United States, Belgium 2019
Directed by Darius Marder
With Riz Ahmed (Ruben), Olivia Cook (Lou), Paul Raci (Joe)

First come booming, ear-splitting, savage sounds of music: the establishing shot is a medium shot on a young, half-naked, heavily tattooed drummer, the settings are the kind of compact stage hosting small rock, in this case of course metal, bands in unassuming musical venues visited by young and loyal patrons. Ruben starts to drum and Lou starts to sing and play her electric guitar: they are just the two of them in the band, but their passion and success are as great as any recognized and praised bigger bands.
Then come quieter, cooler, more mundane sounds of life: the humming of a blender, the drip-drip-drip of a coffee machine, the melodious, melancholy tunes of jazz from a radio, the distant run of cars – Ruben and Lou are not just partners on the stage, but also in life, a couple living in a recreational vehicle they have pulled off in an isolated parking.
And then come the disorder, the distortion, the disaster: sounds suddenly getting lower, the ringing in the ear, the unexpected silence as Ruben turns around in his RV one morning, increasingly scared and mad.
The contrast could not be starker, and smarter: it is not just the absurdity of a metal rock musician who can no longer hear, it is the tragedy of a young man who cannot enjoy the ordinary sounds of life, cannot listen to radio or his lover, cannot hear what he is doing. And it won’t stop, even getting worse as his hearing is tested by a doctor in an emergency appointment carefully shot and recorded.
If there has been for a long time a shooting trick called the POV shot, this debut feature uses at length what could be called a POV soundtrack. The sound is mixed and altered to allow the audience regularly, at key moments, to hear, or rather not to hear, just like Ruben. The images are also used to convey the trouble of losing hearing thanks to captions depicting the sounds the camera captures, from the establishing shot onwards. Those captions are familiar to, and practical for, deaf persons keen on watching movies, at least if the film is released with such a technical option. “Sound of Metal” goes farther: the captions are imposed on all copies and formats, so that the audience who can hear can watch what those who cannot hear usually get, both kind of people being treated as the same, watching the film under the same condition – this choice furthers the film’s premise, putting an ordinary spectator in the shoes of an average guy becoming deaf.
And the narrative keeps bringing the hearing persons deeper in the territory of those with hearing problems as Ruben ends up in a small community of persons who cannot hear and have also coped with another, big health problem, addiction – the film likes to disclose only slowly, carefully, one snippet at a time what has been the life of the couple (and that is part of the charm). Led by a Vietnam war veteran, Joe, it stands as the best chance for Ruben to deal with his loss of hearing and perhaps accept it, while providing him with a shelter and a support. It was because Lou was adamant he should give the place a try, learn to cope with his troubles, get a hold on himself, absolutely sure he has no better option, madly in love with him, that Ruben assented to stay, even if the first reaction was to refuse, if only because staying in the community means cutting off contacts with the rest of the world, and so get separated from Lou. As Ruben tries to figure out how to fit in, the camera roams around the people and across the big, old wooden house lost in the woods, and shows the daily lives of the usually young people Joe is looking after.
The narrative arc of the lead character offers little surprise. Denial drives him from the first moment he is obliged to seek medical advice (at a pharmacy), and stirs him all along, even it prospects get better. The fact that Ruben is rash and impatient, fidgety and crotchety of course does not help him. Even when he seems to get used to the community, and even grows into being a trusted and well-liked member, there is always some dissatisfaction running over him, and the montage regularly displays the same episode, Ruben stealthily, probably violating some rules, climbing a stairway, checking e-mails, browsing the internet, even phoning. He then starts to get stuff out of his RV, which he is not supposed to use, and eventually sells everything he has, including the vehicle. Slowly, what is going on get clearer: still in denial, Ruben manages to get hearing implants put on his head. The young man has always been keen on getting reunited with Lou, hoping to start their common life all over again, and has never fully accepted to rely only on sign language and to stick with people like him: community was just a transition to him, not a goal.
However, the reunion with Lou in her native France does not quite play out as he wished. The long scenes in Paris are slowly filled with an odd malaise, a growing sense that something is amiss and that Lou is not the same. And then Ruben realizes what he has truly lost and what he is no longer able to gain, though this change in mind feels a bit contrived, hasty, in a context that puzzles a little (why crossing the Atlantic Ocean and spends time with a well-to-do, bohemian milieu – could not it have simpler and more efficient to be with more ordinary folks in America? Is it partly to please some co-producers? And isn’t giving Lou a father who is a musician laboring the point a bit too much?)
“How to learn to be deaf”: this is the task one morning Joe assigns to Ruben and writes down on the board where every member of his community learns what to do in the day, or the next days, part of the effort to make everyone useful, responsible, apt to improve themselves and the group. The slightly ironic (Joe has a good sense of humor) order introduces both the lead character and his audience to a world inhabited by, and designed for, deaf people, in particular a school for girls and boys with hearing problems and where Ruben reluctantly learns the sign language. But as he moves forward and backward, the phrase gets a deeper meaning: this is about resignation, but not on painful and mournful terms, rather on pragmatic and confident terms, the embrace of a disability that does not completely keep you from enjoying life, but that could invite you to reinvent your life. Ruben’s long journey is about accepting he is part of the world he has been compelled overnight to discover and to live in, an outstanding challenge given who he is. But he has raised to it, in most unexpected ways, and in the final shot he can at long last enjoy the sound of silence.
Director Darius Marder does not stand far from British veteran filmmaker Alexander Mackendrick who made in 1952 one of the most remarkable and moving film on the topic, “Mandy”. Once again, the audience is spared no detail as the camera bluntly records the plight of the lead character, examining the pains and the excruciating fight to express oneself as sounds can longer help (in fact, the little Mandy was a worse case, as she was born deaf and mute). Mackendrick even cut at key moments the sound, the audience suddenly faced with a silent soundtrack and with what Mandy truly experienced. Marder goes farther, and watching his film means sharing as much as possible the experience of a deaf person, in a stunning but important move that make his film endearing. He is unquestionably helped by the awesome, ardent, authentic performance of actor Riz Ahmed.