It is becoming increasingly difficult to listen to “Murder on the Dancefloor” without thinking about a naked Barry Keoghan dancing through a mansion. Sophie Ellis-Bextor released the song in 2001, more than two decades before “Saltburn” gave it an unlikely second life in 2023. For some, it remains a familiar disco hit; for others, it is inseparable from the film’s final scene, in which Oliver dances utterly unclothed through the grand halls of Saltburn estate, celebrating his ultimate triumph over the family whose fortune he has claimed.
It’s peculiar how a movie can take a song that has existed for years and make it feel as though it belongs to an entirely different story. Sometimes, all it takes is a single scene to change the way we hear something forever.
As a self-proclaimed music connoisseur, I’ve accumulated a dozen film-inspired playlists over the years. From the orchestration of “The Grand Budapest Hotel” to the folk-inspired soundtrack of “Fantastic Mr. Fox” and the atmospheric sounds of “Lost in Translation,” there are countless film tracks I find myself returning to. What interests me most is how music can fundamentally alter our perception of a scene, giving familiar songs new associations or making particular moments more memorable than they might otherwise have been. With so much of our cinema experience shaped by what we hear, it’s worth asking how soundtracks acquire this influence, and why certain melodies remain with us long after we’ve forgotten the films that introduced them.
Music has a way of molding how we remember a film, at times even more vividly than the visuals themselves. Filmmakers rely on soundtracks to establish atmosphere, build anticipation and relay emotions that dialogue alone cannot quite capture; A well-crafted soundtrack can transform a mundane scene to something indelibly memorable. Songs find their way into our playlists, resurface in conversations and become attached to our own experiences, often entirely unrelated to the films that introduced them. Somewhere along the way, the music that once accompanied someone else’s story begins to soundtrack our own.
“Jazz is central to Sebastian’s identity, while the film’s musical numbers borrow from the traditions of classic Hollywood to give ordinary encounters the grandeur of romantic fantasy.”
Consider Damien Chazelle’s “La La Land,” where music becomes inseparable from the ambitions and disappointments of its protagonists. Jazz is central to Sebastian’s identity, while the film’s musical numbers borrow from the traditions of classic Hollywood to give ordinary encounters the grandeur of romantic fantasy. Perhaps most striking is the film’s final sequence, which revisits Mia and Sebastian’s relationship through an imagined version of the life they could have had. By the time the music ends, we briefly inhabit a future that neither character will get to live. The soundtrack makes that unrealized possibility feel almost reachable.
More recently, “Saltburn” director Emerald Fennell’s controversial 2026 adaptation of “Wuthering Heights” offers a rather different approach to musical storytelling. Alongside Anthony Willis’s score, Charli xcx created a companion album that brings contemporary pop sensibilities into the world of Emily Brontë’s gothic romance.
The album’s electronic textures and dramatic arrangements feel deliberately removed from the historical setting, yet are surprisingly appropriate for a romance defined by obsession and emotional excess. I’ve been particularly drawn to xcx’s track “Seeing Things,” a track whose title alone seems fitting for a story so consumed by desire and the instability of perception. As NME’s coverage of the soundtrack notes, several songs were released ahead of the film, with “Chains of Love” also appearing in its trailer. The music thus began shaping expectations of the film before audiences even entered the theater.
Consider your favorite childhood animations. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who doesn’t know at least a few words to “Let It Go.” Whether they learned them willingly is another question. For a while, the song seemed to follow us everywhere, from school talent shows to car rides and the occasional unwilling family sing-along. More than a decade after “Frozen” first arrived in theaters, its music remains remarkably difficult to escape. There’s something curious about the way the soundtrack of a childhood film can become shared between people who may have very little else in common.
My own attachment to film music goes back to Tim Burton’s “Alice in Wonderland,” which I first watched when I was around ten. I’ve since seen it countless times, though I suspect I could recognize its soundtrack far more quickly than I could recount the plot’s details.
Danny Elfman’s “Alice’s Theme” has remained particularly difficult to shake, with its choral voices and sweeping orchestration capturing something of the film’s strange mixture of wonder and unease. In his reflections on composing the score, Elfman describes becoming obsessed with perfecting the theme, experimenting with different vocal arrangements and instrumental combinations as the melody developed. Listening to it, the music itself seems to undergo an analogous transformation to Alice’s as she journeys through Wonderland.
Of course, soundtracks can also work in reverse, giving an old song a new audience rather than preserving an existing memory. The use of “Murder on the Dancefloor” is particularly memorable because of the contrast between its infectious disco rhythm and the unsettling triumph unfolding on screen. The effect extended well beyond the film itself. In a 2024 interview with NME, Ellis-Bextor reflected on the song’s unexpected resurgence, and its novelty for listeners who had never encountered her music before. Forbes reported that the song entered the Billboard Hot 100 for the first time, more than 20 years after its original debut.
The alchemy of sound and vision lies at the heart of cinema’s enduring magic. Through its ability to stir emotions, deepen narratives and breathe life into fleeting moments, music remains an inseparable part of the stories we watch and the memories we carry. Sometimes, all it takes is a swell of music to make us feel as though we’ve stepped inside the screen.
Quincy Qu PO ’29 is probably currently busy coming up with a name for her next Spotify playlist. This week, her film column “Unboxd” takes a closer look at the music behind some of cinema’s most memorable moments, and why certain songs take on a life of their own beyond the screen.
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