Koyaanisqatsi

Finding Meaning Through Sound

Koyaanisqatsi (1982), directed and produced by Godfrey Reggio, is a highly influential, landmark experimental documentary that redefines the cinematic experience by stripping it of conventional elements such as dialogue, diegetic sound, characters, and any semblance of a plot. Instead, the film connects striking imagery and a hypnotic minimalist score composed by Philip Glass, creating an evocative meditation on the relationship between humanity, technology, and the natural world.

This project will analyze the relationship between the sound and the film as a holistic scene as there is little separation between individual scenes in this experimental visual essay. The film has a run time of just 86 minutes and can be thought of as a singular movement. The soundtrack by Glass is the only audible element heard throughout the film and thus it serves as the only material for comparative sound analysis. We will follow the growth and narrative of the film informed by its music from the opening introduction and into the conclusion. 

The title of this film is derived from the Hopi language and translates to “life out of balance.” The word appears in the opening of the film with no context and later appears at the closing of the film with its definition. It is, consequently, the film’s central theme. Koyaanisqatsi juxtaposes the pristine beauty of natural landscapes—deserts, waterfalls, and cloud-filled skies—with the chaotic energy of human activity, from sprawling city-block foot traffic and congested highways to relentless factory assembly lines. Through Reggio’s innovative use of time-lapse and slow-motion cinematography, the film confronts the viewer with an unsettling contrast between the serene rhythms of nature and the frenetic pace of industrialized life.

Glass’s score, the only accompaniment to the visuals, serves as the film’s narrative voice. By placing the score (a traditionally background element of filmmaking) at the forefront, Reggio conveys the film’s underlying message: a call for heightened awareness of the world around us. The central ethos of this film is that the background is the foreground. Koyaanisqatsi reminds us to listen, to observe, and to reflect on the imbalance we create in our pursuit of progress by inverting our preconceived narrative expectations. Reggio’s cinematic experiment ultimately communicates that our environment is not mere scenery but a vital entity deserving of attention and care. 

The film can be broken down into 3 parts with an introduction and a conclusion; each one playing a different role in communicating Reggio’s central message: 

(a). Introduction

Part 1:  The Earth

Part 2: Technology

Part 3: Breaking Point

(b). Conclusion 

The soundtrack functions as the primary narrator of the film. It informs the viewer by painting an audible emotional palette as they watch all of the cryptic time-lapse imagery Reggio assembles throughout the film. Glass’ signature minimalistic sound is the perfect companion to the cinematography captured in this project. It is cyclical, isochronous, and unending, and it gives the impression of the eternal-ness present within the unstoppable, never-ending force of time itself. Organ is the predominant instrument used in the score. A common western musical association with the organ is ornate cathedrals and ancient halls. Naturally, these aesthetics perfectly encapsulate the eternality and terror that is conveyed through Reggio’s imagery. 

For a discussion panel Reggio gave at NYU, he was questioned further about choosing not to include dialogue in Koyaanisqatsi (or either of the other two films in the series). His response:

“Our language no longer describes the world we live in . . . our language describes a world that no longer exists.”

He does not regard spoken language as a sufficient means of conveying his main theme, so the lack of spoken dialogue comes as no surprise. However, the music fully covers for spoken dialogue in this film. It operates better than a narrator would either. Glass delivers profound scoring in Koyaanisqatsi that has become highly influential. 

Combining minimalist repetition, intricate rhythmic structures, and a deep sense of thematic cohesion due to the return of the intro melody at the conclusion of the film, Glass’ music is absolutely integral to the film’s exploration of humanity’s relationship with nature and technology. You simply cannot watch this film without audio over the shoulder of a stranger on an airplane. Glass has a unique approach to composition for Koyaanisqatsi. He not only set a new standard for non-narrative filmmaking but also inspired an entire generation of composers and filmmakers to reimagine the interplay between music and visual storytelling with minimalistic scoring elements. It goes without saying that Glass’ compositional style in Koyaanisqatsi is characterized by minimalism. He is no stranger to repetition, gradual transformation, and a clear focus on tonal harmony. The music is no less than this, but it is certainly more. The score consists of looping melodic fragments developed and informed by the visual documentation. He aligns multi-layered textures, and rhythmic patterns that evolve subtly over time. These elements work in tandem to reflect the tension between natural and urban environments. Glass’ compositional style (even without the context of a film) evokes the cyclical nature of humanity making him the prime candidate for a creative partner to Reggio.

