Movie Review: Stop Making Sense

 Movie number 40 for 2023

Movie Review: Stop Making Sense (2023 Remaster)

Cinema: Cinema Nova, Carlton

Stars: 6 (Yes, it’s that good)

Yes, I’m biased. I love Talking Heads as much as I love The Pixies. But whereas not so many people know about The Pixies, lots of people are aware of Talking Heads. Most people know about Psycho Killer and the big suit, the standard lamp and that strange mix of techno, pop, soul and whatever else David Byrne and his band of merry misfits came up with in the late seventies and early eighties. And yes, it’s all a bit strange. 

I’ve also seen David Byrne live on stage. Once at the Brixton Academy in 1992. The second in Melbourne on his American Utopia Tour in 2019. These concerts go down as the best I’ve seen. Better than Robbie Williams. Better than The Hoodoo Gurus. And just a smidge better than The Pixies. Byrne gets extra points for the choreography he and the band put into these shows and the pure joy that comes from the stage. 

And yes, it’s also a bit strange that I have not seen Stop Making Sense from end to end until now. It's been one of my favourite albums since I was 16-years-old. Over the years I’ve viewed most of the songs from the movie though video and Youtube clips, but I have never seen it end to end. 

I’ve been missing out. 

After being enthralled by the American Utopia concert, it’s easy to draw some parallels. The stagecraft, which was much more refined in the 2019 concert was all there in 1983, when this was filmed, but without the technology. 

The film started with Byrne coming onto the stage alone, with a small cassette player and a guitar – and we are OFF. 

Slowly, he is joined my more of the ensemble. Tina Weymouth on the bass. Jerry Harrison on the electric guitar and keyboards. Chris Frantz on the drums. And the sessional players. Back up singers, Ednah Holt and Lynn Mabry, Steve Scales on percussion (The man plays a mean cowbell.)

The concert takes you through the Talking Heads staples. Their take on Take Me to the River, Swamp, Slippy People, Girlfriend is Better (in the big suit) the most amazing version of Life During Wartime…the list goes on. 

What got me about this remastering of Jonathan Demme’s classic is that as a concert, this has not dated. The clothing may be out of an Eighties dress up party, but the music stays fresh and out there tight. David Byrne is a genius – he’s devised this concert, worked on the choreography and sang his heart out for an hour and a half. 

This movie is legendary. As rock concerts go, this one of the originals and one of the best. Unsurprisingly, it has a near perfect RottenTomatoes.com score.

In my eyes, this gets six stars, because a more perfect music concert has never been committed to film quite like this one. It is phenomenal in its entirety. Seriously, it's perfection.

If you can, see it on the big screen. It's worth the price of the ticket and the choc top to witness such greatness.

It's even worth spending 20 minutes trying to get a car park at the Lygon Street Woolies - the only dampener for the night. But the parking fairy came through and all was forgiven. 

Today's song: 

Sugarplums

 What is it with Christmas and The Nutcracker Suite?

 ABC Classic FM is one of my radio stations of choice when I’m at the office. It’s good to drown out all the conversations around me – some of which are rather loud – others have information I wish I didn’t know. And then there's the drone of the Christmas carols over the tannoy. Thankfully today they had some banal music, which a colleague referred to as bad Hillsong pseudo-rock. 

ABC Classic FM it is. 

And what comes on today just before lunch? The Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy. 

Thanks, Tchaikovsky. 

What is it with the Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy? Why does it get played at Christmas? Why do I have visions of five-year-old girls, in baggy tights standing on their tip toes, their sagging tutus bunching around their knees, grouped on the stage of a local hall, the drapes across the proscenium arch looking battered and dusty, the smell of furniture polish and sweat hitting the nostrils of the anxious parents sitting the in gallery, waiting and watching for their little pride and joy demonstrate the alleged poise the weekly, expensive ballet classes provide. Something you can't wait to see. Sure. 

Or you get firemen showing what they can do to this Christmas staple. 

