A Closer Listen
Robert Morgan’s STOPMOTION is one of the bleakest and most disturbing horror films to hit the market in years. The film is not an easy watch: a slow burn, foreboding from the start, visually graphic and emotionally upsetting. One knows things are not going to go well for the protagonist, a stop-motion artist whose victimization by her mother manifests itself first in visions and then in actions, until she becomes a puppet herself. After the film ends, one remains haunted; it’s hard to get these images out of one’s head, and even harder to purge the distress.
But what would the movie be without the music of Lola de la Mata? There’s not much music in the film, perhaps only half an hour; but the music arrives like little attacks and ratchets up the dread until it is almost impossible to take. Like the puppets, the music is angular and sharp-edged, eschewing melody in favor of atmosphere. Its lack of predicability – not only how it plays, but when it plays – keeps the viewer/listener on edge. Using multiple instruments, de la Mata imitates the unease of scuttling animals, hallway strangers, hidden compartments and woodland stalkers. At the same time, she scores the sound of a mind growing unglued. There is no safety in the soundtrack, not even for a moment.
The remastered score allows the listener to appreciate the music severed from the visuals, although for those who have seen the film, some residual images will remain. The expanded album also includes three bonus tracks that extend the experience, creating a slightly different narrative. Giclée prints of Ash Man, Meat Girl and Wax Ella (pictured right) can be purchased along with the LP, allowing one to bring the images home.
The fact that this music is “constructed from composed parts and improvisations” connects Lola and Ella, one creating from bowed cymbals, harpsichord, violin, zither and larynx, the other from clay, sticks, a dead fox and her own blood and sinew. The process of creation can be painful, but seldom so painful as it is portrayed in the film. Two double bassists and two clarinetists make guest appearances, roughly correlating to the boyfriend and co-workers who seem to want what is best for Ella, but whose true opinions of her work are revealed late in the film.
From the opening moments of “A Kindling,” the listener is set on edge, awaiting a sudden shock that will never come; instead, the horror will seep around the edges, creep around the corner and eventually fill every nook and cranny until no light remains. In “tethered,” de la Mata vocalizes without discernible words, like a second personality or spectral twin. “aura” chortles and grinds and quickly disappears; the biggest difference between the film and the score is that the silences of the score are only momentary. This means that the six tracks that are under a minute long seem more a part of the whole, connected to each other like sticks and clay.
The first “longer” track (albeit only 2:51), “The Ashman,” builds directly from the creaking door timbre of “Into Soil,” and toys with breath and silence, which may be even more scary without the visuals. The screeching strings are like unsheathed knives. “Unearthed” showcases a galloping sound like a swiftly-approaching menace, ready to burst through the trees at any moment. Soft vocalizations imitate an incantation, the subjects brought to life in “Meat Puppets.” This time the breath seems closer, like a whisper in one’s ear when one is alone.
The fact that the later tracks are longer allows the mood to settle in. The all-vocal “My Body is in My Soul” is crucial, as it is the only time the score feels melancholic rather than frightening. One can feel the anguish of the protagonist, pulled from both sides, ripping apart. In this moment, the score and the film grow three-dimensional, the feeling extended in the end credits, when voice is joined by the album’s most overt use of electronics.
At this point the movie ends, but the album continues with three bonus tracks, including a cover of David Lynch’s “In Heaven (Lady in the Radiator)” (from Eraserhead) and another from rehearsals with a Swiss dance company. The surprise is that they fit despite their more clearly defined forms, partially due to the use of the same instruments. The pitched voice of “In Heaven” is disorienting, working against the vocals, which proclaim that “everything is fine in heaven.” Maybe so – but it doesn’t seem so here, and the tension amplifies the feeling of being unmoored. In this piece, de la Mata honors one of her influences, while proving again that her own voice is remarkably unique. (Richard Allen)
Mon Nov 17 00:01:03 GMT 2025