The History of Sound

The History of Sound is well written, acted, directed and filmed attraction between two men who's lives intersected for too brief a period of time. I was surprised that Josh and Paul sang that well. Unrequited love pulls at your hearts and messes with your minds. The scenery in Kentucky, Maine, London and Italy set in the era around WWI and afterwards pleases the eyes.

Slow moving, beautifully photographed and acted, exquisitely crafted love story. One for the ages. Make no mistake about it, this is a profoundly moving motion picture experience that defies all expectations. The cumulative effect of using unknow actors. An achingly slow pace and a naked score (you will know it when you hear it) assures you will pay attention to the subtleties and nuances of the plot, the anguish of the characters and the final denouement. This is not for modern day action junkies nor attention deficit disorder victims. Huge wordless spaces between fragments of dialogue will alienate modern day adventure junkies who need a jolt every ten seconds. This is an exquisite filme.

The History of Sound is a slow, almost meditative narrative that follows the brief but intense relationship between Lionel and David.

While I did enjoy it, I had hoped the film would focus on and explore their relationship more on screen, rather than relying on fragments for us to infer from. This isn't always a bad thing, but for a film that is about their relationship and love, I expected more of it to focus on that. That part was a little disappointing for me.

My favourite scenes were when Paul and Josh were together. They're both great actors in my opinion, had amazing chemistry. I just wish we had gotten more! Having these two as your lead actors, the possibilities are endless. Perhaps my expectations were too high. That said, I loved the beginning and the last 30 minutes. Another positive is that it's a beautiful film, with gorgeous shots!

Overall, it's a good film and one plan to see again.

Side note: I have a soft spot for Josh O'Connor, so it's always a delight to see him on screen.

From the outset of its announcement, I closely followed the development of The History of Sound. The reason was straightforward: like Brokeback Mountain, it is adapted from a short story. Expanding such a compact narrative into a feature-length film inevitably demands significant intervention from the director and screenwriter. While the original text offers only fleeting descriptions of many scenes, the filmmakers must decide whether to elaborate upon these gaps or to remain faithful to the sparseness of the source.

It is therefore almost unavoidable to compare this film with Brokeback Mountain. The comparison became especially acute as I left the cinema after the credits had finished. Both films address themes of loss and regret, yet the crucial question is whether a director can transcend this now familiar framework. Regrettably, I contend that Oliver Hermanus does not. Entering the cinema already familiar with the short story, I could anticipate the emotional trajectory with surprising accuracy. For viewers, such predictability undermines emotional force, since foreknowledge diminishes impact.

That being said, the film's atmosphere is crafted with undeniable skill. The staging and visual tone exert considerable power, and the occasional impressionistic passages recalled for me the aesthetic precision of Luca Guadagnino. Yet therein lies a difficulty: when the world of the film feels so palpably real, the characters must embody a corresponding authenticity. Otherwise, their emotions risk appearing contrived. This is the director's central challenge, and I do not believe the balance was fully achieved.

In its articulation of love, the film remains overly restrained. Once again, comparison with Brokeback Mountain proves illuminating. The two narratives follow strikingly similar trajectories: a restrictive social milieu, two people isolated from the world, eventual separation, marriage to others, and Sudden death. These stages align almost exactly. Yet the difference in characterization alters the effect. In Brokeback Mountain, Jack is the active force, the instigator who propels the story forward, making his sudden death profoundly disruptive. Ang Lee's shift of perspective from Jack to Ennis further deepens the emotional resonance of Jack's absence. By contrast, David in The History of Sound is introverted and reticent. Employing a similar structure undercuts emotional engagement, for audiences struggle to empathize with the bond between David and Lionel, rendering the final revelation less powerful.

The difficulty lies in the representation of their relationship, which appears too attenuated. Though the story spans decades, built upon waiting and promises, the two are in fact together for only a few months, as the short story explicitly states. This similarity to Brokeback Mountain intensifies the challenge. With so little time shared, the director needed to accentuate details that would mark the relationship as unique and indispensable. Only through such emphasis could viewers be persuaded that Lionel's lifelong memory of David was justified. Hermanus, however, chose continued restraint. Even in moments when emotional intensity seemed required, the film remains subdued. The result is a narrative with limited emotional modulation. Beautiful images and carefully curated atmospheres are not sufficient; without variation in feeling, they become mere surfaces, unable to sustain the weight of love.

It is worth noting that the moment which moved me most did not involve the central romance at all, but rather Lionel discovering his mother's embroidery, accompanied by a cut to her smiling face. Curiously, in the short story the mother is almost invisible, scarcely described. This indicates that the director did invest thought in certain details, though in this case channeling emotion into a secondary character. If such attention had been more consistently integrated into the interactions of the protagonists, the love story might have acquired greater depth.

This is not to deny Hermanus's care. The pillow feathers, a bird's tail plume, and the final reel of recorded sound each elicited genuine emotional response from me. Yet these moments, though affecting, are too brief and too dispersed to sustain a two-hour film. They glitter as fragments but fail to coalesce into a continuous emotional line.

In sum, The History of Sound is a work of considerable poetic ambition and period sensibility. Its cinematography, atmosphere, and details affirm the enduring resonance of its love story. However, these strengths remain largely on the level of aesthetic beauty, lacking integration with emotional depth. Hermanus's preference for restraint grants the film serenity but also deprives it of resonance. The embedded details, while thoughtful, might be better suited to brisker narratives that reward repeated viewings. In a slow, narratively expansive drama, such reticence proves limiting. For me, The History of Sound is beautiful but not fully moving: a finely written love letter without sufficient passion to ignite the reader's heart. Compared to the original text, it falls just short of achieving its potential.

Every frame of this film is pure beauty. The music, cinematography, direction, and story all come together perfectly, but what stands out most is the chemistry between Mescal and O'Connor. There isn't a single element out of place; everything blends seamlessly, guiding you through a romantic and melancholic journey with grace. If you're a romantic at heart, this film is a must-watch.