MAPS 2 - SOUND IN THEATRE, CINEMA AND MULTIMEDIA

By: Mikaela Minga

2023-12-09

These writings, commissioned by UNAA x ArtNexus Program, will not merely shed light on the artistic production and distribution; they aim to critically analyse and document the prevailing conditions and methodologies that artists navigate. By doing this, they not only bolster the advocacy facet of the ArtNexus initiative but also weave art back into the fabric of everyday conversations, stimulating economic growth within the sector.

____________________________________________

Sound is a fundamental element in the realms of theater, cinema, and multimedia. With the advent of recording and reproduction technologies, sound has gained an extraordinary expressive power, markedly distinct from its capabilities prior to these inventions. These technologies enabled sound to "be detached" from its original source and achieve a newfound independence. From that moment on, recorded sound could be manipulated – played back, sped up, or slowed down, provided there are devices to reproduce them. Moreover, these sounds can be artistically merged in various creative forms. This is exemplified by the emergence of genres such as musique concrète, electroacoustic music, and electronic music, all of which testify the innovative experimentation made possible by these technological developments.

Another fascinating aspect of this "liberated" sound is related to how it could be paired with images, movements, and objects that, as Walter Murch observes, may be completely unrelated to the original context or object that produced it¹. This ability to connect sound in such versatile ways underscores its importance, particularly in theater, cinema, and other scenic and multimedia genres. The integration of noises, sound effects, and even experiments with amplified voices forms a real laboratory for technical and aesthetic exploration. Furthermore, sound amplification technologies (such as stereo sound, Dolby Surround, Dolby Atmos, etc.), serve as the conduits through which this sound reaches us. These technologies have undergone significant transformations and various stages of development.

These dynamics have also spurred corresponding scholarly reflections. Notably significant in this context is the work of Michel Chion, "L'Audio-Vision. Son et image au cinéma" (Audiovision: Sound and Image in Cinema), published for the first time in 1990. This book delves into the symbiotic relationship between sound and image, exploring how the senses influence and transform each other, and examining the role this interplay plays in shaping our auditory and visual perceptions.

Chion's perspective can serve as a form of awareness beyond cinema, regarding the role of the soundscape within theatrical, cinematographic, and multimedia works, encouraging us to listen and understand how it is created, the role technology plays in this creation, and how this soundscape interacts with other senses². These reflections cannot be made by isolating sounds alone but require the development of active listening, an approach that interacts with sight. Another aspect to be highlighted is the creative interconnection between art and technology, considering that technology is not merely a tool serving art but an integral mechanism in the entire creative process.

Albania, due to its dictatorial and isolating context, lagged behind in keeping up with the developments of sound technologies, also because the potential high costs of technological investments for music recordings or film production could strain the Albanian state economy. The technology used remained at modest levels. Sound recordings were managed even in stereo mode, yet the playback often remained mono, significantly affecting the listening experience. In Albanian cinema, the entirety of sounds - dialogue, music, effects, noise - was edited in the studio. This approach was not a directorial choice but rather a necessity due to the impossibility of doing it differently. For those who have greater aural amenability, this meant a general uniformity of the film sound, problems with synchronization, and a certain artificiality compared to the more "realistic" reflection of on-set sounds. The latter were recorded merely for orientation. (On the other hand, lack of technology contributed to the scarcity of sound effects and noises).

From this perspective, the work of sound engineers or editors in Albania remained constrained and, to some extent, "spartan." They had to find solutions that could have been much more easily achieved with up-to-date technology. Nevertheless, this did not hinder special collaborations, highlighting the importance of sound engineers like Spiro Konduri, Asim Raxhimi, and others in the film industry. In the realm of theater, the limitations regarding sound and technology were even more pronounced, however despite these constraints, there was no shortage of innovative solutions in the intelligent use of sound and music, as exemplified in the works of Pirro Mani or Mihal Luarasi.

This topic is extensive, particularly in considering the agency of these professionals; how they managed to work within a centralized and restrictive environment. Overall, however, it demonstrates that, unlike internationally, Albania's sound technology failed to realize its full potential. Similarly, it would be incomplete trying to understand the complex post-communist landscape without acknowledging a kind of auditory impoverishment, as described by Florian Çanga³. This auditory deficit, along with economic and social poverty, was a legacy of the past. To Çanga's observations, I would add the dissolution or decline of state institutions responsible for this sector, such as Kinostudio. Despite various efforts, such a centralized state enterprise was unable to evolve or reform into any contemporary form.

Overall, however, it demonstrates that, unlike internationally, Albania's sound technology failed to realize its full potential. Similarly, it would be incomplete trying to understand the complex post-communist landscape without acknowledging a kind of auditory impoverishment, as described by Florian Çanga. This auditory deficit, along with economic and social poverty, was a legacy of the past⁴.

