I’ve been a die-hard Talking Heads fan ever since I discovered their song “Once in a Lifetime” as a middle schooler. Naturally, I was ecstatic when I heard that production company A24 was rereleasing the movie Stop Making Sense. Originally released in 1984 and centering around the formative new wave band, Stop Making Sense was quickly named the “Greatest Concert Film of All Time” by critics. Almost 40 years later, it’s clear that the sentiment still rings true.

I ended up seeing the film three times over a four-day period at Images. On Friday, I went to the afternoon showing, where I was surprised to be one of the only students in attendance. The theater was instead full of quiet Town residents who would have been around my age during the original release of the film. On Saturday, I went again at the same time. The theater was more vacant, but I ended up sitting behind a group of students wearing David Byrne-style suit jackets. Once again, I went on Monday, and the older audience was back, but much more enthusiastic this time around. They watched with rapt attention, often dancing in their seats and clapping at the end of songs.

There are a few reasons why this movie differs so starkly from other concert films. The full feature presents like a piece of absurdist theatre. The show opens with frontman David Byrne walking onto stage alone, armed with only a guitar and a cassette player to play the band’s hit “Psycho Killer.” As each new song begins, we’re introduced to more members of the band. They begin by bringing out bass player Tina Weymouth to accompany Byrne on a haunting rendition of “Heaven.” Drummer Chris Frantz joins the duo next for “Thank You for Sending Me an Angel,” followed by guitarist Jerry Harrison on “Found a Job.”

Despite the band only having four principal members, they’re joined onstage by five more musicians: Steve Scales on percussion, Alex Weir on guitar, Bernie Worrell on keyboard, and Lynn Mabry and Edna Holt on backing vocals. It’s not until “Burning Down the House” that the ensemble is complete on stage, and we feel the full force of the nine-piece band.

Despite Byrne acting as the obvious star of the movie, the fullness of the large group of performers is what truly captures the audience’s attention. You can’t help but smile at the beautiful backing vocals and twin dance moves of Holt and Mabry. Frantz brings a new level of energy and joviality to Byrne and Weymouth’s stoic oddities. Weymouth and Frantz’s brief interlude performing as their spinoff band Tom Tom Club is a fun and whimsical addition to the setlist.

Director Jonathan Demme does a fantastic job of keeping the film aesthetically masterful. Most of the screen time focuses on Byrne, but we occasionally see wide shots of the stage where the whole band is visible. It becomes clear to the audience just how in sync the band is, not only musically but also in terms of its physical movement. Stop Making Sense — and especially Byrne — are notorious for jittery, wild, and unusual dance moves that go perfectly with its new wave sound.

The band’s movements are accentuated by the overly baggy or boxy gray clothing that many members sport onstage. Of course, this includes Byrne’s infamous Big Suit. For the film’s 30th anniversary, Byrne sat for an interview with TIME magazine where he said the Big Suit was inspired by traditional Japanese theatre and the idea that “everything is bigger on stage.”

It makes sense, then, that this would inspire Byrne to abandon the gray business suit he wears for the first three quarters of the film for a comically large version of the same outfit. The Big Suit has become one of the most iconic visuals from the film for a reason. The appearance of a restriction or closing in of his movements make Byrne’s erratic dancing stand out even more, contributing to the absurdity of the film.

But there has to be something less technical about Stop Making Sense that makes it such a fan favorite. When the songs start to play and the band begins to dance, it’s almost impossible not to be captivated. There’s a strong connection you feel to the performers, which is not easily replicated. When you watch the film, you don’t feel like you’re in the audience. You feel like a part of the band.

Stop Making Sense is a classic for a reason. Forty years of acclaim prove the film timeless, and I know that I’m excited to continue watching it for 40 more years.

Stop Making Sense is playing at Images until Oct. 5.