Stop Making Sense

 

Jonathan Demme on camera near the end of the film

Director Jonathan Demme and David Byrne

Talking Heads 1977

Talking Heads 1984

 

 

 

 

 

 

STOP MAKING SENSE       A                                                                                                USA  (88 mi)  1984  d: Jonathan Demme

STOP MAKING SENSE creates an energetic synthesis of music and imagery, filled with the rhythmic, off-kilter, and poetic interpretations of Talking Heads who seemed a little out of the mainstream, capturing what feels like a spontaneous artistic vision that still stands alone as a concert film, though it’s impossible not to think of Prince’s Sign 'o' the Times (1987), which is funkier and more soulful, featuring a master showman.  Eliminating interviews, crowd shots, historians and other experts, this is all about the art of the performance, literally transporting viewers to a place they never knew existed, led by lead singer David Byrne’s unbridled energy and quirky mannerisms, but backed up by some extraordinary musicians, this comes across as otherworldly, yet it’s all about capturing the exhilaration of a live performance, where cinematographer Jordan Cronenweth, already infamous for the futuristic look of Blade Runner (1982), used six mounted cameras, one handheld, and one Steadicam.  Made on money that was raised by the group itself, the singular defining quality of the film is that aesthetic considerations superseded marketing decisions, taking viewers on a journey with a soulful mixture of retro pop and rock ’n’ roll, with a little bit of R&B thrown in, turning songs into individual set pieces, each with its own distinct choreography and expressionist lighting, praised for its tight editing and pacing, at times feeling bizarre, yet wildly theatrical and unpretentious, studied in film schools as an example of innovative documentary filmmaking, and added to the Complete National Film Registry Listing in 2021.  The rock ‘n’ roll documentary first developed recognition with the groundbreaking work of D.A. Pennebaker’s DON’T LOOK BACK (1967) and MONTEREY POP (1968) with a makeshift mix of concert footage, cinéma vérité backstage chatter, and scattered glimpses in the crowd of enraptured fans, reaching further heights with Michael Wadleigh’s euphoric counterculture testament to peace and love in WOODSTOCK (1970), with its adulating fans writhing in ecstasy, immersing viewers in the historical era in which these musical festivals took place, followed by the apocalyptic freefall into nightmare and disillusionment from the Maysles’ Gimme Shelter (1970), when a music documentary about a rock band at the height of their power turns into a tragic stabbing death of a young black man at the hands of a Hell’s Angel during an outdoor Rolling Stones performance at Altamont, merging concert footage with real-life horror, all but spelling the end of an era.  Throughout the next decade rock documentaries were largely self-inflated vanity projects of little interest to anyone except those already worshipping at the altar of a few notable bands, with Prince doing something of an iconic revival appearing as a movie character based on his own life in Albert Magnoli’s PURPLE RAIN (1984), which is more of a music film than a documentary, following in the footsteps of Adrian Lyne’s FLASHDANCE (1983) and Herbert Ross’ FOOTLOOSE (1984), where infectious music blares with its identification with youth.  By this time MTV was officially launched on a cable TV channel devoted entirely to music, offering neverending clips of performers in artfully staged yet commercially driven music videos, which saturated the airwaves, with the novelty quickly wearing off, each one looking very much like the next, almost exclusively catering to popular tastes, devoting much of their attention to Michael Jackson, Madonna, Bruce Springsteen, Prince, U2, the Police, and R.E.M. with a few glam rock or heavy metal bands thrown in, and a sprinkling of others.  The time was ripe for something new.   

