Netflix’s upcoming nuclear thriller A House of Dynamite doesn’t shout catastrophe—it pulses with it. Its heartbeat is the work of Volker Bertelmann, the German Academy Award-winning composer behind All Quiet on the Western Front and Conclave.
In Kathryn Bigelow’s latest film, where a nuclear strike inches toward Chicago, Bertelmann’s music functions like a psychological detonator. Each hum, breath, and metallic drone tightens the tension until it’s nearly unbearable.
“When the film starts, you hear these sounds creeping under your skin, and you feel like, ‘That’s not good,’” Bertelmann says. “It’s not just music—it’s tension that breathes.”
Project Overview & Score Specifications
| Category | Details |
|---|---|
| Film Title | A House of Dynamite |
| Director | Kathryn Bigelow |
| Composer | Volker Bertelmann (Hauschka) |
| Genre | Political / Nuclear Thriller |
| Production Studio | Netflix Original Films |
| Recording Studio | AIR Studios (London) |
| Primary Instruments | Low Brass, Piano (percussive modified), Woodwinds, Hybrid Drones, Strings |
| Composition Style | Hybrid acoustic-electronic minimalism |
| Notable Technique | “Animalistic” moaning brass and real-world resonance recordings |
| Runtime of Score | Approx. 65 minutes (Feature + End Suite) |
| Expected Soundtrack Release | Digital & Vinyl – Milan Records 2026 |
The Challenge of Subtle Chaos
Creating tension in a film packed with dialogue required restraint.
“Even if the music isn’t there, these films already have a lot of content,” Bertelmann notes. “My approach is to find elements that don’t interfere with the dialogue but keep the tension alive underneath.”
His music acts like a subterranean current—rarely visible, always felt. The result is a slow-boiling dread that complements Bigelow’s grounded realism.
Building the Sound of Doom
Instead of lush orchestration, Bertelmann embraced texture over tune.
“We used low brass, but not in the normal sense. They were moaning and humming into the instrument,” he recalls. “It creates instability—a kind of loneliness—because you’re always asking, ‘Where’s the pitch?’”
The technique, borrowed from avant-garde chamber work, makes the score sound organic and decayed, as if the instruments themselves were suffocating.
A Distinctly ‘Animalistic’ Tone
Bigelow’s lens lingers on nature—birds circling, wolves howling, the quiet before destruction. Bertelmann mirrored that primal energy in sound.
“For me, animalistic sounds are a sign of danger,” he explains. “Kathryn used them as a reminder that nature is fragile. We came from different angles, but both represented something rudimental—something that reminds you of how small we are.”
The blend of fragility and menace gives the film a uniquely human pulse amid its technological terror.
Recording the Apocalypse
At AIR Studios London, Bertelmann turned architecture into an instrument.
“We recorded brass and woodwinds with a piano in the middle of the group,” he says. “The reverb of the piano was played through an amplifier in the staircase. You could hear air traveling toward the microphone—it made the score breathe.”
That natural echo chamber created a spatial realism impossible to fake with plugins, giving each cue physical weight and atmosphere.
Tonal & Thematic Sound Design Analysis
| Musical Element | Description | Emotional Effect in Film |
|---|---|---|
| Low Brass Drones | Moaning, detuned sustain; layered in octaves | Conveys danger and impending collapse |
| Modified Piano Percussion | Strings muted with erasers; percussive ticks replace melody | Mimics countdown / ticking bomb motif |
| Distorted Reverbs | Natural staircase echo amplified through tube amps | Adds claustrophobia and depth |
| Filtered Strings | High frequencies cut to sound “under a blanket” | Creates vulnerability and emotional warmth |
| Human Breaths & Bowing Noises | Kept in final mix instead of removed | Adds organic imperfection / human fragility |
The Piano as Percussion
The composer’s trademark instrument plays a surprising supporting role.
“I used the piano for ticking and percussive elements—like a mechanical clock,” Bertelmann says. “I shortened the strings with art erasers so they suddenly sounded like a synthesizer.”
He even experimented with the studio’s structure:
“I’d bang a roll of gaffer tape against the piano frame and pitch it down an octave for bass. Thin walls resonate beautifully—they become their own percussion.”
The result is a tactile, handmade sound that mirrors the fragility of human control.
Finding Rhythm in Imperfection
Perfection, to Bertelmann, kills emotion.
“If I put everything perfectly on a grid, the film would fall into a regular meter,” he explains. “What I try to get are mistakes, like in a punk band—mistakes that are awesome.”
These micro-errors give the score an uneven pulse, reflecting the instability of the film’s world and its characters.
Working with Kathryn Bigelow
Bertelmann praises Bigelow’s precision and research-driven direction.
“Her work is very well thought through—there’s no nonsense,” he says. “You can’t fake it. You have to find your own truth.”
That integrity shaped his approach. Instead of dramatizing scenes, his cues echoed their moral weight—the quiet calculation of leaders, the fear of irreversible choices.
A Minimal Yet Emotional Finale
For the climactic decision sequence, Bertelmann used filtered strings rather than swelling orchestration.
“I wanted strings for the end, but not lush,” he recalls. “You can hear the melody, but it’s like someone’s playing under a blanket—and when you lift it briefly, wow.”
The music fades rather than resolves, leaving the audience suspended between dread and relief—mirroring the film’s haunting ambiguity.
Lessons from Past Masterpieces
Bertelmann credits All Quiet on the Western Front for refining his minimalist instincts.
“Someone told me, ‘Until halfway through the film, I didn’t realize there was so much music.’ That was a compliment,” he says. “It became part of the overall art form.”
In A House of Dynamite, that invisible presence becomes psychological pressure—the sound of fear slowly realizing itself.
The Philosophy Behind the Sound
Bertelmann’s music always circles back to humanity.
“We exist mostly out of water and have a short time on earth,” he reflects. “When you go into the woods or watch animals, you’re reminded you’re part of something much bigger than creating cities or making money.”
His soundscapes, though mechanical, aim to awaken that primal awareness—a reminder of how fragile life remains when technology threatens to erase it.
What Comes Next for Volker Bertelmann?
Alongside A House of Dynamite, Bertelmann also scored The Ballad of a Small Player for Netflix—a surreal gambling descent he describes as “a walk through hell.”
The two projects confirm his reputation as a composer who transforms silence and imperfection into high art.
FAQs
Academy Award-winner Volker Bertelmann (Hauschka), known for All Quiet on the Western Front and Conclave.
At AIR Studios London, using natural echo chambers, close-miked instruments, and real-time distortion for an organic acoustic feel.
A slow-burning hybrid of animalistic drones, muted piano ticks, and filtered strings, representing both nature’s fragility and human peril.
They make the score “alive.” Bertelmann deliberately keeps timing irregularities to reflect instability and realism.
Netflix and Milan Records plan a digital and limited vinyl release in 2026, featuring expanded instrumental suites.
