PAGE 12 February 1, 1985 entertainment— Celluloid psychotics All day long we live in a world where order reigns supreme. ‘Do this’’, we are told. ‘‘Don’t do that. Think! Be responsible. Control Your- by JOEL HAGEN self!’’ It’s enough to drive a growing spam crazy! So imagine my relief when | got to see the new Talking Heads movie last week at the Ridge. Finally, here were people who didn’t care what I said, didn’t care what | did. In fact, though | could scarcely believe it, they actually encouraged me to Stop Making Sense! It would be foolish to ignore such brilliant advice, and | urge everyone to get therapy with the Talking Heads. Of course, this can be tough, as the Heads aren’t in town right now, but they have taken to the screen for 90 minutes- of choreo- graphed insanity. So fasten your seatbelts, and get ready for a larger than life trip to the Land that Logic Forgot... The land | speak of is composed of a stage, and on it, we find only the guru, David Byrne. He has a guitar and a B.F.R. (Big F———ing Radio), and he is singing with the intensity of a madman. Soon he is joined by his disciples, ina. Jerry, and, aay and Ra his lowers, oly five, on backu e WobnSSeS hove long bee assembled in the concert hall, and they are standing and dancing now, sharing what those on stage have to offer. But nothing can prepare them for what the Heads have coming, and when the last chords of Burning Down the House come thundering to an end, the response is incredible. Even the patrons at the Ridge burst into applause (and you know how docile the Vancouver film-goer is). The focus of the performance is Byrne, a spasmodic bundle of energy who runs around the stage, falls to the floor in uncontrollable Seizures, and generally behaves oddly at all times. During Once in a Lifetime, he suddenly begins to bash his hand against his forehead, as if he has just discovered some profound truth in the lyrics he is singing. The incredible thing about his performance, as well as the band’s, is the musical perfection that accom- panies the zany stage antics. This band is professional, blending dis- order with a technical control that is really amazing. They walk that fine line between tense excitement and uncontrolled noise, and they know how to keep an audience on a leash. Their double punch finale is enough to whip the crowd into a frenzy. They play extended versions of both Take me to the River, Al Green’s old hit, and the African influenced Crosseyed and Painless. ‘‘You may find yourself living in a shotgun shack/And you may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile...’’ Great stuff from Once in a Lifetime. The Heads are in top form during Stop Making Sense. Byrne may be the ringleader, but he’s not the whole circus, and the rest of the band help make the show. Tina Weymouth lays down some mighty funky bass lines, and backup vocalists Lynn Mabry and Edna Holt somehow manage to keep their lithe dancing in sync for the whole show. Stop Making Sense is a great example of what a concert movie should be. It was well conceived, and it is an invigorating change from the many rock films that have come before it. The Last Waltz, and Urgh! A Music War are the only two that spring to mind as coming close in scope and breadth to Stop Making Sense. Those movies made important statements about music in our time, and The Talking Heads do the same. Stop Making Sense shows off their talent, and also hints at the master- piece the Heads have up their sleeve. Fans and bizarroids alike should attend this one. It’s guaranteed to knock you senseless. The Talking Heads and friends are, from left to right: Chris Frantz on drums; psychotic guru David Byrne; Lynn Mabry, backup vocalist extraordinaire; Tina Weymouth, winner of the most attractive nylons contest; the frenetic Alex Weir; and percussionist Steve Scales. The butler did tt... I'll Be Back Before Midnight is The Vancouver Playhouse’s latest produc- by DAVE WATSON tion. Perhaps reproduction is a better ROYAL CITY FLORISTS 626 Columbia St. New Westminster BC} n c Phone 522-5828 oe % Pe term - they staged this play two or three years ago to sold-out houses. Its success was no doubt a large factor in its resurrection. Another reason is probably that it is so much fun. The plot twists and turns constant- ly, and it would be unfair to give away any of the surprises. The situation at the play’s beginning revolves around Jan (Miriam Smith), who has just had a nervous breakdown. Her husband Greg (Colin Mochrie) has rented an old isolated farmhouse to help her recover. The renter, and only neighbour, is George (Walter Marsh), who tells un- settling stories of ghosts and a murder committed in the house 50 years previously. Jan’s anxiety in- creases when she learns that her sister-in-law Laura (Moira Walley) is arriving that very night. Jan places most of the blame for her breakdown on Laura. It looks like paranoia is rearing its ugly head again, but nothing is as it seems. The story tears along quickly, alternating between shock and humour. Midnight is from the comedy- suspense genre, a blend that works well. In the first five minutes alone, two shocks keep the audience on the edges of their seats. The nervous laughter that follows the release of tension is soon replaced by laughter sparked by Walter Marsh’s character- ization of George, the funniest farmer since Pa Kettle. Eerie music and a great, detailed set contribute to the professional pro- duction of this show, but Colin Mochrie seemed a little nervous and forced (opening night jitters2). The rest of the cast was good, especially ‘‘Jan’’, who had a marvel- ous ability to scream. Not since the shower scene in Psycho has a scream curdled my blood so. Ill Be Back Before Midnight began its limited run January 31 at The Waterfront Theatre on Granville Is- land. Shows run Tuesday to Thursday at 8:00 p.m., and Friday and Saturday at 5:30 p.m. and 9:00 p.m. Two for one shows run Sunday at 5:30 p.m. There’s also a student discount. A good play — not art, but fun.