Media and Music: How the Chaos of Time Loops is Mirrored in the Soundtrack of "Russian Doll"
From nostalgic 2010s indie tracks to jarring classical concertos, the soundtrack to season one of Netflix’s hit series “Russian Doll” has captivated audiences and captured the essence of chaos through its eclectic music mix.
Written by Julianna Riccioli
Images courtesy of Netflix
Content Warning: This article contains graphic language on death and drugs.
Since its initial release, Netflix’s series “Russian Doll” has climbed to the top of the ranks in the ever-growing time loop genre, scoring several Emmy, Golden Globes, and Saturn nominations. The time loop trope has captivated audiences for decades; generally consisting of a character being trapped in a never-ending cycle of reliving the same day over and over again, learning lessons of free will, fate, and consequence. “Groundhog Day” is one of the most iconic films within the genre, but more recent examples like the 2014 release of “Edge of Tomorrow” and the 2017 film “Happy Death Day” have solidified their places within the time loop category as well. “Russian Doll,” created by Natasha Lyonne, Leslye Headland, and Amy Poehler, follows New York native Nadia Vulvokov, played by Lyonne, who finds herself trapped in a time loop on her birthday. As Nadia navigates through the intricacies of reliving the same day, the series’ soundtrack plays a crucial role in setting the show’s sardonic yet melancholic tone and mirroring Nadia’s inner turmoil and emotional state while amplifying the emotional stakes she faces throughout the narrative. Through repetition, echoing emotional resonance, and establishing an eerie, disorientating ambiance, the show’s music choices create a cohesive audio experience that immerses viewers deeper into Nadia’s reality.
The series begins with Nadia going through an existential crisis in the bathroom at her 36th birthday party. The audience is immediately introduced to Harry Nilsson’s 1971 track, “Gotta Get Up,” which serves as Nadia’s theme song throughout the series. The song presents itself as a plucky tune about getting ready for the day with its whimsical horns, jarring piano chords, and parade-ish fanfare, but the lyrics reveal a more sinister tale, depicting the shift from carefree youth to maturity. This track strongly resonates with Nadia’s despairing attitude towards aging and, later, her constantly reemerging in the bathroom after dying. Nilsson begins, “Gotta get up, gotta get out / Gotta get home before the mornin’ comes,” and a sense of urgency strikes the audience. In an interview with Billboard, the show’s music supervisor, Brienne Rose, refers to the song as being “a fabulous juxtaposition of, it sounds really happy on the surface and almost disorienting… but lyrically, it’s really devastating.” Certainly for Nadia, who hears the track again and again each time a new loop begins, “Gotta Get Up” shifts from a cheery song to a symbol of defeat.
When she exits the bathroom, she’s given a joint laced with cocaine — dubbed an “Israeli joint” — by her best friend Maxine and decides to leave the party with Mike, an overtly sleazy guy she meets. As Nadia’s night continues, she leaves her apartment to buy cigarettes, and it becomes apparent that her feelings of existential dread weren’t all in her head — she gets run over by a taxi and dies less than ten minutes into the series’ pilot. She doesn’t stay dead for long, however, and the audience feels the same sense of deja vu that Nadia does when “Gotta Get Up” restarts, and she’s standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom yet again. But, as only the first repeat of the night, it’s not alarming enough to believe the day truly has looped, and Nadia pushes aside her unease. She doesn’t leave the party early with Mike this time around and instead stays to see Maxine’s art installation, or as she calls it, “communal experience,” for Nadia. The deep, ethereal vocals of “Morning After” by Weyes Blood and Ariel Pink serenades the observers of Maxine’s art. Meanwhile, Nadia has visions of getting hit by a cab, and the lo-fi, avant-garde echoes of the track highlight the foggy daze that Nadia feels.
As the series continues and Nadia dies in many different ways (drowning, crashing down stairs, falling into manholes), she convinces herself that it’s not drugs causing the time loops but her own imagination. In other words — it’s all her. The audience learns that Nadia’s rocky relationship with her mother, who had untreated mental health issues, has made the protagonist fearful of being seen as “crazy,” which she now believes is coming true. Anika’s cover of the Kinks’ songwriter Ray Davies’ “I Go To Sleep” plays as Nadia makes her rounds at the party, dismissing her health to take shots, snort lines of cocaine, and smoke cigarettes, since she knows she’ll just live through the day again. The sense of utter hopelessness is enhanced by the drowsy musicality of the track. In a stripped-down arrangement, Anika evokes a sense of yearning and heartache through her haunting vocals and minimalistic approach to the musicality as she longs for someone who is no longer there. The discordant piano serves to add a feeling of unease for the audience, as the lyrics emit the melancholy lines, “I go to sleep, sleep / And imagining that you’re there with me / I was wrong, I will cry / I love you till the day I die.” Viewers are immersed in Nadia’s despair through the music, and the senseless repetition of the time loop hits the audience as hard as it does Nadia.
Desperately trying to uncover the reason for the time loop, Nadia questions the previous owners of the apartment where the party takes place and visits Ruth — her mother’s close friend from the 80s whom they moved in with when Nadia was young — to inquire about the details of her mother’s episodes and past. It’s revealed that Ruth raised Nadia after her mother died by suicide two days before her 36th birthday, hence why Nadia was so apprehensive in the original timeline. Due to her mother’s mental health problems, Ruth served as a mother figure for most of Nadia’s life, even before her mother’s passing. At the same time that Nadia is making her discoveries, the soundtrack is enhanced. Songs such as the crooning, ‘50s-esque track “Cherry Blossom” by ALA.NI and the synth-heavy ‘80s-inspired “Cop Killer” by John Maus immerse the audience in the chaos of Nadia’s life. Both songs are from the early 2010s, but their reminiscence of different decades adds to the muddled feeling of confusion that Nadia faces as the time loops keep occurring — the mixing of sounds from different musical decades creates a frenzy of paranoia and distortion for not only her but the audience.
