The History of Sound

I knew nothing about this movie nor the book. The conclusion is that it is not a perfect movie, not even close, but I enjoyed the movie.

It is a slow movie. Lionel (Paul Mescal) takes most of the screen time but David (Josh O'Connor) stole every scenes. From his gaze to moving his mouth, Lionel was no wonder under David's spell and followed David wherever he went. It makes the heartbreaking when Lionel found out what had happened to David.

Capturing the history of sound back in the 20s was hard, just as finding a forbidden love in that era. I wish the director used more dialogs to express their feelings to each other and run parallel with the project they did in the movie.

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.

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.

I'm an old man and over the years have had many gay friends (I worked in the arts). Most of them are not effeminate and most of them have served in the armed forces. The story I've heard repeatedly is that there is a lot of homosexuality in the military, but it is not acknowledged, even among the participants. This movie is sort of like that, too. The two lead characters do become physically involved, but they never really talk about their relationship. It's not the "love that dare not speak its name," but the love that dare not speak at all. That's why this movie is significant.

The story, which takes place in the early years of the 20th Century, concerns a farm boy (Paul Mescal) who also happens to be an instinctive musical prodigy and was gifted with perfect pitch. He can tell what key that roosters crow in. He meets a New England professor his same age (Josh O'Connor) who is impressed when he sings a folk song in a bar. They strike up a friendship and end up taking a trip together doing field work on collecting American folk songs, transcribing and recording them on an early recording machine that utilizes wax cylinders. The sex scenes are very subtle and are not sensationalized. I did not find them offensive. Their relationship is simple and full of mutual respect. When World War breaks out, the New Englander is drafted, but the farm boy is not because of his eyesight. (He wears glasses.) The war causes them to question what's next after it's over. The New Englander encourages the farm boy to go to Europe and sing professionally, which he does very successfully. They carry on a correspondence, but one day the letters stop coming. But life goes on. The farm boy becomes sophisticated and also has a love affair with a rich young British woman and they plan to marry. Revealing more would necessitate spoilers, which I don't to do.

The movie looks gorgeous. The American scenes in particular are reminiscent of the paintings of Andrew Wyeth. Art decoration and cinematography are beautifully detailed. The music is all based on American folk songs wonderfully augmented by evocative music composed by cellist Oliver Coates. All the actors, from even the smallest roles are pitch perfect. In the leads, both O'Connor and Mescal give powerfully understated and realistic performances. This is especially impressive because neither of them is an American. I was unfamiliar with the director, Oliver Hermanus, but I will seek out his other work. The work here is super. This movie is probably not for everybody, but those interested in folk music and American history will find it rewarding. I was tempted to add "gay studies," but I think that would be somewhat misleading. That is, however, the central issue, even though it never takes center stage. I think that's what makes the film so haunting.

Honestly, this film has been on my watchlist since 2021, and after the whole COVID-19 mess, I was pretty sure I'd never get to see it.

But unfortunately, it ended in major disappointment.

First off, it's important to point out that this is an adaptation of a book/short story which I haven't read.

Back to the film: the portrayal of 1917 is absolutely stunning. From the color palette to the costumes, even the tiniest background details are handled beautifully. I wouldn't be surprised if it gets an Oscar nod in one of those categories.

But not everything runs so smoothly. Nearly half of the film's most powerful scenes feel like carbon copies of Paul Mescal's earlier work-almost shot-for-shot, moments he's already known for in other films and series.

Why they chose to do that, whether it was director Oliver Hermanus or cinematographer Alexander Dynan, I don't know. But I can say for sure it was the wrong call.

Add to that the weak dialogue and a queer storyline that feels underdeveloped, and the film ends up miles away from where it's clearly trying to go.

That said, the music choices and Chris Cooper's presence earn it some points back.