Premiering at the 2025 Cannes Film Festival, The History of Sound is a tender, evocative exploration of love, music, and longing, directed by South African filmmaker Oliver Hermanus. Adapted by Ben Shattuck from his acclaimed short story, the film stars Paul Mescal and Josh O’Connor as two music students whose fleeting but profound romance unfolds in early 20th-century New England. With its painterly visuals, soul-stirring folk songs, and masterful performances, this slow-burn drama emerges as one of the most unabashedly romantic LGBTQ films in recent memory, offering a deeply moving experience for those who embrace its unhurried rhythm.
A Romance Woven Through Folk Music
Set against the backdrop of World War I and its aftermath, The History of Sound follows Lionel (Mescal), a Kentucky farm boy with a unique gift for “seeing” music—able to discern the pitch of a dog’s bark or the color of a melody. His vocal talent earns him a scholarship to the New England Conservatory in Boston, where he meets David (O’Connor), a sophisticated pianist from Newport with a passion for collecting obscure folk tunes. Their connection sparks in 1916 at a local bar, where Lionel recognizes a Kentucky song played by David, leading to an instant bond over shared musical passions.
The film’s early scenes beautifully establish their chemistry, with Shattuck’s screenplay emphasizing their mutual love for traditional folk songs and story ballads. When Lionel sings “Silver Dagger,” a haunting tune about a mother warning her daughter of men’s wickedness, David is captivated, and their romance quietly blossoms. Unlike many queer period dramas, The History of Sound avoids heavy-handed depictions of societal repression. Instead, it portrays a love that feels natural and unburdened, at least in its initial stages, with O’Connor’s playful, confident David taking the lead and Mescal’s earnest Lionel eagerly following.
Their budding relationship is interrupted when David is drafted into World War I in 1917, leaving Lionel, excluded from service due to poor eyesight, heartbroken. “Write. Send chocolate. Don’t die,” Lionel pleads, in a moment that captures the film’s blend of tenderness and understated humor. Two years later, in 1919, David invites Lionel to join him on a winter journey through Maine’s backwoods to record traditional folk songs for a college project. This expedition, capturing the voices of rural communities on wax cylinders, forms the emotional core of the film, with each song amplifying the lovers’ connection.
A Journey of Quiet Rapture
The Maine sequences are a highlight, filmed with a serene, almost rapturous quality by cinematographer Alexander Dynan. Hermanus, known for his searing Moffie and delicate Living, crafts a visual language reminiscent of Andrew Wyeth’s paintings, with elegant compositions and subtle sepia tones that evoke the period without overwhelming the narrative. The harsh Maine winter fades into the background as Lionel and David share intimate moments in their tent, their love insulated by the wilderness and their shared purpose.
Memorable encounters with locals enrich the story, such as a wary woman who sings a traditional song with her daughters’ sweet harmonies, or Thankful Mary Swain (Briana Middleton), a Black woman on Malaga Island who delivers a transcendent performance of “Here in the Vineyard.” This detour to Malaga, where an interracial community faces eviction, adds a layer of social commentary, highlighting the era’s injustices. However, it also sparks a rare disagreement between Lionel and David, subtly shifting their dynamic as David begins to grapple with the implications of their relationship in a less forgiving world.
Stellar Performances and Emotional Depth
Mescal and O’Connor deliver career-defining performances, their chemistry palpable in every glance and gesture. Mescal, whose work in Aftersun earned critical acclaim, imbues Lionel with a raw, open-hearted vulnerability, his eyes conveying a deepening sorrow as the story progresses. O’Connor, fresh off his Cannes standout The Mastermind, brings wit and charm to David, but also a growing caution that contrasts with Lionel’s unwavering devotion. Their separation at Augusta station, where David’s sorrow surfaces only when alone, is a heartbreaking testament to their restrained yet powerful performances.
Hermanus’ direction is exemplary, guiding even minor characters—like Lionel’s hard-bitten mother (Molly Price) or the rural folks who share their songs—with precision. The film’s score by Oliver Coates, predominantly strings, weaves seamlessly with the folk interludes, which range from love ballads to the delightfully morbid “The Unquiet Grave,” where a dead woman laments her lover’s presence at her grave. These songs, sung with gusto by O’Connor and full-throated feeling by Mescal, serve as emotional anchors, echoing the lovers’ own bittersweet tale.
A Slow Burn with Lasting Resonance
At 2 hours and 7 minutes, The History of Sound unfolds at a deliberate pace, which may challenge some viewers—evidenced by walkouts at its Cannes press screening. Yet, for those who tap into its soulful undercurrents, the film’s unhurried rhythm allows its emotional weight to build gradually, rewarding patience with moments of profound beauty. The latter half extends beyond Shattuck’s story, following Lionel to Rome, where he joins a prestigious choir and has a fleeting romance with a Venetian (Alessandro Bedetti), and later to Oxford, where a bohemian woman (Emma Canning) misreads his intentions. These episodes, while occasionally meandering, underscore Lionel’s longing for the happiness he found with David in Maine.
The film’s epilogue, set in 1980, introduces Chris Cooper as an older Lionel, now a respected ethno-musicologist. A televised interview about his newly published folk music history prompts a poignant gift from the past, leading to a final scene at the piano that floods with nostalgia and heartbreak. Cooper’s brief but masterful performance ties the narrative together, amplifying the film’s emotional resonance.
Standing Apart from the Canon
Comparisons to Brokeback Mountain are inevitable, but The History of Sound carves its own path. While Ang Lee’s 2005 classic leans into tragedy, Hermanus’ film prioritizes emotional intimacy and the spiritual uplift of music. The folk songs, more about people than divinity, serve as a cultural and emotional bridge, connecting Lionel and David’s story to a broader human experience. The Malaga Island subplot, while a slight narrative detour, adds depth by addressing racial and social injustices, though it occasionally shifts focus from the central romance.
A Triumph of Craft and Heart
Distributed by Mubi in North America and Focus Features internationally, The History of Sound showcases Hermanus’ polished craftsmanship, from Deborah Jensen’s vivid production design to Miyako Bellizzi’s period costumes. The supporting cast, including Raphael Sbarge as Lionel’s father and Molly Price as his sharp-tongued mother, adds texture to the world. Yet, it’s the interplay of Mescal and O’Connor’s performances, the haunting folk melodies, and Hermanus’ sensitive direction that make the film unforgettable.
