Walking with a good neighbor friend yesterday, he mentioned he had just seen the newly remastered version of the Talking Heads’ Stop Making Sense, which has been playing for a week at our local cinema on the 40th anniversary of the Pantages Theater concerts included in the film. I had just seen it myself—maybe the fourth time since its 1984 release—but it was my neighbor’s first plunge. He said he liked the movie, but found the final two songs “kind of relentless” and much preferred their earlier numbers in the show.

I love my neighbor, but he seemed to be missing the point.

Stop Making Sense isn’t “one of the best concert movies ever made”, as a recent profile of David Byrne on 60 Minutes proclaimed. It IS the best concert movie ever made, and nothing else has even come close. Woodstock? The Last Waltz? Those were dutifully documented depictions of great shows. Stop Making Sense is something else entirely: an impeccable assembly of music, lyrics, movement, cinematography, lighting and dramatic structure worthy of any classic film. And with Renaissance man David Byrne as your engaging, unpredictable, ever-innovative master of ceremonies, it remains a timeless work of art.

Similar to how a good fictional movie with a well-written story can effortlessly transport you somewhere for a couple of hours, Stop Making Sense does the very same thing. The film is credited as a directing collaboration between the late Jonathan Demme and Talking Heads, but I have to believe Demme was responsible for many of its cinematic joys. Starting with the minimalist opening shot of Byrne’s white shoes walking out to the stage where he clicks on a boom box rhythm to play “Psycho Killer” and we slowly pan up to reveal Byrne’s thin frame, focused eyes and unique, multi-range voice, everything that follows onscreen is by careful design.

Bassist Tina Weymouth then joins him for the lovely “Heaven” while crew members roll in a drum set in the background. Chris Frantz kicks those off with the rousing “Thank You For Sending Me an Angel” before fourth Head Jerry Harrison appears for ‘Found a Job” , which to me is when the movie propels into a second gear. The song is just a lighthearted story about a married TV comedy writing team, but for the final minute, the band launches into a Kraftwerky funk-jam, shot from the side with the band members moving back front and back in perfect rhythm, that never fails to make me delirious. Demme knows exactly where to place the camera in every moment for maximum visual and sonic impact; some of the best views are direct medium shots taken from mid-audience, where we see the entire band in their full visual presentation. 

From here things only get bigger and better. A full band including percussionist, keyboardist another guitar player and two wonderful backup singers joins the ensemble for “Slippery People” and an explosively good “Burning Down the House”. 

Every one of Byrne’s geeky dances, every change in his wardrobe takes the show into a new dimension, along with the lighting. “What a Day it Was” is shot almost entirely on Byrne with dramatic lamps below highlighting the veins in his scrawny neck. “This Must be the Place” is a comforting breather track, Byrne, Weymouth, and the two singers grouped around a stand-up lamp that the leader performs a short magical dance with. 

This is followed by the absolute show-stopper, “Once in a Lifetime”, a powerful mix of throbbing rhythm, profound words, and Byrne’s insanely passionate singing and otherworldly dancing—also lit from below. Demme keeps the camera solely on him except for one shot close to the end when the backup singers dramatically “rise up” in the background in a gorgeous composition.

In case this isn’t enough, there’s even a version of “Genius of Love” by the band’s “side group” the Tom-Tom Club, giving drummer Frantz, Weymouth and the singers a chance to strut their funky stuff. Byrne then returns in his signature Big Suit for “Girlfriend is Better” and the climactic jams of “Take Me to the River” and “Crosseyed and Painless”, featuring the only shots of the dancing Pantages crowd we see in the film. 

I’ve been a fan of the Talking Heads since the late 1970s, but listening to their albums is a quiet, private experience compared to the unforgettable power of watching Stop Making Sense. Jonathan Demme is sadly no longer with us, but his dynamic, genius collaboration with David Byrne is here forever for all of is to relish.