Some fine arctic music comes from Quintet, the much-maligned Robert Altman 1973 film.
The highs are punctuated by the intermittent tinkling of glass, evocative of the crystallized snow and ice that cover this frozen world. We hear this especially in the main casino as we hover around the wholly incongruous glass chandelier that hangs above the set. Indeed, the chandelier could easily be mistaken for icicles when we see it for the first time, before it comes into focus. We also hear high squeaks and creaks as Essex searches the city directory, the cracked ice-like glass panes that swivel on rusted metal piping again evoke ice and cold.
And yes, there are Gothic touches, beyond the stress of watching the film itself:
In the midrange, footsteps during the deathly quiet chase scenes are often accompanied by the muffled crunch of packed snow underfoot, so evocative of a frozen winter setting bathed in a quilting silence. Somehow, the role of the Quintet dice onto the wood or fabric playing board seems to enhance this effect: the role of dice--which may mean life or death for the players--has never sounded so bleak and helpless as in the world of Quintet.
We finally come to the lower frequencies: the aching, rolling groans of the glacial ice are constant reminders that this is a world in its final stages.
Mention should also be made of the wild dogs feeding on the abandoned dead, the awful sounds of human flesh being shredded, and tooth-on-bone, along with the low growl of the savage beasts, can only be described as horrific.
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