The Foley Grail

One of the first jobs I had out of college was working as a sound editor and engineer for motion pictures. One of my favorite duties was to mix Foleys.

Much of the sound recorded on film sets must be either replaced or augmented because the mics are pointed at the actor's mouth and don't pick up the nuances of other action in the scene. Often the incidental sounds of footsteps, clothing rustle, and props must be inserted after the fact.  If the recorded audio is unusable (this happens in noisy locations like busy streets, airport exteriors, and factories) then every bit of sound and dialogue must be recreated.  That's where the Foley mixer and artists come in.

During a Foley session, I would have a set of cue sheets in front of me listing which effects were needed by the sound supervisor. So I would pick a cue, relay the intention to the walker, shuttle the videotape to the scene where the sound effect was needed -- someone setting down a glass let's say, then adjust the recording levels as the walker performed the sound in sync with the picture.

I arranged my mixing board so that my back was to the Foley artist. This was so I could better judge the sound. If you catch the Foley artist molesting a box of cornflakes to simulate a character walking across broken glass, well you'll have a difficult time buying off on that sound as a replacement because to you it will only sound like cornflakes being smushed. Usually it's best not to know what random objects the walker is using to substitute for the actual sound.

My least favorite part of Foley recording was working on the sex scenes. You'd think it'd be fun, but the problem was that we got paid by the day, not the hour. So our goal was to get through the reel of footage as quickly as possible so we could go home. We'd move through most of the clips at the good pace. And then we'd get to the sex scene and everything would drag to a halt.

My co-workers, who seemed to have a sixth sense about when we were working on a sex scene, would amble into the recording studio to ask a question, only to chuckle immaturely at the screen.  Then I'd have to stop down while they made crude remarks about the actress or the verisimilitude of the sex act.

Of course as soon as the walker and I began recording the sounds for the scene (usually the creaking of bed springs coupled with sloppy smacking sounds, or worse) everyone would suddenly become an audio expert.  "That's not how it sounds!" my 60-year-old boss would tease us with a creepy grin.

For years afterward, I would have dreams about being in flagrante only to have my boss pop out from under my bed, "That's not how it sounds!"