Key Constellations: Interpreting Tonality in Film

picture yourself gazing at the vast cinematic sky, where familiar constellations quietly echo across its expanse—the leitmotifs, the localized harmonic constructs, maybe even a few fleeting topics. Then, Motazedian hands you a telescope and prompts you to look again, to see how those smaller stars connect, how they tell their own story. Suddenly, it is no longer just Orion's Belt: It is a sprawling cosmos humming with tonal relationships you never knew were there. With her new book, Key Constellations: Interpreting Tonality in Film, Motazedian doesn't just hand us a polished telescope; she recalibrates the entire instrument, inviting us to chart pathways of tonal meaning that transform how we hear, experience, and navigate through the glimmering narratives of film music.It is with this telescope in hand that Motazedian invites us into her opening chapter, where she lays down a solid foundation for her method, redefining the very text in film music analysis to encompass not only the notion of “key” but also the potential relationships between tonal centers and the role of extramusical sounds. This redefinition is her way of helping us zoom out and see the bigger picture, while also zooming in to uncover connections we might otherwise overlook. By analyzing two markedly different films, she offers a synoptic view that anchors her expansive framework, charting a celestial map of tonal relationships that serves as a launchpad for her ambitious inquiry while setting the stage for philosophical questions about interpreting a film's soundscape. As she hints, these questions will reach their fullest expression in her final chapter.A common critique of film music analysis is that viewers often miss long-range tonal relationships. Motazedian counters that this is precisely the point: Some of the most profound meanings emerge in the spaces where perception and reflection intertwine. Situating her discussion within a philosophical dialogue about conceptual and perceptual unity, she draws parallels to reader-response theories in literature, positioning tonal analysis in film as a multilayered experience that invites viewers to engage on different interpretive levels. To make her case, she builds on Nicholas Cook's (1987) idea that tonal unity is often more conceptual than perceptual, and deepens her point through Carolyn Abbate's (2004) distinction between gnostic (intellectual) and drastic (sensory) perception, suggesting that the expressive power of film tonality does not depend solely on what we directly hear, but that it also works on a conceptual level.This philosophical latitude is mirrored in her analytical openness, as she redefines the notion of “key” to include tonal centers as well as single pitches, arguing that this flexible perspective is essential for a “fruitful analysis of film tonality” (4). Motazedian also further broadens the scope of the types of tonal relationships she explores, moving beyond the familiar parallel, relative, and tonic-dominant pairings of the Western canon and delving into more intricate connections, such as triadic chromaticism and devices idiomatic of popular music, like the pump-up modulation. To support this expanded framework, she draws from David Beach's (1993) distinction between tonal structure and tonal design. Tonal structure implies a hierarchical, often Schenkerian, organization within a single key, which can be limiting when applied to the nonlinear and associative use of tonality found in film. In this book, Motazedian gravitates instead toward the concept of tonal design, which eschews rigid hierarchies in favor of fluid relationships that mirror narrative shifts and psychological undercurrents.But Motazedian takes her approach even further, broadening the discussion with a more inclusive definition of film tonality. For her, film tonality means “the large-scale arrangement of keys of all musical entities in a film soundtrack” (3), including not only original scores and preexisting music but also sound effects and, potentially, dialogue. Even subtle Foley elements like the ominous creak of a door in a horror film—barely noticeable yet perfectly placed—become integral to the tonal architecture. This concept aligns beautifully with the idea of mise-en-bande (much like visual mise-en-scène), put forth by Rick Altman, McGraw Jones, and Sonia Tatroe (2000), where individual soundtrack elements combine to form a cohesive whole—a kind of sonic gestalt. By expanding what constitutes the “text” in film music and grounding her work in thoughtfully articulated philosophical insights, Motazedian creates a compelling framework for rethinking film tonality as an undeniable force shaping meaning in dimensions often unseen (or unheard).To put her approach into practice, Motazedian starts with a preview of The Darjeeling Limited and The English Patient, guiding us step by step through the process of creating diagrams that capture those films’ salient tonalities. Visual aids, such as tonal graphs and staff notations, play a central role here, illuminating tonal relationships and revealing patterns and hierarchies that might otherwise go unnoticed. First, she incorporates Gantt-like charts, which provide a clear view of the frequency of keys and their relative weight throughout the film. With these, readers can easily trace how often specific keys appear, how long they last, and how they interact—all at a glance.Alongside Gantt charts, Motazedian presents proto-prolongational graphs, which break down complex tonal assemblies into foreground, middleground, and background levels. This is particularly