In which he is forced to recant his earlier proposal.
In today’s paper, I read an article about music videos that were being posted to YouTube. These videos were created by fans and artists alike, and consisted of the song underneath a single still image of the performer, or perhaps a montage of images of the performer. The rap star ludacris was quoted as saying that the result allow the viewer to focus more on the music in a more pure form – all I could think of, was that it sounded like some kid in the 1970s staring at the album cover while listening to the song.
So, it seems that my brilliant invention has already been invented, and for many of the same reasons – the ease, quickness, and cheapness of producing it.
But in the meantime I have been forced to reconsider my position. It suddenly occurred to me that there are some moments in movies that have the greatest power of suspense, and many of these moments take place in near total silence, or with only a slight ambient track playing. In these moments, no one listening to the soundtrack alone would have any idea of what is going on – or, if we did have an idea, we would not experience 1/10 the amount of tension, fear, or involvement. In order to convey a what is going on and to achieve a similar rise in tension on the soundtrack would necessitate words – and would kill the effect of the visuals alone.
At the same time, there are actions and scenes that happen in a radio play that heighten tension and suspense precisely because we cannot see what is happening. A good example of this can be found if you compare the radio and film versions of the story Sorry, Wrong Number. Here in this story, a woman who claims to be an invalid and confined to her bed overhears a telephone conversation in which her husband arranges for a murderer to come to the house and kill her later that night. The movie version is an excellent example of classic film noir, and yet the radio version – precisely because we cannot see what is going on – forces us to imagine what might be happening outside the woman’s bedroom, where she herself can’t see anything.
These considerations lead me to conclude that I was wrong: any stand-alone radio play used as a soundtrack underneath images might be a great radio play, but not so great a movie. Or conversely, it might be a mediocre radio play and a very good movie.
My position right now is that anyone attempting this new form ought to plan out both versions from the beginning, and allow the versions to diverge wherever one approach would make a stronger movie and the other a stronger radio play.
This modification of the plan might invalidate the entire process, and basically turn my new form into nothing more than a radio play with illustrations – or, as my friend Tim called it, “a film strip.”
(Composed by dictation Thursday 18 September 2008)
