The set of Marlee Matlin’s directorial debut is the quietest I have ever visited.

It’s not completely absent sound — there is a low murmur, people quietly conferring between takes — but it is faint enough that when the DIY air conditioner kicks in and the bag overhead suddenly inflates with a bang, I jump. In the distance, I hear “Action!” and I will later hear “Cut!” but otherwise a deferentially low volume permeates the space. The source of the minimal sound is Matlin herself: small but commanding, sporting a blond bob and pink top, directing a courtroom scene with a series of hand gestures — lots of thumbs up all around — and the occasional word. I can’t hear her interpreter from my position, but that’s partly because the two of them are always right next to whoever they’re speaking with. I do, however, hear an extras wrangler at one point loudly requesting an uptick in energy: “Big trial, big deal.”

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