SOUND OF METAL | FILM REVIEW
Dir: Darius Marder (15, 120 mins)
Riz Ahmed is fantastic as a drummer losing his hearing in this immersive, searching quest for identity from writer/director Darius Marder. A brilliant sound design takes us through all the stages of drummer Ruben Stone’s descent into silence. A former heroin addict four years clean, Ahmed’s Stone is madly in love with Olivia Cooke’s Lou as they tour the USA playing small gigs with their raw heavy metal band. One night, however, Ahmed’s hearing becomes muffled: words become indistinct and dwindle away. A crisis both physically and spiritually ensues as Ahmed tries to battle on, believing he can beat the inevitable, whilst Cooke, realising the potential troubles ahead, gets Ahmed to stay in a deaf centre for addicts who have lost their hearing.
Initially heartbreakingly resistant, Ahmed finally gives in and under the gentle tutelage of the deaf leader of the centre, an excellent Paul Raci, gradually builds some sort of acceptance of his plight, teaching drumming to the deaf kids who taught him sign language. When he sees Lou performing in France, though, he decides he has to be back with her, get hearing implants and potentially cripple himself with debt. It’s a detailed character study of re-invention, one which takes you inside Ahmed’s head as you hear what he hears – the alienation, the distraction, the sheer oddness of it and the stillness it can eventually bring in the silence.
Ahmed has never been better, shouldering the film brilliantly as the conflicted, troubled drummer holding on to what he thought made him who he was. Intense and authentic, he shows both his drumming and sign language chops as well as the torture of addiction and the fear of change. He is ably supported by Cooke’s equally troubled Lou – whose backstory is teased out when she returns to France with her father, played by Mathieu Almaric. A sensory experience, very well told, Sound Of Metal drums into the psyche.
In cinemas and streaming on digital platforms from Fri 29 Jan
words KEIRON SELF