cel Mare – Vaslui 1475, composed by Theodor Grigoriu and also used a year earlier in 1974 for Frații Jderi, stands as one of the most successful scores in Romanian film music. Based on a pentatonic musical motif,

This narrative theme benefits from well-thought-out orchestration, using music to tell the dramatic story of Romanians led by the great voivode against the Ottomans. While in other films—such as Neamul Șoimăreștilor (1965), Pădurea spânzuraților (Forest of the Hanged, 1965), Dacii (1967), or Columna (1968)—the composer preferred predominantly atonal scores with dissonant sonorities, here he opts for tonal-modal music that excellently supports the narrative plane of Ștefan cel Mare – Vaslui 1475, artfully rearranged from Frații Jderi.

On the other hand, Romanian films that copy universal themes, such as the detective film model, should use appropriate music from the same vein. Richard Oschanitzky’s score for the first Romanian detective film, Cu mâinile curate (1972), offers an excellent example of jazz-pop music. The fashion of jazz and pop sounds in film music—suggested by Henry Mancini in the series Peter Gunn (1958–1961) or in the famous The Pink Panther series (starting 1963) by Lalo Schifrin, especially in Mission Impossible (1966–1973), and even by Alex North in A Streetcar Named Desire (1951)—is introduced in Romania by the talented Richard Oschanitzky.

5.5. Representative songs – the exogenous motivation of more or less commercial film music

The song Love or Money from Under the Cherry Moon (1986), music by Prince Rogers Nelson, vs. (I’ve Had) The Time of My Life from Dirty Dancing (1987), music by John DeNicola and Donald Markowitz, lyrics by Franke Previte, performed by Bill Medley and Jennifer Warnes.

The 1986 romantic dramedy musical film Under the Cherry Moon “won” five Golden Raspberry Awards, with Prince receiving three for weakest musical-filmic components: original song, direction, and lead actor. Harshly criticized by commentators, the film nonetheless had a soundtrack album called Parade that sold over one million copies, achieving Platinum status! The assertion made earlier—that a piece of music’s intrinsic value does not reflect its commercial value—is again demonstrated by Love or Money from this film. Not included on the album of sound samples, this song relies on a monotonous, inexpressive, boring melody, with simplistic rhythmic accompaniment structures repeated obsessively and a straying harmony that seems to belong in a completely different song—overall, a kind of noise pollution.

In contrast, (I’ve Had) The Time of My Life from Dirty Dancing, a romantic dance drama, represents genuine value. This Oscar-, Golden Globe-, and Grammy-winning song, created in the style of ’80s American pop music, was included on the album containing the film’s soundtrack, which received two platinum discs. It features a pleasant melodic line performed by Bill Medley and Jennifer Warnes, acting as a dialogue or polyphony where the two voices often overlap at intervals of sixths or thirds. Seamlessly integrated into the film, the song begins with a prelude where voices are accompanied only by an electric piano and synthesiser. The stanza builds on a vocal line grounded on an instrumental harmonic pedal suggesting suspense, resulting in alternating consonances and dissonances between melody and harmony. The pre-chorus and chorus, where rhythmicharmonic structures follow the melodic performance, perfectly amplify the dancers’ synchronisation.

Soldații. Poveste din Ferentari (Soldiers. Story from Ferentari), 2017, vs. Ani de liceu from Liceenii, 1986, music by Florin Bogardo.

Ivana Mladenović’s 2017 dramedy, based on Adrian Schiop’s novel of the same name, tells the story of an anthropologist who, after a breakup, moves to a poor Bucharest neighborhood. Attempting to write a doctoral thesis on manele, the main character begins a love affair with a Roma man. In my view, the film effectively promotes the LGBTI community and Roma ethnicity, yet the artistic quality of its film elements is irrelevant. The Prix Découverte award at the 32nd edition of the Festival International du Film Francophone de Namur, along with other mentions and nominations, made me seriously question cinema’s future. The selected musical sequence from the film illustrates this.

Conversely, I selected the representative song from Liceenii (1986, directed by Nicolae Corjos). Composed by Florin Bogardo, Ani de liceu performed by Stela Enache in duet with the author, far exceeds the notoriety of the film, beloved by teenagers of the ’80s and beyond. Created in the style of easy-listening Romanian music of the time, the song benefits from good vocal interpretation and a remarkable symbiosis between an inspired melody and a literary text that embodies the film’s essence. The perfect congruence between musical side and other filmic units is noteworthy, a model for the relevance of a representative song in film.

5.6. On the quantity of musical events in films – balanced use

Drumul oaselor, 1980, music by George Grigoriu; high density of music in Blonde Venus, 1932, music by Franke Harling, Richard Whiting, Sam Coslow, Ralph Rainger, Oskar Potoker, etc.; and the almost total absence of music in “new wave” Romanian films—Moartea domnului Lăzărescu, 2005, music by Andreea Păduraru; 4 months, 3 weeks and 2 days, 2007.