As a result, in the past 30 years, development in this field has largely been driven by individuals passionate about working and experimenting in sound technology, in the absence of a stable environment willing to support their ideas and ventures. This situation has placed them in constant, often intense, confrontation with several challenges, including: the socio-political climate, technological hurdles, the shortsightedness and insensitivity of colleagues or institutions not always receptive, the lack of funding, and the hurdles posed by a non-existent market devoid of any clear rules. Consequently, these individuals have made personal and professional choices that, from a broader perspective, underscore the fragility of their initiatives within an artistic reality still struggling to confront not only the external artistic world but also its own challenges.

Consequently, these individuals have made personal and professional choices that, from a broader perspective, underscore the fragility of their initiatives within an artistic reality still struggling to confront not only the external artistic world but also its own challenges.

The cases I have chosen to focus on appear as isolated creative episodes. Yet, they still provoke thoughtful consideration of sound. These works, significant in their own right, have not been adequately documented, particularly when it comes to theater. To revisit them, I worked closely with the authors, who also provided access to their works. This was complemented with interviews and conversations (sometimes virtual), fostering a kind of introspective reflection from each artist about their works. Temporal distance played a great role for that.

Firstly, I'd like to focus on the works of Gentian Shkurti. In 1997, during his second year of university, Shkurti began exploring video art as a distinct genre for experimentation and self-expression⁵. His work, Alice in Wonderland, is a dark parody reflecting on the tumultuous events of 1997 in Albania. He skillfully combined fragments of the renowned Disney cartoon with news clips on Albania's troubled situation. To weave these elements into a cohesive narrative, he used intertitles typical of silent films, through which Liza enters this world of "wonders," where "I shoot you with a gun, you shoot me, and whoever survives, shoots another." These visuals are set to Duke Ellington's "Take the 'A' Train" (in the orchestra version). Referring to the sound aesthetics of "silent" films - with quotation marks to acknowledge the paradox that the film was never truly silent - Shkurti undertakes an almost schizophrenic operation: he replaces the images’ original sound. This concerns more in particular, the gunfire sounds, for which he likely had a more vivid aural perception than the one broadcasted on the news. He substitutes that sound with the propulsive swing of the 1940s, an unperturbed sound, pushing perpetually forward (just like the train movement). This juxtaposition lends the images (both real and animated), an added layer of bizarreness in their rational irrationality. Technologically speaking, the way he achieved this work is equally "phantasmagorical" by today's standards: he used news clips recorded on videotapes from Greek television news reports and edited them using two video record players simultaneously. Yet, he has no memory regarding the process of editing the music, sourced from an audio cassette of the era (illustrated in photo 1) with the images⁶.

In this work, Shkurti’s aesthetic statement is built up by first focusing on the image, to which he later adds music. At this point, we can draw a parallel with the music video Shkurti produces two years later for Bojken Lako's song "Merre [stresin] lehtë / [Take it easy]". Here, Shkurti reverses his approach by crafting the visual narrative from the music. In this instance, we encounter a stream of seemingly simpler images that visually comment on the song's content⁷. Yet, even here, he manages to challenge the conventional relationship between song and accompanying images, by skillfully blending footage of Bojken Lako performing on large concert stages and in the recording studio – as a parallel to the singer's personal narrative – with archival footage from the dictatorial period, showcasing massive, orchestrated scenes that move in sync with the song's prominent techno/electro-rock beat. These decontextualized images are not just aesthetic choices but represent the state of a society emerging from dictatorship, encapsulating complex experiences and emotions.

Collaborations similar to the one between Lako and Shkurti also distinguish the works of director Ermela Teli and composer Mardit Lleshi. For Teli, sound is a character in itself⁸; and she diligently seeks it within her films. The soundtrack for the short film Homage (2010) is entirely produced and edited in the studio. Among the voices of different characters, prominent in the film is the voice of the main character, a girl who engages in an existential monologue while navigating through various cityscapes. Overlaying this monologue are various excerpts from the Concerto-Fantasy for Violin and Piano, which is based on themes from Gounod's opera Faust and composed by Pablo de Sarasate, along with electronic music (in the style of ambient sound) created by Mardit Leki (Lleshi). The cues, which at times overlap the character's voice and at others accompany the images, create contrasting juxtapositions from the perspective of musical genres. This blend of different musical elements with the narrative voice adds a complex, multi-layered dimension to the film's audiovisual experience. The film skillfully plays with counterpoint, as evidenced when Sarasate's music accompanies chaotic city images, and with contrast, notably when it transitions to an electronic soundscape, vastly different from that of acoustic instruments. Furthermore, the sound elements are not edited in a conventional manner that typically highlights specific themes or motifs. Instead, they appear as disjointed fragments, akin to music existing in the main character's mind, thus the contrasts and counterpoints resonate on a psychological level. The film does not adhere to matching musical pieces precisely with the montage, reminiscent of the nouvelle vague's free and unconventional approach to film music. A particularly striking feature is the film's lengthy closing sequence, where the camera steadfastly focuses on a pigeon on a perch and follows its flight, all while the concluding part of the concert-fantasy continues to play.

