I’m sitting in a dark hotel room, in a city I am yet to know. The rain hits the window glass, a low hum of the wind outside. I press play on my laptop, and my life changes. For the next hour and a half, I am completely enchanted—eyes glued to the screen and heart pounding with excitement and anticipation. I watch a movie which will stay with me for weeks, whose scenes I will replay in my head and whose Wikipedia page I will read at an ungodly hour. Candyman (1992) is still one of the best movies I have ever watched. I love everything about it—the plot, the dialogue, the cinematography—most of all, I love the music. From that very first piano note, I was in love. I love it to the point of humming the theme in the shower, on the way to work, and even as I am writing this, Candyman’s score serves as the background to my life.
I cannot remember the last time I enjoyed a movie’s score this much. Most of the films I’ve loved in the past few years didn’t rely on loving their original scores, a realization that came as a shock to me. It is commonly understood that music and sound are very useful storytelling devices, especially in the horror genre. How many memes have we seen online where a horror movie scene is played against a funny, upbeat song just to strip it of its fear factor? Nevertheless, most 21st century horrors do not feature original scores, but more often than not opt for a soundtrack of pre-existing songs or a mixture of the two. Even in the latter case, the original composition is mostly made of sound effects rather than musical pieces.
This stylistic choice has a massive impact on the story’s delivery and the viewer’s experience as a whole. Original scores are a powerful tool in horror movies, offering several advantages that a soundtrack might not be able to. They can play a huge role in establishing both a movie and its villain as cult classics. The most notable example is John Carpenter’s Halloween (1978), an absolute staple of the genre that gave birth to one of the most iconic villains in horror history. Few films have ever been able to capture that level of anxiety and tension, especially against the domestic background of suburban Illinois.
Composed by Carpenter himself, Halloween‘s theme has become a symbol of horror. Its simple piano tune slowly builds into an overwhelming sense terror, enveloping the viewer as the story progresses. What makes the theme particularly compelling is not just its apparent simplicity, but how it functions in the movie. It is not an embellishment to the visuals; it’s a tool that drives the narrative forward. The music warns the viewer, hinting that something is coming. Thanks to the score alone, we can feel that Michael Myers is close, raising his knife-wielding arm against his next helpless victim. The skill and precision that Carpenter put into the score undoubtedly helped make Halloween the classic it is today.
A score also makes a movie more immersive by framing the story into a world of its own, where every minute is shaped by the musical landscape of that universe. In Candyman, Philip Glass’s incredible score draws us into this world in which fantasy and urban legends come to life and haunt us. The composition is based on a simple, sweet piano lullaby, followed then by a choir—hovering somewhere in between ominous and angelic. Then, the organ chimes in with an urgent and painful melody. Glass’s arrangement is what gives the movie its dramatic touch, making it an emotional experience that cuts deeper than what the viewer expects. It perfectly blends fear, melancholy and romance into a beautiful, cohesive piece. An original score like Candyman’s that’s so intertwined with the plot and inseparable from the film itself, also contributes to the timelessness of the story. Because the music is so unique and not anchored to the cultural trends of its time, the movie is better equipped to withstand the decay of obsolescence.
An original composition helps create continuity within a movie and across a franchise, elevating it with a common musical thread. The best example of this is the Saw series and its iconic ‘Main Theme,’ composed by Charlie Clouser. This piece has marked a generation of movies, and continues to do so as we await the 11th film of the series. Throughout the franchise, Saw fans have come to expect two things: an amazing plot twist, and the main theme playing as that twist unfolds, leaving everyone’s jaw on the floor. The blend of classic cellos and violins with a techno-industrial sequence pulls on your nerves, as anxiety levels rise and the stakes get higher. The violins scream and cry, tearing at their strings, while the bass resounds in your ears, making your heart race. It’s a signature instrumental piece that has become synonymous with Saw. Without it, the films wouldn’t evoke the same nerve-wracking, seat-gripping, teeth-griding suspense that made the franchise what it is today.
A musical score is also an invaluable communication tool, able to deliver messages that may not be explicitly stated in the script. Looking at David Cronenberg’s The Fly (1986), the music amplifies the film’s impact in ways the narrative alone could not. Composed by Howard Shore and performed by the London Philharmonic Orchestra, The Fly’s score is grand and dramatically ambitious, and probably the most impressive of its era. While the plot follows a man’s gradual demise at the hands of his own folly, the music aims at something bigger. It evokes an epic sense of scientific grandeur, transcending the individual and hinting at humanity’s complex relationship with progress. The Fly’s high stakes and timeliness could have not been achieved on the same level had Cronenberg decided to feature an 80s-style soundtrack.
No matter how outstanding these scores have been, and their importance to the success of many beloved horror films, this approach is no longer prevalent in the current wave of horror cinema. We are entering a new era—a beautiful revival of the genre. Year after year, independent and original movies are reshaping our understanding of horror, consistently offering something new to their audience. The majority of these movies, however, do not feature an original score. There is an undeniable shift in how horror stories are told nowadays, with music not being utilized to its full potential anymore. What could be the reason behind this shift? Why do films like Longlegs, Terrifier, Smile, and Barbarian not have distinctive and remarkable scores? All of these titles have the potential of becoming legacies of 21st century horror, and yet none of them feature an original arrangement. Not to argue that they need one, seeing that all have been huge successes, but I can’t help but wonder: are we seeing an end to horror movie scores? Are filmmakers hesitant to embrace original music, fearing it might be less ’relatable’ or less likely to capture the audience’s attention compared to a familiar song playing over the end credits?
One of the most memorable movies of 2024, In A Violent Nature, does not feature any music at all and relies only on diegetic sound. It’s a brave and unique choice that made the movie an instant success, among horror veterans at least. However, what does this tell us about the current landscape of the genre? Could this be a sign that a standard soundtrack just doesn’t cut it anymore? The answer to this obviously depends on the movie, plot, setting, and objective of the filmmakers. A soundtrack, for example, is essential when portraying a specific time period in which the story is set. Ti West’s X trilogy, for example, heavily relied on the aesthetic of the time in which the story is set—the late 70s for X (2022), the 1920s for Pearl (2022), and the mid 80s for MaxXxine (2024). Using a soundtrack that features songs for each of these times is a great way of evoking the exact spirit and soul of those years, and that same effect could not be achieved through an original score alone.
A soundtrack is also extremely helpful to define the movie’s cultural setting. Halina Reijn’s Bodies Bodies Bodies (2022) does exactly that. The plot is centred around Gen-Z culture, and offers a hilarious commentary on wokeness and class privilege. The soundtrack, which features songs by Charli XCX and Azealia Banks, envelops the story in a very specific cultural bubble, which is instantly recognizable and familiar to the viewers. A soundtrack of this kind also grounds the movie and cements it in our day-to-day reality. It gives the illusion that the characters are real people that live among us. Whatever is happening to them, could thus happen to us–that’s also part of the scare!
All things considered, we cannot deny that an original composition elevates the movie like nothing else can. We have been gifted such great scores throughout history that have become an intrinsic part of horror and its role in popular culture. My only wish is that more horror movies would once again feature original compositions, especially if they are written by someone with the technical skills of Howard Shore or Philip Glass. I cannot resign to the idea that I will never get to experience a score as poetic as Candyman, and I cannot wait until I get to see a movie whose score is just as delicious.
