Whoosh! Zap! Pyoo pyoo pyoo! Zwonnnng.
No, I’m not a elementary-aged child running around the playground while ODing on sugar packets and orange juice. I’m just reminding myself of Star Trek’s wonderful sound effects from over the years. We always remember Trek for its lovable characters, its often-hokey but always effective sets and special effects, and its idealistic vision of the future.
Today, though, we at Overthinking It’s Think Tank are going to focus on what really made Trek Trek: the zips, zaps, zoops, and that “Woo! Woo! Woo!” sound the ship always made when Kirk called for red alert. Who ever said space was silent?
Read them all and vote for your favorite at the end.
Tribbles, by Mlawski
What’s the trouble with tribbles? Contrary to popular belief, it’s not that they are constantly birthing new baby tribbles and eating your quadro-triticale hybrid grain. The trouble is that, like many aliens on the original series, they look pretty fake. Look at it. Does this look like anything more than an oversized pom pom? How could Uhura possibly be won over by such an obviously fake creatu—
Oh my god it’s so cute. Would you listen to that purr? Don’t you just want it to snuggle up against you and coo you to sleep? Its almost as if its trilling has a tranquilizing effect on my human nervous system…
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RZ5Nl8HKIJM
Oh. Sorry. I dozed off there for a second. Thinking about tribbles and their adorable, adorable purrs. The purr’s not enough for you? Then consider the Tribble’s ultimate weapon: the anti-Klingon squeal. Behold.
So let’s review. The tribbles’ purrs and squeaks
a) got Uhura to buy a tribble in the first place, leading to the Enterprise’s doom,
b) reduced the ever-logical Spock to a puddle of tribbly wuv, and
c) uncovered an evil plot by a dastardly, disguised Klingon.
Man, what can’t tribbles do? Other than use effective birth control, of course.
The Annoying High-Pitched Beeping on Kirk’s Bridge, by Belinkie
In the new Star Trek film, the ship gracefully wheels and dives through three dimensional space. The Enterprise on the old show had all the mobility of an oil tanker. This is partially because the special effects at the time didn’t allow wheeling and diving. But it’s also because in Gene Roddenberry’s mind, the Enterprise is a submarine.
You’ve got all the naval designations, like “USS,” “decks,” and “torpedoes.” Not “missiles”; “torpedoes.” And if you think about it, the comparison makes sense. The sea and space are both ridiculously hostile environments, in which a hull breech means almost certain death.
That brings me to the sound effect – the constant beeping that you hear on the bridge. Here’s a good sample, from the great Next Generation episode where Scotty winds up on the Enterprise D.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qrwRaMdoeHE&start=257
Anyone who has ever seen a submarine film knows what this sound is: sonar. It’s a powerful audio cue that even though we’re in a crazy sci-fi world, some of the cliches of submarine combat apply. Don’t forget, in the 60’s, audiences would be much more familiar with these cliches. The 50’s were the golden age of submarine movies.
Of course, the Next Generation Enterprise doesn’t make this beeping sound. All you hear on that bridge is the low rumble of the engines. This seems only appropriate, because by the 80’s, we don’t imagine future space exploration in terms of undersea exploration. Post Star Wars, we think of space ships as fast and maneuverable, like planes. Now admittedly, the Enterprise D still maneuvers like a whale – it’s not until some of the later TV shows that you see real dogfighting in the Star Trek universe. But I think the shift from bridge beeping to no bridge beeping is significant. The ship feels less like a dangerous tin can and more of a luxury liner. Whether that’s an improvement is debatable.
Doors Opening from The Original Series, by Lee
In Star Trek: TOS, when a door opens, you can’t help but to notice it. Although it starts with a subtle sliding sound, it ends with an obnoxious and unmistakable SQUEAK.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hc1kXHQv_ko&start=73
(This is a pretty bizarre clip; I recommend watching the whole thing after reading the rest of this post)
Why such a loud door sound on a starship? I can’t imagine that sliding doors back in the 60’s were actually that loud. But such a sound does fit with the “starship as a submarine” metaphor proposed by Belinkie. In an environment where hull breech means certain death, the ship needs to be sealed nice and tight. Think about doors on a submarine. Each one has a spinny handle which is used for, you guessed it, sealing off a compartment in the event of a hull breach to keep the water out. On the Enterprise, imagine if any given part of the ship experiences some sort of air leakage. How do you keep the air inside a given room? By sealing it…with the doors. So every time the door opens a little seal is being broken. Hence the squeaky sound.
But the sound of the door is more than just a sign of its utility. It’s also a story telling device. Think about it. EVERY TIME someone comes into a room, you hear this substantial sound effect. It’s an announcement, a heralding, of someone new arriving into a scene, typically the bridge. You know how, when you’re reading Shakespeare, and you come across the stage directions that announce that someone has entered the scene?
