"The island of doubt

It's like the taste of medicine

Working by hindsight

Got the message from the oxygen"

An unrelenting 90 minute tent revival service punctuated by baptism through water and fire. Burn down the house, water flowing underground.

It’s hard to put into words why I love Stop Making Sense so much, but I’ll try, no matter how roundabout and rambling this review may seem. It’s easy to categorize why I would Rushmore a favorite of mine. I love the characters, their evolving relationships, the soundtrack, the humor and the style that is not overblown like latter Wes Anderson films. See, it wasn’t hard. Stop Making Sense doesn’t function in the same way. Sure, I could say that I love the “characters” (trust me, there are distinct ones) and the humor, but generalizing it like that does not truly explain anything.

The bond I have formed with Stop Making Sense has been created in the past 6 months through 8 (I checked) viewings of the film. I love rewatching movies, but never like this before. Usually I’ll rewatch something I really enjoyed making sure I truly do like it and then put it aside until the feeling hits again. That feeling now comes weekly with Stop Making Sense and probably won’t go away anytime soon.

Stop Making Sense is a film that functions as pure collaboration. “A Film by Jonathan Demme & Talking Heads” reads the ending title card. Not only does the film blend the film audience with the live audience in a way that makes the whole thing feel intimate, it breaks down the barrier between the talent in front and behind the camera. The stage crew is never hidden and always shown doing their jobs as diligently as the musicians. Even Demme gets in there at the end. The man handling the lighting that casts the beautiful shadows during Girlfriend is Better almost gets as much screen time as the band itself. One of my favorite parts of the film is when Byrne gives him a chance to sing a line and then turns to the camera, holding the microphone up for the audience destroying the illusion of a barrier that keeps performer and audience apart. The camera operators have their job, but they also have to improvise with the frenetic pace that the band is working at. The close-ups are amazing, but can change their dynamic at any moment. The instant when Byrne ducks and the camera is stuck looking at pure darkness for a second before it catches up is a highlight. There are so many little things that keep me coming back over and over. Steven Scales (who deserved Best Supporting Actor for this) sticking his tongue out for the camera. Lynn & Edna’s backup dancing. David bending all the way forward while singing about groceries and peanut butter. Alex Weir shredding his guitar to the point of almost tripping over backwards. Chris and David being absolutely drenched in sweat. The Big Suit (and its reveal).

2019 has been a weird year for me. I feel like I’m in the same place I was a year ago in a lot of ways, but life has also changed up around me, both for better and for worse. As I get older, I feel like I should understand more than I did when I was younger, but the unending, unknown aspects of life seem to keep growing to the point where they will never be explainable in a coherent way. Some things that used to scare me, I take comfort in and new things scare me. The way David Byrne explains things isn’t always clear, but moves me in a way I don’t really understand (or try to). The lyrics are both cryptic and easily understood. The narrative weaved through the music is a strong one. Starting with a man stuck inside his own head driving himself mad, he discovers and explains different aspects of life before finding love and crashing into a midlife crisis. Only through rediscovering himself (and a higher power?) is life fully realized to him. The Crosseyed and Painless sequence is almost Space Odyssey inspired in a way. Looking down and back and what we have become in order to see any sort of future. We may see it, but it won’t make much sense.