Chapter 12

Chapter 12

By David Lewis Yewdall M.P.S.E.

Extract from Chapter 12 of “The Practical Art of Motion Picture Sound”

Sound Design

Myths and Realities

As my partner Ken Sweet and I seriously immersed ourselves into sound effect development chores for John Carpenter's THE THING, we decided to try using a sound designer for the first time. The term had hardly been born, and few pictures presented the sound crew with the time and budget to allow experimentation. We called some colleagues to get recommendations for sound design talent.

The first place we contracted used a 24-track machine, something we did not use much in feature film sound work. The concept of layering sounds over themselves for design purposes appeared promising. The film-based Moviola assembly at sound editorial facilities like ours just could not layer and combine prior to the predub rerecording phase. Ken and I sat patiently for half the day as the multitrack operator ran the machine back and forth, repeatedly layering up the same cicada shimmer wave. The owner of the facility and the operator kept telling us how "cool" it would sound, but when they played their compilation back for us, we knew the emperor had no clothes on, at least at this facility.

We called around again, and next were recommended to a hot young talent who had something called a Fairlight. We arranged for a design session and arrived with our 1/4" source material. We told the eager young man exactly what kinds of sounds we needed to develop. Ken and I could hear the concepts in our heads, but we did not know how to run the fancy gear to expose the sounds within us. We explained the shots we wanted, along with the specially designed cues of sound desired at those particular moments. The young man turned to his computer and keyboard in a room stacked with various equipment rented for the session and dozens of wire feeds spread all over the floor.

Once again, Ken and I sat patiently. An hour passed as the young man dabbled at this and fiddled with that. A second hour passed. By the end of the third hour, I had not heard one thing anywhere near the concepts we had articulated. Finally, I asked the "sound designer" if he had an inkling of how to make the particular sound we so clearly had defined.

He said that he actually did not know how to make it, that he just played around and adjusted things until he made something that sounds kind of cool, and then he laid down the sound on tape. His previous clients would just pick whatever cues they wanted to use from his "creations."

Deciding it was going to be a long day, I turned to our assistant and asked him to run to the nearest convenience store and pick up some snacks and soft drinks. While I was digging in my pocket for some money, a quarter slipped out, falling onto the Vocorder unit. Suddenly, a magnificent metal shring-shimmer ripped through the speakers. Ken and I looked up with a renewed hope

"Wow!! Now that would be great for the opening title ripping effect! What did you do?"

The young man lifted his hands from the keyboard. "I didn't do anything."

I glanced down at the Vocorder seeing the quarter. It was then I knew. I dropped another quarter, and again an eerie metal ripping shring resounded. "That's it! Lace up some tape; we're going to record this."

Ken and I realized dropping coins as the helpless sound designer sat rolling tape. Ken started banging on the Vocorder, delivering whole new variants of shimmer rips. "Don't do that!" barked the young man. "You'll break it!"

"The studio will buy you a new one. At least we're finally designing some sound!"

Ken and I knew that to successfully extract the sounds we could hear within our own heads, we would have to learn and master the use of the new signal-processing equipment. It was one of the most important lessons we learned.

I always have had a love-hate relationship with the term "sound designer." While it suggests someone with a serious mind set for the development of a soundtrack, it also rubs me the wrong way because so many misunderstand and misuse what "sound design" truly is, cheapening what it has been, what it should be, and what it could be. This abuse and ignorance led the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences to decide that the job title "sound designer" would not be eligible for any Academy Award nominations or subsequent awards.

I have worked on mega-million dollar features that have had a sound designer contractually listed in the credits, whose work was not used. One project was captured by a sound editorial company only because it promised to contract the services of a particular sound designer, yet during the critical period of developing the concept sound effects for the crucial sequences, the contracted sound designer was on a beach in Tahiti. (Contrary to what you might think, he was not neglecting his work. Actually, he had made an agreement with the supervising sound editor, who knew he had been burned out from the previous picture. They both knew that, to the client, sound design was a perceived concept -- a concept nonetheless that would make the difference between contracting the sound job or losing the picture to another sound editorial firm.)

By the time the sound designer returned from vacation, the crucial temp dub had just been mixed, with the critical sound design already completed. Remember, they were not sound designing for a final mix. They were designing for the temp dub, which in this case was more important politically than the final mix, because it instilled confidence and comfort for the director and studio. Because of the politics, the temp dub would indelibly set the design concept, with little room for change.

Regardless of what you may think, the contracted sound designer is one of the best in the business. At that moment in time and schedule, the supervising sound editor only needed to use his name and title to secure the show; he knew that several of us on his editorial staff were more than capable of accomplishing the sound design chores for the picture.

The "Big Sound"

In July 1989 two men from Finland came to my studio: Antti Hytti was a music composer, and Paul Jyrülü was a sound supervisor/mixer. They were interested in a tour of my facility and transfer bay, in particular. I proudly showed them through the sound editorial rooms as I brought them to the heart of our studio -- transfer. I thought it odd that Paul simply glanced over the Magna-Techs and Stellavox, only giving a passing acknowledgment to the rack of processing gear. He turned his attention to studying the room's wraparound shelves of tapes and odds-and-ends.

Paul spoke only broken English, so I turned to the composer with curiosity. "Antti, what is he looking for?"

