Two musicians set out to record the folk songs of rural America in Oliver Hermanus’ restrained but affecting drama.
When Lionel Worthing (Paul Mescal) and David White (Josh O’Connor) meet over the top of a piano in a Boston college bar, the spark between them is instant. One is a talented vocal student, the other a composition major preoccupied with recording and cataloguing the folk music of rural communities. Their shared passion for song is what brings them into each other’s orbit, and the onset of the First World War is what cruelly divides them for the first time.
While David goes off to fight, Lionel returns to his family’s farm in Kentucky, where the work is hard and honest. By the time they meet again, they’re both a little worse for wear. A sojourn to rural Maine to continue David’s folk recording project provides both with a new sense of purpose and rekindles their tentative romance, but like all great ballads, there’s tragedy on the horizon.
When The History of Sound was announced in 2021 it set the internet ablaze, with many excited about the prospect of a tender gay romance starring two of the hottest young actors in the industry – but the resulting film is perhaps more restrained and delicate, sparing in its sexual content, for better or worse. The film is more concerned with how this pivotal moment in Lionel’s life changed everything about the person he would become.
O’Connor, seemingly incapable of delivering a bad performance, is wonderful and tragic as David, charismatic and glib and fantastically handsome. Who wouldn’t fall in love with him or the way his tired smile never seems to reach his eyes? Mescal opposite is perhaps a little lost as Lionel, despite his best efforts to deliver a serviceable American accent and the charming chemistry between them. There’s just something a little too interior about his performance – it’s difficult to buy that his relationship with David really is as significant as the film wants us to believe it is. But to his credit, his singing sequences are quite beautiful, as are O’Connor’s, and the folk soundtrack evokes Inside Llewyn Davis in its soulfulness.
While comparisons with Brokeback Mountain are inevitable among those with a limited understanding of queer cinema, The History of Sound has far more in common with Merchant Ivory – particularly The Remains of the Day or Maurice – in its pervasive melancholy and sense of profound regret at past inertia. It’s not repression that powers the film, but the tragedy of understanding something far too late to chase it. Its buttoned-up nature might frustrate those hoping for a more salacious story, but the director Oliver Hermanus and writer Ben Shattuck (adapting his own short story of the same name) have produced a unique and moving romance for those willing to listen.
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