In the 2012 French television series Les Revenants ("The Returned"), a mismatched collection of mountain townies — a young boy, a teenage twin, a cannibalistic serial killer — mysteriously rise from the dead, not as flesh-rotting zombies (that bit comes later on) but as undisturbed versions of their former selves, hunting for family, food and answers. They do so to a creeper of a score by the Scottish band Mogwai, whose eternal mood music has been used in spiritual feature-film allegories (Darren Aronofsky's The Fountain) and soccer documentaries (Zidane, A 21st Century Portrait), though never to greater effect than in Les Revenants: The standalone soundtrack is the most nuanced thing Mogwai has done in a decade, while onscreen it plays the role of another resurrected character, eschewing (like the show) manipulative scares in favor of a pervasive uneasiness and long-game wrongness. That the band composed much of it before production had commenced, after reading only a few early scripts, makes the question of influence and inspiration even trickier to resolve; Mogwai's 20-year, monolithic post-rock presence is felt in every shot of the unresolved series, an otherworld not unlike this one, where dying young is only the beginning. Majeure opens. Tickets $20.