From the very first scenes, Oliver Hermanus’s film The History of Sound invites us on a journey filled with fragility and intensity. Featuring standout performances from two of the finest actors of their generation, Paul Mescal and Josh O’Connor, the film tells the story of two lonely men who meet at a crucial time in their nation’s history. Together, they work on recording and archiving the voices, sounds, and songs of their fellow countrymen, against the gloomy backdrop of WWI.
O’Connor plays David, the witch of the forest-like musician, who comes from a mysterious background, with a charming, dazzling personality, and a tragic melodramatic artist lying underneath. Mescal’s Lionel is the tapestry on which the relationship blossoms. He’s a farm boy who comes from a modest background, he’s reserved and conservative, the recipient of David’s theatrical pain and incessant observations on art and life. It would be unfair to compare performances because both Mescal and O’Connor do an excellent job here, but David is a much sexier and intriguing character than Lionel. Whenever he is absent from the screen, viewers will thoroughly miss him.
It’s no secret that The History of Sound is a performance-heavy film. The weight of it all falls on the two leads’ shoulders. They do a great job of it, no questions. But it’s also a huge responsibility because all other elements in the film, regardless of how impeccable they are, pale in comparison to anticipating where the love story between Lionel and David will go. Another problem stems from the expectations we have now associated with modern queer films.
After a bold, sensual feast like All of Us Strangers that oozes with sadness as it does with steamy sex scenes, it is sometimes underwhelming to see the sex scenes reduced to portraits of still life. Like subdued erotica paintings of two beautiful bodies resting against one another, Hermanus -known for his boldness in TV series like Mary & George– opts for a calmer, more contained depiction of intimacy on screen. It’s not just the times or the subdued nature of the world surrounding both Lionel and David, but it’s the complex nature of a relationship between two people torn between normal lives they leave behind and a vast existence as archivists of music and musicians. They sing but they are not professional singers. They exist among the working class and the everyday men whose reliance on music is a mere survival technique, but they are far too sophisticated to conform. It’s a unique bond that forms between the two men, one that doesn’t resemble other queer relationships in more nuanced films.
Comparisons to Brokeback Mountain with shared themes and pitting two of the hottest rising stars aside, this movie needs us to allow it to grow on us, separate and detached from any form of turbidity. It seeps under the skin, maybe too slowly for modern filmgoers’ liking, but assuredly nonetheless. I think it’s unfair for the stars, for Hermanus, and for the script to be shoved into the LGBTQ cinema hall of fame, with the comparison to Brokeback always leaning in favor of the latter. But apart from such a weight of decades of queer filmmaking, The History of Sound is its own phoenix, born from the ashes of the millions of song archivists in the past, whose plight and searching may not have mattered or been heard of, until Ben Shattuck decided to write short stories about them.
It’s a film for lonely people about lonely people. Beautifully shot and acted. With gorgeous, saturated cinematography and haunted eyes from both leads. It aches for an audience that seeks solace in the art of filmmaking, how two people in the world can only find understanding and belonging in each other. Yes, Hermanus’s compass is niche and overreaching, but not every film has to be food for the masses. This one might have trouble finding an audience and suffers from major pacing issues, especially when the lovers are apart, but it’s a gentle, quiet, passionate film that hides more than it shows. Hoping that one day, someone would decipher its latent magic.