Oliver Hermanus’s The History of Sound opens in cinemas after Cannes run
Who and what Oliver Hermanus directs The History of Sound (French title: Le Son des souvenirs), starring Paul Mescal and Josh O’Connor. Adapted from the title story in Ben Shattuck’s short‑story collection, the film follows two young musicians who travel through New England to record regional folk songs. Their fieldwork becomes the setting for a fraught, passionate relationship that unfolds against the wider disruptions of the First World War.
When and where The film premiered in competition at the Festival de Cannes and opened in cinemas on 25 February.
Why the film matters This project marks a shift for Hermanus in subject and texture while reinforcing his interest in intimacy and restraint. Casting Mescal and O’Connor—both actors with significant industry recognition—gives the film a strong dramatic anchor, and the Cannes selection has already shaped its awards and distribution prospects.
Sound as storytelling Sound is not just accompaniment here; it drives the narrative. The filmmakers weave field recordings and archival material into the drama, using regional folk repertoires to map memory, identity and desire. Technically, the production relies on location recording and close-microphone techniques to render voice and silence with careful precision. Diegetic songs punctuate scenes, shaping pacing and informing mise‑en‑scène as much as dialogue or image.
Adaptation and setting Hermanus preserves Shattuck’s lyrical core while expanding the tale for cinema. The story centers on two conservatory students—Lionel and David—whose chance meeting by a piano grows into a complex bond. Their journey from Boston to rural Maine structures the film: each recording becomes a touchstone, anchoring flashbacks, longing and the period’s cultural texture. The production’s archival research and rights clearances reflect a commitment to historical fidelity and ethical sourcing of traditional material.
Themes: music, trauma and memory Music functions on multiple levels—it documents, it recalls, it conceals. Melodies in the film act as repositories of identity and channels for emotions characters cannot openly name. Alongside the musical thread, the film probes trauma, separation and the long aftermath of loss. Hermanus resists tidy resolutions; instead, the film charts how absence and history reshape everyday life and intimate relationships.
Performances and character study Mescal and O’Connor carry the picture with understated, exacting performances. Mescal’s Lionel registers intensity through quiet gestures and vocal nuance; O’Connor’s David is magnetic and unstable at the margins. Their chemistry—built from shared silences as much as conversation—becomes the movie’s emotional engine. Hermanus favors interiority over exposition, and the sound design often serves as a sensory map of the characters’ inner worlds.
Reception and criticisms Early reviews at Cannes praised the leads and the film’s meticulous sonic design, particularly the powerful final act. Critics were split on pacing: some welcomed the contemplative tempo and tonal restraint, while others expected a more plot‑driven romance and found the middle sections slow. That divide will likely determine how programmers and distributors position the film—favoring art‑house circuits and festival runs over a broad mainstream push.
Programming and prospects The History of Sound is well suited to specialty theatrical runs, repertory series and curated streaming windows that value mood and thematic cohesion. Its festival pedigree and strong performances give it traction among programmers who prioritize emotional subtlety and formal refinement. Licensing for period music and clearances for archival recordings will remain central to distribution and downstream deals, but the film’s discipline and focus should help secure a steady life on the festival and arthouse circuit.
Where it sits in Hermanus’s work Seen alongside Beauty, Moffie and Vivre, this film continues Hermanus’s fascination with intimate human stories told with visual restraint. Here, music supplies the connective tissue: a historical setting and a tender relationship are used to explore what endures when love, memory and trauma intersect. The result is less a crowd‑pleasing romance than a thoughtful study of longing—one likely to resonate with viewers who appreciate cinema that listens as much as it looks.