They call New York the city that never sleeps, but Peter Lucian thinks he has the solution for the Big Apple's many insomniacs. In “The Sound of Silence”, Peter, who is not a scientist but a make-up specialist called a “house tuner”, believes that noises are to blame for the stress and anxiety felt by his clients. And so, as some sort of feng shui expert for sound, this surly loner visits the apartments of assorted stress balls in an attempt to diagnose why their acoustics are out. of control.
Maybe it's an ultrasonic frequency coming from the refrigerator interfering with someone's sleep, or the way the floorboards or toaster creaks. Director Michael Tyburski, who co-wrote the script with Ben Nabors, is right to acknowledge how sound plays a role in people's well-being, but it's downright strange to conceive of a character who focuses on petty domestic disturbances in a city where pollution Acoustics—a cacophony of car horns and sirens and strangers yelling insults—seeps through the windows and paper-thin walls to pound New Yorkers' eardrums at all hours.
Directors: Alessandro Antonaci, Daniel Lascar, Stefano Mandalà
Writers: Alessandro Antonaci, Daniel Lascar, Stefano Mandalà
Stars: Daniele De Martino, Rocco Marazzita, Lucia Caporaso
And yet, both Tyburski and the socially awkward leading lady of his seem wholly invested in Peter's quirky profession, sending cameras spinning around Sarsgaard as he strikes tuning forks in crowded corners of town to identify each neighborhood's sonic signature. . “The Sound of Silence” is a deeply silly movie that takes itself incredibly seriously, and believe it or not, that's its great delight. Nearly two decades ago, Charlie Kaufman ushered in a new realm of sci-fi wackiness with "Being John Malkovich," and few writers have managed to replicate that adorably goofy, hyper-cerebral brand of comedy since.
“The Sound of Silence” comes close, but is reluctant to embrace the humor of its premise. Instead, the film assumes the low-contrast browns and grays palette of Woody Allen's less funny New York movies. Costume designer Megan Stark-Evans dressed Sarsgaard in moth-colored tweeds and a rugged-looking beard, so he almost blends in with the drab-looking buildings where the story takes place. It's the kind of dreary tale in which one expects to hear composer Carter Burwell's brooding stylings, and it wouldn't surprise anyone if the film ended with Peter slitting his wrists or sticking his head in a gas oven.
In other words, "The Sound of Silence" is a movie for McSweeney readers and people who listen to "Science Friday" on NPR: intellectual in a slightly wacky way, weird enough to warrant a dinner party. and anything but Guaranteed to remain semi-dark, and therefore sure to maintain a degree of hipster cred to those who have seen it. And yet the film feels woefully underfed by something that originated as a short, as if the makers decided to make it longer but not necessarily more eventful or intriguing.
As in the 17-minute version, the house tuner visits a skeptical single woman who might turn out to be a love interest, even though Peter is so withdrawn and antisocial there's no chance of anything resembling chemistry ever forming. Ellen, as she is called, watches in bewilderment as this complete stranger explores her private cocoon, inspects her appliances and even goes so far as to stretch out on her bed. “It helps me if I recreate your morning routine,” she says, and we laugh at the pseudo-rocket science as Peter rummages around with his lo-fi gear, not unlike the gear ghost hunters use to detect. paranormal infestations. Dressed like a fussy 1950s college professor, Peter looks so old-fashioned that he makes the reel-to-reel obsessive that Gene Hackman played in "The Conversation" seem positively edgy by comparison.
Peter thinks he knows the source of Ellen's problem and sends her a new toaster, but her boredom persists, undermining his confidence in his own theories. This is where the feature diverges from the previous short, providing a glimpse into Peter's predictably dull private life: when he's not making house calls, he retreats to a bunker-like basement where he's cut off from the clamor of the city.
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