Sound of Metal was an emotional plate of evaluation — with a side of evolution towards character and understanding.
In summary, it’s a complicated and beautifully emotional self-diagnosis of one’s final acceptance of becoming completely deaf. At the start of the film, we’re introduced to our two main characters — Riz Ahmed (Ruben) and Olivia Cooke (Lou) — who are a duo-band that play/sing, well… metal. We watch through this subtle love story of two people who would do absolutely anything for each other — who grow with each other and support each other through everything that happens.
We see a true relationship at its core motives.
Ruben is a drummer and Lou is a singer. Through rollercoasters of electric bass tones, muted drums, and various camera focus shifts, we understand that this is both their immediate passion. A well-written and involved backstory is laid out for Lou, but slightly skipped when it comes to Ruben. While this isn’t a problem — I understand the dynamic they’re trying to set up — it does leave us with some questions… questions, however, that don’t necessarily need to be answered.
Until, of course, we run into our main problem —
Ruben is slowly losing his hearing.
Reluctantly — and with no less a sacrifice that takes a toll on his mental state — Ruben goes to a community home for the deaf where, over time, he learns sign language and the ability to love himself for who he is and who he will be in the future. While there, he gains a deeper appreciation for people, and we see his character develop and grow with each passing occurrence. Ruben begins to see that he can influence the people around him and that he is not alone on his journey.
Paul Raci (Joe) helps Ruben throughout this journey as his guide or mentor, while also being part of the group and acting as its de facto leader. Joe sees that Ruben is having a hard time understanding that just because you aren’t doing something useful doesn’t mean you’re useless — trying to hammer this home into Ruben’s mind. Sometimes the best thing to do is know that you can stop, take a breath, and do nothing — and there’s nothing wrong with that.
Joe’s lesson at its core isn’t to do nothing — but to not fear what you’ve lost. Instead, appreciate what you have and look at this opportunity to form a deeper connection to the things around you. At first, Ruben doesn’t understand this concept, spending his time writing out his feelings every day in that small room designed to be his space for expression and settlement.
the community’s efforts, Ruben’s attachment is his girlfriend, his life, and his music. Joe’s suggestion of not communicating with the outside world while adjusting isn’t to shut themselves out — but to avoid becoming obsessed with the idea that they’re broken and need to be fixed.
Joe’s last conversation with Ruben was extremely powerful — the idea that being deaf isn’t a disability, but simply who you are. But Ruben is too fixated on his desire to go back to his old life as soon as possible — breaking Joe more than Ruben could have imagined.
With the procedure complete, Ruben realizes that nothing is the same. The ending of this film was breathtaking. As Ruben sits back in his chair, removes his hearing aid, and reflects — he finally understands what Joe was trying to tell him.
There’s something beautiful in absolute silence. Sometimes maddening… sometimes eerie… but sometimes — peaceful.
