How ‘A House of Dynamite’ Relied on Volker Bertelmann’s Score to Create Tension and Anxiety

In the new Netflix thriller "A House of Dynamite," director Kathryn Bigelow masterfully builds an overwhelming sense of dread by depicting the final moments before a nuclear attack on the United States. The narrative is split into three distinct segments, each offering a different viewpoint on the unfolding national disaster. The initial segment unfolds in the White House Crisis Room, where Captain Olivia Walker, portrayed by Rebecca Ferguson, collaborates with Major Daniel Gonzalez (Anthony Ramos) and his team stationed at a remote Alaskan base. They are left with a desperate, twenty-minute countdown to prevent an imminent catastrophe.

The film's palpable tension is the result of a collaboration between an expert creative team, including Oscar-winning composer Volker Bertelmann, editor Kirk Baxter, and sound designer Paul Ottosson. Ottosson revealed that the screenplay itself was a source of anxiety, noting, "I was really tense, and I was curious to see how it would come together because the structure was different." Bertelmann, who previously won an Academy Award for his score for 'Lion,' crafted a unique musical identity for each chapter to deliberately heighten suspense. He explains that the opening instantly establishes a grim reality: "You hear those first sounds and know where we are. We are not in a romance. We are in a thriller that will be quite dark." This approach is characteristic of Bigelow's filmmaking, which often explores high-stakes scenarios with unflinching realism, a style she cemented with her historic Best Director Oscar win for the Iraq War drama 'The Hurt Locker.'

Editor Kirk Baxter used Bertelmann's dynamic score as a structural guide for the film's pacing. The music builds to a crescendo at the conclusion of the first act, only to abruptly fall silent as the second chapter begins, resetting the timeline to the start of the crisis day and expanding the scope to include additional government agencies. This narrative technique intentionally withholds crucial information, leading the audience to wonder if they are hearing the aftermath of an explosion. Baxter emphasizes that the score acts as the audience's emotional compass, swiftly pulling them back into the heart of the panic. Meanwhile, Ottosson designed the soundscape to reflect the characters' escalating stress, with the audio mix devolving into chaos as their controlled command environments disintegrate.

A central enigma in the film is the President, voiced by Idris Elba but initially represented only by a mysterious black communication box. Baxter deliberately focused the camera on this device, allowing shots to linger in silence to create immense anticipation. "Especially in that second chapter when it’s just sitting and they’re waiting for answers. The shots just hold on it, and it’s just silence. It’s like looking down a well," he remarked. The President's physical presence is only revealed in the third chapter, which shifts to the Oval Office and isolates him with the burden of the ultimate decision. This structural choice heightens the film's psychological tension, forcing the audience to sit with the unbearable weight of impending doom alongside the characters.

The final act concentrates intensely on the President's emotional agony as he faces an impossible choice. Baxter underscores that "Silence and Volker’s music are really what make that work so great." While the core narrative came from screenwriter Noah Oppenheim, critical emotional beats were discovered during the editing process. One such addition was extending a phone call with Russian leadership; holding on the President's face throughout the entire exchange added profound tension and a crucial human element. This intimate moment is starkly contrasted with wide shots of his wife on an African safari, with Ottosson's sound design incorporating distant elephant calls. This juxtaposition, Ottosson notes, "applies this pressure to that scene... of just wanting to have a connection between people." To guarantee authenticity, the production consulted military advisor Dan Karbler. Ottosson stressed that the objective was never stylistic sound but brutal realism, constantly questioning, "What would you feel in this situation and what would that sound like?" This meticulous commitment to plausibility makes the film's terrifying premise feel unnervingly immediate, a testament to the collaborative power of its creative team.