What are scary music 3

81 With devotion to shudder About the uncanny in the music of Die Nine Pforten (1999) Hannes König I can learn a lot from puzzles. For example, I remember very well how much headache I had when I was a child when the puzzling question of how the sound of the colorful mini-glockenspiel changed depending on what I use as a mallet, which is why I ended up with everything that Landed in my little fingers, pounding the instrument extensively. Much to the suffering of my parents, for whom my infantile, euphoric journey of discovery through the exciting world of musical sound experience caused headaches for completely different reasons. You would probably say today that the start of my musical career was probably of the more unpoetic kind. Little more than a humble, childlike expression of that promising curiosity for the interrelationships of this world which later led me to become a psychoanalyst (all the carillons thanked me for it). In any case, Dean Corso from Polanski's Die Neun Pforten (1999) puzzles is by no means averse. At least one thing has particularly impressed him and that shakes the cornerstone of his own world: hired by a heavily wealthy and dubious eccentric, he is supposed to check the authenticity of the satanic scandalous work The Nine Gates into the Realm of Shadows from 1666 - a guide to calling the devil including the opening of a magical gate to visit the underworld. There are two other copies of these, which are supposed to be forgeries, and when comparing the nine woodcuts that are in each book, he suddenly notices that three of the images differ from those in the other books. Once the old man holds the key in his right hand instead of his left, once an angel has an additional arrow in its quiver, once a passage is free instead of being walled up by Hannes König, and so on. Sloppiness mistake? Hardly likely. Dean Corso thinks this is extremely scary. On top of that, those images that differ from their plagiarism are provided with the abbreviation LCF: Lucifer! Does the devil himself have a hand in this? We will see. The uncanny in the film scares what we don't know. What is hidden and only vaguely announced is uncanny. At the beginning of the film we observe an old man who is initially busy writing a suicide note and then hangs himself in the living room. While he is still wriggling in his agony, his perspective swings to the magnificent wall of shelves, glides along the countless spines of books and finally focuses on a gap between the works. A book is missing and the camera sinks into the black it leaves behind. This basic tone persists throughout the film: where is light, where is shadow? What is truth, what is appearance? Even a sober, calculating scoundrel like Dean Corso will soon have to grapple with the dispute about judgment that Freud (1919) described as central to the genuinely uncanny shuddering fear: what is reality, what is dream? As soon as he declares himself willing to check the authenticity of the "nine gates", things happen that do not seem to fit in at all with Corso's serene worldview: colleagues who have been mysteriously murdered, metal scaffolding falling out of the blue, persecuting ones black limousines and thugs, a sexually revealing, but utterly creepy and unscrupulous widow, at least as sinister, female protector of extremely questionable origins, who not only changes the color of her eyes, speaks funny and appears wherever Corso hangs around, but on top of that can fight impressively and even fly (!); In addition, there are vicious ritual meetings of the snobbish upper class as well as bizarre and weird writers who have dedicated themselves to a passionate collector's love of occult reading and who soon find their deadly end for their diabolical passion in an extremely unpoetic way. When Freud (1919h, p. 160f.) Defined the uncanny as that special form of fear that goes back to the well-known and long-familiar, he meant the threatening return of something repressed: contrary to what the prefix "un" suggests , it is about something homely that "has been alienated by the process of repression." According to him, the uncanny shudder occurs when "repressed infantile complexes are revived by an impression or when primitive beliefs that have been overcome seem confirmed again" (ibid., 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 83 With devotion to shudder p. 168f.). While Freud mentions a few typical examples in his treatise that cause uncanny shudders (magic and sorcery, the omnipotence of thoughts, the relationship to death, compulsive repetition and the castration complex), in our case we are dealing with one of the probably oldest, primitive ones Convictions of human history at all: the belief in the workings of evil, infernal forces. The aforementioned dispute between fantasy and reality apparently concerns the question of whether "the unbelievable that has been overcome is not really possible" (ibid., P. 169) - the actually unmistakable and probably easy to answer question, whether it is magical, supernatural , but devilish underground things are going on, or whether Corso has simply developed paranoid schizophrenia from prolonged consumption of satanic reading material. A clear answer is missing until the end. And even the end is not very illuminating: after