Stop Making Sense

I bought this film without ever having seen it. I liked the Talking Heads and had heard about the movie. Suffice it to say that I was amazed! The genious of starting with just a bare stage with David Byrne singing his sublime live version of Psycho Killer, then adding equiptment and band members was so weird, so brilliant. The energy and stamina shown by Mr. Byrne in this film borders on creepy. Was there a mountain of coke backstage, or is he a marathon runner? Not for me to know. How he was able to bend that far backwards during Once In A Lifetime I'll never know! All in all a real concert experience, combining the brilliance and showmanship of the Talking Heads with a master director like Jonathan Demme. It's no wonder that their compilation, Sand In The Vaseline, includes two live tracks seen on the film.

It's a good thing that the Talking Heads broke up when they did. I mean, could you imagine them slogging it out today, playing the state fair circuit, or worse, the street fair circuit? No, watch this film. See a band at its creative and energetic peak. Remember them as they were over the two or three days in which it was filmed. Of course, you must watch David Byrne. He would make his entire body a performance art. He would contort, jog, dance, leap, and even make his clothes a prop.

But, watch Tina Weymouth...

Tina is a very visual performer too. She says almost nothing, letting her bass guitar speak for her. And while David goes over the top often, Tina is subtle and sublime. With her body moves as she dances in place. With her facial expressions, her smiles, occasional raised eyebrows, and glances. Then when the action shifts to the Tom Tom Club (in order to give David a break and allow him to change into his big suit), her big moment is for one song only--"Genius of Love" but man does she seize the moment and make it all her own! Rounding out the Talking Heads of course are drummer Chris Frantz (Tina Weymouth's husband for over 30 years now) and guitarist/keyboardist Jerry Harrison. When Chris takes the stage, he bounds up onto the riser, bows, and with a big smile, gets drumming. He is clearly enjoying himself during this and at the end of the show, he jubilantly throws his sticks into the audience. Jerry is a little harder to get a bead on. At times he's clearly enjoying himself, particularly on BURNING DOWN THE HOUSE. Other times he seems a little detached.

Rounding out the touring band are Alex Weir on lead guitar, Bernie Worrel on keyboards, Edna Holt and Lynn Marbry on back-up vocals, and Steve Scales on percussion. None are treated as sidemen, rather as an integral part of the show.

It has been commented that some "sweetening" of the sound was done. But I believe that it was to achieve sound consistency. I have heard several concert films with terrible audio (RUST NEVER SLEEPS comes to mind). Seeing this movie is what made me a Talking Heads fan back in 1985. Finding a copy at the used book store in 2006 is what helped me re-discover them.

It would be easy to dismiss the Talking Heads as all visual as all David Byrne. Such is not the case. The songwriting and musicianship was solid throughout the band's career. The band remained together for several more years, scoring several additional hits including AND SHE WAS, LADY DON'T MIND, & WILD WILD LIFE. They called it quits as a band in 1991, although all four members have remained active in music.

'Stop Making Sense' is more than simply a concert film. It is pure cinema. It engages all of the senses, it creates a mood, it establishes an atmosphere, it has narrative logic, and it jolts the viewer with electric energy. You can't sit still while watching this. You can't keep your head from bobbing, or your mouth from moving, if you know the words to the songs.

Twenty years later, the sound and image of Talking Heads still feels new, maybe even post-new. It's frightening to look at this film and then consider that all of the Talking Heads are now in their fifties, and David Byrne's hair is as white as Steve Martin's. Byrne's music has mellowed just as people mellow with age, and his fascinating career along with the direction it's taken is emblematic of the excitement that youth brings to an artist's work. To watch 'Stop Making Sense' is to be alive, and for someone who never had and probably never will have the opportunity to see Talking Heads live, and even for those who have, it is a blessing to have a film such as this to preserve the unmatched innovation and energy of this band. Watching David Byrne perform in this film is an awesome sight. Schwarzenegger and Stallone were never this thrilling.

At the beginning of the greatest concert movie ever made, we follow a pair of sneakered feet to down center of an empty stage. A voice says "I've got a tape I want to play." We pan up to a thin, nervous-looking man with an acoustic guitar and a boom box. The box starts playing a beat. The man's hand hits a jangling chord. And for the next hour and a half, as the scenery slowly builds around this skinny misfit, we sit transported.

Talking Heads were unquestionably a seminal band in the New York punk/new wave scene. Yet before seeing this film I had little idea of who they were, and even after seeing it I would not necessarily put them on a top ten list. Nonetheless, through a combination of front man David Byrne's charisma and stagecraft, Jonathan Demme's taut, precise filmmaking, and the infectious heat of the music, Stop Making Sense remains the most enthralling and sheerly entertaining rockshow ever. The keening melancholy of "Heaven", the stripped-down mystery of "Once in a Lifetime", the dark funk of "Girlfriend is Better" -- there's simply no duds here. And Byrne works his butt off. He seems to have energy to spare; during one number he simply jogs circles around the stage, as though he needs further exercise. His teammates Tina Weymouth, Chris Frantz, Jerry Harrison, and (eventually) a host of backup singers and musicians click into that energy without a stumble.

This isn't raw work-- clearly this is a conceived film, with defined emotional beats and even a sort of intuitive narrative. And like any band, Talking Heads have a specific sound and style that (I suppose) won't appeal to everyone. But who? I've shown this film to at least three people who never heard of the band before (except through dim memory of early MTV), and even claimed to hate concert movies-- and then they went and bought the soundtrack.

What can I further say? This is a record of performance that cannot be matched. If you like music, at all, clear a little time and watch this movie. I can't promise you won't be disappointed, but I cannot easily imagine how.

Stop Making Sense is the kind of concert film that gets you pumped up for the Talking Heads even if you're not that huge a fan. I love a few of their songs- Take Me to the River, Burning Down the House, Psycho Killer most of all- but I never really "got in" to them at a younger age, mostly because I knew them from classic rock radio. What Jonathan Demme as director presents with his film of their concert in 1984 is to energize fans and casual listeners to their presence and power and just plain f***ing fun. The main force behind the group, singer/guitarist David Byrne wears suits 10 times too big, runs laps around the stage (while also having back-up singers jogging in place as well), and creates crazy pop-culture and avant-garde imagery on behind them on a screen. It's madness, but it's also alive in performance and song all the way.

Maybe one or two songs might not totally click or may sound a little, well, dated (it was the 80s after all, no longer the folks from CBGB's), but there's constantly memorable moments, including the opening take on Psycho Killer, the building-block form from song to song as band members join one by one until it's a good dozen players and singers all in the mix, and with the imagery that Demme and DP Jordan Crenowith create. For the most part it's (perfectly) straightforward film-making... but here and there we see real artistry break through, shadows cascading the figures playing, the juxtaposition of Byrne in that suit flopping around, moving around seamlessly between musicians. It's the kind of craftsmanship that looks like it should be easy enough with a good few cameras, yet probably took as much prep work as Scorsese had on the Last Waltz.

So, take in all of the 80's New-Wave mood (and, make no mistake, it's VERY 80's New Wave, but probably in the best and most experimental sense imaginable), take in pretty much all of the classic Talking Heads numbers (there's one I forget the name of that's especially chilling with the chorus a series of 'ya-hay-hay-hay-hay-hay's' from Byrne in marching formation). It's probably one of the best modern concert films.