Enter the minimalist concept of Jonathan Demme, still a relative unknown, who defers to the modernist theatricality and artistic persona of Scottish-born lead singer David Byrne, just in his early 30’s, offering a best-seat-in-the-house vantage point, creating an immersive experience for viewers, which is key, stripping down the production to the bare essentials, accentuating stage design, lighting, constant movement, and layers of sound, essentially capturing the sheer joy of the band’s dazzling December 1983 stage show shot over four nights from Hollywood’s Pantages Theater in Los Angeles to create the feeling of a continuous performance, avoiding the jump-cut style of editing associated with music videos.  While the original group, three of whom met at the Rhode Island School of Design, consists of guitarist, songwriter, and vocalist David Byrne, drummer Chris Franz, guitarist and keyboardist Jerry Harrison (who was an architecture student at Harvard), and on bass, Tina Weymouth (married to the drummer), there are some notable all-black additions, marked by the band’s growing fascination with West African and black American funk rhythms, adding guitarist Alex Weir from the Brothers Johnson, keyboardist Bernie Worrell from George Clinton’s Parliament-Funkadelic, percussionist Steve Scales, and dancers and backup vocalists extraordinaire Lynn Mabry, also from P-Funk, and Ednah Holt, adding plenty of 70’s soulful funk to what was viewed as a white 80’s punk band who got their start opening for the Ramones doing mid-70’s CBGB shows, a dive bar in the Bowery that served as the breeding ground of punk.  Byrne also collaborated with dancer and choreographer Twyla Tharp by writing the music for her 1981 Broadway show The Catherine Wheel, a mix of ballet and modern dance, while also making a number of music videos with choreographer Toni Basil, which may have played a part in his developing stage persona.  The film begins with a close-up on Byrne’s white shoes as he approaches an empty stage alone in his gray boxy suit, introducing himself with the brief remark, “Hi, I got a tape I want to play,” as he places a boombox on the floor before launching into Psycho Killer, Talking Heads - Psycho Killer (Stop Making Sense 84) [4K] YouTube (5:22).  While the programmed drum beats are coming from a control booth, Byrne’s quick, staccato-like rhythmic guitar offers a piercing counterbalance to the shock lyrics delving into a stream-of-consciousness mindset of a deranged killer, “I’m tense and nervous and I can’t relax,” who seems to get some strange satisfaction by mixing in a few esoteric French lyrics into the chorus, but what stands out is the upbeat new wave arrangement of such a downbeat subject.  It’s a bizarre experience, as the lead singer is doing things that are profoundly odd, but strangely inventive, very serious and intent on what he’s doing.  The sound is astonishingly clear, attributed to the pioneering use of 24-track digital recording for the first time in movie history, while shots of people, doors, ladders, stairs, and unused equipment can be seen in the wings of the stage as he performs a wildly ebullient version of the song, bringing an artsy cool to the rendition, which certainly gets us in the mood for what follows.  The New York Times magazine did a cover story on Byrne in 1985 proclaiming him the “thinking man’s rock star” (THE CREATIVE MIND; DAVID BYRNE: THINKING MAN'S ...), while he was also featured on the cover of Time magazine, which called Byrne “rock’s renaissance man” (Rock's Renaissance Man - TIME), so superlatives are in order just from the very first song. 

