The great American poet and historian Sidney Lanier once famously said, “Music is love in search of a word”, and considering one of his most prominent areas of study was that of music, it is quite clear that he was an authority on the subject. Anyone who has ever been in love, even for just a fleeting moment, knows that it is not an experience that can always be described in words or coherent thoughts. Instead, it’s an assemblage of bold emotions that are truly incomprehensible – but somehow, music manages to communicate it better than any spoken words ever could. Ben Shattuck seems to have the same idea, since he uses this as the foundation for The History of Sound, a screenplay he wrote on his own short story of the same name, which has been adapted to film by Oliver Hermanus, who continues to establish himself as an extraordinary artistic voice, a quiet visionary of a medium that he has slowly begun to redefine along his own terms. The story, set in the years surrounding the First World War, follows Lionel Worthing, a young and ambitious academic who goes on a journey through rural Maine with his colleague and friend (as well as secret lover) David White, recording the traditional folk songs of the region for posterity, in the hopes of allowing future generations access to these extraordinary pieces of art. Over time, the two men drift apart, a result of both their personal existential quandaries as well as social conventions that mean their deep, undying devotion can never be made public, risking both becoming academically discredited and being reframed as social pariahs because of how little American society understands that two men truly can love one another. A beautiful and tender story of the longing that comes with leading a life which is only partially authentic, because of how incompatible the affairs of the heart are with the surrounding world, The History of Sound is a lyrical examination of love in a different time, an era where desire was mandated by conventions, and anything that stepped out of those strictly-defined conventions was viewed as wholeheartedly inappropriate and against the natural order. This is a concept that has remained more relevant (and been the subject of an abundance of artistic resistance) as time has gone on and we’ve seen more exuberant expressions of love shown brilliantly on screen, such as in this poignant and poetic film.

On the surface, The History of Sound seems gloriously simple – there’s an argument to be made that Hermanus is someone who is drawn to material that is more subtle and nuanced, exploring themes that don’t announce themselves as bold statements, but rather quietly express an admiration for the deepest recesses of the human condition. This is something that we find dictates a lot of this film, and while Shattuck’s story doesn’t lend itself to too much melodrama, it was always a risk that someone less skilled at the art of simply observing humanity may have veered towards the overly intense. The themes that guide this film are much simpler and more nuanced, exploring the love between these two characters in the context of the era in which they lived. Queer cinema has been undergoing a substantial renaissance over the past few decades, with stories that provide not only the necessary inclusion, but also show that these themes were not only relevant to contemporary stories, but instead have a long, complex history steeped in socio-cultural details that are often erased. Telling an ostensibly fictionalised story, albeit one that is still very much relevant, The History of Sound takes us back to the first few decades of the 20th century, being set between the outset of the First World War and the 1920s (and then an epilogue that dashes us forward to the 1980s, in one of the most heartbreaking but life-affirming endings of any queer-based story), a time when homosexuality wasn’t only misunderstood, but frankly the subject of social and cultural derision, to the point where expressing one’s love was basically viewed as an intentional attempt to be exiled from society. Hermanus is not interested in broad, grandstanding depictions of these men fighting for their love – if anything, it’s the silence of their romance, which exists behind closed doors, that makes it so special. They may not be able to proclaim it from the mountaintop, but as soon as they can be with each other, away from prying eyes, they feel themselves. This is used as the impetus for what essentially becomes a moving historical odyssey, one that explores the intersections between social conventions and desires, layered with nuanced subtext that feels earnest and sincere, while also presenting a fascinating depiction of love in a time where it was simply entirely misunderstood if it wasn’t presented in a form that society viewed as acceptable.