all, we see the battered hero actually walking towards the gate to hell that has just been opened (without clearly entering it) after he had practiced ritual intercourse with the mysterious blonde companion. Of which, only incidentally, we do not even know whether she had ever really been his protector or had driven her seductions as a direct henchman of the devil (at least it turns out that she seems to be the whore of Babylon - emerges as such them pictorially in the original ninth woodcut discovered by Corso). If we wanted to understand the film as an externalized representation of the projected conflicts between autonomy and dependency, regressive fusion and individuation of the protagonist, then we have to state beyond doubt that in the end his animalistic, instinctual side wins, which causes him not to mature and not to sublimate To renounce instincts, but to follow the pleasure principle into the dark realm of shadows. The woodcuts and the mystery that wraps around their authenticity are the key elements in conveying the eerie mood that strikes back and forth between the flat conspiracy theory and the magical devil's story. Because they will occupy us again later, I have summarized them in the attached table. Artistically designed in the tarot style, they leave almost unlimited room for interpretation due to the multitude of symbols that appear. What they all have in common: In keeping with the (German) film title, they show nine doors or gates. While the emerging castles stood unequivocally for our own selves from a psychoanalytic perspective, the gates correspond to the entry into our hidden side. They stand for our unconscious and for the conflicts that simmer in it, our animated, primitive side that is externalized as a fighting dog couple, with aggressive, sadistic impulses in the form of an executioner, sexual longings with burning swords, whores riding dragons, oedipal chess games between king and farmer (father and son), the labyrinth-uterus analogy already presented by Hirsch (2006) and deMause (1973), plus oral greed (counting money) and anal sadism (torture wheel). Reason enough to feel the cards clearly eerie. Tab. Much more terrible is that essential elements of the representation suddenly appear in the plot. The mysterious companion, for example, shows the facial features of the woman on the ninth woodcut, while Pablo and Pedro Ceniza, two twin brothers and book restorers who advise Corso, visually resemble the angel on the third woodcut; Corso is slain from behind, like the praying beggar in the eighth woodcut; his colleague is also hanged on his left foot (as in woodcut number six); the castle in which the client burns the Balkans, including the chateau that ultimately marks the ninth gate, appear in the original and forged ninth woodcut. A connection between the cards and the events is indicated here without becoming stringent. However, it is precisely the vague hints that are sufficient to shudder poor Corso. In order to put an end to all the nonsense, Corso decides - despite all dangers - to resolve the puzzling peculiarities of the nine woodcuts and their forgeries. So to speak, to illuminate the black that has loomed over the plot since the beginning of the film and actually only stands for the abysses of his own unconscious. And we viewers? We look at the film and while watching the uncanny spark leaps over us. As if the film itself were the magical tarot card that makes us tremble, not as a symbol for the conflicts that Corso is dragging around with him, but as a projected hodgepodge of wishes and fears of us viewers ourselves: This is not the last reason for the film medium's success story based on the possibility that it offers its recipients to update and deal with unconscious conflicts, longings and fears without them even needing to be aware of them? According to Mechthild Zeul (2007), the eerie effect of a film arises entirely in the head of the viewer, where he encounters the unconscious of the individual and the mixture of these creates its magical, captivating and hypnotic effect. In this regard, she speaks of an entanglement: the projection of the film onto the screen corresponds to the projection of the audience's individual fantasies onto the representation. As if we were Corso ourselves, whose blood starts to freeze when you look at the tarot cards. With libidinal pleasure - "lust for fear," as Balint (1960) said - we voluntarily devote ourselves to our own horror. Within psychoanalytic film theory, Lewin's (1953) concept of the "dream screen" assumed a special place: While René Spitz (1955) assumes that the first object relationship is not the mother's breast (Klein 1962), but the mother's face, Lewin ( 1953) sees it) 86 Hannes König in the dream screen reproduces the combination of the physical sensation of sucking on the breast with simultaneous perception of the mother's face - a combination which, as a lifelong memory trace, becomes a projection surface for our fantasies and which is actualized on the cinema screen. A combination, we would add, for which the involvement of auditory perception has been generously neglected for a long time. The mistake is obvious: breaking down the magical effect of a film on an early, infantile experience and thereby ignoring the effect of the music does not