Antti shrugged, then asked Paul. After a short interchange Antti turned back to me. "He says that he is looking for the device that makes the Big Sound."

I was amused. "There is no device that makes the Big Sound. It's a philosophy, an art -- an understanding of what sounds good together to make a bigger sound."

Antti interpreted to Paul, who in turn nodded with understanding as he approached me. "You must come to Finland so we make this Big Sound."

I resisted the desire to chuckle, as I was up to my hips in three motion pictures simultaneously. I shook their hands as I wished the two men well, assuming I would not see them again. Several weeks later, I received a work-in-progress video of the picture on which Paul had asked me to take part. Still in the throws of picture editorial, it was falling increasingly further behind schedule. My wife and I watched the NTSC (National Television System Committee) transfer of the PAL (phase alternating line) video as we sat down to dinner. I became transfixed as I watched images of thousands of troops in this 1930s-era epic, with T-26 Russian armor charging across snow-covered battlefields.

The production recordings were extremely good, but like most production tracks, focused on spoken dialog. In a picture filled with men, tanks, airplanes, steam trains, and weaponry, much sound effect work still had to be done. The potential sound design grew within my head -- my imagination started filling the gaps and action sequences. If any picture cried out for the Big Sound, this was the one -- TALVISOTA: THE WINTER WAR, was the true-life story of the war between Finland and the Soviet Union in 1939. It proved one of the most important audio involvements of my professional career. It was not a question of money. It was an issue of passion -- the heart and soul of a nation beckoned from the rough work-in-progress video.

I made arrangements to go to Helsinki and work with Paul Jyrälä to co-supervise this awesome challenge. I put together a bag filled with sound effect DAT tapes and a catalog print-out to add to the sound design lexicon that Paul and I would have to use.

This project was especially challenging, as this was pre non-linear workstation. The film was shot 35mm with a 1:66 aspect. They don’t use 35mm stripe or fullcoat for sound editing. But they did use 17.5mm fullcoat, and had one of the best 2-track stereo transfer bays I had the privilege to work in. To add to the challenge, we only had nine (9) 17.5mm Perfectone playback machines on the rerecording stage -- which meant that we had to be extremely frugal about how wide our “A,” “B,” “C” predub groups could be built out. We had no Moviolas, no synchronizers, no Acmade coding machines, no cutting tables with rewinds and no Rivas splicers.

We did have two (2) flatbed Steinbecks, a lot of veteran know-how and a sauna.

American Sound Design

Properly designed sound has a timbre all its own. Timbre is the violin -- the vibration resonating emotionally with the audience. Timbre sets good sound apart from a pedestrian soundtrack.

Sound as we have seen it grow in the United States has distinguished American pictures on a worldwide market. Style, content, slickness of production, rapidity of storytelling -- all make movies produced in the U.S. generally better, but the sound on American pictures is far superior to that of a vast majority of pictures made anywhere else in the world. Most foreign crews consider sound only a background behind the actors. They have not developed the Big Sound concept.

For those clients understanding that they need a theatrical soundtrack for their pictures, the first hurdle is not understanding what a theatrical soundtrack sounds like -- but how to achieve it. When you say the term "soundtrack," the vast majority thinks of the music score. The general audience believes that almost all non musical sounds are actually recorded on the set when the film is shot. It does not occur to them that at least as much time and effort was put into the non musical audio experience of the storytelling as was put into composing and orchestrating the theme of the music score.

Some producers and filmmakers fail to realize that theatrical sound is not a format -- it is not a commitment to spend giga-dollars or hire a crew the size of a combat battalion. It is a philosophy, an art form that only years of experience can help you understand.

The key to a great soundtrack is its dynamics and variation -- with occasional introductions of subtle, unexpected things: the hint of hot gasses on a close-up of a recently fired gun barrel, or an unusual spatial inversion, such as a delicate sucking-up sound juxtaposed against a well-oiled metallic movement for a shot of a high-tech device being snapped open.

The Sound Design Legacy

When you ask a film enthusiast about sound design, the tendency is to recall legendary pictures with memorable sound, such as APOCOLYPSE NOW and the STAR WARS series. I could not agree more. Many of us were greatly influenced by the work of Walter Murch and Ben Burtt (who worked on the above films, respectively). They not only had great product opportunities to practice their art form, but they also had producer-directors who provided the latitude and financial means to achieve exceptional accomplishments.

Without taking any praise away from Walter or Ben, let us remember that sound design did not begin in the 1970s. Did you ever study the soundtracks to George Pal's WAR OF THE WORLDS or THE NAKED JUNGLE? Have you considered the low-budget constrictions that director Robert Wise faced while making THE DAY THE EARTH STOOD STILL, or the challenges confronting his sound editorial team in creating both the flying saucer and alien ray weapons? Who dreamed up using soda fizz as the base sound effect for the Maribunta, the army ants that terrorized Charlton Heston's South American plantation in THE NAKED JUNGLE? Speaking of ants, imagine thinking up the brilliant idea of looping a squeaky, pickup truck fan belt for the shrieks of giant ants in THEM. Kids in the theatre wanted to hide for safety when that incredible sound came off the screen.