intriguing in the context of film soundtracks, as it introduces challenges: Schenkerian-inspired frameworks often presume tightly organized harmonic relationships that do not always align with the fluid tonal designs in film. However, Motazedian navigates this complexity skillfully, emphasizing that film soundtracks follow tonal schemes shaped primarily by narrative and emotional considerations rather than strict tonal hierarchies. By offering these (and other) graphical tools and maintaining an adaptable stance—acknowledging that their use is “neither rigid nor requisite” (18)—she reimagines familiar methods, encouraging readers to explore their unique strengths and adapt them to chart a constellation of interpretive possibilities.In each film, she first identifies tonal areas and then narrows her selection to the most salient ones, reducing the broader tonal map to highlight its core elements—a process that begins to highlight key relationships, like zooming in on the constellations that matter most while letting the noise of the night sky fade into the background. Motazedian's handling of the reduction process balances analytical structure and interpretive freedom, exercising discretion when identifying the most salient keys and supporting her choices with detailed examples that illustrate her framework in action. She also reminds us that not every tonal element requires exhaustive scrutiny to yield a compelling reading and emphasizes that tonal graphs are shaped by interpretive choices, involving segmentation, reduction, and establishing hierarchies that reflect the analyst's perspective. This open-ended approach aligns nicely with scholars like Frank Lehman's (2012) advocacy for analyses that, while tailored to a film's unique structure and content, invite us to shift our focus based on narrative significance (which is itself interpretive).The appendix complements chapter 1 as a practical guide, offering a detailed road map for creating a tonal score and outlining the essential tools needed for tonal analysis, such as a digital copy of the film and pitch identification software. She even suggests organizing tonal events in spreadsheet format, documenting details like start time, pitch, duration, and context. This structured process ensures systematic organization and adaptability, aligning well with the detailed, granular techniques often found in music theory and systematic musicology. For those who appreciate such methodological precision, the appendix offers both rigor and practical utility.With the analytical framework in place, chapters 2 to 4 begin to chart patterns forming key constellations, revealing how tonal elements align within actual soundtracks. These patterns—termed associative tonality, intertextual tonality, directional tonality, and tonal symmetry, among others—metaphorically map key relationships onto character and plot developments. Within the carefully chosen film vignettes, her “descriptive rather than prescriptive” (3) lens reimagines interpretation as context-sensitive, allowing each film's unique storyline to shape the analytical process.Building on Robert Bailey's (1977) concept of associative tonality, rooted in nineteenth-century opera, Motazedian illustrates how certain keys can represent characters, places, or even psychological states within a film. Through examples like The Graduate and Amadeus, Motazedian demonstrates that associative tonality can be just as powerful in modern cinema as it is in opera. In doing so, she offers a fresh perspective that challenges early film music scholarship, such as that of Theodor Adorno and Hanns Eisler, who argued that film music (at the time they were writing) lacked the cohesion necessary for such structured tonal relationships.Motazedian introduces another fascinating concept, intertextual tonality, where conventionally established tonal tropes or preexisting works with well-known tonal identities are woven into a film's soundtrack. Through case studies like Breaking and Entering and Fantastic Mr. Fox, she reveals how tonality can call on external musical references, expanding the narrative potential of tonal choices far beyond the immediate score. This technique resonates with Patrick McCreless's (2010) work on tonal intertextuality in Shostakovich, where a particular key can act as a symbolic bridge between works, and with Frank Lehman's (2018) and Scott Murphy's (2014) work on film music, which showcase how tonal strategies can transcend the score itself. By drawing on existing compositions with distinct tonal characteristics, such as the Aria in G major from Bach's Goldberg Variations, or from familiar film music tropes like the Leittonwechsel transformation to signify shifts from hope to despair—or love to loss—Motazedian illustrates how film composers can tap into established musical and cinematic traditions to add layers of symbolic meaning. Within this context, she also highlights tonal winks, subtle pitches or keys that cleverly reference a character's name or setting—think of the B-A-C-H motif in classical music. These sly nods from the score function like tonal shooting stars: brief, glimmering moments that illuminate the soundtrack with layers of associative intra-opus significance.Motazedian's exploration of directional tonality reveals how modulating tonal centers mirror character transformations. In films like Moonlight and Hidden Figures, she positions directional tonality within a larger conversation on tonal progression in the classical repertoire, where the movement between beginning and ending keys often marks a character's psychological journey. Building on this idea, she explores