Paul Mescal and Josh O’Connor sing and smooch. What more could I want? Well… Some dialogue might help. The History of Sound belongs to a subgenre I call the brooding male romance. Two quiet men begin a near-wordless relationship. The audience is asked to fill in the gaps. Picture Brokeback Mountain without Jack Twist to provide conversation. Just two Ennis Del Mars staring into the middle distance.
Mescal plays Lionel, a student at Boston Conservatory of Music. He begins a romance with O’Connor’s David, a cagey musician. David invites Lionel on a quest. They’ll visit rural towns recording folk songs to transcribe in a book. The hike allows plenty of time to snuggle in a tent. This journey was the heart of Ben Shattuck’s short story. It discusses themes of heartbreak, colonialism and forgotten history. Each folk song has a life beyond what can be captured on the page. This sequence is the highlight of the film.
Unfortunately, Shattuck did not find a way to expand this tale into feature length. So, the men part ways and Lionel’s light grows dim. The episodic screenplay follows him through key chapters of his life. He rejects opportunities, neglects lovers and pines for the man that got away. He doesn’t care for his new companions. Which brings the question, why should the audience?
The History of Sound is a cautionary tale about wasted talent. Both for the characters and for the filmmakers who squandered Mescal and O’Connor’s gifts. Queer cinema once told us we had no future. Here it scolds the cardboard protagonist for living in the past. For not seeking joy in the here and now. Mescal’s previous queer tragedy, All of Us Strangers, had a similar moral. It also had empathy for its eloquent characters. Sound is a chillier film. It leaves Lionel to weep on the floor in silence. By the end of 128 minutes, I was happy to be done with him.
You can find more of my reviews on The Avocado, Letterboxd and Serializd. My podcast, Rainbow Colored Glasses, can be found here.