In Koyaanisqatsi, the absence of dialogue or a conventional plot places a unique burden on Glass’ score. Here, the music serves as the primary narrative device, shaping the viewer’s interpretation of the film’s abstract visuals. We are forced to see it as the narrator considering no one else is there to tell the story. As we will see, the score’s pacing reflects the film’s progression, transitioning from serene, meditative sequences to chaotic, overwhelming climaxes. It is the score arguably more so than the visuals that reinforce the thematic dichotomy between harmony and discord. 

The opening 6 minutes of the film prepare the viewer perfectly for what is to come. Reggio uses contrasting images of ancient cave inscriptions followed by deep red and orange billowing flames from a rocket taking off and leaving the earth. He pairs this with arguably the most ominous piece of music Glass ever composed; the title track of the score “Koyaanisqatsi.” 

We first hear the holy sound of the organ when the film opens to the text “Koyaanisqatsi.” Unwavering and pure, the organ cycles through an arpeggiated sequence of bass notes that outline the progression of the piece. Once the imagery switches to show the ancient inscriptions of men and animals on the wall of a cave, the deep men’s choral sound enters. At a pitch lower than most could hope to growl, a chorus of men chant the word “Koyaanisqatsi” at a slow tempo every two bars. 

Layer by layer, Glass adds melodic lines and grows this sequence into a multi-leveled, apocalyptic masterpiece. It reaches its highest point of power when the viewer is presented with the rocket departing from the earth. 

Without the score, the footage feels hollow and vague. The score takes what would otherwise be an entirely ambiguous and dull opening and turns it into an iconic, threatening, and chilling opening to the film.  

Screen fades to white. 

Part 1: The earth. 

This “part 1” section of the film is all about nature but contains within it two subsections. The first is the beauty of the land; the second is the beauty of the sky and the sea. The first subsection is nature in all its glory. It’s magnitude, beauty, detail, and majesty. Reggio takes us on an all-encompassing tour of the earth. He showcases our great mountains, vast fields of rich green grass and wildflowers, glorious canyons and rock formations, parched deserts, deep caves with fluttering bats, natural bursting Yellowstone geysers, and a perpetual great wind. We feel for the first time in the documentary the sensation of being a kind of alien observer witnessing the earth for the first time. Despite the grand visuals, it is actually the score that elevates this section from simple natural beauty, to profundity. 

The track Organic underscores the overwhelming natural landscapes. Organic opens with a fabric of rich cello drones. A solo clarinet plays a single-repeating note melody. After repeating this multiple times, a deep double bass section doubles the cello line an octave below. the listener loses a sense of clear time. Moving from the Organ to a cello section with a rich string sound implies a transition from the abstract to the tangible. From the philosophical to the practical. We are no longer thinking about the earth, we are experiencing it. The orchestral texture tells us about the essence of Earth. A spacious bass drone outlines a chord progression which incrementally shifts. Never hurried, always deliberate. Overtop is a quickly looping arpeggiated clarinet melody. Quick against slow with no signs of stopping. 

Towards the end of this opening subsection, Glass faintly inserts echoes of the opening bass chorus singing the words “Koyaanisqatsi” along with a soft Organ melody into the musical texture which both connects it to the opening and reminds the viewer of the central theme- though this natural beauty is incredible, the story is not over. 

The second subsection highlights the sea and the sky. High brass takes center stage in the accompanying track Cloudscape. Both music and visuals are triumphant and strong. Glistening oceans and time-lapse imagery of thick clouds fill the screen. Crashing waves and clouds that roll over mountaintops are paired with a victoriously militaristic brass section. Reggio proudly showcases how untouched seas and skies are like colossal fortresses that emerge victorious and unwavering in every conflict simply by virtue of their size. What dares defy the sea? 

Part 2: Technology. 

A quick shift in the score confronts us with Resource. The switch is made perfectly in sync with the imagery. This track is composed of an organ melody playing the mirror image of the bassoon’s arpeggiated minor scale sequence. Flutes flutter at the first beat of every bar. The abrupt shift, minor key, and rapid tempo signals to the viewer that our antagonist is coming.  

Reggio takes us on a visual roller coaster ride between two mountain sides. Flying across the surface of a wide river, then endless viridian grass with white, yellow, orange, and pink wildflowers, then a clean drop off of a cliff side. A thrust of string harmony hits our ears just before we are encountered with a steep fall. The timing and aggression of the string sound causes the viewer’s heart to rise up to their throat as we plunge off the cliff side. 

