Stream it or skip it?

History of sound (Now streaming on MUBI) brings together two emerging stars (and sex symbols) in Josh O’Connor and Paul Mescal, who play lovers in an era when two men kissing was something to be avoided and hidden. O’Connor we know first and foremost The crownWhich earned him an Emmy Award and Unitedwhich should have earned him an Oscar nomination; His strong 2025 program includes anchoring Kelly Reichardt Mastermind And the next third Knives out film, The dead man woke up. Mescal emerged as a movie star with an emotional punch After the sun and We are all strangersbefore breaking the trend by starring in The second wrestler; He’s added another prestige feather to his cap this year thanks to Chloe Zhao’s Hamnet. The point is, these two seem ready to do it History of sound – Directed by Oliver Hermanus (Living), an adaptation of short stories by Ben Shattuck – a must-see. In theory at least.

Essence: Chris Cooper narrates as the old man’s version of Lionel Worthing, sharing how, as a child, music became a multi-sensory experience for him. It made him see colours. He can taste it; He can smell it. So he can sing like few others. “My father said it was a gift from God,” Cooper says. From here, we rarely get much of an intuition of Lionel’s intimate relationship with one of humanity’s ultimate art forms, but at least it is explained to us in clear, direct language. Lionel grew up in a clapboard cabin in rural Kentucky, and his parents were salt-of-the-earth farmers; His father (Raphael Sparge) played the violin, and his mother (Molly Price) appears to have stepped out of the more famous James McNeil Whistler painting.

The boy’s songbird voice earns him a scholarship to the New England Conservatory of Music, where mostly grown-up Lionel (Mescal) sits quietly in his glasses, appreciating country folk songs. He especially appreciates them when, one night in a bustling bar, he hears David White (O’Connell) playing the piano. Cooper tells how David has a photographic memory that allows him to “collect” songs in his mind. The two hit it off all night at the bar before stepping out into the dim light of the sunrise and heading to David’s apartment to hit it off some more, you know, in bed. There is no hesitation, no questions, just Gaidar’s silent voice humming within each of them and manifesting itself in electric smiles. These are two very good actors, if you didn’t already know.

By the spring of 1917, the United States was sending troops overseas to participate in World War I. David was drafted while Lionel was not, due to his poor eyesight. They part ways. The conservatory closes. Lionel returns to the farm to work, and in the wake of his father’s fire, the music he hears becomes a cacophony, disturbing absurdities merging with swells in the score. Relief and escape arrive in 1919, in the form of a letter from David, who has returned from the war, inviting Lionel to take a summer-long hiking trip through the hills of Maine. They carried Edison’s phonograph into the homes of rural people, recording their songs and preserving them on wax cylinders. “Happiness is not a story,” Cooper narrates, but perhaps it should be, because this is a rich and beautiful part of the film in which much of what follows — and there will be much more to follow — tends toward static. They walk, talk, sing, record, and consummate their love far from the eyes of judgment. Lionel kicks David’s socks up. David collects feathers falling from Lionel’s pillow on the walkways. Then they separate again. Because of David’s insistence. Which is curious, but also practical, given the time in which they live. They hugged briefly at the train station. A lot of time will pass after that.

What movies will it remind you of?: Take, for example, male friendship in Reichardt’s old essay The first cow And it’s weird with a dash of Brokeback MountainAnd you have approx History of sound.

Performance worth watching: She subtly maintains O’Connell’s assertive appeal History of sound Alive, in the very few, fleeting moments in which he appears. This means that the film is not always vivid, despite Mescal’s talents in front of the camera.

Unforgettable dialogue: “Write, send chocolate, don’t die.” – Lionel’s words to David before he left for war

Sex and skin: Some mediocre sex scenes that, frankly, could generate more excitement.

Take us: History of sound It is a slow meander through the gloom that flows through a quiet and peaceful forest like a fresh stream. fresh, hollow table. The film allows us to indulge in its simpler moments, and the approach is counterproductive—these characters are so muted, they never feel fully embodied, and the complexity of their emotions is as trapped and suffocated as the moth and candle flame that young Lionel captures in a jar early in the film. Mescal is asked to bear the brunt of the film’s dramatic heft within a half-dozen or so subtle variations of negative mood and facial expression. The writing and direction here are so thoughtful, so formal, and so clearly literary, that all the emotion is extracted from it.

The film is often missing O’Connell’s face, which is unique, provocative, and charming (like Adam Driver’s); His character is relegated to the sidelines so David might be chasing Lionel, but very little is revealed in the moments O’Connell is on screen, leaving the film to feel half-empty. As might be expected for a film about queer love in the ’00s and ’20s (and eventually the ’80s, when we see Cooper rather than just hear him), it’s about regret and longing, and it’s more than just longing. Longing is greater and longer than longing, and this often feels like a very long film that has me longing either for its facade to crack, or for it to end. Harsh, I know. But it’s true.

There are moments of beauty here. The cinematography is evocative and works to elegantly capture the rhythms of early 20th century life. The story grapples with ideas of time, place and history, and how music reflects these things and therefore must be preserved – a noble idea that seems poignant but goes unexplored, and again, even the slightest sense of emotion or urgency would have elevated this theme to prominence. Although it avoids the typical machinations of queer romances set in times of prejudice and oppression, History of sound Stripped down and saddened by a mistake, he tends toward his gentle sadness rather than embellishing it with, say, a little comedy or a little lust. You feel suffocated under her sad tone. You can see what the movie is trying to do: break our hearts. But it is painful to see it fail.

Our call: History of sound It keeps its emotional volume very low, and the film never attains dynamic life. Skip it.

John Serpa is a freelance writer and film critic based in Grand Rapids, Michigan.