Gus Van Sant’s 1997 film, Good Will Hunting, undoubtedly does a lot of things right. It’s a movie that, I would argue, is universally loved—a movie even some of the harshest critics, otherwise known as my dad, can get behind.

In fact, despite our differing tastes, something my dad and I can agree upon is Good Will Hunting’s impeccable soundtrack, which sports five songs written by the late singer-songwriter Elliott Smith. As a self-proclaimed Smith fanatic, I return to Good Will Hunting often just to revel in Smith’s genius. My dad, who often pokes fun at my obsession with dismal music, still agrees that the soundtrack stands out.

Good Will Hunting’s soundtrack was something that completely elevated the film for me. These were songs I already love, of course, but I always appreciate how the choice to use them feels purposeful. The desolate mood of Smith’s songwriting contributes perfectly to the film’s narrative.

So it’s disappointing when I speak to someone about Good Will Hunting, even someone who enjoys Smith’s music, and they admit that they had no idea his songs were on the soundtrack. For me, the two go together in my head—it’s a soundtrack so perfect that it completely defines the movie.

That’s why I appreciate my conversations with my dad about Smith regarding Good Will Hunting. Even if my dad’s taste isn’t quite developed enough to comprehend Smith’s greatness (Dad, if you’re reading this, that was a joke), we can still appreciate his artistry through a film we both enjoy.

This is what makes a film soundtrack so important to the film-watching experience: It can bridge that gap between film fans, music enthusiasts, and everyone in between. Whether you enjoy the song itself or its purpose in a film, the mixing of these two media creates a vital intersection between these communities.

I remember a specific conversation with my dad where we talked about Smith’s performance of “Miss Misery” at the Oscars, the song he wrote for Good Will Hunting’s soundtrack. Smith’s performance, like his music, is strikingly vulnerable. It lacks the spectacle of a usual awards-show performance—it’s just him, his guitar, and a swelling orchestral backing track.

But this stripped-down, heart-wrenching performance captures what Smith does on Good Will Hunting’s soundtrack so well. It’s so introspective, so beautiful, so human—all things the film achieves with the help of Smith’s songwriting, which magnifies every emotional beat of the screenplay.

Take, for instance, an early scene in the film where the protagonist, Will Hunting (Matt Damon), and his group of friends traverse the city of Boston while “No Name #3” plays in the background. Those in the group clearly enjoy their simple lives, but lingering shots on their faces and the dark, vacant streets, along with Smith’s soft, lonesome melody floating in and out, all hint that they don’t feel fulfilled.

Or take an endearing scene between Will and his love interest, Skylar (Minnie Driver). Their chemistry is palpable through snappy dialogue and grounding performances between Damon and Driver. What really makes you feel like you’re falling in love right alongside Will, though, is Smith’s plucky, charming love song “Say Yes.”

It’s the combination of all of these factors—the cinematography, the performances, the screenplay—working alongside Smith’s sensitive songs that emphasize every emotion. The haunting heartbreak of “Angeles,” the somber contemplation of “Between the Bars,” and the desperate lovesickness of “Miss Misery” have you empathizing with Will’s story, whether you’re a fan of Smith or not.

In expressing my love for Smith and other folk songwriters to my dad, he recommended another film that is driven by its soundtrack: Almost Famous. A coming-of-age contemporary to Good Will Hunting, Almost Famous follows the story of William Miller, a 15-year-old aspiring rock journalist in 1973, who follows an up-and-coming rock band on tour.

Almost Famous may seem wildly different from Good Will Hunting in terms of tone—it has a colorful array of over-the-top characters and an exciting, fast-moving plot, and it seems that it would lack that introspection that the latter pulls off so well. But Almost Famous, like Good Will Hunting, is a surprisingly down-to-earth film about self-discovery and friendship.

And, in terms of soundtrack, my dad was right: Almost Famous takes Good Will Hunting’s music appreciation and dials it up to 10. It pays homage to the music greats, with countless needle drops that suck you right into the excitement of the time period. By choosing so many beloved classics, Almost Famous reminds you why music is so powerful.

Simon & Garfunkel’s “America” emerges early in the film, as William’s sister leaves home and bestows on him her record collection. The song itself is, in my opinion, already one of their best, and its grandeur contributes to William’s budding whimsy and building passion for music. It plays as his sister drives away, and then the shot cuts to a young William flipping through dozens of classic records—The Beach Boys, Jimi Hendrix, Joni Mitchell, Bob Dylan.

The soundtrack helps the audience get excited about the film. Whether they consider themselves fans of classic rock or not, it creates something to talk about after the end credits roll. For music enthusiasts, it’s their chance to flaunt their knowledge. For film nerds, they can appreciate how it builds emotion and moves the plot forward so effortlessly.

And, just as I did with Good Will Hunting, it was nice to be able to talk about the soundtrack of Almost Famous with my dad. This was music we could reach a consensus on—it’s just undeniably good music. But it’s touching when these two passions, music and film, marry in such a way that I can spin an entirely new conversation about it.

Even if the film or soundtrack is good separately, it’s when the genius of a song complements what a film is trying to say that the magic happens. And if that gives me one more excuse to gush about Elliott Smith to my dad, then so be it.