Merrie Snell's monograph is a much-needed addition to the sound studies literature, a literature that is surprisingly silent on a practice as ubiquitous as lipsynching. As Snell attests, lipsynching is something we all do, however amateurishly, as well as a deeply ingrained part of many artistic practices, most notably film and drag performance. Arranged into four thematic sections – ‘Locating the disembodied voice’, ‘Lipsynching to conceal’, ‘Lipsynching to express’ and ‘Lipsynching to start your day: The soundtracked life’ – Snell's book charts an impressive cross section of lipsynching as a cultural phenomenon, beginning with a theoretical dissection of the disembodied voice, and then proceeding broadly chronologically through to the present day, with examples drawn from Hollywood musicals, film more generally, popstar scandals, YouTube and other video-sharing platforms, and even the author's own forays into lipsynching. While its diverse range of examples is to be lauded, Lipsynching is not without its conscious omissions, and though drag performance is mentioned (pp. 90–94), this is only cursory, Snell noting that ‘drag lipsynching deserves a volume unto itself’ (p. 9, and see Bird Reference Bird2020). Lipsynching's respective breadth, coupled with some insightful theorising, marks it as an extremely useful text for scholars and students alike, opening up this burgeoning field for future research and providing a critical point of reference.

A trenchant theorising of lipsynching as a practice is needed in the literature more broadly, and this is an area that Snell seeks to address. In her first chapter, Snell synthesises Philip Auslander, Steven Connor, Rick Altman, Steve Wurtzler (pp. 14–22) and later Michel Chion (p. 64) into a compelling argument for the power of the disembodied voice, and the radical potential of lipsynching to re-embody those voices, to layer voices and bodies, both real and imagined. Out of this, some key neologisms arise, such as ‘receiver externalization’, terms that one can imagine being taken up readily, obviating the need for clunky ‘interior/exterior’ repetitions: analysing the famous opening to Bridget Jones's Diary, during which Bridget lipsynchs to ‘All by Myself’, Snell writes: ‘what she hears, we see. It is an external voice internalized in Bridget's encounter with it, then re-externalized from out of this interior: what we might call receiver externalization’ (p. 72). Yet, some key texts are arguably missing, notably Adriana Cavarero (Reference Cavarero and Kottman2005), Mladen Dolar (Reference Dolar2006), and Leila Riszko (Reference Riszko2017), the inclusion of which could have added more nuance to ideas of vocal uniqueness (Cavarero), the structure of the voice and the voice as object (Dolar), as well as existing applications of some of Snell's theorists to lipsynching (Riszko).

Snell also helpfully extends extant theories, expanding their potential, although at times with varied results. For example, Snell introduces Chion's concept of the acousmêtre when discussing compiled scores in films, specifically ‘The Sound of Silence’ from The Graduate (p. 64). Arguing that the song comments on the narrative from outside the film's diegesis, Snell proffers a persuasive argument and one that extends Chion's original theory in productive ways (p. 155, n. 39), although, critically, these examples are not of lipsynching exactly, but of synchronous sound, multiple diegesis and their relationships to internal monologue. Later, the acousmêtre is employed pleasingly to lipsynching proper in discussing the potential horrors of lipsynching in Jimmy Slonina's ‘I Put a Spell on You – Lip sync’, highlighting the ghostly spectres of the lipsynched voice, left over from the recorded voice's acousmêtric nature (p. 134). However, at times the theory feels overstretched, as in Snell's discussion of lipsynching to ‘Dancing Queen’ in the film Muriel's Wedding (p. 74). If Chion's acousmêtre functions ‘when this voice has not yet been visualised – that is, when we cannot yet connect it to a face’ (Chion Reference Chion and Gorbman1999, p. 21), how can it be applicable here? Not only does the audience have the face of the performer to de-acousmatise the recorded voice, but these voices are, for all intents and purposes, already de-acousmatised: who, when listening to ABBA, can't picture the voices’ original bodies, and surely herein lies the humour, indeed the ‘power’ (p. 74), of such a layering? Given the prevalence of identity in Snell's argument, I wonder if a different theory might draw out more nuance in this instance.

I find the most exciting parts of Snell's argument to be where she diverges from lipsynching as a solely ascriptive function of the lips, for lipsynching is much more than its namesake. Her mention, again in relation to the ‘Dancing Queen’ scene in Muriel's Wedding, of ‘active embodiment […], transferring the voice from the ear to the entire musculature’ (p. 74) settles on a key issue, namely the role of the body in lipsynching. Her earlier examples, such as the often-cited climax of Singin’ in the Rain, do discuss the body, but the body as aesthetic object – an ideal voice to fit an ideal body (p. 45). However, what about the work that the body has to do to house the voice believably? Is it simply a matter of oral synchrony? What degrees of muscular effort have to be visible? What if there were two people onstage (as there are in her later example from RuPaul's Drag Race, p. 90): whose production would be more believable? These seem like crucial questions, beyond the ascriptive exigencies of lipsynching. Similarly, referring to the ‘The Banana Boat Song (Day-O)’ scene in Beetlejuice, Snell makes an evocative turn from body to breath, arguing that ‘full embodiment is necessary for the transformation. The song must be lived. It must be written onto the skin and into the breath’ (p. 78). What does it mean for a song to be ‘written onto the skin and into the breath’? Further interrogation of these moments might have evinced more of Snell's theoretical potential, offering answers to such fascinating propositions.

These hanging moments of potential theorisation are perhaps the pay-off for providing such an impressive and extensive plethora of examples; indeed, one of the strongest parts of the book is just how many examples Snell finds from across a diverse range of sources, proving the continued importance of lipsynching in the cultural psyche. Yet, when Snell does consider particular examples in depth the results are fascinating. Her discussion of Dennis Potter's The Singing Detective, for example, is particularly incisive. Here Snell draws heavily on Freudian psychoanalysis, specifically the Uncanny, remarking that both the voice and the Uncanny's (un)heimlich nature bear a structural similarity (p. 81), one that comes to the fore in Potter's use of lipsynching during analeptic hallucinations, doppelgängers and eerie shared voices. It is in this section that the knottiness of lipsynching is drawn out, its destabilising capacity (p. 81), one that, Snell argues, even toes the line between life and death (p. 80). This section is rich and critically analysed, and Snell also promises there is more to come, with ‘a comprehensive hermeneutical analysis of lipsynching in the works of Potter and Lynch’ underway (p. 78).

Beyond filmic examples, Snell's focus on vernacular forms of lipsynching is similarly assiduously compiled and deeply engaging, as well as very timely. Offering examples of both solo and group YouTube lipsynchs, Snell parses apart the interactions between amateur musicking and capitalist infrastructures, the formation of identity and fandom, commercial free-use and misuse of product, and the growing fascination with vernacular forms of lipsynching. Although Snell's examples predominantly come from around a decade ago, her research will undoubtedly be useful for scholars working on the contemporary proliferation of lipsynching on apps such as TikTok. Her closing remarks on her own lipsynch videos as Fredasterical (p. 138) are inspiring, and weave together her thoughtful analyses with personal experience in a poignant way.

Snell's book is an impressive cornerstone of the lipsynching literature, and one that will be immensely helpful in putting lipsynching on the map. It is a vibrant read, and one that revels in the joys – and horrors – of lipsynching.