There is a good chance that if you have friends in the film community that they told you to watch Sound of Metal (2020) this past weekend. They would all tell you the same, that Riz Ahmed just turned in one of the best performances and that this is such a powerful story. Considering that most people don’t have the luxury of going to movie theaters, its appearance on Amazon Prime may very well be the first time that the name even registers. I had heard of it, but to say I thought of it at all would be lying. This is as much a gift and a curse, as I love being ahead of the curve on great indie cinema, but I also love the feeling of not knowing just what you’re getting in for.
With less than a month to go, this has officially become my favorite movie of the year. For reasons that I’ll get into, it was a story that hit me on a very personal level and never let me go. Had I known there was a story credit by Derek Cianfrance, one of my favorite contemporary filmmakers, I would’ve jumped a lot sooner. Even the fact that it was directed by Darius Marder, writer of the underrated The Place Beyond the Pines (2013), might’ve been enough to get me out in a normal year. But, for what it’s worth, I got to watch it with as little knowledge as I could. What I’m here to say is that there is the story itself that I found captivating, but there were also themes within it that brought out a lot of emotions in me.
Before I continue, I want to say that this is difficult to write for very specific reasons. To the best of my knowledge, I do not have significant hearing loss. I do not wish to trivialize this condition by comparing it to my autism, though I feel like both share a certain level of isolation and otherness. The struggle to feel accepted by neurotypical people remains difficult even though I should be grateful that I fall on the more functioning side of this equation. I’m also not necessarily an expert, as I’ve only self-identified as autistic for two years now. With that said, the themes at the heart of the story feel like prescient enough overlap. If I’m saying something crass or offensive, please let me know. Learning is the only way to build a tolerance.
It starts with hearing in general. I am someone who likes to be in control of his own narrative. It’s why I write so much. It’s why I have these patterns that feel comforting. I’ll admit that some of my O.C.D. tendencies have changed over time, though I still find it difficult to communicate with the outside world if my schedule is shifted too greatly. I need to have that time to achieve the things that make me happy.
As you can guess that in small part includes having my faculties in order. There have been days where one of two things happen. Either I will be so immersed in silence or my ears will be ringing. Both sounds are scary initially, though I’m thankful every time the ringing stops. Still, I will be quick to lift a hand up to my ear and snap. I become grateful when I hear that noise, knowing that the panic was for naught. Given that my eyesight has caused me to need glasses, I’m more prone to the belief that my body is crapping out on me, and I fear that.
This isn’t to suggest that those experiencing hearing loss or other disabilities are worse off. In modern science, I like to believe that there’s treatment to complement these needs. However, if you’re someone who was born with those senses, losing one really disorients the rest of your life. For instance, losing your hearing greatly impacts your awareness of peripheral details. It makes tone difficult and, in the case of my grandfather, creates this insecurity and overcompensation in conversation.
The feeling of isolation is the worst. For most of the past 20 years, I’ve had a fear of abandonment on top of whatever other conditions I have. I am the observant type, the person who many have claimed can enter and exit a room without being noticed. As much as that can be read as complementary, I’ve also seen the sadness in that I’m not able to express myself in a way that either of these actions warrants attention. Sure, I’m Irish and our goodbyes are legendary, but for most of my life, my only real outlet has been writing. In public, I’ve rarely spoken unless spoken to. I once wound up with a B in an English course solely because I didn’t talk enough.
So the idea of communication is difficult for me in general and I’ve only found comfort in watching YouTube videos where autistic personalities discuss their lives. I get to learn the words to describe feelings I’ve had for years, which bring with them as much relief as they do sadness, the wonder if this knowledge could’ve prevented so much insecurity. For the most part, I’m very able to talk TO someone, but I can’t talk WITH someone unless it’s on a topic that I care about. I don’t believe that I’m nearly as incapable as some, specifically those who have selective hearing and muting, but I find myself in situations waiting for the cue, the allowance to enter a conversation.
How this ties back to Sound of Metal is, in a broad sense, that both are disabilities based around fear of communication. As my website will suggest, I have an affection for the auditory spectrum. It has actually strengthened myself on days when I’m feeling sad. It’s as much the words as it is the tones and the rhythmic structures. What happens when you take that away? As much as it means that my relationship with music would be permanently changed, it’s also the fear that I will not be able to follow a conversation ever again.
