Directed by: Oliver Hermanus
Distributed by: Mubi
Written by Anna Harrison
60/100
In “The History of Sound,” silence is crucial. The moments where nothing is said far outweigh the ones filled with blathering, both in screentime and importance. Even the singing—of which there is quite a lot—is usually a capella, and the gaps in between the breaths and the words carry with them a world of meaning, especially for New England Conservatory students Lionel (Paul Mescal) and David (Josh O’Connor). The two form an instant connection when Lionel overhears David playing a folk song on the piano that he recognizes from back home in Kentucky, and soon enough Lionel finds himself back at David’s apartment, and then quickly in David’s bed. There are no conversations to define the relationship, no discreet discussions about how to navigate life as a gay man in the early twentieth century; instead, there are stolen glances, handwritten notes, and words left unspoken. When David gets drafted in World War I, all Lionel can say is, “Don’t die.”
Period dramas about gay men are often prone to melodrama, but “The History of Sound” is restrained, perhaps too much so. The best part of the film involves Lionel and David—returned from the front lines but reticent to discuss anything—collecting folk songs in rural Maine for David’s job at Bowdoin College. Here, director Oliver Hermanus’ controlled approach works well and the depths of the movie’s central relationship finally reverberate through the silence: David stops to pick up all the feathers that drift from Lionel’s ripped pillowcase, Lionel notes the holes in David’s socks and darns them, all without a word. When the sound does come through the folk music of the region, it can be felt deep in your bones. Later, an older Lionel (Chris Cooper) will write on why folk music can touch so many and light fires when heard, but here we can witness that firsthand.
And then David—and thus O’Connor—disappears, and the shortfalls of the movie’s tone become apparent. Even at his most morose, David, thanks to O’Connor, had a liveliness to him, and without his presence, things begin to drag. Mescal is good, but Ben Shattuck’s script gives him little to do. In avoiding melodrama, “The History of Sound” veers so deeply into restraint that it becomes boring, and there are only so many times I can watch Lionel realize how deeply he misses David. We get it, buddy. I miss him too, since he was—as his absence makes clear—the only thing injecting any life into this movie aside from Alexander Dynan’s artful cinematography and bursts of Oliver Coates’ score.
There are sojourns to Italy and Oxford as Lionel sings and conducts his way out of poverty, but they are either too unbelievable (Kentucky, because who on earth could buy Mescal as a country farm boy, good accent work notwithstanding), too brief (Italy), or Lionel is too passive (Oxford) to make much of an impression, though Emma Canning’s turn as Lionel’s girlfriend while in England is a highlight. Nor is there much of a sense of urgency regarding David’s sudden silence, and so by the time we unravel the mystery years later, the impact is—like much of this film—muted. If folk music is all about igniting passion and heart in its listeners, shouldn’t “The History of Sound” have tried to do the same?
“The History of Sound” Trailer
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