The History of Sound Review: A Poetic Ode to Folk, Love, and Time

In an era dominated by immediacy, spectacle, and the perpetual churn of streaming content, Oliver Hermanus’s The History of Sound arrives like a whispered memory from a quieter time. Spanning most of the 20th century — from its prologue in 1910 to its epilogue in 1980 — this period drama is, almost defiantly, old-fashioned. It is not a film for those seeking rapid-fire romance, flashy visuals, or cinematic gimmicks. Rather, it is a meditation on love, music, and the slow accumulation of time, rendered with a tenderness that recalls the works of Merchant-Ivory or Terence Davies.

Adapted from his own short stories by Ben Shattuck, Hermanus’s film eschews the contemporary appetite for explicit passion or high drama. Instead, it thrives in subtlety, restraint, and the evocative power of sound as both narrative and emotional vehicle. In doing so, it asks audiences to slow down, to listen, and to feel.

Plot Overview: Music as Memory, Love and History

The History of Sound begins in rural Kentucky, where young Lionel (Paul Mescal) grows up in a modest farm household. Lionel’s early experiences with music are intimate and tactile — he not only hears the melodies of folk songs but visualizes and even tastes them, a cinematic flourish that conveys both his deep sensitivity and the almost synesthetic nature of his musical perception. These songs, sung with his father, are more than entertainment; they are memory, heritage, and identity.

Lionel’s life changes when he travels to Boston to attend the Conservatory, a world away from the rugged simplicity of his home. There he meets David (Josh O’Connor), a fellow student and fellow folk enthusiast, whose fascination with Lionel quickly evolves into something more intimate. Their connection is not marked by dramatic declarations or public displays of passion; it is quiet, profoundly internal, and expressed through shared work and shared music.

When David is drafted to fight in World War I, Lionel is left in a state of aching longing and uncertainty. Years later, they reunite for a journey across New England, recording folk songs and documenting the oral histories of working-class communities. This expedition is not simply a narrative device; it is the emotional core of the film, a space where music and romance intertwine seamlessly. Through Lionel and David’s labor of love, Hermanus reveals the transcendent power of folk songs — ordinary stories preserved in melody, connecting past and present, love and labor, life and art.

Themes: Memory, Class, and the Passage of Time

At its heart, The History of Sound is a film about preservation: of music, of memory, and of love. The songs Lionel and David collect are not merely historical curiosities; they are vessels of lived experience. In their melodies, Hermanus captures the voices of the working-class communities whose stories might otherwise be forgotten. It is a reminder that history is not written solely in textbooks but sung in kitchens, fields, and parlors.

Class consciousness is a subtle but persistent theme. Lionel’s Kentucky upbringing and David’s more cosmopolitan education create tensions that mirror broader social dynamics. Lionel is grounded in the lived reality of labor, toil, and rural scarcity; David, though well-meaning, occasionally misinterprets or romanticizes these experiences. This friction lends the film an authenticity that elevates it beyond a conventional period romance. Hermanus does not shy away from the complexity of these interpersonal and social divides, instead allowing them to breathe and resonate naturally.

Time is another central motif. The narrative stretches across decades, emphasizing the impermanence of life and the endurance of art. We see Lionel and David as young men, then again as adults, and finally, through Chris Cooper’s poignant performance, in old age. This narrative scope allows the audience to experience the full arc of their lives — the fleeting intensity of youthful love, the wear of adulthood, and the quiet reflection of memory. Music, as the film repeatedly demonstrates, is the connective tissue through which time, emotion, and experience are transmitted.

Performances: Subtlety, Restraint, and Emotional Precision

Paul Mescal delivers a masterclass in naturalistic acting. Lionel is not a character built for melodrama; he is quiet, introspective, and defined as much by what he does not say as by what he does. Mescal’s portrayal is nuanced: small gestures, subtle inflections, and the intimate way he engages with music convey volumes about his inner life. The actor avoids theatricality, instead creating a character whose depth emerges organically from his interactions with others and with the world around him.

Josh O’Connor is equally compelling as David. His charisma is understated yet magnetic. O’Connor’s performance captures the tension between David’s romantic idealism and his occasional naiveté regarding the realities of working-class life. There is a gentle melancholy in his portrayal, a sense of longing and fragility that complements Mescal’s grounded intensity. Together, they form a pair whose chemistry is quiet, almost internalized, yet deeply affecting.

Chris Cooper’s turn as the older Lionel is an epilogue in miniature, a meditation on memory, regret, and the endurance of artistic and emotional labor. Cooper brings a weight and gravitas to the role that allows the audience to feel the full span of Lionel’s life and the accumulated resonance of his choices, losses, and loves.

