While World War I rages throughout Europe, across the pond at the New England Conservatory of Music, two young men meet in a nearby pub and bond over the folk songs of their youth.  Lionel Worthing (Paul Mescal) and Daniel White (Josh O’Connor) become fast friends, and beyond that, lovers.  As they grow closer, David learns that he has been drafted to fight in the war, and with the Conservatory closing, Lionel returns to the family homestead in Kentucky to help his aging parents (Raphael Sbarge, Molly Price) care for the farm.  When David returns from the war, he sends Lionel a letter, asking him to join him on an academic excursion across Maine to collect folk songs and stories of the people that live there. 

Oliver Hermanus directs The History of Sound, a queer, period, romantic drama written by Ben Shattuck, adapting some of his own short stories for the screen.  After many preproduction delays, scheduling conflicts, and production delays, the long gestating film finally premiered in competition at the Cannes Film Festival where it was acquired by Mubi who gave the film a limited run over the fall ahead of its streaming debut.  Running 128 minutes, the film chronicles the lives of two men living in a muted staccato, each following the same rhythm in life, yet seldom able to harmonize with each other. 

As with most romances, The History of Sound is largely a two-hander with Mescal’s Lionel being our entry point into the film and the character upon which we tether ourselves to across the course of their lives.  The faded photograph tone of the film, captured by Alexander Dynan‘s lens, matches well with Mescal’s trademarked melancholy as he navigates through a life that is seemingly incompatible with the era of which he was born.  It is still something of a struggling performance, not through any lack of ability on the actor’s part, but because the script insists on being so ethereal and loose – as if humming only a half-remembered melody – that both Mescal and O’Connor seem to be simply passing by on the Acadian breeze instead of actively leading the film. 

Part of this sensation is, oddly enough, because of the various interludes where the two men are recording the folk songs on the wax cylinders.  These sequences, despite being the whole reason for their journey and some of the more interesting parts of the film, interrupt the flow of the narrative which they are sharing and the scenes which we get while they are on the trail to their next destination or tending to their camp site do little to give shape to their interpersonal relationship. The script is deeply interested in the lives and the stories of the people they meet and collect their music from, but that same curiosity is not extended to our main pair.  It is a beguiling choice, but when one thinks of the story not as a romantic drama as it was marketed and as it chooses to present itself across its first act, the lack of a spark or a fanning connection between these two men becomes as easier pill to swallow.  Unfortunately, that does not always make for interesting cinema, and coupled with the deliberately lackadaisical pace – a fault more so on the page and not necessarily in Chris Wyatt‘s edit – audiences can understandably struggle to stay on the film’s wavelength. 

At the halfway point, the film takes a major turn that gives some shape to the narrative and finally allows Mescal to build something of a character, though, as before, the most interesting parts of this man’s life will be left off the page and we see enter into his affairs all too late. Their expedition over, the the two men split ways and Lionel eventually finds himself in England, working for Oxford as the conductor of the school’s choir.  There, he becomes romantically invested with one of his pupils, Clarissa (Emma Canning), but ultimately calls off that engagement when he abruptly returns to Kentucky to care for his ailing mother, but he does not cite to her that he is still conflicted about ending his affair with Vincent (Alessandro Bedetti), a choir mate and lover he had been involved with in Rome before moving to Oxford.  We knew of Vincent as the second act opens at the end of their relationship, again, allowing us to fill in the gaps of what was and what could have been in a way that is too unsatisfying for a story that is supposed to be a searing character driven drama. 

Finally in the third act, Shattuck delivers another refrain instead of a verse as Lionel returns to Maine only to discover that Daniel has passed away some years prior.  By this point in the film, we have come to accept that this off-the-page progression is just the way things are, but it is the coda of the film that feels almost insidious in how blatantly manipulative, contrived, and uninspired it is.  The film jumps forward in time to the 1980s, Lionel, now portrayed by Chris Cooper, is promoting his book on music theory.  When he returns to his apartment, there is a package on his doorstep.  Opening it, he discovers the wax cylinders he pressed with Daniel, including one that Daniel recorded shortly before his death, personalized for Lionel.  We watch Lionel’s face as the memories of a life that was and a life that could have been come rushing through to him, but we are unable to partake in that same catharsis as we have been kept as such a distance from the formative events in the lives of these two men that had the narrative not hung around Lionel like a buzzing summer fly, we would have little to believe that this brief history shared was something so formative.  It is storytelling shorthand, designed to force an emotional response at the end of this ships in the night romance instead of an ending which wells up actual tears to flood the deck and overwhelm the audience. 

At times, especially while exploring the wilds of Maine, The History of Sound feels like a softer, gentler Brokeback Mountain (2005) as conceived not by Ang Lee but by Terrence Malick; however, an uncertain version of Malick as if he were following every second-guessed conclusion instead of creative instinct. It asks audiences to balance the inner truth of these characters against the cold period which it portrays, drawing out an equation that should result not in gawking as audiences some two decades prior may have done while watching Jack (Jake Gyllenhaal) and Ennis (Heath Ledger), but in a galvanization to make sure that our present time is one that is more accepting, open, and safe. To its credit, The History of Sound is far less violent than Brokeback Mountain which does show some growth in how we tell queer stories today as well as how we understand masculinity, and even though it peddles in some of the same tragic tropes, Hermanus’ film handles these arcs of life and love lost with a proportionally softer approach.

The History of Sound is a film that shakes off the rather interesting and literal exploration of folk music in its first act, and pivots instead to being a film about missed connections. This makes for a frustrating viewing experience as it is not so much that fate keeps guiding Lionel down a path which he resists, but rather fate leads him to where we understand he would like to go, and yet he still resists this guiding hand as he fumble opportunity after opportunity.  Perhaps we are demanding too much of our characters, but without a clear presentation of a thesis on behalf of Shattuck, we fall into the cadence and timbre of a romantic period piece that The History of Sound otherwise presents itself as, and with those expectations set, what is delivered simply has none of the smoldering chemistry that keeps us involved across the narratively wide scope, yet postcard image shallow depth of this understated – itself an understatement – saga. While it is true that comparison is the thief of joy, comparison – to the aforementioned Brokeback Mountain, but there are also shades of Luca Guadagnino‘s Queer (2024) and Todd Haynes‘ Carol (2015) in here as well – is about all we have as reference points as we reconcile with the hazily delivered action on screen since this is ultimately a work that never quite announces itself despite its gesturing.