Making Movies

Making Movies is the moment Dire Straits went widescreen. Released on 17 October 1980, their third album casts off the dusty pub-rock of their earlier records in favour of something far more cinematic—sweeping in scale, rich in character, and theatrical in scope.

Opener “Tunnel of Love” sets the tone: an eight-minute epic that begins with a waltz from Carousel, then barrels into a guitar-led saga of lust and longing. The production, handled by Mark Knopfler and Born to Run architect Jimmy Iovine, invites comparison to Springsteen, but this is no mere imitation. Where the Boss goes for the jugular, Knopfler’s storytelling lingers in backstreets and late-night reveries, soaked in atmosphere and restraint.

“Romeo and Juliet” is the centrepiece—a tender, barbed love song that’s lost none of its sting. With its National guitar, dripping reverb, and conversational delivery, it turns Shakespeare into street poetry. “Skateaway” follows suit, spinning a downtown fairytale around a Walkman-wearing woman on wheels. Even the lesser-known cuts—“Expresso Love”, “Solid Rock”—carry a muscular swagger and melodic sharpness, showing off a band newly confident in their sound.

Behind the scenes, tensions were mounting. David Knopfler quit midway through recording, and his parts were wiped by Mark. Session player Sid McGinnis filled in quietly, and the band emerged retooled, soon joined by Alan Clark and Hal Lindes. The result feels transitional but essential, capturing a group caught between their bar-band past and global stardom.

Making Movies is an album about yearning—for connection, for escape, for something cinematic in the mundane. It’s where Knopfler learned to turn character sketches into anthems and proved that rock music could be both intimate and grand. More than four decades on, it still plays like a slow dance in a city that never quite falls asleep.