A24 has just re-released this Talking Heads concert film in 4k in celebration of its 40th anniversary in the coming year, starting this week in IMAX theaters and into regular screenings next week. I’m putting this part at the beginning of the review so you have all the facts and can make the wise decision to get off the internet and to the nearest theater that’s showing what many call “the greatest concert film of all time”. What are you still doing here? Go! It’s not like I’m going anywhere.

For those of you that are just returning from your impromptu viewing experience, or for those of you who didn’t heed my advice because you (1) don’t like good music, (2) don’t like good filmmaking, or (3, and most egregiously) think concert films/music documentaries are a waste of time, here’s my review:

Stop Making Sense is one of the rare instances of blending the two parts of these types of movies. The two parts are the concert being performed and the story the director is telling (usually, it’s a history of the band or the highs and lows of a particular tour), and most of the time, they’re kept separate and the filmmakers go back and forth between the two or simply use the concert footage to fill in gaps of the actual story. In Stop Making Sense, the show, which was repeated over three nights at the Pantages Theater in Hollywood, is the story.

Our first images on screen are of Talking Heads’ frontman, David Byrne’s feet, as he enters the stage with nothing more than an acoustic guitar and a tape player. We see the tape player at his feet before we get the full image of the man, which supposedly is the source of the drum machine beat used to supply rhythm as Byrne goes into a solo performance of their first single, “Psycho Killer”. The director, Jonathan Demme (famous for movies such as Something Wild, the Denzel Washington remake of The Manchurian Candidate, Philadelphia, and this obscure, little film called, The Silence of the Lambs), keeps the focus on Byrne, using heavy amounts of close-up throughout the entire song. At this point, we have yet to see the full stage. Slowly, one song at a time, the rest of the band comes out on the stage, and we get to see a little more of the bigger picture. It’s not until the sixth number, their most recent hit at the time and their highest charting song ever, “Burning Down the House”, do we get a visual of the entire stage.

From then on, the concert is a meditation on theatrics the entire rest of the way through. Minimal use of lighting is used to focus on certain aspects of the bands’ faces and figures. For one of my favorite moments in the film, their performance of “Naive Melody (This Must Be the Place)”, the stage is, at first, lit solely by a decorative lamp that you could find leaning over an armchair in your grandparents’ house. As the song goes on, David Byrne dances with the lamp like Fred Astaire with a coatrack. A little later in the show, Byrne goes backstage and returns in his famous “big suit”, modeled after Japanese Noh and Kabuki costuming and meant to make his head look small.

For all its seeming spontaneity, the concert (and the film) are perfectly choreographed. Byrne dances with his backup singers, runs in place while strumming alongside his rhythm guitarist, and at one point, he even drops his mic stand so he has to sing by hunching over. Because of this meticulousness, it’s impossible to separate the film from what went on behind the scenes. It’s no secret that David Byrne was (maybe still is) a control freak while in the band. He’s even admitted to it and apparently apologized for it. But knowing that detail begs the question: is there an excuse for such behavior when the result is genius?

Despite what’s going on behind the curtain and the emphasis on perfection and detail, the joy shared by the band members in the film is genuine. They’re all smiles and seemingly thrilled to simply be playing music. And the music itself is explosive and exciting. There’s energy emanating from everyone on stage, from the Talking Heads: Byrne, Chris Frantz, Tina Weymouth, and Jerry Harrison, to the backup singers, Lynn Mabry and Ednah Holt, to the camera and lighting crew on stage (one of which gets a microphone in their face to sing a line of a song), and to supporting guitarist and percussionist, Alex Weir and Steve Scales, especially.

Stop Making Sense is pure performance at its most electrifying, and worth a watch to anyone who can’t help but tap their toe to the beat. I still don’t know if I can say it’s the greatest concert film of all time, but it’s certainly a “once in a lifetime” experience.