Some people compare it to being on an island among foreigners. Others say it’s similar to sticking your head in a goldfish bowl. But the reality of what I can and cannot hear is a lot more complicated than anyone could put into words.
I was diagnosed with bilateral, moderate-to-profound hearing loss at the age of three—I have hearing loss in both ears up to 100 decibels (this is roughly equivalent to the roar of a
motorcycle).
I’ve encountered people who’ve wondered why I still cannot hear “normally” with my hearing aids. Hearing aids do not work like glasses. While glasses take an image that is blurry and distorted and turn it into a naturally sharp image, hearing aids only make things louder, not crisper. The sound pattern remains muffled and unclear. They are also not great at differentiating sounds, so they augment the unwanted background noise in addition to the important speech sounds, making it next to impossible to hear in a noisy environment. To compensate for whatever the aids fail to pick up, my brain must combine the assorted and incomplete sounds with lip reading cues, body language, and the overall context of the situation. It’s funny because my family and friends tend to “forget” that I’m hard of hearing. Over the years, I’ve found myself needing to remind them to raise their voices, to face me when they’re speaking so I can read their lips, to turn on the captions so I can understand the dialogue, et cetera. I’ve mastered the skill of blending in with the hearing community. Unfortunately, this has distanced me from the deaf community. But with time spent learning American Sign Language (ASL), I aim to change that.
Throughout my education, there were teachers who would stop mid-lecture and ask if I could hear. At the time, that question embarrassed me. As an introvert and teenager, the last thing I wanted was attention drawn to me. But this scenario brought attention to the fact that so many of my peers in the class would stare curiously as well, waiting for my response to that question, but rarely daring to ask me themselves. And every time someone does, it is led with an apology or noticeable apprehension, out of the fear that calling out my “disability” could be horribly offensive to me. As if I am unlucky. My hope is to reduce that fear of asking questions. Because the thing is, I don’t see myself as disabled; instead, I view my hearing loss as an ability. On command, I can shut off the mayhem of overlapping noises and turn on that sweet sound of silence. My lack of hearing is not, and never will be, something to “fix.” Which is, drum roll please ;), exactly the message of the following film.
I distinctly remember the first time I watched Sound of Metal (2019). I was in absolute awe. Every deaf and hard-of-hearing person has a unique journey, and even though my situation is a little different from Ruben’s, this film connected with me on a level I have never experienced before. In the final scene, Ruben is sitting on a bench in the center of town, and he hears a clamor of noises, left and right: kids skateboarding, people hastily moving by, cars rushing past, the clock tower chiming. Everything sounds harsh and unnatural (or, as my brother so proudly pointed out, “Now that’s the sound of metal”). Within a minute, he yanks out his cochlear implants.
Silence.
Acceptance.
Nothing changes visually, yet everything stills.
Ruben breathes, and the film ends there. I took a breath with him in that moment. Tears came to my eyes. That scene flawlessly illustrated the rewarding part of being profoundly hard of hearing: the peace that washes over me when it’s silent.
“Have you had any moments of stillness? The world does keep moving and it can be a damn cruel place. But for me those moments of stillness, that place, that’s the Kingdom of God. And that place will never abandon you.”
The incessant feedback, the total confusion when merely two people are talking simultaneously (not to mention a crowd), having to ask people to repeat themselves over and over, and much more, is exhausting . . . but, just like Ruben learns in that final scene, it is an integral part of my identity, and I am okay with that.
I will never cease applauding this film, for intently, respectfully, and realistically portraying a culture that is so far-reaching, yet so painfully underrepresented. Not only are the cinematography, color-grading, editing, and acting all remarkable! But the sound design is scarily accurate. I don’t know how they did it, but every time the sound shifts to what Ruben hears, it is almost exactly what I hear without my aids. A well-deserved couple of Oscars, if you ask me.
Author Biography
Mackenzie McCarron is a junior at the University of North Carolina Wilmington, majoring in Film Studies. Passionate about all forms of art, she enjoys dancing, writing, studio and digital art, documentary filmmaking, and more. When not creating, Mackenzie can be found reading novels or watching films, always exploring the intersection of creativity and storytelling.
Film Details
Sound of Metal (2019)
USA
Director Darius Marder
Runtime 120 minutes
