Why do streamed movies insist on blasting dissonant orchestral soundtracks over the actors’ dialogue? Why must viewers spend two hours manipulating the volume on the remote, hoping to hear enough words to piece together the plot before the closing credits?
One minute, two characters are whispering about a murder, a secret child or a suitcase hidden in Prague. The next, some Mozartian hurricane shakes the windows, knocks over a lamp and sends the dog racing for the safest room in the house.
Violins shriek. French horns roar. Cymbals crash. Drums pound with the urgency of an approaching cavalry charge.
Apparently, streaming studios are trying to tell us that the plot is no longer an available feature.
Consider the typical opening scene. A movie begins quietly in a park. A troubled woman sits beside a detective on a bench. Autumn leaves drift around them. She looks into his eyes and whispers, “I never told you what happened in Prague.”
At that exact moment, the soundtrack unleashes the entire London Philharmonic Orchestra, a Norwegian war drum and what sounds like a locomotive crashing through a brass-band parade.
“What did she say?” my wife asks.
“Something about a bag,” I say. “Or maybe Prague.”
“Why would she put Prague in a bag?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s a carry-on.”
I aim the remote at the television and rewind 10 seconds. This time, I raise the volume from 24 to 67 and lean forward.
The woman begins again.
“I never told you what happened in—”
I’m afraid neighbors will put out blankets, thinking there’s an open-air concert. A framed family photo collapses on a table near the television The dog retreats to a walk-in closet in the furthest room from the living room.
Still no Prague.
The ominous music has been intensifying since the opening studio logo. What I need to know is whether the woman murdered the ambassador, married the ambassador or left him standing beside the baggage carousel at Prague International Airport.
The other day, my wife and I tried to watch the 2014 science-fiction epic “Interstellar,” starring Matthew McConaughey and Anne Hathaway. The movie concerns NASA, distant planets, black holes, wormholes, space-time and humanity’s desperate attempt to communicate across the universe.
It also concerns this viewer’s desperate attempt to hear what Matthew McConaughey said.
McConaughey whispers many of his lines in the low, emotional murmur movie actors now use when discussing the possible extinction of human race.
The astronauts struggle to communicate from distant galaxies while viewers struggle to communicate from opposite ends of the sofa.
“What did he say?”
“I think he said they’re running out of oxygen.”
“I thought he said they were going to Oregon.”
“Why would NASA send them to Oregon?”
“Maybe the wormhole has an exit near Portland.”
During the first hour, I continuously worked the remote. Volume up for conversation. Volume down for music. Up for whispers. Down for rockets. Up for scientific explanations. Down for the soundtrack’s apparent reenactment of the Battle of Gettysburg.
Watching a streamed movie now requires the reflexes of a fighter pilot and the thumb strength of a competitive video gamer.
Yes, I’ve tried every audio mode - including dynamic. Modern filmmakers may call it “dynamic range.” I call it the difference between “What did she say?” and “Quick, get under the table!”
At some point, you stop watching the movie and begin operating it.
You grip the remote with both hands hoping to understand a crucial line of dialogue. Then comes another dynamic cinematic explosion that nearly blows the fillings out of your teeth.
The last soundbar we bought promised “immersive, theater-quality sound.”
Promise kept if it means the helicopter explosion scene causes the fire alarm in our living room to false. The actors, however, continue speaking from a closed bathroom in the house next door.
The soundbar came with enough settings to launch a satellite: I just want to know if she said bag or Prague.