This is a pretty great article that backs up everything APE says about Sound Design, and might get you thinking creatively about it:
http://www.theguardian.com/film/201...ions-roaring-art-of-sound-in-movies?CMP=fb_gu
Some highlights:
http://www.theguardian.com/film/201...ions-roaring-art-of-sound-in-movies?CMP=fb_gu
Some highlights:
His expertise, fittingly, is what can’t be seen – sound, yes, but also everything else that sound is to the human mind: the way we orient ourselves in relation to spaces, to time, to each other; the way we communicate when language fails; the way our ears know, precognitively, when the dark room has someone lurking in it or when a stranger will be kind. He orchestrates the levels of human perception that most people either fail to examine or lack the ability to notice at all. His job is to make you feel things without ever knowing he was there.
Consider the scene at the end of No Country For Old Men when Javier Bardem’s character has a car accident. After the crunch of impact, there are a few moments of what might be mistaken for stillness. The two cars rest smoking and crumpled in the middle of a suburban intersection. Nothing moves – but the soundscape is deceptively layered. There is the sound of engines hissing and crackling, which have been mixed to seem as near to the ear as the camera was to the cars; there is a mostly unnoticeable rustle of leaves in the trees; periodically, so faintly that almost no one would register it consciously, there is the sound of a car rolling through an intersection a block or two over, off camera; a dog barks somewhere far away. The faint sound of a breeze was taken from ambient sounds on a street like the one depicted in the scene. When Javier Bardem shoves open the car door, you hear the door handle stick for a moment before it releases. There are three distinct sounds of broken glass tinkling to the pavement from the shattered window, a small handful of thunks as he falls sideways to the ground, his laboured breathing, the chug of his boot heel finally connecting with the asphalt – even the pads of his fingers as they scrabble along the top of the window. None of these sounds are there because some microphone picked them up. They’re there because Lievsay chose them and put them there, as he did for every other sound in the film. The moment lasts about 20 seconds. No Country For Old Men is 123 minutes long.
You need the ability not only to hear with an almost superhuman acuity but also the technical proficiency and Job-like patience to spend hours getting the sound of a kettle’s hiss exactly the right length as well as the right pitch – and not only the right pitch but the right pitch considering that the camera pans during the shot, which means that the viewer’s ear will subconsciously anticipate hearing a maddeningly subtle (but critical) Doppler effect, which means that the tone the kettle makes as it boils needs to shift downward at precisely the interval that a real kettle’s hiss would if you happened to walk by at that speed.
The Coen brothers are treasured by Lievsay’s tribe, in part because they begin sound design unusually early in the process – often while still writing and shooting. “The way they work is the dream,” C5’s dialogue editor, Eliza Paley, told me. “They understand that sound is also storytelling.”
It becomes clear, in moments like these, exactly how unconscious the experience of sound is, how neatly it skirts our higher reasoning to make us feel. It does not matter if you know the violence is just pretend – make the gunshot noise loud and accurate enough and your body will believe it is real. For this reason, sound is one of the most visceral, subtle tools available to filmmakers. No need to wait to see the limp of the boy who has fallen off his bicycle to know that his ankle is broken – a small crunching noise added to his landing will make a viewer cringe in empathy.