work. In the meantime, thanks to more recent contributions to psychoanalytic music research, there has been a general consensus to understand the roots of enjoying music as an expression of a "specific affective communication" which - as Oberhoff (2002, p. 18) writes - “Has a high affinity for early motherhood. Having a child relationship ”. Much more: For Parncutt (2006), the later enjoyment of music even ties in with the prenatal forms of melody and rhythm that we perceive in the maternal uterus. As Oberhoff (2002) summarizes in his “Inventory”, music comes into contact with our unconscious while listening and triggers a whole series of processes that we cannot consciously control and to which we owe the immense importance that enjoyment of music has for us people. In the cinema it is therefore a skilful mixture of what we see and what we hear that passes through the gates into our unconscious and connects there to pre-symbolic content in order to spray its magical effect. This becomes particularly clear when it comes to creating a creepy atmosphere of horror: Music alone can make the most boring images sound eerily. But how? How does a composer manage to open this gate to the uncanny shuddering in our unconscious? How does music manage to expose our early fears behind the ninth door of our unconscious? The uncanny in music In a contribution entitled "When Mephisto knocks on the door" I have already devoted myself to the uncanny in music in detail elsewhere (König 2012). The starting point for my considerations was the idea that our known three psychic instances - in a figurative sense - also exist in music and that uncanny feelings arise when, as Freud (1919) described it, there is an imminent break in the id I come . The "musical it" includes those 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 87 With devotion to shudder works of the "New Music" that In order to increase the expression of emotions, we have thrown overboard all the regulations that have developed in our musical civilization process: tonality and reference to the keynote, recognizable motifs and themes, uniform vocal and melody guidance, rhythm stability and repetitions, consistency and reproducibility. The abandonment of the reliability of music may be the reason why these types of music are so disturbing to the majority of the audience. Here traumatic experiences of fear and helplessness from the early intrauterine and early childhood phases are activated: lack of "musical objects", because defined tones, sounds and themes do not occur, because there is no longer any reliance on an already missing rhythm and an inherent, habituation-based one structure, the musical instability echoes the traumatic destruction of the reliability of care and protection for the early mother. I have suggested that music's special ability to penetrate deeply into our selves should be linked to painful, split-off and traumatic experiences and to initiate painful symbolization processes as its "symbolic potential". No wonder that our individual defense formation prevents us from listening to Schönberg on the radio or from attending a Berg concert: the confrontation with uncertainty is too direct, it is too blatant. In new music the symbolic potential is dangerously high. It must be prevented from penetrating: Our defense prevents the enjoyment of music. Instead, we particularly long for music that is reliable - music that we can safely immerse ourselves in, that we can dissolve into, and with which we can merge without facing traumatic dissociation or fragmentation. The symbolic potential is kept within stable limits in the usual musical enjoyment. It is therefore the theory of harmony that, as the "musical superego", ensures the conflict-free exit from musical enjoyment: The theory of harmony defines what can be heard on the concert stage (the "musical me") so that the symbolic potential is harmless (that is, everything beautifully harmonious). Schönberg and his club of the Atonals clearly have no business here. On the basis of these considerations I have come to the conclusion that in principle three things are required for the uncanny in music: First, you need a harmonious framework. This is necessary because we need a minimum of order in order to be able to indulge in music at all without mobilizing the strict defense from the start, which prompts us not to even listen to music with high symbolic potential. 88 Hannes König Second, we need musical techniques, forms or sounds from the fund of new music that are accompanied by a high symbolic potential, that is: the power of announcing archaic fears. Thirdly, you take these musical elements and mix them in the conventional framework, in a sufficiently discreet manner that the listener does not defend himself. It is the emerging hint of structurelessness, of orderlessness and musical instability in their fine dosage, which in my opinion consequently creates an uncanny feeling of shudder. Because the listener is suddenly confronted with his early, pre-linguistic and pre-symbolic fears due to the subtle, imperceptibly increased symbolic potential, without being able to name it as such.Ultimately, this also follows Freud's (1919h) idea of ​​a judgment uncertainty about the return of primitive, repressed material - only on a musical level: