Stop Making Sense (1984)

It starts in complete silence, which is already an unusual beginning for a concert movie. The silence lasts as long as the main titles, until a pair of white canvas sneakers walks across a stage. The sneakers set down a portable radio (which I suppose, by 1984 terminology, would be a ghetto blaster); the camera pans up and we see that the man in the shoes is also carrying an acoustic guitar which he begins to attack madly. And then David Byrne begins to sing.

I am not a music writer, so I won't pretend to offer anything new writing about the Talking Heads. But as a long time fan of the band, and someone who has never seen the band live (or in even in performance, outside of a handful of music videos), it's a very unique and special experience to watch David Byrne open Stop Making Sense with Psycho Killer. Fitful, spastic, aggravated, on the virge of painful, here is a man who performs less like a rock star and more like the puppet on the end of a string. His movements are like a computer's idea of a rock and roll performance except the instructions are misunderstood. He doesn't blink. His head darts and twists like a bird. He hardly seems like a human being.

I debated whether a concert film like Stop Making Sense had any place on the Monday list and ultimately included it (as I will Scorsese's The Last Waltz and the Maysles Brothers' Gimme Shelter). This is, one might argue, a film more than a rock concert. At the very least, it's a documentary more than a music video. While there is no narrative in the film, it is constructed with as much precision. Byrne's solo performance leads to a second song (the transcendant Heaven) where he is joined by the bass player; the drummer is wheeled onto the stage for the third song and in the tunes that follow, the entire band comes together as the stage comes to life. By the time Burning Down the House explodes from the speakers, the experience has blossomed and what began as a short, caustic performance now fills the screen and (more importantly) the speakers.

What makes Stop Making Sense so exciting is this: Talking Heads the band has long ago disbanded, and it is unlikely that anyone will ever see them play live again. If some kind of Police-esque reunion happens, it is certain that they will never appear quite like this again. Stop Making Sense is one of those most special kinds of documents, one that captures on film the sensation of a pop band at the height of its powers. Time can never take the shine off David Byrne's epileptic seizures during Once In a Lifetime; they are forever preserved on celluloid and now, on DVD. One wishes that all the great super-groups could have this kind of document to capture evidence of their magic when they were at the top of the heap. Where is Gowan's 1985 concert film?

Stop Making Sense is quite honestly a beautiful thing. Freakin' DVD should come with a concert t-shirt...