Oliver Hermanus’s The History of Sound, one of this year’s Palme d’Or contenders at Cannes, is a heartfelt, occasionally flawed, but ultimately moving film that navigates themes of intimacy, remembrance and cultural preservation through a uniquely melodic lens. Adapted by Ben Shattuck from his own short story, the film charts a romance against the backdrop of a nation in flux, held together by the enduring power of folk music and the echoes of a love that once was.

Set in the early 20th century, the story begins in rural Kentucky, where young Lionel (Paul Mescal) is raised on the front-porch harmonies sung by his father. In 1917, he departs for the Boston Music Conservatory, where he meets David (Josh O’Connor), a charismatic composer. Their friendship, blossoming while singing together, is cut short when David is drafted into World War I. But fate brings them together again in 1920 for a winter-long journey through Maine, collecting and recording folk songs – an effort to preserve a rapidly disappearing oral tradition.

The film’s central section is entirely devoted to this folkloric expedition. Shot with luminous sensitivity by cinematographer Alexander Dynan, the Maine woods and humble farmhouses become the stages for a tender exploration of identity and connection. Hermanus excels in capturing the subtle emotional currents between Lionel and David, aided immensely by the layered performances of Mescal and O’Connor, who are magnetic throughout. Their chemistry is arresting, filled with suppressed longing and fleeting joy, never overplayed.

Musically, the film soars. A cappella folk songs, some familiar and others freshly unearthed, flow organically through the narrative. They are not merely background ambiance, but structural and emotional pillars, each melody reflecting the protagonists’ inner worlds and their mission to enshrine America’s vanishing musical heritage. The repetition of certain motifs, particularly one haunting main theme, might test the patience of some viewers, but the sincerity and quality of the performances make the choice overall defensible and affecting.

The title takes on layered significance through Lionel’s eyes, which is also reflected in the careful writing of his character. For him, sound is more than sensation – it’s obsession, passion and the very filter through which he experiences the world. He speaks of tones as colours, vibrations as flavours; his synaesthetic sensitivity to music reveals how profoundly it has shaped both his career and his emotional life.

Though beautifully scored and sumptuously designed – with the production design nailing both the rawness of rural Kentucky and the rich period detail of 1920s Europe – the film isn’t without its missteps. The pacing is sluggish in the opening act, and a mid-film detour to Rome, though narratively significant, falters in tone. Here, the dialogue occasionally slips into awkwardness, the performances become slightly overwrought, and the emotional register feels out of sync with the film’s otherwise measured tenor.

Nevertheless, Hermanus remains in command for most of the running time. He crafts a melancholic yet affirming tone, especially in the film’s final sequence – a 1980s-set epilogue featuring Chris Cooper as an older Lionel. This concluding chapter, handled with grace and restraint, is fully rewarding.

The History of Sound isn’t just a love story or a musical; it’s a quiet meditation on how art can archive emotions when words fail, and how voices – preserved on wax cylinders and in memory – carry the weight of generations. Despite its minor flaws, this is a film of great tenderness, one that trusts the viewer to lean in and listen.

The History of Sound was produced by Film4 (UK), Kino Produzioni (Italy), and the USA’s Closer Media, End Cue, Fat City, Storm City Films and Tango Entertainment.