I remember going to the full ballet of the Nutcracker Suite about 20 years ago. It was at the Myer Music Bowl. It rained. It was performed by one of the local elite ballet schools and it wasn't that bad. Well, it was a lot better than your niece or nephew's end-of-year dance concert. 

The next thing that came to mind. Just what exactly is a sugarplum? I had no idea. Is it like a Damson plum? Or a Davison plum? Or a prune?

Turns out it's something akin to a boiled sweet or a rum ball - depending on who you listen to. You learn something new everyday. 

Hearing this set Christmas piece, I had a smile, and a laugh, and finally left my computer to go to the bathroom and get a cup of tea. When I came back the station was playing a plethora of South Sea Island classics, mostly in Maori, with a lot of strange harmonic vocals which acted well as brown noise. 

You take your wins where you can.

Today's song:

Pistachios

 Today was a day of low-level boring admin. The type of admin which I am very good at, but it also drives me a little spare. I won't go into details, but let's say that JIRA is not my friend at the moment, and if people actually listened to me in the first place, we wouldn't be where we are now. 

So, for a lot of the day, I was doing this mindless admin. I broke up the hours with reading a few pages of the book group book. Hate to say, but I'm not enamored with that either. The House in the Cerulean Sea is a cut rate Harry Potter. It's good we've given it ago, but I'm hating the writing. The other two books I have on the go - the latest Ian McEwan and a small novel Reindert gave me years ago are much better for quality, if not for story. It makes such a difference when every second line is not a cliche. 

At lunchtime, I was in need of a break, something to calm my anxious, and a rather frazzled mind. 

The answer. Shelling pistachios. 

I wanted to get some ready to make this wonderful salad, and I buy them in bulk, which means shelling them. 

There's something about keeping your hands busy. It's a mindless task. Not mindless in the way that re-dating and re-categorising JIRA tickets can be. If you don't know what JIRA is, be thankful. This is more a soothing mindless task. 

You have to organise your receptacles. A bowl with the nuts, a bowl for the nuts and a bowl for the shells. 

Every pistachio is different. Some crack easily, some have lost their nuts, some will require a nutcracker (or in my case, I just use my teeth - nobody else will be eating the salad). 

There's a small pride in the work, ensuring the shells and nuts end up in the right container, working out the best way, the shell and place with limited movements. The feeling of the hard shells in your fingers. The sense of gratification and achievement once the pile of nuts is shelled. 

It's a bit like knitting or crochet - a lot of repetitive movements which lead to something at the end of it all. 

Strangely, it made me feel good. 

And then I went back to my boring admin task.

Today's song: 

Countdown to Christmas

 One of the joys of being neuro-spicy is managing your anxiety - and at this time of year, mine tends to peak.

Looking back, I've always been like this, but it never had a name. 

And the name of this condition I get in December is anxiety. Who knew? Not me. 

It's good to put a name to things. 

I've just had a mini-meltdown for not having the address of the place I'm supposed to be going to on Thursday night. Of course, I have to move my P.T. session with Twelve. I tipped him off that and all will be well, but I'm working in the office on Wednesday and I have French Conversation meetup after, and I think I'm having lunch with my Punjabi kid brother on Wednesday, and there's getting to book group listings printed, which means a trip to Officeworks sometime in the next few days, and there's working out what I have to do for Christmas, and what sort of cheesecake I'll be making and do I do a cassata as well in honour of my aunt, and of course I have next week off so I'm having my skin checked and while I'm at it I should get my annual sight and hearing checks, and I have to show around an overseas brother around the temple, and I want to make Jennifer Aniston salad, but I have to go and get parsley and hope the whipper-snipper didn't take out all of the mint from the garden downstairs this morning, and I have to put in for my flights to Darwin in February, talking of which I will be at the airport three times in three days, and do I try and find a better hotel when I'm up in Sydney for the Enaudi concert or do I stick with the Tank Stream, which is okay, but it doesn't have a bath, and I have to shore up who is taking the cat while I'm away, and should I go to the Lume while I'm on my break or just go to the Triennial, and why do people think I'm a wanker when I talk about movies and art and books and do I really have to finish this month's book group book as I hate the writing, but the story is okay I guess and do I do some baking for my stairwell neighbours - I mean they are good neighbours and....