The following shot is the last natural scene before the introduction of technology with mankind into the film. A single, standing, sea stack rock formation off the coast. 

The intro to this part 2 ends with a blast of dynamite from a wall of gray dust and rock. Gravel spews in every direction. Dust fills the air like fog. Destruction of the natural world is now here. To reference the perspective of the alien once again, we know the unnatural is now taking place to the environment but we do not yet know the cause. We see the effect before we see the cause. Reggio shows this particularly through the timing of the score. He allows the music of Resource to continue through these explosive blasts (lining up well with the orchestral strikes of the low strings) but he coordinates the timing for a significant shift in the track to take place alongside the first time we see human beings and their machines. Interestingly, the very first thing we see is not man himself, but his enormous, industrial, faded yellow, dump truck. As the camera zooms out, only then do we see a tiny construction worker walking alongside his imposing machine. Black smoke pillows up behind the vehicle followed by scenes of underground piping and electric wires.

The score, again, queues the viewer into the intended narrative. A slow 4/4 time underscored by descending, throbbing bass 16th notes impress on us a sense of diminishment or some kind of loss. It accurately describes the footage as both progression and decline.  

For a moment, the score gasps by dropping all the instruments except for the long cello tones. What for? 

A power plant.

 Reggio manages to make this castle of production, with its pillars pumping out artificial white gray clouds, look both beautiful and evil. Breathtaking and sinister. 

The film continues to progress into scenes with more heavy construction machinery, mushroom cloud explosions, development of human civilization seen through apartment complexes and city life. Reggio gives us a tour of man’s accomplishments. For about 20 minutes, Reggio tests the viewer’s patience at times with some very long shots. The next sequence opens with an ultra-violet haze with a wide shot of an airliner landing, likely symbolizing humanity’s progress in transportation. This shot alone is nearly 7 minutes long. The airliner looks progressively larger, stronger, and somehow uglier with each passing second. 

Towards the beginning of this view, the music transitions into a calm interlude, offering a brief respite from the intensity of the previous scenes. However, as the sequence shifts to shots of traffic jams, the music begins to build once more, mirroring the escalating tension. At its peak, a sudden smash cut links rows of parked cars with rows of parked tanks, shocking the viewer into seeing the way we take the creative and helpful technological advancements and use them for war. 

This transition launches into a rapid montage of warplanes, missiles, and explosions, synchronized with the now thunderous and repetitive score by Glass. The sequence culminates in the harrowing image of an atomic bomb, followed by additional shots of military destruction. The atomic bomb, an aircraft’s most devastating weapon, underscores the wildly destructive potential that even good advancements in air transportation have enabled. Reggio intentionally guides the audience from the triumph of flight to the crushing devastation of war, forcing us to confront the darker consequences of our technological “progress”. Through this powerful and terrifying juxtaposition, the film critiques humanity’s capacity to channel innovation toward destructive ends.

The film continues with time-lapse imagery of single locations in urban life lasting sometimes 20 to 25 seconds at a time. However, it quickly picks up pace again and moves to seeing factories pumping out grocery items. Glass’ music is layered thick with rapid instrumental lines playing groups of 12 within the beat in many cases. Everything feels like it’s moving far too fast and yet shows no signs of stopping. 

Consistently, part 2 utilizes visual shots of environments infused with technology. Sometimes with people present, sometimes not, but always technology. 

Transitioning to Glass’ track The Grid, Reggio gives us a panoramic tour of man’s accomplishments. We see factories pumping out engines, hundreds of thousands of cars fly across freeways and people, like ants, scurrying rapidly to their jobs walking through city squares and riding up escalators at the subway. People leaving casinos, playing arcade games, and watching tv footage from news broadcasters and reality movies and soap operas and football games. Glass patiently increases the tempo and the layers of orchestration until it reaches a blistering pace and overwhelming volume. The time-lapse footage is so chaotic and rapid that it becomes difficult for the viewer to piece together what is going on in any of the footage. The headlights of the highway cars look like electricity running through wires. The video game screens flash in pandemonium. 

Part 3: Breaking point. 

No music. Everything goes silent. An sky-high view of city blocks is seen fading into ambiguously colored pictures of computer motherboards indistinguishable from city-planning blueprints. Blocks with copper wiring and complex configurations are laid before our eyes and we no longer have the score to comfort us. This is a crucial scene for understanding the main point of this film. Reggio stops all the distractions. This is the only extended amount of time we get without music. Reggio makes it crystal clear here at the climax of the movie: the city is the motherboard. Our new environment is the computer. We are the machine. 