Does something dangerous sound here? Or is everything still in perfect order musically? Could there be any signs of collapse here? What is pure, what is spoiled? The open question sets the tone: Then we feel uncanny horror! About Wojciech Kilar's film music With the music for the film The Nine Gates, composer Wojciech Kilar delivers a stroke of genius whose main theme exemplifies the special effect of eerie music. The musical theme of the film is the theme of the book: only in semitone steps does the melody meander from one note to the next, as if it were writhing like a devilish snake. The base is formed by the low strings, which provide a gloomy soundscape of dark chords in three-four time, which one may have quickly found out to be an E minor in the tonic, but which is instrumented in such a low register in which the individual tonal components of the dissonant-looking clusters remain almost indefinable. The result is a perceptually unstable foundation that literally tears the rug out from under our feet. As the melody runs in loud semitone steps and clearly uses all kinds of tones that are not part of the ladder, it stands out from the basic structure because the dissonance contained in the narrow intervals repeatedly gives the impression that it does not fit with the rest . In my opinion, it is this combination of insecure basis and fragile melody that triggers the eerie feeling when listening. 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 89 With devotion to shudder The instability, which here by means of ingenious implementation to the early experienced and repressed traumatic Fear of an existential collapse during the symbiotic phase with the mother is a warning that continues throughout the film: the motif of the book is heard several times, eg B. when the woodcuts are faded in, or when Corso ponders over them, smokes and smokes, when he is killed from behind, finds the venerable but unfortunately strangled countess in the burning office, or when he ends up sleeping with the mysterious woman. If he gives the impression that his thoughts are beginning to revolve around the workings of diabolical, magical powers and step by step to say goodbye to his mind, then it almost seems as if the musical removal of the melody in soft semitone steps is an ominous symbol of this. Only: the melody does not always run as usual. Kilar keeps adding or removing a semitone or two. As if the melody perfectly illustrates how the protagonist slowly strays himself from the right path. It is therefore no longer predictable. This uncertainty is what creates the creepy feeling when listening to music. Corso's musical theme is different. It has a comedic, almost humorous effect, in the two-part bassoons it sounds bizarre, in the solo flute it sounds ominous.A bit like a dance of death, of which there are many in music history, but which unfortunately only sound really scary in rare exceptional cases - despite the gloomy subject they set to music.The fact that a harpsichord is used here as a leitmotif may signal to us that something may be wrong with the protagonist. With the music, however, everything is fine: The medieval sound reminds us of how we should imagine the devil sounding. This is due to the fact that in the course of music history typical techniques have developed that are used by film music composers to musically translate certain feelings. These techniques are based on the conventional basic structures of our theory of harmony, which means that almost everything in the film music corresponds to pure convention: high strumming with tremolo in the strings when it is puzzling; Dissonances when someone is frightened; hammering, pulsating, especially rhythmic when Corso is attacked by the lustful widow or almost run over by the hit man and so on.1 1 Some of it even sounds almost identical elsewhere: namely in Bram Stoker's Dracula, the classic by director Francis F. .Coppola from 1992, for which Kilar also contributed the soundtrack. It seems a bit like he plagiarized himself, because the tracks sometimes sound pretty similar. So confusingly similar, by the way, that just from this dispute - with a twinkle in our eye - we could feel uncanny. 90 Hannes König The techniques of the music track sound similarly conventional to the scene in which Balkan strangles the lustful widow with her expensive gold chain in front of the assembled witches' circle: the powerful trumpets and horns blare daringly, the strings add burning drama, there is percussion quite a bit of rousing rhythm. We know that from other films. With one crucial difference - which hardly anyone notices at first: Whispering, evocative voices of a choir are mixed with the orchestral music, which seem to mumble without a fixed order. Here we hear again lack of stability, lack of structure, no tonal boundaries, hardly any reproducibility and a lack of stability - scattered in a conventionally harmonious framework: all genuine elements for the uncanny feeling - for which a discreet interference is necessary to evoke. This subtle interference is essential. If we observe a little later the Balkans during their vicious ritual in the castle ruins, we hear in the music the composer's intention to create that mystical and diabolical mood that is supposed to be conveyed to match the storyline - but unfortunately the eerie mood is quick over, because the choir with its incantations is used louder and clearer. With the undoubted structure, the music loses its uncanny charm. Of course, one could argue that the difference in uncanny potential is due to the fact that in one case we are watching a gruesome murder, in the other just hocus-pocus as an escalating solo number. I don't think so: Even if we leave what we see in the film aside and listen to both tracks in the soundtrack, the former music seems murderously scary, while the frosty ritual leaves us quite cold. In order for us to feel scary, the music here needs the support of visual input: how the Balkan lights up, how it screams wildly and writhes in agony on the ground. This indicates that there are two forms of the uncanny: I think that a significant part of the uncanny feelings in films is not triggered by the fact that the music is scary per se, but rather that common techniques that have become mainstream within film music composition are used is where we have "learned" from meaningful, terrifying images, so to speak, that we feel scary.2 It is precisely this kind of musical sobriety that we encounter on the street at night when a henchman appears who wants to attack Corso : The music is exciting and puts us in tension. But it makes us shudder. 2 I deal with the differences between these two forms of the uncanny in the text I mentioned earlier (König 2012). 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 91 With devotion to shudder not. Not even when the strange woman flies down the stairs in a demonic posture. Why not? Because the music stays conventional. There is no hint of a rule break. Even the visual rule break with physical reality - a flying woman - is not enough here to impose an uncanny character on the music. You have to perform this yourself. But that doesn't happen. The riddle of the nine woodcuts Towards the end of the film, the literary collector Balkan reveals the solution to the riddle of the nine woodcuts. In a confused ceremony, he arranges the images in a certain (we would like to assume: random) order and recites a strange incantation, which he rhymes from their subtitles. The message is accordingly vague: “To travel in silence (1), on a long, winding path (4) to defy the arrows of calamity (3) and to fear neither the gallows nor the fire (6), the greatest of all Playing games and winning (7), sparing no expense (5) - that means defying fate (8) and at the end holding the key in your hands (2) that opens the ninth gate (9) «(Min. 117). The result is conceivably meager: He is amazed when, despite a shallow spell, he empties a petrol can over his head with unclouded determination, out of firm conviction and with a hopeful prospect, lights himself and then realizes that all the hocus-pocus has somehow not really worked. That went stupid: For this he is allowed to squirm painfully on the floor and, thankfully, let the observing Corso free himself from his torments with a shot in the head. What went wrong? Perhaps, in trying to penetrate the mighty darkness of its unconscious, Balkan overlooked the fact that it is far too dangerous to meet the devil in person. Because direct eye contact is too blatant. We can't stand that. Much more, it requires a fine dosage that we can withstand. Which brings us back to that point that is essential for the uncanny shudder. The fact that the order of the cards chosen by Balkan may be wrong is a nice triviality that allows me - as a puzzle fan since early childhood - to propose my own solution to the problem. And surprisingly, behind the mysterious drawings, a quasi-step-by-step guide for aspiring composers is suddenly hidden, with their music making the audience into the uncanny horror of 92 Hannes König: The "lost word" that is addressed in the third woodcut is a reference to repression: As I have described it above, the secret of eerie music lies in those techniques, forms and sounds from the "musical id" that are structurally reminiscent of early noises that we used to have due to their associative activation power of fears, traumatic fears of being alone or of existential fragmentation. Musical content that has, to a certain extent, been displaced. The bridge that can be seen in the third illustration connects one bank of our id with the bank of our consciousness. They are separated from each other by a flow with censor properties. Above this - in heavenly realms - the strict superego in criminal angelic apparition watches with a drawn arrow to prevent the dangerous musical content from the musical id from crossing the bridge. It is a harmonious angel that is used to a sugar-sweet euphoria: the personified theory of harmony. The "enrichment", which the sixth woodcut speaks of in connection with death, means precisely the essential importance of the techniques, forms or sounds of New Music for the uncanny feeling. 