Create Sound effects
Ever wanted to know how to make the sound of penguins dancing, one hand clapping, or brains exploding? Alexandra Coghlan explores the world of Foley art
Sound artist John Dennison at work
Remember Monty Python's King Arthur galloping through the English
countryside on his faithful steed, Patsy, with a pair of coconut shells
for sound effects? It was a joke about something so common we don't
notice it: the art of making Foley.
Foley artists (named
after legendary Universal soundman Jack Foley) are the unsung creators
of the environmental sounds of cinema. We've all heard the swish of a
Hitchcock shower-curtain, the creak of stirrup-leather at the OK
Corral, the clink of James Bond's vodka Martini - but how many of us
realize that the sound was an effect that had to be created, and added
to the sound track in post-production?
"It's storytelling,
really," explains John Dennison, a 28-year veteran of the profession.
"People think it's just mimicking a sound, but Foley is actually the
art of becoming the characters and walking with their body language and
rhythm. Even something simple like sitting down in a chair - there are
so many different ways of doing it: heavily, in a huff, timidly,
perching on the edge."
"Often the sounds we create will sound
more ‘real' than the real ones," he says, and that's the skill. A good
Foley artist will listen and recreate not just the literal sounds, but
the perception of them in that moment. "Sometimes you are trying to
recreate reality, at other times you are aiming for something
deliberately hyperbolic or gross."
The job is often referred to as
‘walking Foley'; a Foley stage is a series of built-in floor surfaces
which assist the Foley artist's most frequently performed task:
recreating footsteps.
"Every Foley artist has a collection of
favourite shoes," Dennison reveals. "Characters are defined by the way
they walk. Think about the jangling spurs and heavy tread of a villain,
or the swirling of a heroine's skirt in period drama. Do they step
heel-toe, or slide their feet? And if they jump, how much weight do
they put into it?"
Foley artists are also responsible for dramatic
and atmospheric noise: anything from early morning birdsong to the din
of a battle-scene. And there are almost no lengths to which they will
not go to get these sounds precisely right.
"For the Imax movie
Antarctica," says Dennison, "we brought half a tonne of real ice into
the studio, and we were all walking around in duffel coats and Ugh
boots, trying to recreate the sounds of these penguins walking and
sliding... In the end, we created the sounds by sliding a soft wet
leather glove across the ice, using our hands to give the right sweep
and speed of the movement."
Predictably, the horror genre demands some especially messy work.
"Back
in the 80s, we did some low-budget horror films including The Roly Poly
Man," Dennison recalls, "which was about a giant worm that grew inside
people's brains and exploded, so there were lots of splattering and
exploding noises that we used boiling porridge for."
With punches
and falls, the Foley artist often ends up hitting himself, or throwing
himself on the ground. Dennison has "given up doing that now," and
prefers the lighter touch of intimate scenes. "The reassuring stroke of
an arm, the sound of someone dressing quietly - it all needs to be so
understated."
Despite the technical aspects, good Foley really depends on the artist's instinct and imagination.
"It
just has to be felt," Dennison stresses. "It's a case of trial and
error until you believe it. There are no real formulas in this
profession. Some of the old classics, like the coconuts as horses
hooves, still work."