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This article focuses on the paratexts of opera DVDs as a route into the status and cultural placement of opera videos in contemporary visual culture. In particular, it analyses the picture covers, menus and openings credits of four productions of Verdi's Don Carlo, arguing that, although the videos fall within the broader discourse of the ‘televisual’ (a discourse that encourages the viewer to conceive the image as a transparent document of the performance on-stage), these paratexts put forward alternative ways of conceiving the relationship between medium and subject matter, imagining opera's materials, however briefly, in terms of narrative cinema and music video, video games and computer loops.

The repeated use of the ‘Goldberg’ Variations in the Hannibal Lecter saga offers a route into the complexities of cinema's appropriation of Western art music. To an extent, the affiliation of Bach with a cannibalistic serial killer rehearses the notion of ‘classical music’ as socially and culturally other. Yet at the same time, from its first appearance in a memorable scene in The Silence of the Lambs (1991), the music is tied to the workings of a mass-media phenomenon. This becomes evident in the sequel, Hannibal (2001), where the ‘Goldberg’ Aria, used as title song, crossing in and out of the diegesis and mixed with sound effects, becomes part of the development of the character into a media franchise, of the romanticizing of his masculinity and the spectacularization of his violence. Thus, in the process of capitalizing on Lecter's success, the saga at once insists on classical music's otherness and blurs its difference from film music.

In Jim Jarmusch'sInt. Trailer. Night(2002) a young American actress, alone in her trailer for a ten-minute break, lights up a cigarette and puts on a CD of theGoldberg Variations. In this short, almost plotless experimental film Bach sounds outside the frameworks that typically motivate the diegetic presence of so-called ‘classical music’ in cinema, detached from the places and signifiers of high art and from high-level meanings and pointed occurrences. This unusual representation of listening opens up two complementary lines of enquiry: first, into the way in which Jarmusch draws on Bach to invent a reality that is strange and irreducible, marked by unexpected cultural affiliations and by an elusive affective realm; second, into the way in which, by thus channelling Bach into his poetics of the everyday, the director reinvents the music's own identity, putting forward a de-essentialized image of its cultural placement and aesthetic status.