‘The History of Sound’ Review: Oliver Hermanus’ Meandering Love Story
While Oliver Hermanus stuns with its patient visual language and soul-shocking musical sequences, The History of Sound’s structure — and a miscast Paul Mescal — leaves a lot to be desired by the time the movie reaches its admittedly devastating epilogue.
There’s a great disconnection between what Oliver Hermanus depicts in the majority of The History of Sound and what its emotionally shattering conclusion showcases. The bulk of the movie’s 128-minute runtime is an admirably shot, but meaningless bore that focuses on the lost romance between Lionel Worthing (Paul Mescal) and David White (Josh O’Connor), two music students who form a spark between themselves as they meet-cute at a bar, when David sings a folk song on the piano that reminds Lionel of the childhood he spent in Kentucky, listening — and eventually performing — these songs.
The two fall in love, but are forcibly separated by World War I. When David returns from the trenches, he asks Lionel to join him on a cross-country trip where they will collect various folk songs on a wax cylinder as part of a university project. These sequences, where David and Lionel record voices to be eventually heard again, are the movie’s most soul-shocking, and there’s not much Hermanus does in the visual department to make them stand out so spectacularly. However, we’re primed to their power in the opening scene of the movie, where an older version of Lionel (played by Chris Cooper) narrates that he can not only hear sound and music, but “see” it. In that regard, Hermanus wants us to feel the same vibrations that activate Lionel’s senses, as he listens – and sits with – the music being performed and recorded.
Hermanus’ camera doesn’t judge the characters as they embark on a journey that could very well shape History, since few in the communities they’re reaching know about “sound” and have yet to hear their own voices played back at them. It’s an invention that will eventually change the world, but in the post-war period depicted by the filmmaker, phonographs still seem “brand new” for the people who are recording themselves on these devices. The sense of discovery – and wonder – as sound is recorded, and eventually played back, is a feeling no one can fake. The way these are captured, quietly, in the most humanistic light, will take your breath away.
It’s a shame, then, that the rest of The History of Sound doesn’t live up to these segments of raw power that ask the audience to sit and feel the sounds being produced, either by the voices of the recorded or by the people who are experiencing the music firsthand. Throughout the movie, the sterile language developed by Hermanus and cinematographer Alexander Dynan immerses us in the harsh, grimy landscapes of Kentucky, almost as if the cloudy, unrelenting cruelty that fills Lionel’s eyes and ears has become an intrinsic part of himself. He’s close-minded and reserved, even with David, and one wonders if his upbringing played a role in shaping the person he became in the “adult” eras the filmmaker depicts.
However, it’s only when he travels to Italy – in a spiritually moving musical interlude – that we get to see a different side of him. The photography also responds to this shift and evolves in brighter, more joyful ways. The colors become more glowing, the landscapes less claustrophobic and more enveloping, and the feelings of its protagonists are more positive than the sadly cruel life he led in Kentucky with his parents (played by Molly Price and Raphael Sbarge). It’s actually interesting to observe the contrast between the lives Lionel led, in America and abroad, especially when the love he still has for David is on the back of his mind. However, Dynan’s distant images never allow us to peer into the intimacy of the protagonists, either in their connection, where they get to know more about each other and travel across America, or in moments of raw intimacy.
But what mostly doesn’t help the film is that Mescal is terribly miscast as the younger version of Lionel. It’s only when Chris Cooper appears in the movie’s coda that the character becomes someone whom we can latch onto. This is only because the actor chosen for the part is miles ahead of the Normal People star and can represent a litany of emotions by simply looking sullen as he reminisces about a time that sadly is no longer there.
He breaks our hearts in a thousand pieces with only one look, while Mescal doesn’t possess the same emotional complexity for the bulk of the picture. Certainly not when paired with O’Connor, who is also leagues ahead of Mescal’s acting. While his screentime is limited, David’s effervescence is perfectly represented, without much “acting” to be done on O’Connor’s part. He’s a naturally charismatic actor who has now proven himself to be a redoubtable force, no matter if the material he receives is shoddy. Mescal, on the other hand, is never convincing, either in scenes where a great deal of emotion is required from him or in Lionel’s most introspective, personal sections.
As a result, their romance – and the sexual tension that occurs between the two – doesn’t feel as emotionally involving as it should be, and puts The History of Sound in a rather precarious position. Either it continues to explore David and Lionel’s love through their shared appreciation of music (and sound), which could’ve been a beautifully realized, often poetic look at how love can feel without the two necessarily saying it, or stay in meandering, glacially-paced platitudes where only one character has a meaningful path, and the other’s talents are completely wasted. Based on my (lack of) appreciation for this film, I’ll let you guess the direction it quickly took…