LFF Review: David Byrne’s American Utopia (Spike Lee)

I had a few thoughts after the first song of American Utopia finished. The first was a sort of awe at Spike Lee’s direction, which converts the popular Broadway show into a distinctly mobile and inventive work of cinema. The second, ‘why am I crying already?’, probably has less bearing on the film itself, though the pained optimism of David Byrne’s persona and musical vision was, I hope, partly to blame. 

Byrne’s music with the now-legendary new wave group Talking Heads was very important to me as well as many of my friends at University. It was alternative, purposeful music that we could dance to, albeit forty years after everyone else. Though not formally diagnosed, his status as an adult with autistic spectrum disorder further made him a relatable figure, someone who was clearly in love with the world around him but often reticent in social situations.  

When he walks on stage here and begins toying with a plastic brain, singing boldly with his typical deadpan humour and wry critique of humanity, I knew that this was going to be a joy to watch. Aside from the absolutely indelible songs, the intelligent and vivid direction of Spike Lee adds a distinct layer of passion and geometric beauty to what could be merely another concert film.

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Constantly we are seeing objects and lighting arrangements on the stage being used and subverted in powerful ways: bird’s eye views of performers shifting, an isolated light mimicking a television screen, the chains around the stage symbolising what America is and what it could be. A focused palette of blues and greys is another masterful stroke that makes Utopia entirely distinct. Performances too are gleeful and energetic.

While there has long been a continuity of social and individual concerns hinted at by Bryne’s lyrics, this film specifically points toward our current moment, addressing the murders of innocent Black people in the U.S. as well as other topics, such as immigration and voting numbers. If the fusion of this sobering commentary with the playfulness of the band and dancers sounds laboured, then just know that it isn’t. 

In fact, everything here moves with remarkable fluidity. I think what I found so lovely and strangely emotional about seeing Bryne on stage was his confidence with the crowd, humorously describing to them (and us) the concerns of his songs and the context behind them. For example, he states that a younger person’s rendition of ‘Everybody’s Coming to My House’ omitted the anxiety and discomfort that he gives to the song.

Touches like these are interesting meta-commentaries that signal the genius aspects of his songwriting, which has always been instantly engaging and yet nervous and uneasily ironic. Always, this irony points towards a weird utopianism; it is both elegiac and ecstatic. He introduces classic track ‘I Zimbra’ in relation to Dada and antifascism. Through this, it, and his other, older songs become perpetually relevant. 

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He plays some Talking Heads staples: ‘This Must Be The Place’, ‘Burning Down The House’, ‘Born Under Punches’. ‘Once In A Lifetime’ even gets the classic intro of Byrne erratically bounding across the stage. In opposition to Jonathan Demme’s direction in the earlier, now seminal Stop Making Sense (1984), Lee’s camera spirals around him with a fresh, more visceral eye. We are much closer now. 

I was a little worried after seeing samples on talk shows that it would all be quite static – just performers strumming, strolling back and forth singing the hits. I was wrong of course. The staging of each number is imaginative and visually spectacular. Byrne and the other musicians revel in contorting into various shapes and forming huge displays of moving bodies and colour. Occasionally there is an image or a gesture that simply bowls you over; it’s so natural and yet so precisely captured.

There comes a point in the film where they perform a protest song by Janelle Monáe, which, with its bold subtitles, pictures of African Americans murdered by police, and repeated, direct ‘say their name’ call-outs, seems perfectly suited to Spike Lee’s confrontational directorial style. Music matters here as entertainment and as expression. It also perfectly surmises the concerns of American Utopia, to depict the ills of our world while building something beautiful inside it.