Welcome to my head. 

Can you see why I want to sit on the couch and knit? 

At the moment I just like going for a walk, cuddling the cat and remembering to breathe - this too shall pass. 

Today's song: 

No Clinkers

 Book Group can be demanding, especially at this time of the year. 

As designated book bitch (organiser) I have three tasks:

1. Make sure there are no double ups in what books people are bringing along to book group. When you have criteria (Quality fiction, under 500 pages, easily obtainable andnot a memoir or autobiography) 
2. Book the restaurant for our end of year meeting. (I also set up our monthly skype meetings)
3. Bag up the lollies for the lolly vote. 

I used to ask for requests. What sweets do you want to make up your lolly bags? We normally give the waiting staff at La Camera the bulk of the lollies after the meeting (all members are provided with a rubber glove to protect the unwrapped sweets, much to the bemusement of the other diners at La Camera)

However, this year, I may be in a bit of trouble. For the life of me, I could not find any clinkers. Clinkers appear to be everybody's favourite in the group. At Victoria Gardens Coles, there were no clinkers. I've been looking for a week or so now. Nothing. And I can't be bothered going elsewhere. I pull my weight for the group. I can live without clinkers. 

I've bagged up the lollies I like tonight. The jubes, the licorice allsorts and bullets and the jelly babies. Besides, if it's going to be a hot day, the chocolate gets all melty and I have to ask the wait staff to put the lollies in the fridge.

Regardless, this task is done for another year. 

The list is set. Everybody has their choices in. Even I've settled on the books I'm putting up. It was a task. One that I was hoping to put forward Paul Murray's The Bee Sting turned out to be 600 pages long - which put it out of the running. I'm happy with my choices. Now I just have to run down to Officeworks and print the list off for the meeting. The restaurant is booked and looking forward to having us back. And the lolly bags in are in the fridge where I can't eat them, although the spares are in a bag in the freezer. 

And that is book group for another year. 

I've only been doing this for 15 years. It's still fun. It involves licorice allsorts. How can it not be fun?

Today's song:

Sunday Stealing - Pink

It's a wet Saturday afternoon. I will do what I normally do on wet Saturday afternoons. Jobs, and get the weekly questions out of the way. As always, the questions come thanks to Bev at Sunday Stealing. 

1. Do you tend to have a guilty conscious?

No. I do nothing to feel guilty about. The only time I feel irrationally guilty is whenever I go through airport security. I wonder who has put what in my luggage. Rationally, I will have done nothing wrong, though I did get picked up for having a metal hairpin in my hand luggage last time I went to Darwin. I loved that hair pin. 

2. Do you still have your wisdom teeth?

I still have two of them. The ones on the right were taken out a long time ago in different sessions in the chair. The bottom one left a dry socket for a few days. I think that was the worst pain I have ever experienced. 

3. Peanut Butter - creamy or crunchy?

Definitely crunchy. Smooth peanut paste (as we South Australians call it) just doesn't make sense to me. 

4. Get up off your butt. Take 5 steps. Which leg did you start out on?

On the left. Force of habit. Years of ambulance cadet and freemason's training. You always start on the left. 

5. What color is your favorite kitchen utensil?

Silver. It's my grandmother's old colander. I love that it ended up with me. My grandmother died 20 years ago in January. 

6. Did you watch the Michael Jackson memorial/funeral?

No. Why would I watch that? I did watch Lady Di's, Prince Philips, Queen Elizabeth, Gough Whitlam and Malcolm Fraser's funerals. The first three were amazing just for the ritual and pomp.

