The History of Sound: Josh O’Connor and Paul Mescal
The History of Sound casts an enchanting spell in its languid story of a love that dare not speak its name between Lionel and David, two scholars who meet at the New England Conservatory of Music in 1917.
Paul Mescal is Lionel, an affable music savant who grew up in the backwoods of Kentucky, and Josh O’Connor portrays David, a worldly, curt old soul from Newport, Rhode Island.
The pair pose striking contrasts in their backgrounds and demeanors. Yet, they have the love of music in common, in particular the style of wistful folk ballads Lionel grew up listening to his Dad (Raphael Sbarge) play back on the family farm.
David, a virtuoso pianist, has picked up his share of traditional melodies and folk songs on music-collecting trips through America’s backcountry. He and Lionel eagerly exchange melodies and more over “a handful of nights and one season,” as Lionel describes it in reflective voiceover. But the world, in the form of World War I, intrudes on their idyll.
Directed by Oliver Hermanus (Moffie), with a script by Ben Shattuck, based on his short story, the film beautifully illustrates the forbidden pair’s world of sights and sounds — through the music they share, and in trenchant details like one graceful shot of both their hands grazing a stair banister as they head up to David’s apartment.
Lionel and David later extend their season of love into a winter spent collecting songs together, trekking deep into the backcountry on foot. Generations of history are wrought in the folk melodies they record to wax cylinders using a bulky Edison phonograph.
The History of Sound: Paul Mescal
Some of the movie’s best scenes are just Lionel and David seated at a table recording some friendly stranger tenderly singing a ditty their granny taught them. By candlelight, or the glimmering natural light of the film’s New England locations, Alexander Dynan’s crisp cinematography frames their journey handsomely.
In the tranquility of scenes following the two hiking the trails of New England, duetting on folk tunes, the film forges the deep connection that will carry Lionel through a quest that consumes parts of his later life, and the film.
Throughout, Mescal croons like a Bluegrass angel, while wearing Lionel’s burdens and responsibilities openly in his forlorn expression. Whether lovesick or longing to move on, Lionel stays easy to read, as the movie depicts on more than one occasion through the women in his life, including his farm-tough Mother (Molly Price), who can always discern his moods.
O’Connor’s more cagey David, on the other hand, conceals volumes behind his wry smile and knowing glances. Neither is very straightforward about communicating their feelings, a hallmark of bittersweet romances, as this turns out to be.
However, having seen the film twice, O’Connor’s performance of David’s pronounced sense of caution makes a different kind of sense after knowing how their story unfolds. Although, given the film’s utterly peaceful pace, not everyone will want to trek through repeat viewings with Lionel and David.
Even in a single viewing, however, the movie’s poignant climax packs an emotional punch that strikes the resonant chord of a star-crossed romance ahead of its time.
The History of Sound (★★★★☆) is rated R, and is now playing in theaters nationwide. Visit www.fandango.com.
Let me start with a nitpick: Marty Supreme is not, as commonly reported, Josh Safdie's solo directorial debut. That would be The Pleasure of Being Robbed, a modest, mumblecore-era gem released in 2008, long before Josh and brother Benny became known for directing white-knuckle crime thrillers like Good Time (2017) and Uncut Gems (2019). Made on a shoestring budget with a cast of unknowns, Pleasure followed the misadventures of a young kleptomaniac (Eleonore Hendricks) in Bloomberg-era New York. Few saw it in 2008, but those who did sensed a budding talent.
As one-word movie titles go, Mercy sits near the top of the popularity heap. A quick glance at IMDb turns up more than a dozen films with the same title, at least eight of them released since 1995.
That 1995 entry, starring John Rubinstein (forever beloved by me as Broadway's original Pippin) and Sam Rockwell, is log-lined as: "A couple of people steal the daughter of a famous lawyer. Now they want money to give her back — but it's not just the money they want. They want revenge."
Or take a 2023 entry, starring Leah Gibson and friend of MAGA Jon Voight, in which "a doctor and former military officer finds herself in a deadly battle for survival when the Irish mob takes control of the hospital where she works and her son is taken hostage."
Fresh off directing the scintillating period drama Hedda, Nia DaCosta shows impressive range and artistic ambition helming horror sequel 28 Years Later: The Bone Temple. Differing significantly in tone and genre, and utterly in design, the two films exist worlds apart, with respective protagonists who hardly could live in more disparate circumstances.
The Bone Temple continues the journey of plucky 12-year-old Spike, introduced in 28 Years Later, Danny Boyle and Alex Garland's 2025 reboot of the post-apocalyptic rage-virus film series they started 24 years ago.
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