Featuring unbounded energy and musical excellence, the film places an emphasis on the artist’s identity even over the songs themselves, led by frontman David Byrne, who is almost always the center of attention, measured but eccentric, paving the way for American new wave music with his own idiosyncratic style, doing a kind of jerky, back-and-forth dance to the rich mesh of African percussion, guitars, basslines, and synthesizers.  Scorsese’s The Last Waltz (1978) celebrates the legacy of the band and their accomplishments while providing background interview footage to establish an emotional connection.  None of that exists here, with nothing to break the musical momentum, almost never leaving the stage and the performers themselves, with none of those angled-up shots from below the stage that form the backbone of other concert documentaries, no swooping overhead shots, or a reliance upon fixed positions, instead transporting viewers to the stage, with the camera engaging with the band itself, always staying at eye level with its subjects, where the beauty of this film is that such a dazzling performance can actually be experienced at home, or in an IMAX theater, giving viewers an option, where there’s no definitive way to perceive what it’s about, as each viewer can be moved in their own way by the power of the music and the sheer artistry involved, putting on the best show possible, where you never know what’s coming next.  One thing that immediately stands out is that you don’t need a psychedelic light show or artificial add-ons to create an atmosphere, instead there is a simplicity to the progression of the show, as the music’s complexity builds from number to number, as one by one musicians are added to the stage, while a clearly visible yet silent road crew dressed in black sets up equipment in plain sight of viewers, yet existing in the shadows, bringing on a platform for the drums, amplifiers, and two sets of keyboards, stretching all the way to the edge of the stage, while also taking guitars from the hands of performers, exchanging new ones for the next song.  With matching costumes and choreography, no one is ever seen drinking water or any other beverage, as there are simply no distractions, yet the level of energy is consistently ramped up, with Byrne acting out each song as a distinct mini-drama, looking a bit like Norman Bates from Psycho (1960), where his lanky, free-floating body movements defy the laws of gravity, exhibiting a range of nervous expression that is thoroughly captivating.  As bassist Tina Weymouth arrives for the calm after the storm, adding a softening presence from the jarring sounds that we just heard, the next song is a duet, TALKING HEADS Heaven (Live 1983) [HQ] YouTube (3:50), adding a layered vocal harmony, feeling like an evocative lullaby, yet the female voice is heard but not seen, as it turns out to be Lynn Mabry mysteriously singing offstage.  It’s an unusual choice not to visibly feature her, as her perfectly harmonious voice is so significant, yet it’s part of the overall cinematic symmetry of geometric progression adding new members one by one, where the change is gradual but obvious, adding the drums, then the guitar, until finally adding the keyboard with the band fully functioning with Slippery People Live in Stereo David Byrne & Talking Heads ... YouTube (4:40), and the result is electrifying, just a wall of sound, with Byrne dancing with the backup singers, who add a fresh jolt of kinetic energy to the group, where the whole is greater than the sum of its parts.  By the time we get to Talking Heads - Burning Down The House (Stop Making Sense 84) [4K] YouTube (4:02), the stage is filled with unbridled joy, culminating in a thunderous full-band arrangement of their biggest hit, with Byrne literally going into a trance from the furiously hypnotic beat before finally sprinting in place with Alex Weir.   

While there are a multitude of close-ups, or groups of interactions together, wide shots are scattered throughout the film, using as few cameras as possible to keep them from appearing in the frame, where the use of dissolves and stark lighting choices add a cinematic intensity, while offering the feel of cameras floating around the stage.  Few other concert films have exhibited flawless control over its music and visuals to create such an intimate experience as this one does, where according to Demme, “This isn’t a concert film, it’s a performance film,” but the intensity reaches new heights once all band members are onstage together, where you’d think it’s impossible to sustain the amped-up energy level, yet the film segways into a true showstopper, Life During Wartime Live by Talking Heads in Stop ... - YouTube (5:48), reminding us “This ain’t no party, this ain’t no disco, this ain’t no fooling around,” featuring more running in place, this time including the entire frontline, all in synch with the thundering rhythm, with Byrne flapping his arms, as if attempting to take flight, before weaving his body in strange contortions, somehow resembling a bobble head, even writhing on the floor, where by this time they are really cutting it loose, revving up the crowd, where it’s a party of epic proportions before Byrne starts running around the stage, literally doing laps as the stomping music reminds us once again just how to have fun.  There are drastic lighting changes designed by Byrne, turning into a red backdrop, as if for the coming apocalypse in Talking Heads - Swamp (Stop Making Sense) YouTube (4:33), with a very nerdy-looking Byrne subversively poking fun at the nation state (it was the Reagan years, an era when anything weird was labeled “gay”), suggesting a tenuous balance in the works with this funky tune.  Byrne introduces a lampshade in Talking Heads - This Must Be The Place (Naive Melody) [Stop Making Sense, 1984] YouTube (5:31), with bookshelves in the back, as if sitting in the study surrounded by the comforts of home, before close-up images of various body parts are projected onto a screen behind them, while also creating distorted shadows from the lamp.  Despite the soothing calm, there is a funky bassline that prevails throughout in a thumping rhythm before Byrne does a marvelous little dance with the lamp, literally bringing viewers into the light, apparently lifted from Fred Astaire in ROYAL WEDDING (1951), though not nearly so stylish, Dancing With A Hat Rack 1951 (Fred Astaire) - YouTube (4:13), but eloquent just the same.  Once again we’re reeled into the infectious sounds of another signature work, mostly filmed in a single shot until he deftly pulls others into the picture, Talking Heads - Once In A Lifetime (Stop Making Sense 84) [4k] YouTube (5:34), listed at #28 on the 2021 Rolling Stone list of 500 Greatest Songs of All Time, with that celestial opening, where the bass is repetitive throughout, never changing, manipulating the space between darkness and light through evangelic phrases, featuring iconic lyrics that will forever be associated with this particular band, co-written by Brian Eno, (And you may find yourself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful wife, and you may ask yourself, ‘Well, how did I get here?’), sung by a perpetually confused Byrne in glasses as the personification of a working stiff’s midlife crisis, described by The Guardian as the most perfect song of all time (David Bridie: Once in a Lifetime by Talking Heads is ...).  It’s a pained yet intoxicating vision of middle class malaise, told from the point of view of a poor schmuck living in the suburbs, one of millions of people who felt disconnected from their materially comfortable lives, filled with spiraling debt and disenchantment, drowning under the weight of stress and uncertainty, suddenly waking to an existential nightmare, where this feeling of alienation stretches across time, “same as it ever was.” 

