A universal language: the importance of music within Andrea Arnold’s working-class stories
Near the end of Andrea Arnold’s second feature, Fish Tank, words that cannot be said are instead expressed through the character’s bodies as they silently dance to the Nas song ‘Life’s a Bitch’. It’s one of the most powerful moments in the film; the dance communicates more than words ever could between 15-year-old Mia, her little sister, and her mother. It is just one of several unforgettable instances where Arnold uses music as a storytelling device and something she does incredibly well.
The filmmaker won the Jury Prize at the Cannes Film Festival for Fish Tank, and the film remains one of her greatest accomplishments. A searing coming-of-age tale about a working-class teenager, Arnold explores Mia’s experience of growing up in a council flat, raised by a single mother who would rather throw parties and spend time with her new boyfriend. Outside of home, she struggles to connect with friends, too, resorting to dancing to hip-hop songs in an abandoned flat instead. Dancing proves to be her outlet, even if she’s not the most skilled at it.
She soon connects with her mother’s boyfriend, Connor, who introduces her to the song ‘California Dreamin’, performed by Bobby Womack. She learns a dance routine to it, intending to audition for a dancing job in a club, which impresses Connor. The piece of music – a track about dreaming of a sunnier, happier time – reflects Mia’s desire for happiness and escape from her feelings of isolation and lack of opportunities. Yet, it also acts as the thing that bonds Mia and Connor, who have little in common otherwise.
Mia is taken advantage of by Connor, who has sex with her while her mother is asleep. This causes a further rift between Mia and her family, resulting in her decision to move away. Yet, as she packs up her things and gets ready to leave, she finds her mother dancing to the Nas track in her pyjamas, looking dejected and upset. While earlier in the film, she had angrily told Mia she had wished to abort her, it is clear she doesn’t want her eldest daughter to leave home just yet. Mia is still a child, after all.
Her mother tells her that the CD is quite good; she clearly put it on so she could grasp onto her daughter without direct interaction. She makes an effort to understand her child for the first time in the movie, and without saying anything, Mia joins in with her mum’s dancing, mirroring her movements. Tyler, her little sister, also starts dancing – holding onto Mia from behind and copying the routine. Mia’s family finally tries to speak her language, which is not words but music and dance. It is a beautiful moment, highlighting Arnold’s skill for crafting authentic yet impactful sequences that prioritise music as a kind of universal language that can be felt by all.
In Arnold’s Oscar-winning short film Wasp, released four years earlier, it was the quintessential 2000s party song ‘Hey Baby (Uhh, Ahh)’ that provided the soundtrack to a tender, bittersweet ending. Here, Arnold established her ability to pick the right song and use it wisely, managing to pack a punch with a track most of us can only bear if we’ve downed an outrageous amount of alcohol.
The film follows a financially unstable single mother, Zoe, who struggles to balance her duties as a parent with her social and romantic life. After securing a date with an old friend, Dave, she hides her kids around the back of the pub, which goes awry once the youngest child almost swallows a wasp. While the kids wait outside, the sounds of ‘Hey Baby (Uhh, Ahh)’ emanate from inside, which they sing to each other while passing the time, hungry and bored.
Once the film reaches its resolution – with Dave taking the kids for fish and chips as the night draws to a close – the song plays again, only this time it carries a sense of euphoria. While it initially acted in stark contrast to the events on screen, such as Zoe struggling to afford her round, by the end of the film, the cheesiness of the track doesn’t seem to matter as they drive home with bellies full of food. The lyrics “I just wanna know if you’ll be my girl” also suggest that Dave and Zoe’s date was ultimately successful, ending the film on a high note.
With Arnold’s most recent film, Bird, music yet again proves vital to the storyline. We follow 12-year-old Bailey as she reckons with her father’s imminent wedding and experiences a general sense of uncertainty in her identity and her place in the world. She meets a mysterious man named Bird who proves to be some kind of guiding light, blurring the lines between imagination and reality. Escape is a central theme, and with that comes certain songs that represent this, such as the frenetic guitars found in Fontaines DC’s ‘Too Real’ that explode over images of Bailey and her father Bug riding on an electric scooter through the town centre.
Another song by the Irish band, ‘A Hero’s Death’, plays a prominent role in the movie, with lines like “Don’t get stuck in the past” and “Look forward to a brighter future” echoing across emotional scenes that emphasise the importance of connection and hopefulness. When Bailey’s mother embraces her children after a terrifying and violent outburst from her boyfriend, the lines from the song speak to the audience, telling us that even in moments of pain and fear, “Life ain’t always empty.”
The movie ends with an emotional moment between Bird and Bailey, and this time, a tender rendition of Blur’s ‘The Universal’ provides the musical backdrop. As the words “It really, really, really could happen” play out over the sequence, you’d be heartless not to feel a pang of strong emotion as Bailey finally comes to terms with the fact that she is not as alone as she once thought.
The wedding sequence also features the guests dancing to ‘Cotton Eye Joe’, another instance of Arnold using a song we’ve all heard a million times (and can hardly tolerate) as a symbol of togetherness and community. We might hate the song, but at least here, it unites everyone, with the filmmaker suggesting that music truly is an important kind of language that we all have access to, no matter our class, gender, or race. Music can surpass borders and social groups, as collective memories and nostalgia for certain songs allow us to connect on an innately human level.
