Riz Ahmed didn't just play a drummer losing his hearing. He lived it. Honestly, it’s rare to see an actor throw themselves into a role with such terrifying commitment that it feels less like a performance and more like a public breakdown. In Sound of Metal, Ahmed plays Ruben, a heavy-metal drummer and recovering heroin addict whose world vanishes when his hearing suddenly snaps.
It’s loud. Then it’s gone.
The film is a masterclass in perspective. Director Darius Marder and Ahmed didn't want to make a movie about "the deaf experience" from a distance. They wanted to drag the audience into the muffled, vibrating, confusing reality of sudden hearing loss. Riz Ahmed spent seven months learning American Sign Language (ASL) and drumming for hours a day. He wore custom inner-ear blockers that emitted white noise, making it impossible for him to hear his own voice or the actors around him. That's not just "method" acting—it's a pursuit of genuine disorientation.
Why Sound of Metal Isn't Your Average Drama
Movies about disability usually follow a predictable arc: tragedy, struggle, and then some kind of "triumph" over the condition. Sound of Metal refuses that trope. It’s a film about identity. When Ruben loses his hearing, he doesn’t just lose a sense; he loses his job, his relationship, and his primary coping mechanism for his sobriety.
The sound design is the real costar here. Nicholas Becker, the film’s sound designer, used contact microphones to capture the internal sounds of the human body—heartbeats, muscle movements, the rustle of blood. When we hear through Ruben’s perspective, we aren't hearing "silence." We are hearing the low-frequency hum of a body trying to exist in a world that has gone quiet. This sensory immersion is why the film resonated so deeply. It wasn't just a story you watched; it was a physical experience you endured.
The Riz Ahmed Transformation
Riz Ahmed has always been a chameleon, but this felt different. You see it in his eyes. There’s a specific kind of panic that he captures in the opening act—a frantic, wide-eyed desperation to fix something that can’t be fixed.
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He stayed in character for long stretches, navigating the set primarily through sign language once Ruben enters the deaf community. This community, led by the brilliant Paul Raci (who grew up as a CODA—Child of Deaf Adults), provides the emotional spine of the movie. Raci plays Joe, a mentor who lost his hearing in the Vietnam War. Joe isn't looking to "fix" Ruben’s hearing. He’s trying to fix Ruben’s soul.
The tension between "fixing" and "accepting" is where the movie gets uncomfortable. Ruben wants cochlear implants. He views them as a technological "cure." But the film presents a nuanced take: the implants don't bring back the world as it was. They bring back a digital, distorted, metallic imitation of sound. It’s harsh. It’s jagged.
The ASL Factor and Representation
One of the coolest things about this production was the commitment to the Deaf community. They didn't just hire extras. The film features actual Deaf actors, and the dialogue in the community center scenes is authentic. This wasn't just for "points"—it changed the rhythm of the movie.
ASL is a physical, facial language. It requires you to look at the person you’re talking to. It demands presence. For a character like Ruben, who is used to hiding behind a drum kit or a wall of feedback, this forced intimacy is his biggest challenge. Watching Riz Ahmed transition from a man who uses sound as a shield to a man who uses his hands to communicate is one of the most satisfying character arcs in recent memory.
Breaking Down the Soundscapes
The movie basically functions in three distinct sonic modes:
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- The Natural World: Full, rich, and vibrating (the first 10 minutes).
- The Muffled Interior: The sound of being underwater, emphasizing Ruben’s isolation.
- The Digital Distortion: The terrifying, screeching reality of the cochlear implants.
That third mode is where many viewers get hit the hardest. We are conditioned to think technology solves everything. When Ruben finally gets the implants, we expect the "Hollywood moment" where he hears music again and cries tears of joy. Instead, we get a cacophony of distorted noise that makes the quiet of the deaf community feel like a paradise in comparison.
The Legacy of the Role
Riz Ahmed became the first Muslim actor to be nominated for the Academy Award for Best Actor for this role. That’s a huge milestone, but the legacy of Sound of Metal goes beyond awards. It shifted the conversation about how cinema handles accessibility. The film was released with open captions, making it accessible to the D/deaf and hard-of-hearing community from day one.
It also challenged the "victim" narrative. Ruben isn't a victim of hearing loss; he’s a man struggling with his need for control. The "metal" in the title isn't just about the music genre. It’s about the industrial, cold nature of the implants, and perhaps the resilience required to survive the shattering of your own reality.
What We Can Learn from Ruben's Journey
If you’re a creator, an artist, or just someone navigating a massive life change, there’s a lot to take away from what Riz Ahmed accomplished here.
First, the value of "stillness." There’s a scene where Joe tells Ruben to just sit in a room and write until he can sit still. It sounds simple. It’s actually the hardest thing in the movie. In our world of constant pings and notifications, that lesson hits home.
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Second, representation matters not just for the sake of diversity, but for the sake of truth. The movie would have been hollow without Paul Raci and the Deaf actors. Their presence forced Ahmed—and the audience—to adapt to a different way of being.
Practical Insights for Engaging with the Film’s Themes
If the themes of Sound of Metal resonated with you, there are real-world ways to explore this further without just re-watching the movie.
- Explore ASL: You don’t need to be fluent to appreciate the language. Learning basic signs can broaden your perspective on how communication works beyond vocalization.
- Audit Your Sonic Environment: Pay attention to the "noise" in your life. We often use sound to drown out our thoughts. Try a "silent hour" once a week to see what bubbles up when the distractions are gone.
- Support Inclusive Media: Seek out films that use "Creative Captioning" or "Open Captions." Supporting these projects tells studios that accessibility isn't a niche requirement; it’s a creative tool.
- Understand Cochlear Reality: If you’re curious about the science, look into how cochlear implants actually function. They are incredible feats of engineering, but as the film shows, they are a different way of hearing, not a "reset button" for the ears.
Sound of Metal is a reminder that losing everything can sometimes be the only way to find what actually matters. Riz Ahmed gave us a raw, bleeding heart of a performance that proves silence isn't something to be feared—it's something to be heard.
To truly appreciate the craft, watch the film with a high-quality pair of headphones. The nuanced shifts in frequency and the internal body sounds are easily lost through standard TV speakers. Pay close attention to the final scene's transition into absolute silence; it’s designed to leave you with a physical sensation of peace that Ruben finally earns. Explore the work of the DP, Daniël Bouquet, whose 35mm cinematography gives the film a grainy, organic texture that contrasts perfectly with the digital harshness of the later acts. Supporting films that prioritize this level of sensory storytelling ensures that cinema continues to evolve beyond simple visual medium into a full-body experience.
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