In an interview with Jacques Ellul in 1990, eight years after the release of Koyaanisqatsi, Reggio made this statement: 

 “What I try to show is that the main event today is not seen by those of us that live in it… To me the most important event of perhaps our entire history, nothing comparable in the past, is an event that has fundamentally gone unnoticed. And the event is the following: the transition from the old nature or the natural environment as our host of life for human habitation into a technological milieu; into mass technology as the environment of life. These films (referring to Koyaanisqatsi, Powaqqatsi, and Naqoyqatsi) have never been about the effect of technology, of industry, on people; it’s been that everything now exists within the host of technology… it’s not that we use technology, we live technology. Technology has become as ubiquitous as the air we breathe so we are no longer conscious of its presence. “   

Reggio is desperately trying to get us to pay attention to the background. He literally removes dialogue and characters to get us to pay attention. In fact, he sets the music as the dialogue, moving the music- what most would consider only a background element- to the foreground in order to cause a perspective shift from the viewer. 

Returning to the narrative of the film, Glass reintroduces music as the footage begins to take a particular focus on individual human beings. Some smiles, some frowns, mostly something in between. Reggio clearly doesn’t think humanity is evil. He shows shots of healthcare workers lifting a man onto a stretcher, he shows the laughing and cheesing grins of others. Glass gives us choral music once again- this just increases our feelings of the realism and value of people. No two people in this section feel replaceable or forgettable. He sees and knows that humanity must be. We can’t point a finger at any one person as being at fault for any destruction, nor can we lift up any one person being fully credited for humanity’s progression. 

In this case, we again understand the narrative of this section due to Glass’ score. Choral vocals singing lyrics in the Hopi language are chanted overtop the electric organ arpeggios. The effect of the whole results in the implication of humanity against the backdrop of technology. People overtop manufactured streets and next to artificial light. Women in front of glitzy casinos. Men walking out of mass hotdog producing factories. Families gathering in front of decrepit apartment buildings. The score is emphasizing the fact that we now are within an environment that we created artificially. 

The closing scene of Koyaanisqatsi is a profound and poetic bookend to the film, mirroring its opening sequence in reverse order and encapsulating its cyclical exploration of humanity’s relationship with technology, nature, and existence.  

We can meditate on the primary aim of this conclusion as the film is coming full circle but in reverse.  The concluding scene begins with the haunting imagery of a rocket lifting off—a symbol of technological ambition and progress—only to fail catastrophically in a fiery explosion. As the viewer, we can’t help but wonder who might have suffered and died inside that steel cylinder. This sequence is a direct inversion of the opening shots, where the cave inscriptions transitioned to images of modern technological marvels. I think that the failure of the rocket serves as an accurate metaphor for the precariousness of rapid human advancement and the destructive potential inherent in humanity’s drive for dominance over the natural world. Its sudden, chilling, fiery explosion can be seen as a metaphor for humanity’s overreach, where ambition and technological prowess ultimately lead to failure or self-destruction. We forget who we are in our longing for advancement. We lose touch with our humanity when we hyper-fixate on advancement. 

Following the rocket’s destruction, the screen displays the Hopi definition of the word “Koyaanisqatsi” which apparently means “life out of balance,” reinforcing the film’s central theme. This image is followed by another set of English translations of Hopi language lyrics that were used in the choral parts in the score. Each lyric serves as a grim prophecy of inevitable destruction. The first, “If we dig precious things from the land, we will invite disaster,” warns of humanity’s role in triggering devastation through its relentless pursuit of innovation. The second lyric, “A container of ashes might one day be thrown from the sky, which could burn the land and boil the oceans,” and the third, “Near the Day of Purification, there will be cobwebs spun back and forth in the sky,” suggest that self destruction is impending, whether brought about by human actions or even other forces. These haunting words resonate as the film moves into the credits. 

The music also references the introduction in a cyclical conclusion.   

The score, composed by Philip Glass, mirrors the structural return of the visuals. The music revisits the same motifs from the film’s opening, particularly the ominous chanting of “Koyaanisqatsi”. This sonic callback creates a sense of closure, emphasizing the circular message of the film. The minimalist repetitions, now infused with the emotional weight of the preceding imagery, deepen the viewer’s reflection on the film’s themes. By bringing the musical material full circle, Glass reinforces the idea of inevitability and balance—or lack thereof—in the human story. His use of organ in this ending sequence is perfect. Its evocative character is a relentless immutable clock ticking through time. It sounds holy, alien, and pure. The visual return to the cave inscriptions paired with this score may symbolize humanity’s constant cycle of creation, destruction, and rediscovery, questioning whether true progress is ever achieved.
The closing scene beautifully encapsulates the film’s poetic meditation on the consequences of our actions as a people. This visual and musical callback creates both closure and questions. Are we caught in a loop that cannot hope to end?  Will our lives remain in this perpetual state of “out of balance”, or would some kind of change in behavior lead humanity to find harmony with the earth? 