Halfway through the season, the audience is introduced to Alan, a new character who is seemingly also stuck in a time loop. Nadia is reliving her birthday and learning from Ruth about her mother, Alan is reliving the night that his girlfriend, Bea, rejects his marriage proposal. While Nadia tries something different each time she is reincarnated in an attempt to break the pattern, Alan follows a strict, precise schedule that corresponds with his own loop song. In episode four, “Piano Concerto No. 4 in G Major, Op. 58: III. Rondo Vivace” by Ludwig van Beethoven serves as Alan’s theme that repeats each time he dies and restarts with him in front of his bathroom mirror. While the classical score may seem like a perfect match for dull perfectionist Alan on the surface, the concerto devolves into chaos in the same way that Nadia’s tracks do. The piano shifts to become more assertive and dynamic, captivating the audience with an unrelenting command with each complex twist. Where Alan’s inner turmoil is often reflected in Beethoven’s seemingly orderly and strict but eventually intense and hectic orchestral piece, Nadia being shrouded by “Gotta Get Up” is more directly obvious in its needy nature to break free from routine, as her feelings model the devolving lyrics’ desperation to escape.
Once Nadia and Alan realize they are not alone in the time loop predicament after meeting and dying in an elevator failure together, they find one another in the next loop. The two learn more about each other; though Alan can’t remember how he initially died, he discovers that Bea has been cheating on him with Mike, the man Nadia slept with on the first night of her birthday party. Following this revelation, both suggest different theories justifying why they are in this time trap, ranging from purgatorial punishment to black holes. In a moment of sincerity and vulnerability, the need to stop the time loops briefly pauses as Alan remembers how he died the first night. “I remembered my first death. I threw myself off the top of the building. I killed myself,” he cries to Nadia. The eerily angelic track “You Know What I Mean” by Cults plays in the background, crooning, “Please come and save me / Tell me what’s wrong with my brain.” This song begins with the bubblegum pop aesthetics of early ’60s music, with well-timed snaps and romantic piano chords, but after Alan’s confession and the beginning of the credits, the track becomes more rock-oriented, as lead vocalist Madeline Follin sings, “‘Cause I am afraid of the light / Yeah, you know what I mean.”
As the season one finale begins, both characters’ time loop tracks overlap one another in a peak of chaos, where “Gotta Get Up” and “Piano Concerto No. 4 in G Major, Op. 58: III. Rondo Vivace” layer on top of one another, flipping from Alan in his bathroom to Nadia in hers. They realize, after Alan’s recollection of his first death, that the time loop predicament is occurring because both of them had the chance to prevent the death of the other on the first night after inadvertently meeting in the same bodega — Nadia with Mike, buying condoms; Alan, drunk and buying more alcohol to deal with Bea’s rejection of his proposal — but didn’t because of their own desires. The two realize that they must reenact their first meeting and stop the other’s death to stop the time loops; Nadia must stop Alan from getting so drunk that his decision-making skills cause him to endanger himself, while Alan has to prevent Nadia from getting hit by the taxi that originally killed her. If they can save each other’s lives by rewriting their first encounter, they may fix the flaws in time.
But in making this revelation, they decide to utilize the time loop one last time to gain clarity on their problems before they can’t restart the day again. Alan decides to visit Bea one last time to completely understand why their relationship ended the way it did, while Nadia visits Ruth to tell her that she thinks her mother died because Nadia left her to live with Ruth. Both protagonists find solace in their respective conversations and die for the final time. Yet, in seeking each other out in the bodega, it is revealed that they are meeting each other in the original timeline before meeting. So, Nadia meets the drunk Alan, who doesn’t know her, while Alan meets the version of Nadia that’s going home with Mike. Nevertheless, both Nadia and Alan are able to save the versions of each other from death — Nadia stops Alan from jumping off the roof by keeping him company as sobers up, while Alan convinces Nadia that he isn’t a creepy stalker trying to interrupt her date, and prevents her from getting hit by the taxi — successfully ending the time loop.
In the final scene, the two timelines merge as Alan and Nadia enter a street parade led by Horse, a homeless man who has appeared throughout the series. In celebrating their triumph, Love’s “Alone Again Or” serenades the two as they march and dance. The track opens with a delicate acoustic guitar riff, followed by frontman Arthur Lee singing, “Yeah, I said it’s all right / I won’t forget / All the times I’ve waited patiently for you / And you’ll do just what you choose to do / And I will be alone again tonight my dear.” The addition of a mariachi-style trumpet section adds an unexpected twist to the composition, infusing it with a sense of grandeur as Nadia and Alan follow the crowd off in their rightful timelines.
The use of music in “Russian Doll” is not merely background noise but as a rightful storytelling device. The cherry-picked songs serve as aural signposts, guiding the audience through the shifting moods of characters and the deeply troubling reality they find themselves in. Whether it’s a poignant ballad during a moment of reflection or an upbeat track during a moment of catharsis, the soundtrack engages the audience and enhances the narrative’s ability to world-build.