Certainly part of Demme’s masterful direction is revealing the interactions between various performers, a collective of individual artists in sync with each other, or even with a lamp, where there is sheer wonderment, as viewers are treated to the shock of surprise from what happens next, as seemingly ordinary camera shots turn into creative angles that only enhance the intensity of the performance overall, with visual consultant Sandy McLeod communicating the best shots to use via headphones during the shooting.  There are subtle shifts in the setting to keep viewers offguard, but only slightly, as Byrne brings out the big, oversized suit in Talking Heads - Girlfriend Is Better (Stop Making Sense 84) [4k] YouTube (5:08), with his tiny head sticking out, which has a comical effect, as if suddenly immersed in a cartoon.  While he is the frontman, attracting all the attention, what’s irrefutable is that every member contributes to the whole, each one recognizable from the other, with Byrne seemingly bringing out their best with his wiggly arms, spontaneously interacting with the lighting and camera guys who help out with the chorus of “Stop Making Sense.” while plenty of rap and funk makes their way into this song.  Audiences are inevitably comparing studio versions against concert performances, where this film makes the case that the concert footage is better in every respect.  Rarely has a live performance surpassed the studio version of this many songs, as the added visuals literally revitalize every moment with newfound discoveries which simply weren’t there before.  A perfect example is the cover version of Al Green’s Take Me to the River, the only cover the band recorded over its entire career, a song that merges gospel with more earthly interests, played as slow as possible before adding their own special twists, Talking Heads - Take Me To The River-1984 [HD] YouTube (8:08), flooded in a green and blue light, becoming a baptismal by fire, a call and response hymn, where Byrne has stripped off the big suit jacket but still has on the puffy pants, looking even weirder when he puts on the red cap.  Nonetheless, this song has a hypnotic quality to it, where the baseline and backup vocals really carry the song, with a minimalist yet glorious synthesizer adding a scorching effect.  The crowd isn’t even shown until the last song of the show, Crosseyed and Painless (HD) - Talking Heads Live from Stop Making Sense YouTube (7:14), a rhythmic rant of abstract ideas with plenty of percussion and a Frank Zappa-like jazz-infused melodic theme.  Unfortunately, in a sign of the ephemeral nature of things, though the Talking Heads never officially announced a breakup, by 1989 the group had essentially split.  The inevitable conclusion to draw is that this is not just a concert film, but an experience, where even decades later there has never been anything like this.  A fusing of the minds of both Demme and Byrne, both venerated artists in their own right, but brought together to achieve a common goal, the artistic aesthetic is off the charts.  Understanding that the stage is more than something to perform on, what stands out is the innovative storytelling approach and meticulous attention to detail, where the proof is in the small decisions that were collectively made to produce such an enthralling, one-of-a-kind experience that has become a time capsule for concert films, removing all distance between viewer and performer, effortlessly inspiring audience interaction, evoking a spirit of community and celebration, while transcending all cultural boundaries.