Architecture of Sadness (2012) explores different sound features. The film is structured around three episodes, linked by an emotional thread and the need to narrate certain situations audio visually. It begins with a non-feminist reinterpretation of the legend of Rozafat's wall, followed by episodes from the dictatorial period and the transition. In the first two chapters, the film primarily uses sound effects and noises to create a realistic "mirror" of the diegetic sounds within the shot scenes (such as footsteps on grass, whispered words, the clinking of stones, and notably the sound of a ping-pong ball, which transitions from diegetic to extra-diegetic, becoming a sonic “theme”). Thus, this transition from the “musique concrete” sound state in the first two chapters to the third chapter's use of musical themes sounds surprising and contradictory: it begins with a cello accompanied by an electronic background of effects and rhythms, culminating in an improvised solo. In this final part, the camera centers on the performer, Mardit Lleshi himself, playing "live" on a neutral stage (the only backdrop is a wall where his shadow is cast), captured in black and white photography with emphasized light and shadow contrasts, until the scene fades to darkness, paving the way for the closing credits.

The sound work is a product of the director's collaboration with French sound engineer Nicolas Verhaeghe. On the other hand, Mardit Lleshi develops his unique musical language, which seamlessly blends his roles as both instrumentalist and composer, while incorporating either the acoustic or the electronic dimensions of music and melding improvisation with music composition. Finally, source music is intertwined with studio-produced audio edited for accompanying the images. Lleshi's distinctive musical language complements the film's visuals in a notably poignant manner, something that is further enhanced by the film's unconventional montage.

Theater might seem to offer fewer possibilities for sound compared to film and multimedia. However, technological advancements have demonstrated the opposite. In Albania, only a handful of directors have fully explored this potential. Notable among them are Enton Kacaj and Ergys Lubonja for their work on Ionesco's Chairs (October 2005)⁹; Donald Hasani with David Harrower's Blackbird (March 2016)¹⁰; and Sesilia Plasari with R. W. Fassbinder's Freedom in Bremen (December 2014)¹¹. A common thread in all these productions is their creative collaboration with the projection designer Florian Çanga, who is also the producer of Blackbird. Çanga, as a projection designer, has also delved into the realm of sound. In the first mentioned work, there's experimentation with the amplified voice and its theatrical potential. For Kacaj, this has been a consistent area of research, leading to this particular theatrical choice¹². The production also featured music played "live" on stage. Nonetheless, the most distinctive aspect remains the use of the microphone for each character during the performance. Voice reverberation and its reflective effects completely transform the perception of space within the theater. Çanga also works with microphones in Blackbird and, in this case, the technique is essential for appropriately engaging with his scenic solution: the drama is constructed as a virtual dialogue between two characters – one on stage and the other on screen. This approach aligns with Çanga’s ambition to apply the principles of "database cinema" to theater. The success of the production - realized as an independent artistic project - lies precisely in this aspiration to fragment the story with two physically separated characters connected through virtual image and amplified voice.

Among all the works mentioned, "Freedom in Bremen" by Sesilia Plasari stands out as an artistically profound conveyance of the significance of sound in relation to all other components. This emphasis on sound begins right from the initial table read and continues through to the final show¹³. Instead of using microphones for the actors, the production features a complex array of noises, effects, and musical pieces that seamlessly integrate into the stage action, functioning as a unified entity. Plasari also effectively employs sonic counterpoint to balance the intense emotional relationships between the powerful situations and images in Fassbinder's work with the "lighter" sound of the quoted musical numbers. Her significant message to the audience is not to be passive, like cattle heading to the slaughterhouse, as depicted in the show, but to cultivate an observational instinct, to be attentive to their actions in relation to life and others¹⁴. Such a message is also skillfully conveyed through the way sound is constructed. The production comes as a close collaboration with Çanga and his own technological equipment. For such equipment the National Theater stage does not provide even the minimal prerequisites.

Sesilia Plasari’s significant message to the audience is not to be passive, like cattle heading to the slaughterhouse, as depicted in the show, but to cultivate an observational instinct, to be attentive to their actions in relation to life and others¹⁵. Such a message is also skillfully conveyed through the way sound is constructed.