Drumul oaselor, the first film in the Mărgelatu series from 1980, directed by Doru Năstase, is a historical adventure benefiting from a cast from the golden era of Romanian cinema: Florin Piersic, Marga Barbu, Ion Marinescu, Iurie Darie, Ernest Maftei, and others. George Grigoriu’s masterful music offers a model score for Romanian films, very well and carefully integrated with the story. Music is used precisely where it should act as acoustic support for the image. The main theme, inspired by Ennio Morricone’s song Ecstacy of Gold from The Good, The Bad and The Ugly, appears several times in whole or part, with variations pertaining to timbre, melody, rhythm, or harmony. This narrative theme functions as a leitmotif for the characters’ journey of unpredictable adventures.

Billed as a drama, Josef von Sternberg’s 1932 film Blonde Venus has nondiegetic or diegetic musical scores included in over 50% of the film’s running time (Buhler & Newmayer, 2014, p. 33), with music by Franke Harling, Richard Whiting, Sam Coslow, Ralph Rainger, Oskar Potoker, among others. Songs performed by Marlene Dietrich—such as “You Little So-and-So,” “I Couldn’t Be Annoyed,” and “Hot Voodoo,” the latter lasting almost eight minutes—stand out in the score.

I ask the rhetorical question: why do some filmmakers choose to forgo music entirely, depriving audiences of the referential, explicit, implicit, and symptomatic meanings of sonic art—both in terms of perception and emotion (considered primary-level mental processes, involuntary and autonomous) and in terms of projections onto the cognitive plane? This is the case for some films from the neorealist Romanian “new wave,” such as Moartea domnului Lăzărescu (The Death of Mr Lăzărescu) or 4 luni, 3 săptămâni și 2 zile (4 months, 3 weeks and 2 days), films well received by critics and viewers alike.

Although the credits mention “Original music by Andreea Păduraru,” the musical contribution of that person is not apparent from the film score’s content.

Beyond the substantial input of the film industry, cinema has asserted itself over the last 100 years also because it synthesises arts that existed until the end of the 19th century, appealing to multiple senses. Sight is stimulated by images based on elements and principles of fine art—sets, costumes, make-up, masks, architectural elements, sculpture, design, painting, graphics, photography—and inspired by dramatic art like acting. Hearing receives stimuli from the acoustic atmosphere—edited, mixed, and mastered in final sound editing—including silence, speech, nature sounds or noises, some foley sounds, and music. Music can encompass credits, narrative music, leitmotif and thematic development, background music, non-thematic music, isolated musical sounds, representative songs, and ending music. When actors and narrators speak their lines, literature is also expressed, received by the filmgoer through hearing or subtitles reading. I believe a film is more expressive when all other arts are harnessed effectively, in accordance with existing technology, in what Martin Scorsese called key elements: “word, movement, light, sound, time and the eyes of the filmgoer” (Fredfilmradio, 2015). If a soundtrack contains memorable music, the film benefits. If music is kitsch or wrongly associated with other filmic units in a kitsch manner, the film suffers. But how should a film with no musical moments be analysed, so that sequence or entire-film perception, emotion triggering and shaping, and cognitive projections are not “aided” by musical art? Is the “no-music” association with other filmic units a superior form of expressiveness?

6. Conclusions

A kitsch musical score is unjustified in “serious” association with other filmic elements because it fails to respect unity in organising features on stylistic, narrative, and thematic levels. However, it is debatable whether kitsch music used “mockingly” or to “make fun of” other kitsch aspects in a film could enhance cinematic emotion, from perception through to concrete cognitive projections. In my view, using kitsch music to parody an ensemble of sub-average script combined with poor acting and unprofessional editing, where image and light were haphazardly used, is not an artistic act.

Incongruous or unempathetic pairing of quality music with other valuable filmic elements—per the “artistic salad” criterion—is a coordinate that could compromise a cinematic work through negative expert criticism and lukewarm viewer reception. There are cases where a sequence is underlined by incongruous music yet requires strong, complex arguments to justify such atypical associations.

A general conclusion about kitsch is that it is eternal and goes hand-in-hand with authenticity, with value. But optimistically, bad taste can precede good taste. “A sliver of kitsch exists in any kind of art, says Broch, because in any kind of art there is a minimum of conventionalism, of a desire to please the customer, from which no master is exempt” (Moles, 1980, p. 6). On the other hand, “a high culture […] cannot survive the triumph of fantasy, cynicism and sentimentality. For these re-focus our emotions. They cheapen our endeavors, by directing them away from what is serious, long-term and committed, towards what is immediate, effortless and for sale” (Scruton, 2017, p. 94).