Young Adam

YOUNG ADAM               A-            

Great Britain  France  (98 mi)  2002  ‘Scope  d:  David Mackenzie

If ever anyone says to you, “You can put that where the sun don’t shine,” think of this film, a deeply probing, excessively gloomy adaptation of Scottish beat author Alexander Trocchi’s novel.  Ambiguously set in postwar Scotland, this is a tense, sexually explicit lower class version of Polanski’s KNIFE IN THE WATER (1962) with a brilliant cast, the ménage à trois, Les and Ella, played by Peter Mullan and Tilda Swinton, an unhappy couple with a young son onboard who transport post-WWII fuel rations on a barge up and down the narrow canals from Glasgow to Edinburgh, who take on hired help in the form of Ewan McGregor who plays Joe, a chain-smoking, handsome lothario, a self-absorbed character largely based on the author himself, who was a heroin addict with squandered talent.  Filled with an attention to detail, few words, and an endlessly gray mood, the film opens on the docks as they sweep a woman out of the harbor dressed only in a flimsy petticoat.  Shortly afterwards, Joe is staring at Tilda Swinton’s every move, sharing close quarters underneath the decks of the barge, concealing little from her husband.  In this film, no words are needed, and after a brief sexual escapade outdoors on the grassy slopes, when Joe tries to say something, Ella cuts him off quickly, “You’ve said enough for one evening.”  In a series of well-placed flashbacks, Joe is seen meeting and romancing the drowned woman found in the water, Cathie (Emily Mortimer), picking her up on the beach, moving away onto the concealment of rocks where they have sex, learning more about their deteriorating relationship but only as the film progresses, where it seems to be moving in slow motion backwards and forwards, all at the same time.  The style is absorbing, moody, incredibly detached, but extraordinarily focused on each single moment at hand, which when gone, seems to have never meant very much to anyone at all, as if all is lost in a deep abyss of an existential void.  Easily comparable to the most famous barge movie of all time, Jean Vigo’s L'Atalante (1934), which also happens to be the name of the barge (The Atlantic Eve), this lacks the surging romanticism and optimistic feel and instead embarks upon a more somber and fatalistic mood that is diametrically opposed to Vigo, a downbeat depiction of working class social realism that accentuates physical intimacy, where Joe screws every woman he meets, with the audience sympathies and overall view of his character slowly deteriorating over time.  The story moves to the murder trial of the drowned girl, becoming a morality tale, as the police seem to be accusing the wrong man, which sparks the interest of Joe, who slowly, but surely, falls farther and farther from grace.  With an intriguing soundtrack by Talking Head’s David Byrne, the title, one assumes, refers to original sin.  To quote Michael Wilmington, “This is an unvarnished, pitiless look at real life by a man who knows his character is deeply flawed and does nothing to disguise or excuse it.” 

