It’s Friday night and you and your beau decide to watch a movie. You both agree on something easy to watch, one of those commercially viable films that neither of you will feel pressure to pay attention to, with a plot so predictable that you will not have to watch at all to know what happens (see Dear John, The Last Song, or Transformers). Halfway through “watching the movie,” you find yourself actually watching the movie. Actually, you’re more than just watching it, you’re engaged with it, possibly laughing, yelling at the protagonist to get out of the basement, or weeping uncontrollably (see Marley and Me). You hate Owen Wilson. Everyone hates Owen Wilson. (Okay, fine, Wedding Crashers was a good movie). Why are you so emotionally affected by his performance?
One of the things added to a movie post-production is, naturally, a score. The soundtrack to a movie is absolutely key, as it colors the emotional landscape of the entire film. Every sound effect or musical accent within a film has been carefully chosen by a series of producers, all in the hopes that you will say “Wow, that female character with no purpose besides being hotter than the protagonist is such a bitch,” or “Ugh, Rachel McAdams is just like me; what a relatable girl with real problems,” at all the right times. That’s the power of music: it has us brainwashed into thinking that Rachel McAdams is at all “relatable” or “human.” Have you seen her skin? No real person has skin that nice. And the dimples? She’s obviously a robot. But I digress.
Music and sound hold incredible power over the emotional landscape of our lives. Don’t tell me you haven’t listened to “Can’t Tell Me Nothing” and felt like you were about to kick some ass. I dare you to make it through this whole song without feeling like calling your ex to cry about your break up (but seriously, you should probably stop calling her. It’s getting uncomfortable). How about a little motivation before an exam or a game? What else is Jessie J for, if not to pump you up? Hint: Not a whole lot.
One of the things that makes us human is just how profoundly music can shape our mood and our experience of the world. The human relationship with music is a complex and wondrous maze, a series of twists and turns… Or, like, that’s what my neuroscience professor might say when trying to explain to us that we have little to no idea what really happens in the brain when we listen to music. No one knows why music affects us in the ways that it does, not even scientists. Then again, scientists don’t really understand anything yet (and I’m allowed to say this because I want to be one, I think).
One pair of researchers has developed a BRECVEM model to explain the ways in which music can influence feeling. Even if BRECVEM sounds like the phlegmy cough of the sick old man who manages to make his way onto every flight where I’m trying to sleep, the model itself is interesting, mostly in its “B” portion, the “Brain Stem Reflex” model. The Brain Stem Reflex refers to the ability for music to trigger the most fundamental and primitive level of our cognition into action, especially when the music has urgent or ominous undertones. If you ever feel like you’re going to jump out of your seat during an action film, your brain stem is probably responsible for it (which is why, as I am a very excitable person, it was incredibly hard for me to sit through Die Hard. Also, Bruce Willis has hair in that movie, and that just creeps me out). If you care to read more on the BRECVEM model, you can find some information here.
So we return to our movie date. You and your sweetheart have finished watching the movie. Alas, you chose The Notebook this time around, so you are covered in your own snot and mascara, and are ridiculously emotionally vulnerable. And your sweetheart doesn’t exactly want to make out with you right now (curse you, Rachel McAdams!). My advice to avoid this situation? Put the movie on mute. We both know you’re not really interested in watching it.
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