Tempo, rhythm, time – the foundation of film music, before harmony and themes
When film music is discussed, the conversation usually starts with harmony, themes, or style. But long before a single chord is chosen, a film has already made a far more fundamental decision. Every film defines its own relationship to time. Film music does not create that relationship. It responds to it.Before harmony, before motifs, before themes, there is something more basic: tempo, rhythm, and time. And unless those are understood, every musical decision that follows risks feeling arbitrary, no matter how well written it is. They feel like the music. But when it comes to how film music actually works – emotionally, narratively, psychologically – melodies are often not where the real work happens. Most films are not carried by themes. They are carried by harmony. Let's find out why chords, tonal ambiguity, and evolving textures often shape emotion long before melody enters.
What is the tempo of a film?
Tempo in film music is often misunderstood as a musical parameter, something that can be measured in BPM. But the tempo of a film is not a number. It is a felt speed.
Two films can have similar editing patterns and still feel completely different in tempo. One may feel urgent, restless, compressed. The other slow, heavy, inevitable. This has little to do with how fast shots change and everything to do with how the film allows time to pass.
For music, this matters enormously. A score that ignores the film’s inner tempo will always feel either rushed or dragging, even if it is perfectly synced. Tempo, in this sense, is not about synchronization – it is about alignment.
Example
Dunkirk (Christopher Nolan) demonstrates that tempo in film has little to do with speed. Despite long stretches of minimal action, the film feels relentlessly urgent. Hans Zimmer’s score sustains pressure through expectation and continuity rather than musical acceleration. The tempo is not counted – it is experienced.
Rhythm beyond music
Rhythm in film does not belong to the score. It emerges from the interaction of image, cut, dialogue, performance, camera movement, and silence. Music enters a rhythm that already exists. It negotiates with it.
This is why music that works beautifully on its own can feel strangely wrong in a scene. Not because the notes are wrong, but because the rhythm of the music contradicts the rhythm of the film.
In practice, this means that composers rarely “set” rhythm freely. More often, they listen for it: in breathing, in pauses, in the distance between lines, in the way a scene unfolds rather than what it shows. Music that fights the film’s rhythm almost always loses.
Example
In Mad Max: Fury Road (George Miller), rhythm is defined visually before the score reinforces it. Editing, camera movement, and action choreography establish a relentless pulse that music does not invent, but amplifies. Junkie XL’s score locks into this pre-existing rhythm rather than competing with it. The result feels powerful precisely because music follows the film’s momentum instead of setting it.
When music sets time – and when it must follow
There are moments when music is allowed to lead time. Montages, transitions, title sequences, or sequences that deliberately step outside naturalistic flow often invite music to shape temporal perception.
But in most narrative scenes, music follows. It follows the pace of thought, not the pace of action. It follows emotional processing, not plot mechanics. When music imposes a tempo too early, it compresses meaning. It decides too much, too fast.
One of the most common problems in film scoring is not “too much music”, but music that enters time before the film itself is ready.
Example
The French Connection (William Friedkin) shows how powerful restraint can be when narrative time is driven by observation and realism. Key scenes, including the famous chase, unfold through editing, movement, and ambient sound rather than musical propulsion. The Music by Jack Nitzsche never dictates pace or emotion – it stays secondary to lived time. Leading time here would have weakened the film’s tension instead of strengthening it.
Tempo before harmony
Harmony is never neutral. Every chord carries emotional weight. But how that weight is perceived depends entirely on time.
The same harmony can feel tense, calm, hopeful, or oppressive depending on tempo and rhythmic density. A slow harmonic rhythm allows emotion to unfold. A fast one pushes it forward. Without understanding the temporal context, harmonic choices are blind.
This is why discussions about harmony in film music often feel incomplete when tempo and rhythm are treated as secondary concerns. In reality, they come first. Harmony does not define time. Time defines harmony.
Example
The harmonic language of Blade Runner (Ridley Scott) is remarkably simple, yet deeply affecting. Its emotional meaning emerges not from complexity, but from duration: sustained chords, slow harmonic change, and extended sonic space. Without time, these harmonies would say very little. It is the film’s temporal atmosphere that allows Vangelis‘s harmony to resonate at all.
Time as emotional meaning
Film is not only a sequence of events – it is an experience of duration. Waiting, hesitation, suspension, acceleration, stillness: these are not narrative details, they are emotional states. Music interacts with them not by describing them, but by inhabiting them.
Sometimes the most powerful musical decision is to let time stretch without adding movement. Sometimes it is to compress time by repetition. In both cases, music is not expressing emotion directly – it is shaping how long the audience is allowed to feel it.
Example
In L’Avventura (Michelangelo Antonioni), time is established long before the music from Giovanni Fusco enters the film. Extended shots, pauses, and narrative gaps define a temporal experience that music is not allowed to interrupt. Fusco’s score appears only after this sense of duration has settled, carefully aligning itself with a world already shaped by time. The music does not introduce meaning – it waits for it.
Why themes arrive late
Themes need stability. They need time to repeat, to return, to transform. A theme introduced before the temporal logic of a film is established risks becoming decorative or premature.
This is why many memorable film themes appear late, or evolve gradually. They grow out of an already defined relationship to time and rhythm. Without that foundation, a theme has nothing to stand on.
Film music usually does not start with melody. It earns it over time.
Example
For a large part of Cast Away (Robert Zemeckis), music is almost entirely absent. Only once time has passed – emotionally and narratively – does a theme finally emerge. When it does, it no longer accompanies love, but reflects on its loss. Alan Silvestri’s theme works precisely because it arrives late, grounded in a temporal reality the audience has already lived through.
Summary
Film music begins where time becomes emotion. Before harmony, before chords, before themes, a film has already decided how it moves through time – and how it allows the audience to experience it. Music that understands this does not explain the film. It aligns with it. To truly understand film music, one has to ask a more fundamental question first:
What is time in this film?
- Film music starts with time, not with notes
- The tempo of a film is felt, not measured
- Rhythm already exists before music enters
- Harmony depends on time to make sense
- Music rarely should lead time in narrative scenes
- Themes require temporal stability
Contact
JP Composers
Julian Pešek (Einzeluntermehmer)
Südstraße 45
04178 Leipzig
Telefon: +49 171 9101572
Mail: julian@jp-composers.com
