The trouble with being someone who almost entirely lives to consume art is that there are certain creative individuals who make such an profound impact, describing what they mean to you is often a daunting process, if it is even possible at all. Personally, I have become so enthralled by the work of two very different artists, the recent announcement earlier this year that they’d be working together came very close to becoming overwhelming. The first is David Byrne, one of the most gifted musicians to ever work in the medium, and someone who has meant the world to me, both through his work as the frontman of Talking Heads, and as a solo artist who has explored various other forms of media in his endeavour to touch on universal issues that are recognizable to all of us. The other is Spike Lee, a filmmaker whose firm defiance of conventions and frequent tendency to break the rules has made him one of the most important filmmakers of his generation, and one frequently at the forefront of challenging what it means to be a filmmaker. Despite being almost entirely separate in their individual artistic endeavours, Byrne and Lee came together quite unexpectedly when the director who enlisted to direct a film version of Byrne’s highly-acclaimed stage show, American Utopia, and proved how perfectly adept they both were at pushing the envelope. What you’d imagine would be a pleasant recording of a show actually turned out to be one of the year’s most astonishing achievements, a film that goes far beyond the confines of the concert film genre, and delivers a dizzying array of ideas, filtered through both the deliriously brilliant mind of its enigmatic star, and a director who has proven himself to be perhaps the best person to commit live performances to screen. Their collaboration yielded something so incredibly special, a daring, stunning metaphysical odyssey that uses a multidimensional space, and the unhinged genius of two incredible artists, to make a piece of cinema that is nothing short of exhilarating, and allows the viewer to walk away having experienced something quite profound.

Byrne is certainly not a stranger to having his unique performances recorded on film – in fact, he was the subject of arguably the finest concert film of all time, Stop Making Sense, which has become the subject of great lore since its release. In 1984, Byrne walked out onto a barren stage, armed with only a guitar and a wide-eyed alertness, and greeted us by simply saying “I’ve got a tape I want to play for you”. Nearly four decades later, he emerges in a very similar way – however, he is now much older, he’s in an entirely different city, and under the careful direction of another iconoclastic filmmaker. Yet, some things never change – the musician is just as witty as he was in his more youthful days, as well as possessing the same deep fascination with the philosophical machinations of our lives. His voice still crackles with the same passion, whether through his music or relaying some story that lays context for the songs we are about to here. Most importantly – and perhaps the primary reason most will seek this film out – the music has the exact same energy it has always had, with the elision of the rest of Byrne’s band being compensated by a crew of musicians plucked from all corners of the world, untethered from all technology and the outside world, and instead focused solely on giving the audience – both those present and the ones at home – the experience of witnessing the deft power of music, reflecting exactly how something as simple as a melody and a few stray lyrics can change the world in its own way, with an artist at the centre who has turned his own awkward curiosities into one of the most idiosyncratic careers in the history of popular music, turning his raw existential quandaries into moments of unimpeachable beauty, the likes of which we rarely ever see reflected so vividly on screen. It isn’t often someone is able to replicate their success from so many years before, but American Utopia proves that lightning can occasionally strike twice – and this time, it is even more electrifying than ever before.

Something about American Utopia that becomes very clear as it goes along – and which is indicative of Byrne’s career as a whole – is that there is a very clear message at the core, but one that will mean something different for every individual. Byrne has always strived to use his platform as a musician to tell stories, albeit the kind that breaks narrative rules by dismissing all structure, and instead speaking directly to the viewer, where our own interpretation doesn’t only aid in clarifying the meaning, but also actively contributes to how much we understand what we’re hearing. At a cursory glance, this film doesn’t seem like much – it’s an iconic musician on stage, performing with a group of hardworking musicians who help him play the songs we’re all familiar with. There’s value in the direct recording of live performances, since they give audiences the chance to see these beloved artists in motion, especially those that are inaccessible for one reason or another. Yet, calling American Utopia a “concert film” seems awfully reductive, since there is so much more lurking just beneath the surface. Byrne’s two major forays into this material were directed by Jonathan Demme in 1984, and now Spike Lee – and it’s not difficult to imagine exactly why this material attracts directors of such calibre, since directing Byrne’s performances is so much more than just pointing the camera and shooting, but rather entails trying to get a saddle on one of the music industry’s most enigmatic figures, capturing every nuance and quirk that has made him such a beloved figure, and someone whose artistic career has come from his blatant refusal to adhere to standards. The further we are guided into Byrne’s world, the less we understand, but the more curious we become – his music has always required us to suspend disbelief and surrender ourselves to the primal aspects of the material, where we go through a series of emotions that aren’t evoked very often, and garner an understanding of both ourselves and others through being presented with unimpeachable truths in a truly unexpected manner. It’s utterly riveting, and immediately separates American Utopia from nearly every standard concert film, since there is perpetually some element of challenging conventions and inviting the audience to do the same throughout it.