Enter ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN
Enter RICHARD III
Enter THE DRAGON
Etc. Just like when you see the word “Enter,” when you hear the SQUEAK of the door, your brain prepares for a shift. Someone new is here. Things are about to get interesting.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5575CtctqYU&start=22
The Next Generation Transporters, by Fenzel
Another awesome Trek sound effect.
With a twinkling imitation of a cluster of stars, they are transported to a heretofore unseen world — they step out of their dull but demanding everyday lives and onto distant ground full of sights unseen and dangers yet to face. But when the time of exploration is over — and at some point it always is — that twinkling comes back, sometimes saving you, sometimes dragging you back to where you always are. Every overthinker ought to appreciate the Star Trek transporter — it’s meta to the extreme. The audience sees a representation of their own experience; of the escape they look for from science fiction — and they hear it, too.
Most of my fondness for the transporter sound effect works across properties — and I think it’s the most important and well-used sound effect in the series — but TNG is the gold standard for how to do transporter scenes. The other interpretations feel to me, for good or ill, like deviations from how it “really” works. About a minute in, this clip does a really good job showing the difference between the TNG and original series transporter sounds. Note how much fuller, bolder and more encouraging the TNG sound effect is. (Heh, I noticed I chose the same clip as Belinkie. Well, watch it again. It’s a great one for sound effects.)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qrwRaMdoeHE
TNG had wonderful sound design. The next time you watch an episode, pay special attention when they turn on the Red Alert siren. It grounds the change in mood perfectly — urgent without being frenetic, dissonant without being angsty. I almost listed that Red Alert sound effect as my favorite, and I think it deserves an honorable mention.
Sound effects in TNG are used somewhat sparingly, usually to mark off changing beats. When the action moves to the Enterprise, the dull background hum of the ship (heck, I’d make that sound effect #3 in my book) tells you exactly where you are. The rhythmic beeping when a character turns to a computer terminal justifies whatever revelation comes afterward (how much more willing are you to accept that the computer can track down the name and picture of that random guy who was alive on a distant planet 300 years ago after that beeping than you would be without it, I wonder). The metallo-electric whoosh of the replicator is just friendly enough to let you know that it’s time to sit down for some candid conversation with green bubbly beer or Earl Grey Hot.
Now that's Earl Grey Hot!
But the transporter has the heaviest burden to lift. The sound effect has to say either “here comes the unknown” or “here comes the familiar” with notes of both dignity and fantasy. Resembling nothing as much as the cascade of a hundred miniature Aeolian harps inside one of those big plastic spinning noisemaker tubes, it is lyrical enough to imply magic, but steady enough to reflect human artifice and technology. That same sound effect introduces one of the most broadly diverse arrays of settings and experiences in television, and the audience never misses a beat, never questions what is happening.
Every time you hear that sound effect, you know that something is changing, that something has arrived. And you accept it instantly. It’s form, it’s function, it’s design — and even outside that, it’s a pretty cool sound just to listen to.
I don’t like the ones with steadier tones as much, like the original series transporter. They shrink the scope of the storytelling and underplay the wonder of what is taking place. TNG definitely is the best in this regard. But the superiority of TNG should come as no surprise to anyone with even passing familiarity with these shows. And that’s something you can flame me for in the comments.
The Next Generation Communicator, by Wrather
Can you hear me now?
The TNG communicator represented a giant step forward from the proto flip-phones of TOS. With the lightest of taps, the shiny starfleet insignia worn on the left breast of TNG uniforms (like a law enforcement badge) could query information, perform tasks, and instantly connect connect its user with any other person in the galaxy. Oh, and it was a GPS (G = Galactic, not Global) tracker as well.
It was like Google, Skype, Wolfram Alpha and the singularity all rolled into one. Admit it: you wanted one. I know I did. And if I’d had one, I would have probably tapped it with about the level of compulsion I hit Command-L in Firefox to surf the internet, perform searches, and send email. Or Command-K for Searches. Or Command-Space for Quicksilver. (Actually, this seems to be a big sumbling block for technology at the moment: There are too many communicators.)
As a child, I bought a replica commuincator pin at one of the several Star Trek conventions I attended as a barely-pubescent child who hadn’t yet discovered girls. It was heavy, it was shiny, it required not one but two fasteners to keep it on your shirt, and it was, once I had it in my eager hands, an untter disappointment.
Why? It was silent. It didn’t emit the distinctive chirp that signalled that you were connected. I don’t know what I was expecting. The thing didn’t even have batteries.
The sound that I had heard on TV and longed to hear from my own communicator minimal and efficient. It conveyed chirpy optimism. It symbolized connection (it was like a higher-pitched version of the “hailing frequencies open” sound). It was definitively electronic, and promised access to a vast wealth of computer knowledge. And the lack of it—the terrifying experience of finding oneself out of range, unable to call for help or be transported from danger—was a narrative sign that Something Had Gone Horribly Wrong.
Maybe, just maybe, I had some half-formed incohate hope that my communicator would emit that rapid series of beeps and squawks which would signal the end of my boring life on earth and the beginning of interplanetary adventure. Wrather out.