When these fine craftspersons labored to make such memorable sound events for your entertainment pleasure, they made them without the help of today's high-tech digital tools -- without Harmonizers or Vocorders, without a Synclavier or a Fairlight. They designed these sounds with their own brains, understanding what sounds to put together to create new sound events -- how to play them backward, slow them down, cut, clip, and scrape them with a razor blade (when magnetic soundtrack became available in 1953), or paint them with blooping ink (when they still cut sound effects on optical track).

Do You Do Special Effects Too?

In the late summer of 1980 I had completed Roger Corman's BATTLE BEYOND THE STARS. I was enthusiastic about the picture, mainly because I had survived the film's frugal sound editorial budget as well as all the daily changes due to the myriad of special effect shots that came in extremely late in the process.

I had to come up with seven different sounding spacecrafts with unique results -- such as the Nestar ship which we created from human voices. It is the Community Choir from my hometown college of Coalinga. Choral Director Bernice Isham had conducted her sopranos, altos, tenors, and basses through a whole maze of interesting vocal gymnastics, which were later processed to turn forty voices into million-pound thrust engines for the Nestar ship, manned by clone humanoids. Cue #33 of the audio CD provided with this book has several examples of sound effects developed from choral voices.

We had developed Robert Vaughn's ship from the root recordings of a dragster car, then processed it heavily to give it a menacing and powerful "magnetic-flux" force -- just the kind of quick-draw space chariot a space-opera gunslinger would drive.

The day after the cast and crew screening, I showed up at Roger's office to discuss another project. As was the custom, I was met by his personal secretary. I could not help but beam with pride regarding my work on BATTLE, so I asked her if she had attending the screening -- and if so, what did she think of the sound effects?

She had gone to the screening, but she struggled to remember the soundtrack. "The sound effects were okay, for what few you had."

"The few I had?"

The secretary shrugged. "Well, you know, there were so many special effects in the picture."

"Special Effects! Where do you think the sound for all of those special effects come from?" I snapped back.

She brightened up. "Oh, do you do that too?"

"Do that TOO?" I was dumbfounded. "Who do you think makes those little plastic models with the twinky-lights sound like powerful juggernauts? -- Sound editors do, not model builders!"

It became obvious to me that the viewing audience can either not separate visual special effects from sound effects or has a hard time understanding where one ends and the other begins.

A good friend of mine got into hot water once with the Special Effects Committee when, in a heated argument he had the temerity to suggest that to have a truly fair appraisal of their work in award evaluation competition that they need to turn the soundtrack OFF. After all, the work of the sound designer and the sound editors were vastly affecting the perception of visual special effects. The committee did not appreciate, nor heed my friend's suggestion, even though my friend had over thirty years and four hundred feature credits of experience behind his statement.

I have had instances where visual special effects artists would drop by to hear what I was doing with their work-in-progress "animatic" special effect shots, only to be inspired by something that we were doing that they had not thought of. In turn, they would go back to continue work on these shots, factoring in new thinking that had been born out of our informal get together.

Sound Design Misinformation

A couple of years ago I read an article in a popular audio periodical in which a new, "flavor-of-the-month" sound designer had been interviewed. He proudly boasted something no one else supposedly had done: he had synthesized Clint Eastwood's famous .44 magnum gunshot from DIRTY HARRY into a laser shot. I sighed. We had done the same thing nearly twenty years before for the Roger Corman space opera, BATTLE BEYOND THE STARS. For nearly two decades Robert Vaughn's futuristic hand weapon had boldly fired the sharpest, most penetrating laser shot imaginable -- which we developed from none other than Clint Eastwood's famous pistol.

During the mid-1980s I had hired a young enthusiastic graduate from a prestigious southern California university film school. He told me he felt very honored to start his film career at my facility, as one of his professors had lectured about my sound design techniques for Carpenter's THE THING.

Momentarily venerated, I felt a rush of pride, which was swiftly displaced by curious suspicion. I asked the young man what his professor had said. He joyously recounted his professor's explanation about how I had deliberately and painstakingly designed the heartbeat throughout the blood test sequence in reel ten, which subconsciously got into a rhythmic pulse, bringing the audience to a moment of terror.

I stood staring at my new employee with bewilderment. What heartbeat? My partner, Ken Sweet, and I had discussed the sound design for the project very thoroughly, and one sound we absolutely had stayed away from because it had screamed of cliche was any kind of heartbeat.

I could not take it any longer. "Heartbeat?! Horse hockey!! The studio was too cheap to buy fresh fullcoat stock for the stereo sound effect transfers! They used reclaim which had been sitting on a steel film rack that sat in the hallway across from the entrance to Dubbing 3. Nobody knew it at the time, but the steel rack was magnetized, which caused a spike throughout the stock. A magnetized spike can't be removed by bulk degaussing. Every time the roll of magnetic stock turns 360 degrees there is a very low frequency 'whomp.' You can't hear it on a Moviola. We didn't discover it until we were on the dubbing stage -- by then it was too late!!"

The young man shrugged. "It still sounded pretty neat."

Pretty neat? I guess I'm not as upset about the perceived sound design where none was intended as I am about the fact that the professor had not researched the subject on which he lectured. He certainly never had called to ask about the truth, let alone to inquire about anything of consequence that would have empowered his classroom teachings. He just made up a fiction, harming the impressionable minds of students with misinformation.