One quality that both Lee and Byrne share (and perhaps what drew them together in the first place) is that they’re artists who regularly produce works that can be considered triptychs of existence – they’re relaying the past, describing the present and anticipating the future, often all in tandem. It’s what makes their work seem so current, but also prevents it from feeling dated once the issues they’re addressing have faded from memory. This creates a sensational atmosphere that solicits the viewer to venture further into the beautifully twisted world that Byrne is inviting us to take part in, in the hopes that we are able to glean some meaning from what we’re seen on screen. American Utopia isn’t merely a concert, but rather a multimodal experience that serves as a thrilling assault on the senses, and a thought-provoking sojourn to the deepest roots of our existence, becoming a steadfast deconstruction of both music and humanity, which Byrne does through takes us on an enthralling journey, using the power of words and movement to tell a story none of us are likely to forget anytime soon. You don’t need to be a fan of Byrne or Talking Heads to appreciate American Utopia, because while it does help in bolstering the experience, this is far more than just a performance of a series of the musician’s greatest hits, but rather an intricate collection of moments that are embroidered together by an artist who understands that music serves a function much more complex than entertaining us, and that every word can carry an endless amount of meaning when presented correctly. It’s pointless to begrudge the fact that your favourite song wasn’t performed, especially because Byrne extracts from his catalogue at different points of his career, assembling the material in such a way that won’t only have us singing along, but also thinking deeply on a range of issues that come through at various points. Somehow, this show manages to be simultaneously comforting and startling, which speaks directly to Byrne’s carer as a whole, since his work has always had the capacity to be both uplifting and heartbreaking – sometimes even at the exact same time.

So many moments in American Utopia are indelible – beyond the message embedded in the film are a series of moments that are beautifully-staged, which Lee captures with such incredible precision. Part of what made Stop Making Sense so powerful was the fact that they band wasn’t just performing songs – they were telling a story, and while it wasn’t necessarily narrative in structure, there were some themes that persisted throughout. This has always been one of Byrne’s finest qualities as an artist, and throughout American Utopia, we find him exploring his artistic curiosities through outward expressions of his talents. Choreographed beautifully, and staged with a kind of absurdist charm, the show is a gloriously strange experience that combines all kinds of music and dance into its structure, with no single performance being the same. Each one is distinct, and Byrne makes sure to leave an impression after each one – we see moments that could easily rival the “construction of the band sequence”, the large suit and the singer dancing with the lamp from the previous film – on that note, this is mostly exemplified by the performance of “This Must Be the Place” here, which is just as heartbreakingly beautiful as when Byrne did it in 1984 – it is still the most beautiful song ever recorded, and its lyrics take on an even more nuanced meaning in the musician’s older years, where it’s not less of a love song, and more of a requiem for life and its beautiful contradictions. There is far more to this film than just seeing classic songs performed – Byrne understands that viewers are venturing into this world to discover something new, and through contrasting revolutionary ideas with familiar pieces of art, he is able to do something so extraordinary, commenting on a wide range of issues that gradually unveil a set of unassailable truths. There are countless moments in American Utopia that force us to halt in our tracks and consider something unprecedented, which is exactly where its genius becomes so abundantly clear, and contributes to the enchanting nature of this entire production.

We’re not seeing just passively watching Byrne perform in American Utopia – we’re venturing into his abstract vision, watching him dismantle expectations and rebuild them through piecing together fragments that we weren’t even aware were right there for us to interpret. Throughout this film, there are several moments that genuinely knock the wind out of the sails of even the most cynical viewer, and by the end of it, you’re engrossed in a version of the world that is frightening, but still has some glimmer of hope beneath the fear – and Lee was right there, capturing every moment, and committing Byrne’s incredible performance onto film, where it’ll be available to future generations, who will doubtlessly get the same delight in gleaning from Byrne’s astonishing vision. This feels far more intimate than the majority of concert films – arguably, part of that is because it is filmed in a theatre rather than a stadium, which gives it a more subdued appearance. However, the reason this show feels so direct is because it features an artist at the centre who has always endeavoured to be descriptive of the human condition. He weaves stories together using words and music, creating a sensation of being in a room with a wise older man who has seen every part of the world, and now seeks to not only describe it, but impart a message. It’s a stunning achievement from a musician who leaves in indelible impression with every passing moment – there isn’t a frame of American Utopia that seems unnecessary. Everything is so compelling, and Lee uses his camera not only as a tool of fully documenting Byrne’s electrifying performance, but also in representing the smallest, most obscure idiosyncrasies, which add up to something so very special at the end of it. This is one of the year’s most stunning achievements – it is an elegant documentation of Byrne’s stage show, and one of the most cinematic concert films ever made, to the point where it straddles the boundaries of categorization. It’s an astonishing film, and quite simply the exact embrocation the world needs right now – and hopefully this will carry over for the future generations, who will doubtlessly be just as moved by this barrage of raw emotion and unhinged, vibrant artistry.