Emotionally faint, ‘The History of Sound’ trades on too subtle a romantic ache

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The movie “The History of Sound,” directed by Oliver Hermanus, is a compelling watch due to its captivating lead pair. With Paul Mescal and Josh O’Connor in the leading roles, this film offers a daring romance featuring two immensely talented and versatile actors. Their characters, set during World War I, also share a love for American folk songs, providing them with a socially acceptable form of affection alongside the one they cannot openly express.

You’ll likely find yourself enamored with “The History of Sound” just as earnestly as Kentuckian Lionel (Mescal) and New Englander David (O’Connor) are drawn to each other. However, what remains is a sense of disappointment from unmet expectations. Despite the film’s sharp focus on two divergent lives, “The History of Sound” feels more like an intricately arranged still life rather than a dynamic narrative. Comparisons to “Brokeback Mountain” are hard to avoid, but they may unfortunately cast this tender yet overly cautious story in the long shadow of that emotionally powerful masterpiece.

In 1917, a gifted singer named Lionel, known for his reserved and polite demeanor, encounters David, a charming music history enthusiast, at a conservatory in Boston. Sharing a passion for rural songs filled with struggle, emotion, and yearning, they form a connection over the bar piano and later in private. Unfortunately, their intimate relationship is interrupted when David is drafted. However, after some time, David, now back from his duties and settled as a music teacher in Maine, invites Lionel – stuck in a dull shack with melancholic parents – on an expedition to gather songs in the rugged, coastal wilderness of New England.

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To date, the movie, which novelist Shattuck personally adapted into a script, has subtly suggested the dynamic closeness shared by kindred spirits, but Hermanus’ scenes, devoid of emotion under Alexander Dynan’s washed-out cinematography (making earth tones appear anything but earthy), remain too unyielding and lacking in depth. Despite these characters, now back together, working to document marginalized communities during the day while reconnecting intimately within a tent at night, it all continues to feel restrained and staged, similar to scenes in a monotonous educational film with a dull score.

The performances of the traditional songs in the film, such as “Here in the Vineyard” and “Silver Dagger,” appear sterile, which is unusual considering they’re known for empowering the powerless. However, unlike his previous works like “Moffie” and “Living,” where he expertly portrayed era-specific repression, Hermanus seems to struggle expressing similar depth in this film. The full-throated expressions seem to echo from behind a barrier, whether they’re sung outdoors or indoors, giving the impression of watching and listening through a pane of glass.

Although the characters, Mescal and O’Connor, may appear as mere examples of profound pain, their performances are so compelling that they establish a convincing narrative of love and its repercussions. O’Connor’s screen presence is captivating, with subtle looks and gestures that speak volumes. Mescal, in particular, exudes sadness in such a way that it resonates deeply as the story moves between Italy, London, and back again. His portrayal of sorrow-stricken solitude is moving, especially after his critically acclaimed performances in “Aftersun” and “All of Us Strangers.” It’s hard to find a more skilled portraitist of characters grappling with despair.

In its final act, “The Sound’s History” resonates most deeply with raw emotion and release, thanks in part to compelling performances from Hadley Robinson and Chris Cooper. Although the journey may be predictable at times, the emotional impact remains profound. Unfortunately, Martin Hermanus might have benefited from more thoughtful storytelling to create a more engaging path towards this powerful conclusion.

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2025-09-12 13:31