Cinematography and Sound Design: Visual Poetry in Motion

Hermanus’s visual approach is as deliberate as the narrative. The cinematography is restrained, favoring long takes, naturalistic lighting, and a muted color palette that emphasizes the somber beauty of early 20th-century New England. Grey winter skies, austere interiors, and the gentle rhythms of daily life are depicted with painterly precision, evoking the quiet introspection of classical period dramas.

Sound design, however, is the film’s true triumph. Folk songs are not mere background; they are characters in their own right. The act of collecting, performing, and listening to these songs serves as a narrative engine, advancing plot and character while deepening emotional resonance. Musical sequences are treated with reverence, allowing the audience to experience the intimacy and power of these ephemeral traditions. Hermanus, in collaboration with his sound team, succeeds in making the act of listening cinematic — immersive, tactile, and profoundly affecting.

Queer Representation: Subtlety and Historical Context

The History of Sound occupies a particular niche in queer cinema: it is a historical LGBTQ+ romance that does not sensationalize desire. Younger audiences, accustomed to narratives that foreground queer identity through overt conflict or contemporary tropes, may initially find the film muted. There are no dramatic coming-out arcs, no overt societal backlash; the romance is largely internalized, expressed through shared labor, music, and small gestures of intimacy.

Yet this subtlety is a strength. By avoiding melodrama, Hermanus allows the romance to exist in its own quiet universe, emphasizing endurance, resilience, and the often-unspoken dimensions of queer love in the early 20th century. Lionel and David’s love is simultaneously fragile and enduring, shaped by circumstance and by the historical moment, and captured with remarkable fidelity by both Mescal and O’Connor.

Comparisons and Influences: Merchant-Ivory and Terence Davies

Critics and viewers familiar with period dramas will note that The History of Sound draws on a lineage of restrained, contemplative filmmaking. There are echoes of Merchant-Ivory’s lush, emotionally precise narratives and Terence Davies’s reflective, melancholic visual poetry. Yet Hermanus imbues these influences with his own sensibilities: a modern attention to queer identity, a meticulous soundscape, and a dedication to preserving musical and cultural heritage.

Unlike contemporary period romances, which often prioritize spectacle or overt passion, Hermanus’s work is patient, allowing narrative and character development to unfold gradually. The film rewards attentive viewers, cultivating a sense of intimacy and investment that is increasingly rare in mainstream cinema.

Strengths and Triumphs

1. Emotional Resonance: The film’s greatest strength is its capacity to evoke emotion subtly yet powerfully. Lionel and David’s love is portrayed with patience and restraint, making its fleeting moments all the more poignant.
2. Authentic World-Building: From Kentucky farms to Boston Conservatory lecture halls to the snowy landscapes of New England, the film evokes early 20th-century life with meticulous attention to detail.
3. Music as Narrative Device: Folk songs serve multiple roles: plot device, emotional commentary, and historical preservation. This narrative choice is both innovative and profoundly moving.
4. Performances: Mescal and O’Connor anchor the film with naturalistic, restrained performances, while Cooper provides a masterful coda that deepens the narrative’s emotional impact.

Weaknesses and Limitations

The History of Sound is not without its challenges for contemporary audiences:

• Pacing: Its deliberate tempo may feel slow or overly sedate for viewers accustomed to fast-cut editing and plot-driven storytelling.
• Muted Drama: Those expecting overt romance or passionate conflict may find the film underwhelming. Its power lies in quiet moments rather than explosive ones.
• Historical Constraints: By adhering closely to period-accurate social norms, the film sometimes sacrifices dramatic tension for authenticity.

Yet these very limitations are also its strengths, demanding patience and rewarding reflection.

Conclusion: A Timeless, Musical Meditation on Love and Loss

The History of Sound is an exceptionally crafted film that invites viewers into a world where music, memory, and love intersect with extraordinary subtlety. Oliver Hermanus’s direction, combined with Ben Shattuck’s literary adaptation, creates a narrative that is both reflective and immersive. It is not a film for those seeking instant gratification or overt romantic spectacle, but for audiences willing to slow down and listen, it offers profound rewards.

Paul Mescal and Josh O’Connor deliver performances of quiet brilliance, capturing the nuances of longing, devotion, and the small, intimate details that define lifelong relationships. Chris Cooper’s epilogue performance brings the story full circle, emphasizing the endurance of memory and the power of storytelling through song.

Ultimately, The History of Sound is a testament to the transcendent qualities of folk music, the enduring impact of human connection, and the quiet heroism of lives lived with authenticity, resilience, and tenderness. For lovers of period drama, musical heritage, or understated romance, Hermanus’s film is a richly rewarding cinematic experience — subtle, melancholic, and profoundly beautiful.

In a cinematic landscape dominated by spectacle, The History of Sound reminds us that sometimes, the most lasting resonance comes from the quietest notes, the most delicate gestures, and the songs that carry us across decades. This is a film to savor slowly, allowing each chord, glance, and sigh to linger — a meditation on love, life, and the music that binds us all.