When John Howard finally shakes this mortal coil,I won't be watching that one

7. Do you know anyone who graduated from high school this year? Were you invited to their graduation party? Did you go?

I know a number of kids who graduated from high school this year. They are all my friend's children, but as graduation isn't a big thing around here outside of the kids graduating and their families, it wasn't something to go to. I'd never expect to go to a high school graduation party. It's not something we Australians make a big deal of outside the family (and even then, it's pretty subdued). 

8. White with black stripes or black with white stripes?

Are you talking about zebras, which I believe are black with white stripes. 

9. If we were to call your 6th grade teacher, what would they say about you?

Hmm. He'd say that I was reasonably smart, a bit strange, dreadful at sport and basically obedient. 

10. Can you draw a perfect circle?

No. 

11. What was your favorite scratch & sniff sticker scent?

I have no idea what this question is about.

12. How many light switches and electrical outlets are in the room that you are in right now?

Two light switches and three electrical outlets, although all of the outlets have extension cords and power boards attached to them as this place was built in the seventies when these things weren't such an issue. 

13. Do you know sign language?

I know a couple of signs of Auslan (the official Australian sign language). I wish I knew more. It's a fantastic language to know and use. 

14. Do you step on cracks in the sidewalk?

Yes. Although I have some superstitious habits, this isn't one of them.  

15. And the sheets on your bed look like....?

white with a blue floral print. They are neat and tidy and clean. I make the bed every morning - it's a good habit to get into. 

Today's song:

From the post box

The postbox gets cleared once a week. I've had it for over twenty years. It used to make sense to have one, especially as I live in an area where mail theft is rife. Now that I rarely get mail, it feels like an expensive luxury for something that gets little use. But it is peace of mind, and I do share the costs with the my Freemason's lodge, as all mail is directed that way instead of sitting in an empty building for weeks on end. 

On Wednesday, I found an envelope addressed in an unknown hand. It was sent from Brisbane. Envelopes don't get postmarks any more, rather a strip of yellow tape with a barcode. That takes all of the romance put of receiving mail. 

Inside the envelope was a note and some photos. 

The note reads, "Dear Panda, Thought you might like these to bring back memories. We have also kept copies. Love, Noelle and Peter."

Family friends. Family friends who I still keep in touch with. Uncle Pete had a job which took him all around the world - and Australia. He used to drive really cool things about the place - he was the transport industry and could drive anything. Uncle Pete has dropped me off at school in everything from a Mac truck, to a new coach, to a ute. 

Uncle Pete still gives me a call when he comes to Melbourne. We have lunch at the IKEA canteen just down the road. When I was last in Brisbane, I had lunch with Noelle and Peter. 

They're friends you keep. They've known me since my birth some 55 years ago. 

The photos were taken in the early 80s. I reckon it was around 1983-4. The house renovations were going on at the time.     

They're your normal, run-of-the-mill 80s photos. Sepia toned with age. Candid. Slightly out of focus. 

The first is of my sister, my Mum, Sheba the dog, and me. We're in driveway of the house. Mum has a perm. I have something that looks like a fringe. I would have got rid of that well quick. My sister is in a track suit up the top of the driveway. 

I'm still wondering why I thought myself the fattest and ugliest girl in the world at the time. I have no hips. My legs go on forever. I've pretty much had the same haircut for 50 years. Who knew?

The second photo is of my sister, our pony, Pebbles, and Noelle and Peter's daughter, Bec. She's now a mum of two living in Brisbane. 

We loved Pebbles, not that I was a into riding. She was a lovely pony. 

There was a photo of when we were doing the renovations. That would have been around 1984. 

And then there was this photo of Mum. She's asleep with a hydrangea in her hand. Mum can still fall asleep anywhere and at any time and putting things in her hands when as she sleeps is a bit of a family running joke. 

I have to thank Noelle and Peter for sending theses down. I have so few photographs of myself, it's strange seeing some. 

The photos will be taken back to Mum for her records - probably best to keep them in one place. 

Today's song: