Film Review: “The History of Sound” Isn’t Here to Entertain. That’s a Beautiful Thing.

By Savannah Brooks ‘26

Editor-in-Chief

“The History of Sound” had its U.S. release on Sept. 12, and has been quiet ever since. There has been no large fanfare, no mass-thirsting over heartthrob stars Paul Mescal (“Normal People,” “Aftersun”) and Josh O’Connor (“Challengers,” “The Crown”) or even any substantial marketing campaign from the film itself. Perhaps, though, its under-the-radar status and middling Letterboxd curve fits the movie’s tone. “The History of Sound,” from its very beginning, is no large blockbuster. There is no substantial action; in fact, very little actually occurs when it comes to the plot. Rather, the film is a slow, pulsating character study with a special focus on historical mood.

“The History of Sound” follows Lionel (Mescal) and David (O’Connor) from their first meeting at the Boston Conservatory in 1917 through the rest of their relationship. The two bond over their mutual love for folk music, although their romance is interrupted by the U.S. entering World War I. After David returns from the war, the men travel through rural Maine to record traditional songs.

While Mescal and O’Connor have been generally paraded as co-stars, “The History of Sound” is ultimately a movie about Lione—therefore, its poignancy and emotionality rest almost entirely on Mescal’s shoulders. Mescal is no stranger to raw, emotionally demanding performances, and in this film he delivers once again. Lionel is soft-spoken, but Mescal is at his best when he is listening to others; it is a treat to watch him receive David’s more fast-paced, intellectual comments (O’Connor as a pithy New Englander just feels right), or to see him grapple with receiving life-altering news several times throughout the film. Mescal, however, is indeed a stranger to the American accent (which he valiantly attempted in his hosting of Saturday Night Live). With Lionel’s soft Kentucky drawl, Mescal’s voice seems to have found a second home, and works well in opposition to O’Connor’s tight and overly formal New England accent (dialect coaching by William Conacher). 

There is no doubt that Mescal and O’Connor are not giving career-defining performances here, but, ultimately, the film does not require them to. Director Oliver Hermanus (“Living,” “Shirley Adams”) does not quite fully capture the relationship or lives of Lionel and David. He does not give the viewer the satisfaction of seeing a full-blown argument, or a heart-wrenching breakup or indeed, much closure at all. The snapshots of songs sung impromptu in the woods in Maine, the pair gazing at each other as Lionel sits on the floor of David’s Boston apartment or Lionel’s winding trudge through the Lake District ask us to consider the message at the heart of the film: how do we remember those we have lost? The pair’s journey to collect songs is, after all, a method of historical preservation. Hermanus is, with great care, massaging a not-often-seen vision of American life in the late 1910s and early 1920s into the public consciousness. One is under the impression that they are viewing pictures and letters in the archive, offering what glimpses remain of two storied lives (with much more beautiful cinematography and elaborate sets than an archive can offer).

“The History of Sound” is achingly slow, and its ending is somewhat confused and hard to pin down. As a character study, though, it is well worth the two hour runtime, and Hermanus brings a methodical, precise touch to the world that surrounds Mescal and O’Connor, creating a film based in historical honesty and memory that is a rare sight in the modern film scene. “The History of Sound” runs from Oct. 9-11 at Cinestudio. For more information or to purchase tickets, go online or visit in person.