In that same sequence of THE THING I can point out real sound design. As John Carpenter headed north to Alaska to shoot the Antarctica base-camp sequences, he announced that one could not go too far in designing the voice of THE THING. To that end, I tried several ideas, with mixed results. Then one morning I was taking a shower when I ran my fingers over the soap-encrusted fiberglass wall. It made the strangest unearthly sound. I was inspired. Turning off the shower, I grabbed my tape recorder, and dangled microphones from a broomstick taped in place from wall to wall at the top of the shower enclosure.

I carefully performed various "vocalities" with my fingertips on the fiberglass -- moans, cries, attack shrieks, painful yelps, and other creature movements. When John Carpenter returned from Alaska, I could hardly wait to play the new concept for him. I set the tape recorder on the desk in front of him and depressed the "Play" button.

I learned a valuable lesson that day. What a client requests is not necessarily what he or she really wants, or particularly what he or she means. Rather than developing a vocal characterization for a creature never truly heard before, both director and studio executives actually meant "We want the same old thing everyone expects to hear and what has worked in the past -- only give it a little different spin, you know." The only place I could sneak a hint of my original concept for THE THING's vocal chords was in the blood test scene where Kurt Russell stuck the hot wire into the petri dish and the blood leaped out in agony onto the floor.

At the point the blood turned and scurried away was where I cut those sound cues of my fingertips on the shower wall, called "Tentacles tk-2." I wonder what eerie and horrifying moments we could have conjured up instead of the traditional cliche lion growls and bear roars we were compelled to use in the final confrontation between Kurt Russell and the mutant Thing.

DAS BOOT: Mike Le-Mare

I believe "legendary" is the only word properly describing the audio storytelling achievement that Mike Le-Mare (BLOW-UP, RONIN, ANDERSONVILLE, SHE’S SO LOVELY, NEVERENDING STORY) and Karola Storr along with their British-German team, accomplished in 1981 with DAS BOOT, a film directed by Wolfgang Peterson. Never before had anyone been nominated twice for an Academy Award in the sound arts on the same picture. Mike Le-Mare was nominated for Best Sound as well as Best Sound Effect Editing.

Many attribute the successful experience of DAS BOOT to the careful and thoughtful sounds Mike gave to the film. The sound effects, by design and intent, were profoundly responsible for the psychological, claustrophobic terror during such sequences such as the depth charge attack, which left the audience with sweaty palms, gripping the armrests. Who could not be affected by stress and creaks of the metal hull of the U-boat enduring the pressures of the North Atlantic? Mike's broad palette of audio textures -- unsettling air expulsions, pit-of-the-stomach ronks, and low-end growls -- seized the audience, making real to them the vulnerability and mortality of the submarine crew in a way that transcended the visual picture.

Such a track did not magically happen because Mike Le-Mare could hear the potential sound design in his head. Nor did it happen because he willed it. Granted, such beginnings are vital, the will to strive for excellence is essential, but without rolling up his sleeves and attending to the countless details and processes, without challenging himself and his crew to take the extra effort to achieve more, such sound experiences are not possible.

Le-Mare had been brought onto the project early enough to be able to do a significant amount of custom recording. The production company had access to a World War II-era German U-boat. To record the authentic diesel (for surface) and electric (for underwater maneuvering) engines, Le-Mare was allowed access to a permanently moored U-boat at Wasserburg where he made carefully controlled recordings of the submarine engines. Many variations were required for the various sequences; precise notes kept; strict attention paid to microphone aspect; engine gears and revolutions per minute (RPM) were written down, such as U-Boat: CLOSE -- diesel engine startup and CONSTANT -- nice tappets, then engine shuts down (in 2nd gear at 202 rpm). Recordings were made of the engine in all gears, under strain, cruising, at flank speed, reversing -- recorded close up, medium perspective, down the companionway, or as heard from the conning tower.

figure 12.1 Mike Le-Mare and Karola Storr in their Los Angeles sound editorial facility TAPE EFFECTS.

Le-Mare made most of his recordings with a 1/4" Uher 4200 Report Monitor and Nagra III tape machines, using both Sennheiser and Neumann microphones. He obtained some authentic German hydrophone recordings that had extremely detailed notations, such as HYDROPHONE: destroyer approaches and passes overhead, 250 rpm slows to 160 rpm (2 shaft -- 4 blade) then slows to stop TK-1.

From his own extensive sound effect library back in London, Le-Mare pulled a variety of ship horns, bilge water slops, tanks flooding with sea water, tanks blowing with air, vents, safety pressure valves, ASDIC pings, and all the metal and metal-related groans and rubs he could put together.

To help focus and define the authenticity of his sound design, Le-Mare brought in numerous German naval veterans who had served on U-boats during the war. He would tell them the use of each sound cue grouping, and then he would play it.

"No, it did not sound like that," the submariner would say. "It sounds more like the bulkheads cry out in agony."

Sometimes Le-Mare would get emotional reactions from the men as the sounds evoked still-present realities from their memories.

"There were times that I would have conflicting opinions," Le-Mare explained. "I resorted to acquiring World War II-era recordings, unsuitable for theatrical use, but I would listen to the texture and timbre of them and do an A-B comparison to see that our audio recreations were on the right track. This and the U-boat servicemen really helped me out a lot."

Unlike most submarine movie crews that build the practical set open on the side so that the cameras can get the shots easier, U-96 was built in two sections -- front and rear. To this day, the two halves (now joined together) are still on display at Bavaria Studios in Munich.