To aid in bringing The History of Sound to screen, Hermanus collaborates with two of the most acclaimed and popular young actors working in the industry today. Paul Mescal and Josh O’Connor may seem like enormously obvious choices – they’re exceptionally talented and have proven to be beloved by audiences, critics and the industry, with their growing bodies of work (which spans genre and countless different subjects) making them strong candidates for these roles. However, it’s their willingness to tackle more difficult material, the kind that requires an actor to bare themselves in terms of both body and soul, that makes them the perfect candidates for these roles. While Mescal may be the most prominent (by virtue of the fact that his character, Lionel, is the one through whose perspective we see this story), it is a two-hander with O’Connor, both actors delivering stellar performances that underline their extraordinary skills. Their emotional vulnerability and ability to play into the most innately carnal, honest depictions of human desire, the unbearable longing, is astonishing and worth so much more than a more obtuse, direct depiction of their acting would allow. It’s a beautifully subtle, complex set of performances that features the two actors at their best. Mescal is the de facto lead, being in far more of the film, and as someone who has seemingly always thrived when he can communicate physically (his incredible expressivity and ability to play characters who are both stoic and emotive when required), The History of Sound is a perfect demonstration of his quieter, more complex approach to acting. O’Connor may leave partway through the film, but he’s still so incredibly powerful, playing a man whose relationship with his colleague and friend is teeming with heart and soul, O’Connor’s own awkward charms being a perfect complement to Mescal’s quieter and more stone-faced approach. Special mention must be given to Chris Cooper, who only has a couple of scenes towards the end of the film, but whose role in the climactic moments brings everything in this story together in one brutally honest, emotional conclusion that will linger with the viewer long after the film has ended.

Emotional content is obviously very important to a film like The History of Sound, which is not something that warrants a more overwrought execution, which is why Hermanus was most appropriately suited to the material. This is a film that deals primarily in more quiet, meaningful depictions of the relationships between these various characters, particularly the central romance between Lionel and David, whose connection is the core of the narrative. This leads us to classify the film as primarily a love story – for the most part, this is true, since it is their romance that guides the story, both during the moments where they are travelling around the country, getting to know one another and realising just how far they exist outside of the confines of what is socially acceptable, and then after their parting, which they both expect (or at least secretly hope) is only a momentary separation. However, there are so many stories of love facing challenges when it emerges in an era far less receptive to same-sex relationships. However, this is not all that this film is trying to convey, and there are a few other aspects that may be quite surprising to some viewers who may not have expected to find something with this much depth. The History of Sound is not just about two men being in love, but also a haunting story of drifting apart from someone with whom you’ve shared an enormous bond. Whether parting due to personal reasons or simply circumstance, it’s a painful feeling to say goodbye, and even more daunting to carry the weight of having known and loved that person, but being unaware of when you will be able to rekindle that spark or reignite the passion in some way. It’s a beautifully compelling story, but one that is filled with heartbreak and deep sadness, something that Hermanus not only refuse to ignore but actively underlines. It is a beautiful film, but one that is not afraid to focus on the more melancholy elements – while there may be a satisfying resolution, it is truly heartbreaking, since the idea of Lionel, well into his eighties, receiving a package that contains the last remnants of the man he loved, a stunning leap into the past that he’s carried with him for generations, is absolutely shattering and captures the entirety of this film and its deep, undying devotion to a difficult subject.

For those expecting a grandiose love story filled with swelling emotions and deep, tempestuous depictions of eternal romance that make your heart swoon at the very thought, The History of Sound may not be the most reliable. This is not a story that makes bold statements, but rather delivers its message through quiet but powerful whispers. It is a film driven by atmosphere, with much of the film being quite tender and thoughtful, even at its most overly simplistic. The focus here is on representing both the love felt by these men during their time together and the weight of navigating a world where that same love still exists, but in a more absent way, which can often be quite difficult to process. It’s a poetic and moving exploration of love – it may be a queer story, but the themes are universal. We’ve all lost someone to the passage of time, whether it is through a breakup, a passing or simply a result of drifting apart. Life is unpredictable, and there comes a time when separation is inevitable, and the understanding that it might be permanent doesn’t make it any easier. In fact, it can complicate the trajectory of one’s entire life, since there is always going to be the lingering memory of the past, which can sometimes fade with time, but also grow more intense, especially as life tends to move at a staggering speed. Hermanus is a fantastic filmmaker, and while there isn’t much likelihood that anyone will be bold enough to consider this his masterpiece (Moffie and Skoonheid are, for the time being, his most vital works, and also tackle very similar subject matter, particularly in blurring the line between culture and sexuality), it continues his ongoing journey to becoming one of our most essential cinematic voices, and a perfect encapsulation of his incredible skill, handle of difficult emotions and tendency to tell stories built primarily on the act of expressing desire, whether publicly or in private, and the challenges that come with living in a society where such acts are not allowed. A beautiful and essential addition to the contemporary queer cinema renaissance, and a generally wonderful work in both form and content.