a related trajectory that moves from a minor key to its parallel major, framing it as a tonal envelope that illustrates a shift from tragedy to triumph. Drawing from Robert Hatten's (1991) work on tragic-to-triumphant arcs and using examples from films like Moonrise Kingdom and The Royal Tenenbaums, she illustrates how minor-to-parallel-major transitions can signify resolution or redemption.In a fascinating section on tonal agency, Motazedian explores how certain keys empower characters to orbit outside the boundaries of cinematic logic and establish dominance over the tonal design. By bending and shaping the tonal landscape, these characters break free from the film's internal framework and extend their reach into the extradiegetic realm, wielding tonal elements as tools of control to assert their power over the story's trajectory. She vividly illustrates tonal agency through examples like The Talented Mr. Ripley, where the music transcends its narrative function to become a psychological force, amplifying the protagonist's calculated deceptions and cunning manipulations.Motazedian also explores tonal symmetry, where the tonal design of a soundtrack mirrors the film's narrative or visuals to create a sense of balance and unity. She skillfully illustrates this concept in films like The Grand Budapest Hotel, where the tonal layout reflects the film's equilibrium in storytelling and visual design while enhancing its cohesion. As a result, such balanced and proportional tonal layouts serve both as aesthetic choices and thematic signals, echoing but also extending earlier uses of symmetrical design in concert music.As her analyses unfold, Motazedian avoids laying out a rigid set of rules and resists a single, definitive reading. Instead, she stays true to her goal of providing a “starting point for the exploration of tonal relationships in film soundtracks” (26), charting constellations in the vast expanse of tonal possibilities, inviting us to navigate these patterns and uncover new alignments and perspectives, urging us to move beyond established categories and seek “new ways in which keys create meaning in film” (54). By blending creative inquiry with academic rigor, she prepares the ground for her final analytical chapter.Chapter 5, a standout in the book, opens a new avenue by fleshing out how pitched sound effects actively shape a film's tonal architecture, moving beyond their traditional role as a mere necessity. Pitched sound effects—like the hum of machinery or natural sounds such as wind or water—take on a rhetorical function when they align tonally with the musical score. This perspective builds on Danijela Kulezic-Wilson's (2020) advocacy for cohesive sound design within a film, while extending beyond it. Whereas Kulezic-Wilson emphasizes the psychological impact of sound effects, Motazedian underscores their role in large-scale tonal design, integrating them into the narrative's core. In doing so, she challenges traditional film music theory, which has largely overlooked the tonal implications of sound effects and dialogue.In this chapter's analysis of Baby Driver, Motazedian's comprehensive method reaches its zenith, showcasing the seamless integration of sound effects into the tonal fabric. Here, the sonic choreography transcends standard synchronization, with action sequences, character movements, and even the smallest gestures aligning perfectly with the music's temporalities. She explores how the film's large-scale tonal design does more than support the protagonist's journey—it mirrors his desires, struggles, and experiences, as though the soundtrack and sound effects drive his actions in real time. Through vivid examples, she illustrates how director Edgar Wright employs tonal design on a grand scale and within individual musical cues, transforming each sound and musical moment into a narrative event—even adapting preexisting music to fit the film's key scheme, underscoring his cohesive storytelling vision.Uncovering such intricate details, like a slight shift of key in preexisting music, reveals the meticulousness of Motazedian's research—a feat that demands both precision and insight. For instance, she notes how T. Rex's 1968 recording of “Debora” appears transposed from B♭ to A major while its tempo increased from ~78 bpm to ~84 bpm—which defies the typical correlation between lowering pitch resulting in slower tempo—revealing calculated editorial decisions. Such artful constructions, where each tonal and sonic element serves a deliberate narrative purpose, prompt intriguing questions about authorial intent, the limits of her theory, and potential extensions of the repertoire—questions that Motazedian addresses in the final section of her book.In the final chapter, the analysis doesn't so much conclude as open the door to further exploration. Motazedian begins by addressing the complexities of authorship, a subject that naturally arises from her layered approach. Film soundtracks complicate traditional notions of authorship, often blending the efforts of multiple composers, music editors, sound designers, and directors, making it nearly impossible to pinpoint a single author, especially in today's increasingly collaborative Hollywood. Motazedian does not shy away from this complexity; instead, she embraces it, observing that “composite composition is the standard procedure in film music.”This complexity, in turn, raises the question of whether tonal relationships must be intentionally crafted to carry narrative significance or if meaningful interpretations can arise independently of deliberate intent. 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