"After wrapping principal photography, they took the two sections out to mount together for the tourist display. We were fortunate to get twelve of the actors to come back later to custom record them running through the companionway from back-to-front and back. This kind of action would be just about impossible to duplicate correctly on a Foley stage," recalled Le-Mare. "We laid down a series of Neumann microphones alongside the floor's metal plates so that we could properly hear the texture of the footsteps and body movement as the men ran forward. They would grab grip bars above the hatchways as they frantically swung through and continued on. This kind of sound lent an incredible realism for the audience and really helped to draw the viewer in as part of the crew, rather than just watching the film at arm's length."

Le-Mare brought onto the Foley stage all kinds of electric motors for the sounds of the echo range finder, compass, depth gauge, generator, and other equipment for controlled isolated recordings. He brought in switches and various mechanisms for periscope handle movements and fine adjustments, ballast tank operations, rudder controls, hydroplane wheel turns, and so forth. Each item was carefully recorded, making numerous variations for the future sound editorial process.

Le-Mare had Moviolas and Acmade's Pic-Sync Competitors shipped in from London to supply his British sound editorial crew with the equipment it felt most comfortable and confident using, while the German crew used flatbed Steinbecks. With DAS BOOT, German rerecording stages were challenged by the amount of tracks it took to mount the required sound. With a limited number of soundtracks generally used in film production, picture editors ran the mixing sessions. Not with DAS BOOT. Aside from Klaus Doldinger's haunting music score, Mike Le-Mare came onto the dubbing stage with as many as a 110 hard effect tracks and an average of 20 Foley tracks in addition to the dialog, ADR, and backgrounds. In fact Le-Mare was asked to get behind the console and help in the mixing at some busy moments, since he was the only one who had a grasp of the material and how it all would work together. For all this, Le-Mare was nominated not only for Best Sound Effects Editing as the supervising sound editor, but also for Best Sound as one of the rerecording mixers.

It was one of the most complex soundtracks ever to be mixed on Stage "A" at Bavaria Studios. So thorough was the feature's preparation and the attention to detail given it, a month after Le-Mare and his sound crew had finished the two-and-a-half-hour feature version, the director and producers decided that Le-Mare and his team should prepare the television version. They went back to the drawing board to prepare the new five-and-a-half-hour version. Of course, the conventional method would have been to cut down the feature version, but, in this case, new scenes were actually was added and existing materials were extended to generate a longer picture.

More producers should consider hiring quality theatrical editors to handle foreign language conversions, but it comes down to money. Remember this -- you get what you pay for. So many foreign language remixes seem comical and often slip shod. The producers must be willing to pay for fine craftsmanship to achieve a high quality standard.

Mike Le-Mare's career as a supervising sound editor dates back further than he may be willing to admit. Certain young and ambitious studio executives sneer at a resume that dates back very far (known as the "gray list"); they believe veterans are not hip and up-to-date enough for modern feature work. Those who believe this nonsense should see John Frankenheimer's 1998 action thriller, RONIN. Mike Le-Mare and his team tackled the ultimate car chase sequence put to film yet.

"Recreating the unique European car exhaust systems for the picture was very challenging; it became a virtual orchestration of the variety engines and mechanicals. The final result was very satisfying indeed."

The major chase sequences were filmed MOS. Mike Le-Mare eventually hired Eric Potter as his post production sound effect recordist to custom record the myriad car sound effects, whining gear boxes, all kinds of tire skids and slides (don't forget the challenge of cobblestone streets), and mechanical demands. The climactic chase through Paris is a rare treat. Except for occasional dialog exclamations, the sequence is almost entirely done with sound effects and Foley alone. The audio detailing is delightful, giving the action sequences a whole new dimension. With years of experience and know-how, Le-Mare did not waste time figuring what worked and what did not. Because of his experience, he knew exactly what had to be done: focusing on the audio events to be brought to life and spending his energies and team resources to accomplish a very difficult and challenging job.

The Difference Between Design and Mud

Supervising sound editor David Stone, winner of the Academy Award for Best Sound Effects Editing in 1993's BRAM STOKER'S DRACULA, is a quiet and reserved audio artist. As sound design field commanders go, he is not flamboyant, nor does he use showmanship as a crutch. What he does is quietly and systematically deliver the magic of his craft -- his firm grasp of storytelling through sound. Though he loves to work on animated films, having helmed projects like BEAUTY AND THE BEAST, A GOOFY MOVIE, CAT’S DON’T DANCE, as well as POOH’S GRAND ADVENTURE: THE SEARCH FOR CHRISTOPHER ROBIN, and THE LION KING II, one should never try to typecast him. Stone has time and again shown his various creative facets and the ability to mix his pallet of sounds in different ways to suit the projects at hand. He leaves the slick illusionary double-talk to others. For himself, he stands back and studies the situation for awhile. He makes no pretense that he is not an expert in all the fancy audio software, or that he was up half the night trying to learn how to perform a new D.S.P. function.

"Being a computer vidiot is not what creates good sound design -- understanding what sounds go together and when to use them does." Stone reminds us. "Otherwise we run the danger of making a pile of mud."

“Many times I have watched young sound editors simply try to put together two or more sound effects to achieve a larger audio event, often without satisfaction. A common mistake is to simply lay one pistol shot on top of another. They do not necessarily get a bigger pistol shot; in fact, they often only diminish the clarity and character of the weapon because they are putting together two sounds that have too many common frequency dynamics to compliment one another -- instead the result is what we call mud."