Now obviously there’s sign language and the film does an incredible job of depicting ways that a deaf community can flourish. However, there’s still that fear that an outside world will not be able to understand what you’re saying. I personally have trouble sometimes following conversations even with good hearing. Autism makes that type of focus difficult not only in the moment but in general. It creates an obsessiveness where caring too much about word choice has driven me to be anxious before and after talking to people. I am so desperate to be seen as good by them that I try to compensate but also not be overbearing about it.
To see a character who cannot communicate with the outside world is powerful. I love this journey that starts at a level of fear and builds from there. You may be able to see love, but can you comprehend it? What do you do when there’s no chance of hearing outside of your head? I understand that desperation, that desire to be normal. While, in Sound of Metal’s case, this was an acquired condition while mine was genetic, it’s something that we all struggle with. The various stereotypes of moodiness (or lack thereof) are things I’d love to do without, but they’re inherent to my condition. The insecurity is masked by observing others and trying to do what they do. I’m better about it now, but that doesn’t mean that some component of it is still there.
That is why the rehab scenes are some of the best that I’ve seen in 2020. In a pivotal conversation, the counselor says that he wants to fix this (points to his brain) not this (points to his ears). It’s arguably where Sound of Metal and my personal attachment to it overlaps the most. Just because you have a condition doesn’t mean it needs to be fixed. Sometimes what it takes is your outlook on life because of that condition. It’s only then that hearing loss is not seen as a death sentence, that there are ways to be happy even while having this limitation.
Another thing that may be obvious for those who have read my work, but I relate heavily to the idea of journaling. It isn’t just because I’m a writer and I need to constantly exhume my body of ideas. It’s that I’m removing these thoughts that cloud my judgment, looking for someplace permanent to be dumped. They’re not all pleasant (I’m having a strange back and forth right now with invasive thoughts), but I find self-awareness is the first step towards growing. I’ve written this way since 2008 and even if it hasn’t made me happiest, it’s made me happier. I frankly feel that I am more in tune with my emotions because of it, more accepting of who I am and what I want to be.
Also, Sound of Metal shows that there are endless ways to communicate even with these limitations. While there’s sign language, he also bonds over the vibration of banging on a metal slide, feeling something reminiscent of a melody. The joy of being able to play with other like-minded individuals is such a powerful scene and one that speaks to me. I’ve tried to be more outgoing with myself this past year, if just because I wasn’t satisfied with my public reputation. What I have found is that while it’s lead to some mental breakdowns, it’s also lead to this sense of openness and warmth. If they don’t accept me for me, they at least act nice about it.
This is ultimately a hopeful story and one that helps to normalize the taboo of deafness. It argues that there’s life after an event that many likely see as traumatizing. When you start off, you’re worried that the world has lost part of its magic, that you’re incapable of experiencing joy. Most of all, and this is the most powerful part of all, Sound of Metal reflects a struggle to communicate without having the skills to. That in itself is horrifying and difficult to overcome. I’m aware that some of my personal tics are annoying and likely bother people, but I hope that I’m able to be loved in spite of that.
As one can guess, this isn’t necessarily an uproarious movie full of laughs. Cianfrance as a filmmaker has been known for tackling dark subjects Blue Valentine (2010) and I Know This Much is True. Even if he only has story credit here, this film feels organic to his outlook on life. Even in the darkest time, he’s trying to find the narrative arc where the characters climb out, able to find some optimism in their changed lives. Compared to the aforementioned titles, this is actually a bit more hopeful. It doesn’t seek easy answers but instead finds unnecessary sacrifices standing in the way and proving to be just that: unnecessary.
I understand that there’s a difference between autism and hearing loss. The fact that I write about music three times a week should give some indication that I’m able-bodied enough to have some advantages. Even then, I’m curious to know if other autistic critics feel some compassion or recognition in Sound of Metal of their own behavior. After all, we have those obsessions that can block the outside world, keeping us from ever truly being there. Without being about us, it somehow reflects the isolation and loneliness we can feel at our worse moments and the struggles we have to feel normal.
Again, I hope that I’m not overreaching here. As someone who is not hearing impaired, I’m sure that my perspective is wildly different. Even then, we share the mental incapacity to engage with the world in totally normal ways sometimes. I keep trying every day to feel accepted and understood, and some days are better than others. What makes Sound of Metal a masterpiece is that it realizes that the self needs to accept this before anyone else can. Once that happens, the real healing can begin.
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