The Underrated Brilliance of To Live and Die in L.A. — Film and Soundtrack Alike

William Petersen as Richard Chance in To Live and Die in L.A.

Some films are good. Some are iconic. And then there are a few that burn a hole in your brain for reasons you can’t entirely explain. To Live and Die in L.A. is that kind of film—a bold, erratic, neon-soaked fever dream of 1980s nihilism wrapped in the stylish trench coat of a cop thriller.

Directed by William Friedkin in 1985, it’s a movie that swerves away from formula at every turn. Its protagonist is a hot-headed Secret Service agent who’s more of a menace than a hero. Its plot structure gleefully throws away conventions, killing off characters with ruthless efficiency and introducing moral ambiguity as the film’s only true compass. But beyond the bullets, betrayals, and forgeries, the film is a meditation on obsession and emptiness—how men lose themselves in the pursuit of power, justice, or just something that feels real.

And then there’s the soundtrack.

Wang Chung—yes, the same band you associate with that one fun party song—delivered a synth-heavy masterpiece of mood. Their score doesn’t just accompany the film; it defines it. Pulsing basslines, eerie electronic hums, and soaring arpeggios turn Los Angeles into a landscape of existential dread and strange beauty. The music doesn’t tell you what to feel—it infects your blood with it. Without this soundtrack, To Live and Die in L.A. might still be a good movie. With it, it’s unforgettable.

Watch it again—or for the first time. Put on headphones. Let the opening credits and that synth haze wash over you. This isn’t just a crime movie. It’s a time capsule, a tone poem, a sonic hallucination of what it meant to chase shadows through the underbelly of Reagan-era America.

Underrated? Absolutely. Brilliant? Without question.