The examples discussed illustrate that working with sound can be even more complex than with visual imagery, and that technology and creative aesthetics are intricately intertwined. Consequently, one of the primary areas warranting critical attention is the professional profile of individuals who specialize in sound. Until the early 1990s, these roles were mainly limited to sound engineers and sound operators, whose skills were particularly valued among professionals directly involved in sound work. Today, however, there is a much broader variety of roles in this field. These include on-set sound recordists, sound engineers (also known as foley artists, who focus on effects), sound designers, and composers. Each of these roles contributes to the rich tapestry of auditory experiences in various media. This constitutes a distinct team, which often functions within a company or a network overseeing each stage of a film's production. In the absence of such a team, an alternative for those with financial resources is to collaborate with foreign studios. The productions lacking such a work on sound are often distinctly recognizable, at least based on my experiences at film festivals, for their sound quality and the presence of certain flaws, such as barely audible dialogue, overly heavy effects, or other perceptible details.

In Albania, specialized profiles in sound technology are scarce, and those who exist typically work as freelancers. Recognizing these challenges, pragmatic solutions are often adopted. Video artists like Gentian Shkurti choose not to invest in high-tech equipment in a financial environment that might limit his creative freedom. On the other hand, on-set recorders like Bardhyl Xhani or Endri Pine are cautious with technological and infrastructural expenses. This caution stems from the limited opportunities for this type of technology to justify the investment, as well as a lack of awareness among directors about the importance of sound.

Investing in sound quality also means investing in technology, which seems paradoxical given that current theater halls, such as Ar-Turbina, lack even the most basic acoustic parameters, and cinemas require updates with modern audio systems¹⁶. The path to improvement involves continuous investment, particularly by local institutions, to gradually develop infrastructure that meets the specific needs of the artistic community. This development should be aligned with establishing ongoing collaborations with countries possessing advanced sound technology infrastructure. Moreover, education should focus not just on professional training through schools or courses, but on fostering a more comprehensive education in active listening. This approach emphasizes the idea that sound, before being an object on its own, is primarily a whole culture.

Moreover, education should focus not just on professional training through schools or courses, but on fostering a more comprehensive education in active listening. This approach emphasizes the idea that sound, before being an object on its own, is primarily a whole culture.

Acknowledgment:

I extend my gratitude to those who shared their information and data, contributing to the realization of this essay: Elsa Demo, Spiro Konduri, Gentian Shkurti, Ermela Teli, Mardit Lleshi, Endri Pine, Enton Kacaj, Florian Çanga, Eno Milkani, Bardhyl Xhani, Renis Hyka, and Adriana Tolka.

Captions for the photographs in the gallery:

Photo 1 and 2: Duke Ellington's original audio tape used as sound for Alice in Wonderland by Gentian Shkurti. Photo by Gentian.

Photo 3: Image from the movie Homage directed by Ermela Teli (2010)

Photo 4: Image from the film Architecture of Sadness directed by Ermela Teli. (2012). In the photo: composer and cellist Mardit Lleshi while performing.

Photo 5: Asim Raxhimi, AQSHF

Photo 6: Spiro Konduri, AQSHF

Photo 7: Xhevat Behri, sound Operator, AQSHF

Photo 8: Photo by Florian Çanga

Photo 9: Photo by Florian Çanga

Photo 10: Photo by Florian Çanga

Photo 11: Endri Pine. My Lake shooting set. Directed by Gjergj Xhuvani (2018)

Photo 12: Endri Pine. My Lake shooting set. Directed by Gjergj Xhuvani (2018)

Photo 13: Ermela Teli. Audio recording day for Audio Installation Wall. (2014)

Photo 14: Film set for Wicked Game. Directed by Ermela Teli (2012)

Photo 15: Shooting set for Girl with Suitcase directed by Ermela Teli (2015)

Photo 16: Conversation with Mardit Lleshi, 11.07.2023

Photo 17: Classroom for the course on Video and Sound Design for Stage in Verona. Photo by Florian Çanga

Photo 18: Image from the drama Blackbird (2016). Photo by Florian Çanga

Photo 19: Poster of Bremen Freedom

Photo 20: Poster of Blackbird

About the author Mikaela Minga

Mikaela Minga is an ethno/musicologist at the Institute of Cultural Anthropology and Art Studies in Tirana. She's currently head of the Department of Folklore. Also, Minga is a guest lecturer at the University of Arts for the subjects: Music and film, Jazz and popular music. Her research field includes music of the 20th century (both traditional, popular and artistic). She has a specific focus on urban musical practices in Albania and the Mediterranean; studies on sound and sound archives; film music, as well as the dynamics of music in dictatorial regimes. She is the author of several monographs such as: Luciano Berio and Folk Song, 2008; Spanja Pipa e la canzone urbana di Korça, 2015 (with Nicola Scaldaferri as co-author), Sounds that tell, sounds that are told, 2020; the musical album Armenian songs from Drenova/Arumune songs from Drenova, 2018 (prepared in collaboration with Josif Minga) and a series of articles and essays.