It is undeniable that different songs elicit different emotional responses. That is, a melancholy song by Nick Drake feels sad in comparison to an uplifting song by The Beatles. Yet, if you reflect on your experiences with music, a given song is also capable of eliciting unique emotions, simply by altering the environment where it’s played. Film presents many examples of this phenomenon, a particularly notable instance being the chilling and surreal use of Roy Orbison’s “In Dreams” in David Lynch’s Blue Velvet.
Released in 1986, Blue Velvet is a dark drama, taking place in the seemingly pleasant logging town of Lumberton. The main character Jeffrey Beaumont (played by Kyle MacLachlan) becomes part detective, part voyeur as he is intertwined in a suspicious woman’s bizarre mystery. As Jeffrey takes greater risks to uncover the truth, he eventually crosses paths with Frank Booth, Dennis Hopper’s portrayal of arguably the most disturbing villain in cinematic history. For the part of Frank, Hopper brings raw energy and steals virtually every scene he’s in. Of Frank’s many sadistic quirks, his deeply personal and complex attachment to music illustrates how a song acquires new meaning when juxtaposed with a reel of film.
The soundtrack of Blue Velvet, supervised by the American composer and frequent Lynch collaborator Angelo Badalamenti, features a variety of vintage pop songs. Yet, while Crooner Bobby Vinton’s “Blue Velvet” is the film’s mantra and namesake, Orbison’s “In Dreams” is the catalyst for two of the films most unforgettable scenes, distinct in their visceral reactions.
The first time the viewer hears “In Dreams” is in the following scene:
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Even without context, this clip conveys the scenes intended emotional content. At first, Hopper’s character, Booth, is deeply moved by his friend’s theatrical lip-synching of the benign lullaby. Yet, as the scene cuts from Booth to his friend to the back of the room, a festive atmosphere is altered by enigmatic and woeful expressions. Jeffrey, surrounded by two goons, looks intimidated and troubled. A downtrodden woman emerges from the back room and sulks toward the group. Though Booth seems wholly unaware of his surroundings, soon his mood sharply changes to anger and disgust. It feels as if the sentimental lyrics of the song are too much for Booth. In the moment his affect shifts, the song becomes unbearable and he abruptly turns it off, though he grabs the cassette for later.
Contrast that scene with the following clip:
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After a very R-rated sequence of drugs, sex, and violence, Booth demands his crony named Paul play “Candy Colored Clown.” This term comes from the first line of “In Dreams” and seems strikingly disjointed amongst the rest of the lyrics. (The image of a “Candy Colored Clown” is out of place amidst otherwise straightforward clichés.) But, evidently, this phrase connects with Booth, and he identifies the song with “Candy Colored Clown.”
Additionally, over the opening lines, he delivers a chilling threat to Jeffrey, punctuated by the recitation, “In dreams… I walk with you. In dreams… I talk to you. In dreams… You’re mine. Forever in dreams.” Unlike the lip-synching in the previous scene, Booth’s intentions are far more sinister, and he even changes the last line in order to bolster the image of him haunting Jeffrey. The song becomes an unshakable threat rather than a sweet ode to perpetual love. And, in doing so, “In Dreams” shows both Lynch’s talent for perverting the banal and music’s shifty potential to transform in disparate contexts.