Stop Making Sense

Stop Making Sense ★★★★½

There was a moment, I think during "This Must Be the Place", when I wrenched my eyes away from the screen for a few seconds and glanced around the cinema and noticed that Tina had fixed a pair of glow-sticks together and wrapped them around her neck like some kind of chemiluminescent choker, and Neil seemed to be vibrating in a synesthetic trance, and Ben and Matt Hoffman were leading a posse-wide chant in time to Byrne's "oh-ohh" bit like ringleaders at a circus, and Paolo had unbuttoned his shirt very nearly all the way, which I grant isn't so unusual for Paolo, and Manuela was gyrating and waving her hands in the air and practically quivering with joy and camaraderie, and Sophy, who wasn't so much singing as screaming along to the song, twirled with perhaps too much zeal and actually tumbled to the floor, laughing wildly as she did so, which inspired about twenty-five moviegoers in her vicinity to swoop down in concert and pull the poor girl to her feet, and I could tell — I think everyone could tell — that the euphoria we shared had reached an irrepressible crescendo, a summit of familial glory and cinematic jubilation. If someone asks, this is where I'll be! This must be the place indeed.

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