A good example of this is the Oliver Stone film ON ANY SUNDAY. The sound designer did not pay much attention to the frequency characteristics of his audio elements -- or, for that matter did he pay much attention to over modulation. As I listened to the presentation at the Academy theatre (just so you will not think that a lesser theatre with a sub-standard speaker system was the performance venue) I was completely taken out of the film itself by the badly designed football effects. The lack of clarity and “roundness” of the sound was, instead, replaced by over driven effects with an emphasis in the upper mid-range that cannot be described as anything other than distortion.

A newly initiated audio jockey may naively refer to such sound as befitting the type of film -- the “war” of sports needing a “war” of sound. Frankly, such an answer is horse-dung. Listen to the sound design of ROAD TO PERDITION or SAVING PRIVATE RYAN. These are also sounds of violence and war in the extreme -- and yet they are designed with full “roundness” and clarity. Each audio event having a very tactile linkage with its visual counterpart.

I have harped on this throughout this book and will continue to do so, because it is the keystone of the sound design philosophy -- if you take the audience OUT of the film because of bad sound design -- then you have failed as a sound designer. It’s just that simple.

Steve Flick (two-time Academy Award winner for Best Sound Effects Editing for ROBOCOP and SPEED) asked if I would come to Weddington to help cut sound effects on PREDATOR 2. Several days later, John Dunn, another sound effects editor, asked if I could bring some of my weapon effects to the opening shootout in reel one. I brought a compilation DAT the following day with several gun effects I thought would contribute toward the effort.

Just after lunch, Flick burst into my room (as is his habit, garnishing him the affectionate nickname of "Tsunami") and demanded to know, "How come your guns are bigger than mine?!"

"I never said my guns are bigger than yours, Steve."

Steve shrugged. "I mean, I know I have big guns, but yours are -- dangerous!"

With that, he whirled and disappeared down the hall just as suddenly as he had appeared. I sat in stunned aftermath, pondering his description of "dangerous." After due consideration, I agreed. The style by which I set my microphones up when I record weapon fire, and the combinations of elements if I editorially manufacture weapon fire to create audio events that are supposed to scare and frighten, have a "bite" to them.

Gunfire is an in-your-face crack! Big guns are not made by pouring tons of low-end frequency into the audio event. Low-end does not have any punch or bite. Low-end is fun, when used appropriately, but the upper mid-range and high-end bite with a low-end underbed will bring the weapon to life. Dangerous sounds are not heard at arm's length where it is safe, but IN YOUR FACE. They are almost close enough to reach out and touch you. Distance -- what we call “proximity” triggers your subconscious emotional responses to determine the danger.

I approach blending multiple sound cues together in a new design to being a choir director. Designing a sound event is exactly like mixing and moving the various voices of the choir to create a new vocal event with richness and body. I think of each sound as being soprano, alto, tenor, or bass. Putting basses together will not deliver a cutting punch and a gutsy depth of low end. All I will get is muddy low-end with no cutting punch.

figure 12.2 the “Mauser rifle” ProTool session.

The ProTools session shown in Figure 12.1 is a rifle combination I put together for a recent action-adventure period picture, circa 1925. We had several thousand rifle shots in the battle scenes -- for each, I painstakingly cut 4 stereo pairs of sounds that made up the basic signature of a single 7.62 Mauser rifle shot. The reason is simple. Recording a gunshot with all the spectrum characteristics envisioned in a single recording by the supervising sound editor is impossible. Choice of microphone, placement of microphone, selection of recording medium -- all these factors determine the voice of the rifle report.

Listen to cue #30 of the audio CD provided with this book to listen to 7.62 Mauser rifle shot design.

As an experienced sound designer, I review recordings at my disposal and choose those cues that comprise the soprano, alto, tenor, and bass of the performance. I may slow down or speed up one or more of the cues. I may pitch-shift or alter the equalization as I deem necessary. I then put them together, very carefully lining up the leading edge of each discharge as accurately as I can (well within one one-hundredth of a second accurate), Then I play them together as one new voice. I may need to lower the tenor and/or raise the alto -- or I may discover that the soprano is not working and that I must choose a new soprano element.

If possible, I will not commit the mixing of these elements at the sound editorial stage. After consulting with the head rerecording mixer and considering the predubbing schedule, I will decide whether we can afford cutting the elements abreast and leaving the actual mixing to the sound effect mixer during predubbing. If the budget of post-production sound job is too small and the sound effect predubbing too short (or nonexistent), I will mix the elements together prior to the sound editorial phase, thereby throwing the dye of commitment to how the individual elements are balanced together in a new single stereo pair.

The same goes for rifle bolt actions. I may have the exact recordings of the weapon used in the action sequence in the movie. When I cut them to sync, I play them against the rest of the tracks. The bolt actions played by themselves sound great, but now they are mixed with the multitude of other sounds present. They just do not have the same punch or characterization as when they stood alone. As a sound designer, I must pull other material, creating the illusion and perception of historical audio accuracy -- but I must do it by factoring in the involvement of the other sounds of the battle. Their own character and frequency signatures will have a profound influence on the sound I am trying to create.

This issue was demonstrated on ESCAPE FROM NEW YORK. During sound effect predubs, the picture editor nearly dumped the helicopter skid impacts I had made for the Hueys upon descent and landing in the streets of New York. Played by themselves, they sounded extremely loud and sharp. The experienced, veteran sound effect mixer, Gregg Landaker, advised the picture editor that it was not necessary or wise to dump the effects at that time -- let them stay, as they were in a separate set of channels and could be easily dumped later if not wanted.

Later, as we rehearsed the sequence for the final mix, it became apparent that Gregg's advice not to make a hasty decision paid off. Now that the heavy pounding of the Huey helicopter blades filled the theatre along with the haunting siren-like score, what had sounded like huge and ungainly metal impacts in the individual predub now became a gentle, even subtle, helicopter skid touchdown on asphalt.

What Makes Explosions Big

For years following CHRISTINE, people constantly asked about the magic I used to bring such huge explosions to the screen. Remember, CHRISTINE was mixed before digital technology, when we still worked to an 85dB maximum. The simple answer should transcend your design thinking into areas aside from just explosions. I see sound editors laying on all kinds of low-end or adding shotgun blasts into the explosion combination, and certainly a nice low-end wallop is cool and necessary -- but it isn't dangerous. All it does is muddy it up. What makes an explosion big and dangerous is not the boom -- but the DEBRIS that is thrown around.

I first realized this while watching footage of military C4 explosives igniting. Smokeless and seemingly nothing as a visual entity unto themselves, they wreak havoc, tearing apart trees, vehicles, masonry -- the debris makes C4 so visually awesome. The same is true with sound. Go back and listen to the sequence in Reel 7 of CHRISTINE again, the sequence where the gas station blows up. Listen to the glass debris flying out the window, the variations of metal, oil cans, crowbars, tires, tools that come flying out the service bay. Listen to the metal sidings of the gas pumps flying up and impacting the light overhang atop the fueling areas. Debris is the key to danger. Prepare tracks so that the rerecording mixer can pan debris cues into the Surround channels, bringing the audience into the action, rather than allowing it to watch the scene at a safe distance.

The Satisfaction of Subtlety

Sound design often calls to mind the big, high-profile audio events that serve as landmarks in a film. For every stand-out moment -- however, dozens of other equally important moments designate sound design as part of the figurative chorus line. These moments are not solo events, but supportive and transparent performances that enhance the storytelling continuity of the film.

Undoubtedly, my reputation is one of action sound effects. I freely admit that I enjoy designing the hardware and firepower and wrath of nature, yet some of my most satisfying creations have been the little things that hardly are noticed: the special gust of wind through the hair of the hero in the night desert, the special seat compression with a taste of spring action as a passenger swings into a car seat and settles in, the delicacy of a slow door latch as a child timidly enters the master bedroom -- little golden touches that fortify and sweetly satisfy the idea of design.

Reality vs. Entertainment

One of the first requirements for the successful achievement of a soundtrack is becoming audio educated with the world. I know that advice sounds naive and obvious, but it is not. Listen and observe life around you. Listen to the components of sound and come to understand how things work. Learn the difference between a Rolls Royce Merlin engine of a P-51 and the Pratt-Whitney of an AT-6, the difference between a hammer being cocked on a .38 service revolver and a hammer being cocked on a .357 Smith & Wesson. What precise audio movements separate the actions of a hundred-ton metal press? What is the audio difference between a grass fire and an oil fire, between pine burning and oak? What is the difference between a rope swish and a wire or dowel swish? How can one distinguish blade impacts of a fencing foil from a cutlass or a saber; what kind of metallic ring-off would go with each?

A supervising sound editor I knew was thrown off a picture because he did not know what a Ford Cobra was, and insisted that his effect editors cut sound cues from an English sports car series. It is not necessary to be a walking encyclopedia that can regurgitate information about the South American Kerrington mating call or the rate of fire of a BAR (if you even know what a BAR is). What is important is that you diligently do research so that you can walk onto the rerecording stage with the proper material.

I remember predubbing a helicopter warming-up on stage. Suddenly the engine wind-up bumped hard with a burst from the turbine. The sound effects mixer quickly tried to duck it out, as he thought it was a bad sound cut on my part. The director immediately corrected him, indeed that was absolutely the right sound at exactly the right spot. The mixer asked how I knew where to cut the turbine burst. I told him that, in studying the shot frame by frame, I had noticed two frames of the exhaust that were a shade lighter than the rest. It seemed to me that that was where the turbo had kicked in.

Reality, however, is not necessarily the focus of sound design. There is reality, and there is the perception of reality. We were rehearsing for the final mix of Reel 3 of ESCAPE FROM NEW YORK, where the Huey helicopters descend and land in an attempt to find the president. I had been working very long hours and was exhausted. After I dozed off and fallen out of my chair several nights before, Don Rogers had supplied a roll-around couch for me to sleep on during the mixing process. The picture editor paced behind the mixers as they rehearsed the reel. He raised his hand for them to stop and announced that he was missing a "descending" sound.

Gregg Landaker and Bill Varney tried to determine to what element of sound the picture editor was referring. The exact components of the helicopters were all there. From an authenticity point of view, nothing was missing.

I rolled over and raised my hand. "Roll back to 80 feet, take Effects 14 off the line. Take the feed and the take-up reels off the machine and switch them; then put on a 3-track head stack. Leaving Effects 14 off the line, roll back to this shot, then place Effects 14 on the line. I think you will get the desired effect."

Everybody turned to look at me with disbelief, certain I was simply talking in my sleep. Bill Varney pressed the talk-back button on the mixing console so that the recordist in the machine room could hear. "Would you please repeat that, Mr. Yewdall?"

I repeated the instructions. The picture editor had heard enough. "What is that supposed to accomplish?"

I explained. "At 80 feet is where Lee Van Cleef announces he is 'going in.' The next shot is the fleet of Hueys warming up and taking off. If you check the cue sheets, I think that you will see that Effects 14 has a wind-up from a cold start. Played forward, it is a jet whine ascending with no blade rotation. If we play that track over the third channel position of a 3-channel head stack, which means the track is really playing backward while we are rolling forward, I think we will achieve a jet whine descending." Listen to cue #31 of the audio CD provided with this book to listen to "Huey helicopter descending."

From then on, more movies used helicopter jet whine warm-ups (prior to blade rotation) both forward and reversed to sell the action of helicopters rising or descending, as the visual action dictated. It is not reality, but it is the entertaining perception of reality.

In today's post-production evolution, the tasks of equalization and signal processing, once considered sacred ground for the rerecording mixers, increasingly have become the working domain of sound designers and supervising sound editors. Accepting those chores, however, also brings about certain responsibilities and ramifications should your work be inappropriate and cost the client additional budget dollars to unravel what you have done.

If you twist those signal-processing knobs, then know the accompanying burden of responsibility. Experienced supervising sound editors have years of "combat" on the rerecording mix stage to know what they and their team members should do, and what should be left for rerecording mixers. I liken my work to getting the rough diamond into shape. If I over polish the material, I risk trapping the mixer with an audio cue that he or she may not be able to manipulate and appropriately use. Do not polish sound to a point that a mixer has no maneuvering room. You will thwart a collaborative relationship with the mixer.

The best sound design is done with a sable brush -- not with a ten pound sledge hammer. If your sound design distracts the audience from the story, you have failed. If your sound design works in concert with and elevates the action to a new level, you have succeeded. It is just that simple.

figure 12.3 the Klark-Teknik DN 30/30 graphic equalizer.

If you turn up the volume gain full to the right (which equals

+6dB level) and flipped the +6/+3dB switch up into the +6 position, then this would give you a total of +12dB or -12dB “gain” or “cut.”

figure 12.4 the frequency response of the graphic curve setting.

seen in figure 12.3 on the 30 band equalizer.

Sound design does not mean that you have to have a workstation stuffed full of fancy gear and complex software. One of the best signal process devices that I like to use is the simple Klark-Teknik DN 30/30 -- a 30 band graphic equalizer (see figure 12.3 above). Taking a common, but carefully chosen wood flame steady, I used the equalizer in real time, undulating the individual sliders wildly in waves to cause the "mushrooming" fireball sensation.

Listen to cue #32 of the audio CD provided with this book to listen to the development of "Mushrooming flames."

Wise Advice to Consider

I learned more than one valuable lesson on ESCAPE FROM NEW YORK. As with magicians, never tell the client how you made the magic.

ESCAPE FROM NEW YORK's budget was strained to the limit, and the job was not done yet. The special effect shots had not been completed, and the budget could not bear the weight of being made at a traditional feature special effect shop. They decided to contract the work to Roger Corman's company, as he had acquired the original computer-tracking special effect camera rig that George Lucas had used on STAR WARS. Corman was making a slew of special-effect movies to amortize the cost of acquiring the equipment, in addition to offering special effect work to outside production companies, ESCAPE FROM NEW YORK being one.

The first shots were delivered. John Carpenter (director), Debra Hill (producer), Todd Ramsay (picture editor), Dean Cundey (director of photography), Bob Kizer (special effects supervisor), and several members of the visual special effects team sat down in Projection "A" at Goldwyn to view the footage. It has been suggested that the quality expectation from the production team was not very high. After all, this was only Corman stuff -- how good could it be?

The first shot flickered onto the screen -- the point of view of Air Force One streaking over New York harbor at night, heading into the city just prior to impact. Carpenter, Hill, and Cundey were amazed by the high quality of the shot. After the lights came up, John asked the visual special effects team how it was done. The team members, proud and happy that Carpenter liked their work, blurted out, "Well, first we dumped black paint on the concrete floor, then we let it dry halfway. Then we took paint rollers and roughed it up, to give it the 'wave' effect of water at night. Then we made dozens of cardboard cut-outs of the buildings and cut out windows..."

Carpenter's brow furrowed as he halted their explanation. He pressed the talk-back button to projection. "Roll it again, please."

Now they viewed the footage again -- only with the discerning eye of foreknowledge of the illusion's creation. Now they could see the imperfections, could see how it was done. The reel ran out, and the lights came up.

Carpenter thought a moment, then turned to the visual special effects team. "No -- I am going with what I saw the first time. You fooled me. If I ever ask you how you did something again, don't tell me."

The lesson of that afternoon was burned indelibly into my brain and I have referred to it time and time again in dealing with clients who want to know how something was made. Do not destroy the illusion and magic of your creation by revealing the secrets of how you did them -- especially to your clients. Here endeth the lesson.