Film Score
The Speed of Sound. A psychological drama, driven by sound and silence.
The Speed of Sound is a surreal psychological drama, starring Connie Shi and Garrett Richmond, written and directed by Matthew Tyler.
The film and its score have a unique relationship in that many of the pieces are absent from the final film, but linger like ghosts in its story and structure. For anyone curious, read on...
To say music was important to the making of The Speed of Sound is an understatement. Music surrounded it like air. It was as crucial as words throughout the screenwriting stage, it helped guide the actors in rehearsal, it set the mood for our crew on set, and it established rhythms and pacing throughout post-production.
But in the final edit, more often than not, I removed music cues in favor of silence. I wanted the audience to feel the absence of music. Absence itself—that looming, hollow feeling of someone or something missing—was at the heart of the story I wanted to tell. And when I heard the strange quiet left behind from music that was once there, in a scene, in a room, but now gone, I knew it was important. Because that quiet captured what I wanted to say, in those moments, better than my music ever could.
So here is the score that seeped into the bones of this film. It is perhaps more a musical screenplay than a soundtrack, with pieces that shaped every scene—both through their sound and their silence.
The film and its score have a unique relationship in that many of the pieces are absent from the final film, but linger like ghosts in its story and structure. For anyone curious, read on...
To say music was important to the making of The Speed of Sound is an understatement. Music surrounded it like air. It was as crucial as words throughout the screenwriting stage, it helped guide the actors in rehearsal, it set the mood for our crew on set, and it established rhythms and pacing throughout post-production.
But in the final edit, more often than not, I removed music cues in favor of silence. I wanted the audience to feel the absence of music. Absence itself—that looming, hollow feeling of someone or something missing—was at the heart of the story I wanted to tell. And when I heard the strange quiet left behind from music that was once there, in a scene, in a room, but now gone, I knew it was important. Because that quiet captured what I wanted to say, in those moments, better than my music ever could.
So here is the score that seeped into the bones of this film. It is perhaps more a musical screenplay than a soundtrack, with pieces that shaped every scene—both through their sound and their silence.
Music & film by Matthew Tyler
