How 'Undertone' Built Terror With Sound: Inside Ian Tuason's Audio-First Horror Debut
Crafting Fear Through Sound: A Deep Dive into Ian Tuason's Audio-Driven Horror Debut 'Undertone'
The notion that sound is half the picture is a truism, yet watching a debut like Ian Tuason's Undertone reminds you how rarely a filmmaker truly builds their aesthetic from the ground up, with audio as the primary architectural material. This isn't just about jump scares; it's about engineering an entire narrative space where sonic elements don't just underscore dread but actively construct it. Tuason takes a minimalist premise and, for a significant portion of the film, elevates it through an almost surgical approach to sound design, proving that fear can be whispered more effectively than screamed.
Undertone follows Evy Babic, a horror podcast host grappling with her mother's imminent death. This setup immediately positions sound at the narrative's core. Evy's professional life revolves around recording and dissecting urban legends, and her personal life is defined by the labored breathing of a dying parent (portrayed by Michèle Duquet). The film opens with a children's lullaby woven into that very breathing, a chilling premonition of life and death cycles intertwined through audio. It's a bold choice, setting an immediate, pervasive sense of unease before a single character is fully introduced.
The Architecture of Isolation: Auditory Negative Space
The film's most striking quality lies in its commitment to creating a pervasive sense of isolation and dread through auditory negative space. Tuason restricts the visual field, often tethering the camera to close-ups or wide shots of Evy in her suburban duplex, while the soundscape expands and contracts around her. This isn't just a technical flourish; it's a narrative strategy. The absence of visual information forces the audience to rely on their ears, drawing them into Evy's heightened auditory reality.
Think about the production implications of this approach. Crafting such an environment requires meticulous pre-production and a sound team operating with unusual creative latitude. The foley artists, sound editors, and mixers aren't simply augmenting visuals; they are building entire environments and emotional states. The "rickety, suburban duplex," which is reportedly Tuason's own childhood home, becomes a character in itself through its sonic presence: creaks, groans, distant ambient sounds that shift from innocuous to menacing. This isn't just ambiance; it's an active participant in the story.
One of the key techniques Tuason employs involves Evy's podcast recordings. When she dons noise-canceling headphones, the film's soundscape perceptibly shifts. The outside world recedes, and the audience is plunged into her subjective auditory experience. This isn't a new trick, but in Undertone, it's deployed with a focus that makes it impactful. It emphasizes her isolation, even as she speaks with her co-host, Justin, whose voice is heard but whose physical presence is never shown. This deliberate choice to render Justin solely through sound reinforces the film's core theme of un-physical presence and the power of the unseen.
- The meticulous layering of background noises.
These aren't just details; they're foundational elements. A production that relies so heavily on sound demands an exceptional location sound recordist during principal photography, capturing clean dialogue and crucial production effects. Then, in post, sound designer David Gertsman must possess not only technical skill but also a profound understanding of psychological horror. This means precise microphone placement during recording, followed by highly nuanced mixing and sound effects editing to build the world from scratch. It's a stark contrast to projects where sound is an afterthought, mixed expediently to meet a deadline.
Technical Proficiency in Manipulating Sound
Undertone showcases a serious technical proficiency in manipulating sound as a primary narrative and atmospheric tool. The film's use of "found audio" as a plot device (the bizarre audio files of a sleep-talking wife sent to Evy's podcast) is particularly effective. This "acoustic version of found footage" taps into a primal fear: the unknown made manifest through disembodied voices and unsettling sonic anomalies.
Consider the craft involved in these sequences:
- Reverse playback: Evy starts playing children's songs backward, desperately searching for hidden messages. This isn't just a plot point; it's an auditory technique that immediately disorients the viewer. Backward audio inherently sounds alien and disturbing, tapping into our innate sense of linguistic order being corrupted.
The reliance on unseen characters, connected only by their voices, underscores this mastery. Adam DiMarco's Justin, Evy's co-host, exists solely as a voice. This forces the audience to engage with his character (and the characters within the found audio) on a purely auditory level, heightening the mystery and allowing Gertsman and his sound team to sculpt their vocal presence for maximum impact. Voice modulation, subtle effects on the dialogue, and the spatial positioning of the voices within the soundscape become critical elements of character building and narrative progression.
Challenges and Strengths of an Audio-Driven Approach
For a debut feature, especially in horror, relying so heavily on sound presents both significant challenges and unique strengths. The primary challenge is maintaining audience engagement without constant visual stimulation or overt narrative exposition. Early on, as a line producer, I've seen projects falter when they promise a "sound-first" approach but don't fully commit, resulting in a narrative that feels underdeveloped or slow. Undertone largely navigates this by grounding the sensory experience in Evy's psychological descent.
One strength lies in the inherent efficiency. An audio-driven film can leverage sound design as a substitute for elaborate sets, large casts, or complex visual effects. Tuason's use of his own home as a primary location demonstrates this. The budget saved on production design can then be reallocated to a top-tier sound team, allowing for the meticulous craft seen in Undertone. This low-budget, high-impact strategy is a lesson for any indie filmmaker Pre-Production Mastery: The Ultimate Checklist for Independent Filmmakers.
However, the film's critics note a shift later in its runtime, where it reportedly leans into more traditional horror tropes. This transition, from subtle atmospheric horror to more overt jump scares and familiar demonic iconography, can be a double-edged sword. While it might satisfy audiences accustomed to conventional horror beats, it risks diluting the unique sensory experience that defined its earlier, stronger passages. It speaks to the inherent difficulty of sustaining pure auditory dread for an entire feature-length run, especially when studio expectations or genre conventions nudge towards more "accessible" scares.
A debut feature director, particularly one focused on sound, faces immense pressure. They must:
- Build trust with the sonic team: Giving a sound designer like David Gertsman the latitude to sculpt entire scenes requires a deep creative collaboration.
Tuason's approach with Undertone echoes the work of other directors who understood the subtle power of our often-underestimated sense of hearing. Think of the groundbreaking sound work in films like The Conversation or even the psychological dread built by sound in something like Rosemary's Baby. It's a lineage that prioritizes meticulously crafted sonic environments over flashy visuals.
Conclusion: A Sonic Arrival
Undertone marks an ambitious arrival for Ian Tuason as a director who wields sound with precision and intent. While some might argue the film eventually succumbs to conventional horror beats, its initial commitment to an audio-first approach demonstrates a profound understanding of psychological horror. It's a reminder that truly effective scares often don't come from what you see, but from what you hear, or from the ominous quiet that precedes it.
For seasoned professionals, it serves as a masterclass in how to build a world, a character, and an unbearable tension, often with just a flicker of light and a carefully placed sound. It highlights the often-unsung heroes of the sound department (particularly David Gertsman's meticulous work here), whose artistry, when given the proper focus, can create terror that resonates long after the credits roll. The film is a testament to the idea that a compelling audio narrative can be the backbone of a successful and genuinely unsettling horror experience, especially in the independent sphere where creative constraints often breed ingenious solutions.
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