As the lights turned back on in the theater after Oliver Hermanus’ (“Living”) World War I romance “The History of Sound,” the crowd remained seated in quiet reflection. We watched the credits roll before soundlessly shuffling out of the screening room, captured by the lingering somber air. Despite this reaction, I had a nagging feeling the film could have said much more. It was as though its message were caught on the tip of its tongue, begging to be shouted, yet only able to escape as a whisper.
The film begins with two men meeting in the haze of the smoky New England Conservatory in 1917. Lionel Worthing (Paul Mescal, “Gladiator II”), a musical prodigy with synesthesia, hears David (Josh O’Connor, “Challengers”) playing a folk song from his childhood at the piano. Their spark is immediate and palpable, as they go to David’s house for the first of many nights together. You could almost feel the tension through the screen, a testament to the brilliant performances of the cast. Mescal gives a beautifully controlled performance as Lionel, balancing his openness and passion with the undercurrent of persisting sadness, but it’s O’Connor who steals the show, delivering a standout performance as the emotionally torn and hauntingly restrained David White. The two have amazing chemistry, making every intimate scene feel tender and passionate, truly capturing the experience of yearning. Every time the two are on screen together, their dynamic enlivens the scene — and this film needed more of that.
As the two become entangled in one another’s lives, so does America’s role in the worsening war in Europe. David is drafted, leaving Lionel to return home alone to his farm in Kentucky. Two years later, David returns from the war and invites Lionel on a song collecting journey across rural Maine, stopping in small towns and recording their local folk songs on the way. It is during this trip that the film comes to life, as Hermanus exposes the cracks in David’s facade, revealing a man torn apart by war and grappling with listlessness and trauma. As a result, David and Lionel’s relationship remains surface-level, rarely mentioning their personal lives and hindering the depth of their relationship.
Unfortunately, the film leaves it there. Hermanus never delves into David’s story to explain his history or the wartime experiences that have led him to his present state. Instead, he restricts his experiences to haunted facial expressions and subtle quips that leave the viewer guessing. The film is caught in purgatory from this point on, unsure whether it wants to be anti-war or not, ultimately leaving behind a subdued message that refuses to pick a side. It has everything it needs to create a poignant exploration of the effects of war by mentioning David’s experiences, yet it never dives deep enough to drive home a point.
The story eventually jumps to 1923, with Lionel now singing for a choir in Rome after losing contact with David. Theoretically, he has everything one could want: money, respect, a new lover. Yet he’s still miserable, stuck reliving the joy of his fateful song-collecting journey. He returns to Maine in search of David, leading to the tragic reveal that David had died several years earlier. Albeit heartbreaking, this revelation comes across as predictable. By cutting David out of the second half of the film entirely, the audience loses that sense of attachment to him, which ultimately diminishes the emotional weight of this moment.
Despite its potential, “The History of Sound” leaves the audience yearning for more. The film had all of the necessary elements to create a beautiful commentary on the realities of war or the Queer experience, but it rarely chose to do either. Hermanus briefly touches on the implications of a Queer relationship in the 1920s when David asks Lionel if he ever questions their relationship, to which Lionel simply responds, “no.” In comparison to similar films like Ang Lee’s “Brokeback Mountain” or James Ivory’s “Maurice,” both of which dove headfirst into their historical settings, using them to enhance their central messaging, “The History of Sound” falls short in exploring and commenting on its time period.
The film was also writer Ben Shattuck’s first endeavor into screenwriting, as he adapted two of his short stories into what eventually became “The History of Sound.” This literary influence comes through from the very first scene, as small bursts of action are interjected with long, paragraph-style narration splayed over gorgeous natural scenery as though these moments were pulled straight from the original stories. However, the script struggles to smoothly transition from print to screen, resulting in unanswered questions and an indirect approach that muddle the storyline.
On the other hand, this film is visually stunning with talented cinematographer Alexander Dynan (“Goodnight Mommy”) capturing the quiet, moody atmosphere of the conservatory, vibrant Italian architecture and beautifully expansive landscapes. There is a recurring juxtaposition between dark enclosed spaces and open natural scenery, visualizing the dichotomy present between the stifling political climate and the character’s desire for freedom. Still, there is an untapped potential to explore Lionel’s synesthesia through the visuals of the film, which could have added more depth and intrigue to the visual landscape while simultaneously granting the viewer insight into Lionel’s mind.
Lastly, I have to mention the gorgeous folk-inspired music that sets a beautiful mood for the film as a whole. It is stripped back and simple, perfectly framing the subdued quality of the film and lending to the recurring motif of music and mortality, speaking to music’s power to transcend life. From the folk songs that Lionel sings to the recordings the two men collect on their trip, the film argues that a person’s spirit can live forever through music. Some of the strongest scenes are those that explore the impacts of music across time, like Lionel listening to David’s recordings from all those years ago. If Hermanus had focused on exploring this aspect of the film deeper, rather than shallowly skimming several ideas, “The History of Sound” might have been more focused and delivered a more emotionally compelling story.
“The History of Sound” can best be described as a low hum. It never raises its voice, as though it’s afraid to shock the audience, but this is ultimately its biggest pitfall. Hermanus leaves several stones unturned and avenues unexplored, leaving the viewer wanting more. Its subtlety is beautiful and restrained, but, ironically, this film about music was far too quiet to make a lasting impact.
Daily Arts Contributor Taylor Koski can be reached at tckoski@umich.edu.