3 As shown in the fifth graphic, the attempt fails to letting creepy Feelings arise by trying to look musical death in its grim reaper outfit straight in the eye, that is: indulging in the experimental noise music in its direct presentation. In vain, we would say. Instead, the uncanny arises in music when these techniques, forms and sounds manage to vaguely resonate on the concert stage. This subtle interference not only ignores the listener's individual defense organization, but also insidiously ignores the theory of harmony, which originally had no place in its system of rules for such techniques, forms and sounds. So to speak, we beat the music here with its own rules (like a student who surpasses his teacher, see woodcut seven), because the rigid system of rules conceals the secret of its uncanny deconstruction. Not righteousness in the moral sense, but the theory of harmony in the musical sense has been defeated (woodcut eight) - and this maneuver opens up, unnoticed, what was previously closed, as suggested in the second picture. The degree of mixing ratio between structural stability and those elements that suggest its possible destruction is 3 For an explanation of the connection between death and the elements of new music, I refer to my contribution in Sebastian Leikert's (2012) edited work Der Tod und the girl. 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 93 With devotion to shudder something technically individual because everyone has an individual defense organization - symbolized by the labyrinth of the fourth woodcut, which is opened once and closed once. Fate is actually not the same for everyone here: not everyone has the same uncanny feeling about the same piece of music. Nevertheless it does exist - the music with which we hear our personal Lucifer knocking on the locked gate (the ninth door), who threatens to bring in his hand luggage all the hidden fears that slumber in the darkness of our unconscious. Just as suggested in the ninth woodcut. The correct order of the numbers is consequently: 1 - 3 - 6 - 5 - 7 - 8 - 2 - 4 - 9. Not: 1 - 4 - 3 - 6 - 7 - 5 - 8 - 2 - 9. Playing with numbers ? That makes a huge difference: This is how the creepy creeps arise when enjoying music that corresponds to these ideas. Then it runs down our spines as cold as ice! The riddle seems to have been solved: the secret to eerie music lies in the lost word (3), i.e. a musical mixture that is only enriched by death (6) and not in vain (5) if it is possible to beat it with its own means (7) by ignoring the musical system of rules (8) - in order to open up that which has remained closed up to now (2), namely the individual (4) uncanny horror (9). Silence Is Gold What about the number one woodcut that precedes two series? In one version we read the subtitle “Nemo pervenit qui non legitim certaverit”, which should mean something like “Nobody will win who does not fight lawfully”. To be honest, we shouldn't be surprised that the images with this title turn out to be fake. Because, as we have heard, you will not get very far in music with the intention of causing uncanny shudders if you legitimately stick to the conventions of the common theory of harmony. If you submit to their rigid system of rules, you cannot produce eerie music. Because for this a subtle rule break is necessary - the suggestion of the idea that the stable pillars of harmonic music are only appearances. What we can't stand is the possibility that it could all collapse and the early fears echo that we don't want to hear. Instead, the Lucifer version of the first woodcut says: "Silencium est aureum". Silence is golden. Obviously, music is about devotion to what cannot be communicated verbally. In the silence, we hear Hannes König knocking softly on the front door. How he toying with Corso and seducing him. And with that, ultimately, we viewers: so that the eerie spark leaps over to us, the brave knight depicted in the first woodcut simply commands us to quietly on his way to the castle, which is actually our soul, also in a polite way with his finger in front of his mouth to be and to listen to one's own shudder in devoted silence. Literature Balint, M. (1960): Anxiety and Regression. Stuttgart (Klett Cotta Verlag). deMause, L. (1973): What is psychohistory? Giessen (Psychosozial-Verlag). Freud, S. (1919h): The uncanny in music. From: The Moses of Michelangelo. Writings on art and artists. Frankfurt a.M. (Fischer Verlag). Hirsch, M. (2006): The House. Symbol of life and death, freedom and dependence. Giessen (Psychosozial-Verlag). Klein, M. (1962): The soul life of the child. Stuttgart (Klett Cotta Verlag). König, H. (2012): When Mephisto knocks on the front door. About the uncanny in music. In: Leikert, S. (ed.): Death and the girl. Psychoanalysis and musicology in conversation. Giessen (Psychosozial-Verlag), pp. 117-144. Leikert, S. (2012): Death and the Maiden. Psychoanalysis and musicology in conversation. Giessen (Psychosozial-Verlag). Lewin, K. (1953): Reconsideration of the Dream Screen. Psychoanalytic Quarterly 22, 174-199. Oberhoff, B. (Ed.) (2006): Psychoanalysis and Music. To inventory. Giessen (Psychosozial-Verlag). Parncutt, R. (2006): Prenatal Experience and the Origins of Music. In: Oberhoff, B. (ed.): The spiritual roots of music. Psychoanalytic explorations. Giessen (Psychosozial-Verlag), pp. 21–40. Spitz, R. (1955): The Urhöhle. Psychosocial 9, 641-667. Zeul, M. (2007): For the creation of a psychoanalytic film theory. In: Onion, R. & Mahler-Bungers, A. (Ed.): Projection and Reality. The unconscious message of the film. Göttingen (Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht), pp. 38–60. 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39