Interesting parallels exist between Vigo, whose life was cut short by tuberculosis, actually directing part of L'Atalante from a stretcher, and the author Alexander Trocchi who wrote his novel from the drugged stupor of a lifelong heroin addiction.  Instead of believing in love, the underlying power of Vigo’s film, this is all about sex, viewed as a short-term substitute where there is no possibility of love.  One main difference in the film is the lack of an inner narration, which is provided by Joe in the book, instead the film wordlessly sees the world through his eyes.  A gritty depiction of working class life, this parallels the poetic realism of Vigo’s film, both offering sumptuously beautiful cinematography (in this case Giles Nuttgen), but this film couldn’t feel more claustrophobic, as the cramped quarters inside the boat are squeezed right next to each other, with paper thin walls offering no privacy to speak of, with Joe using reading a book as an excuse not to go into town with Les, or cuts his visits to the pub short, as his real purpose is to have moments alone with Ella, growing used to each other after a while, even bored, as is suggested when he watches a fly sitting atop her naked breast, which holds little interest anymore.  Simultaneously, Joe is seen staying at home attempting to write on a typewriter while Cathie works all day, but he fails miserably, a writer with no inspiration, usually in a sour mood when she gets home, or drunk, treating her terribly, at times like a sexual predator.  This picture of domesticated bliss is always soiled and stained, a picture of opportunities wasted, yet she yearns for the stability while that most of all is what feels like its breathing down his neck, suffocating him, offering him no relief, eventually making a quick exit.  This failed relationship is what leads him to Les, seeing him throw his typewriter away into the river, offering him a job on the barge, where Joe is viewed as just another drifter.  There’s another scene in the film that’s not in the book, a moment when Ella’s young son falls into the canal, with Joe jumping in headfirst to save him, perhaps offering a bit of sympathy to this otherwise wayward character, suggesting he’s capable of moral decisions even as he openly flaunts behavior that suggests otherwise, having regular sex with Ella right under the nose of Les, thinking only of himself, taking advantage of every opportunity, showing no regard for others.  Pretending to express little interest in the ongoing investigation surrounding the drowned girl, the seemingly unflappable Joe is fooling no one, least of all the audience, while Les just wants to see his name in the papers.  Their closeness is revealed, however, in a scene scrubbing each other’s backs, wiping the coal dust off their bodies, which is done without an ounce of pretense, where it’s simply viewed as a necessity.  Along with trips together into town to visit pubs, this friendly male bonding on the one hand and willful sexual promiscuity with his wife on the other reveal the moral divide that actually defines this picture.    

Moody and extremely atmospheric throughout, while there is an idealized freedom that comes with the barge, with no set hours, no punching the clock, living on the river away from the noise and traffic of the city, the film does an excellent job revealing a near-documentary view of ordinary life traversing the narrow bridges and locks along the river, loading and hauling a variety of commodities.  None of the other characters have much character development, though Swinton makes Ella proud and self-aware while Cathie completely surrenders her dignity and self-respect, instead focusing upon Joe’s sexual exploits, showing little affection and even less responsibility.  Through a series of flashbacks Joe’s despicable inner character comes more prominently into view, in particular a defining scene that reunites Joe with Cathie, accidentally running into one another sometime after they split up, where they strip naked and have sex in the dirt and grime under a truck, hardly a romanticized view, as instead it’s just another depiction of loveless sex.  When she announces she’s pregnant, Joe grows alarmed and immediately defensive, angrily suggesting he may not be the father.  And while she acknowledges having another lover, a likeable plumber named Daniel, there is no question in her mind who the father is.  Gathering his things to walk away, she chases after him and slips along the riverbank falling into the darkness of the river with no sign of her afterwards.  Seemingly paralyzed into inaction, Joe gathers all her clothes and throws them into the river as well, wiping his fingerprints from anything he can recall touching.  Taking an avid interest in the trial afterwards, as Daniel is being charged with murder for the death of Cathie, the film takes a turn into social injustice, as a wronged man is condemned to die, yet it’s just another day in the ordinary lives of a working underclass, making their positions clear in the crowded pubs where gossip takes center stage, eager to equate sex with criminal intent, becoming morbidly intriguing to Joe who listens transfixed to what is being said without ever uttering a solitary word, witnessing a developing lynch mob mentality ready to convict this innocent man.  Joe on the other hand conveniently runs away, away from himself and his conscience, like he’s always done.  And while the book may be an existential critique of a disconnected bourgeois society that is no longer in touch with its own moral values, the film is more of a psychological study of Joe’s own moral failings, expressing a near pathological indifference inherent with his own failure to adjust to the constantly changing world around him.  Far from innocent himself, his crimes are those of narcissistic indulgence, apathy, and self-disgust.  Joe’s connection to the corpse is intentionally withheld until the latter stages of the film, allowing viewers some clue into the kind of man he is, a morally irredeemable character, where any Dostoyevskian guilt or anguish are simply beyond his grasp.