Soundtracking: "Adventures in Babysitting"

by Chris Feil

Ah, midcentury girl group bliss. In previous columns like My Best Friend’s Wedding or last week’s 45 Years, I’ve discussed how this upbeat era of soulpop music has been used to embody romantic tunnel-vision optimism and traditional (sometimes quite gendered) expectations of love inside the melodies. This era’s brand plays an obviously great tool to reveal hidden longings and sadnesses, but what of actually reveling in their joy? Enter lipsync queen Elizabeth Shue in Adventures in Babysitting, truly being all of us when The Crystals’ “And Then He Kissed Me” plays.

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Soundtracking: "45 Years"

by Chris Feil

“They asked me how I knew...”

“Smoke Gets In Your Eyes” by The Platters is a cinematic staple, constantly showing up in films and yet hasn’t become a cliche. The song has been used for umpteen other tragic romances in film like Blue Valentine and The Bitter Tears of Petra von Kant, not to mention countless less narratively significant needle drops on screen. But Andrew Haigh's 45 Years is the one that wrings it for every last drop of its sweeping grandeur and matches the scale of its emotion...

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Soundtracking: "Mulholland Drive"

by Chris Feil

I’ve talked a good deal in this column about filmmakers whose music is an essential piece of their cinematic identity, but seldom are they as elusively so as David Lynch. Blue Velvet took a classic sound to mirror the rot underneath the suburban American veneer. Eraserhead’s lady in the radiator. The immaculately perfect, “but-of-course” match of song and content of Chris Isaak’s “Wicked Game” to Wild at Heart. And then of course, perhaps most definitive for Lynch, the polluted Americana of his magnum opus Mulholland Drive.

Drive’s musical landscape is rooted in a twisting of 1950s American perfectionist optimism, a staple of the Lynchian top to bottom aesthetic. Aided by the original score by Lynch’s frequent collaborator Angelo Badalamenti, its music is drowning in an innocuous wrongness, critiquing the American “ideal” as it plays as something just left of center of that very image. It turns the uplift of midcentury doowop pop and polka sensibility into something vaguely sinister before its underpinnings, and with it the fallacy of the American dream, swallow us whole. We’re meant to feel uneasy that we sing along.

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Soundtracking: "My Best Friend's Wedding"

by Chris Feil

Time has been kinder to My Best Friend’s Wedding than what my memory of its initial response was: the film was too mean-spirited for a mainstream romantic comedy, Julia Roberts’ heroine’s reprehensible behavior at odds with her America’s Sweetheart status. Now the film’s legacy shows just how wrong those initial hot takers were, with its dismantling of genre fairy tale illusions being the core of its peak genre genius. Oddly, one of the primary ways it cracks open our expectations of cinematic romance is one of its most pleasing and digestible: its soundtrack of gold standard, Burt Bacharachian love songs.

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Soundtracking: "Tully"

by Chris Feil

Despite being the most isolated character study of Jason Reitman and Diablo Cody’s collaboration, Tully still makes space for a subtle musical world inside its protagonist’s head. Tully is a story about motherhood and mental health, taking some big narrative risks as it moves towards healing. When music trickles in, it offers its own kind of mindful balm attuned to the psyche of Charlize Theron’s Marlo. It’s the most musically subtle of the Cody/Reitman empathy trilogy, but no less effective...

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