Questions the film cannot answer, but hopes you will ask. 

It is not uncommon that any given film is ambiguous in its meaning, but Koyaanisqatsi stands alone in its position of uncertainty. There appears to be the utmost extreme friction of understanding that the director desperately wants to tell you something and the film has a concrete, powerful, and specific meaning, yet we experience a complete absence of dialogue, diegetic sound, or traditional plot. Video-essays and articles swarm the internet with personal interpretations from individuals around the world, but it appears to me that the staging of the music from the backdrop to the foreground is evidence enough for us to see Reggio’s intent. Deducing subtheories from this broad thesis is not difficult. In light of observing our background as if it were the foreground, we can also confidently say that Reggio is a major critic of modern living and argues with Koyaanisqatsi that human technological progress has led to a major disconnect from nature and a strange imbalance in the world. Even humanity’s most ambitious endeavor, the space-bound rocketship, fails to provide any escape.

The success of Glass’ innovative score is resulting in a profound mark on the world of film music. I’ve seen that past the 1980’s, many directors and composers drew inspiration from his minimalist style, incorporating repetitive structures and atmospheric textures into their work.

One notable example is Hans Zimmer’s score for Interstellar (2014) which features a reliance on repetitive motifs and organ-based harmonies, elements reminiscent of Glass’ minimalist approach in this film. His style also influenced Michael Nyman in The Piano (1993). 

In addition to composers, even other filmmakers have embraced the aesthetic Glass helped popularize in Koyaanisqatsi. Darren Aronofsky’s Requiem for a Dream (2000), scored by Clint Mansell, uses repetitive string patterns to create an oppressive sense of inevitability, a technique that owes much to Glass. Directors like Terrence Malick (The Tree of Life, 2011) and Ron Fricke (Baraka, 1992; Samsara, 2011) have also adopted the distict symbiotic relationship between music and visual imagery pioneered in Koyaanisqatsi. In my view, Philip Glass’ work on Koyaanisqatsi has solidified his place as a pioneer of minimalist film scoring. His ability to craft music that transcends traditional narrative boundaries while simultaneously using it to narrate the plot has inspired countless artists in the world of film. Glass composed and created alongside Reggio as an equal creative partner, thus his compositions resonate not only within the context of the film but also as standalone pieces of art. His groundbreaking work serves as a reminder that music is not merely an accompaniment to visual storytelling—it is a narrative force in its own right.

He had no way of knowing when the film was released, but I find this film to be all the more relevant in 2024. We have been sucked into online everything. We don’t know our neighbors. Most of us had no choice but to isolate ourselves for multiple years as a global pandemic threatened vulnerable lives. Whether it is launching atomic bombs, firing space crafts into the air, developing ethically-concerning online clothing stores, or simply commenting on a facebook post, Koyaanisqatsi intergenerationally demands that we not forget our humanity as our environment shifts from the natural world to an over-sized motherboard.

Bibliography 

• Koyaanisqatsi. Glass, Philip. CD. Orange Mountain Music, n.d. 

• Kostelanetz, Richard, ed. 1997. Writings on Glass : Essays, Interviews, Criticism. New York: Schirmer Books. 

• Goldmark, Daniel, Lawrence Kramer, and Richard D. Leppert. Beyond the Soundtrack : Representing Music in Cinema. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2007. 

• Varner, Gary Matthew. 2017. “Koyaanisqatsi and the Posthuman Aesthetics of a Mechanical Stare.” Film Criticism 41 (1). https://doi.org/10.3998/fc.13761232.0041.104.

• Reggio, Godfrey, dir. 1982. Koyaanisqatsi. IRE Productions. 

• Reggio, Godfry. 2017. “Koyaanisqatsi Explained in Two Minutes.” YouTube Video. YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xj0XL-5S-Ew. 

CIVILNET. 2013. “Filmmaker Godfrey Reggio’s Unique View of the World.” YouTube. July 9, 2013. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3gsCTkd3A5M&list=TLPQMTUxMTIwMjSR_zPSXBGCcQ&index=2.