Paul Thomas Anderson and Geese Frontman Cameron Winter Cast a Sonorous Spell in ‘Cameron Winter at Carnegie Hall’

You want a concert movie to sound great, and plenty of them do. But it is rare to encounter a cinematic record of a live performance that casts the precise, hypnotic kind of sonorous spell achieved by “Cameron Winter at Carnegie Hall.” Directed by acclaimed filmmaker Paul Thomas Anderson, the 75-minute concert film had its world premiere tonight at the New York Film Festival. It captures a singular, transcendent solo performance given by singer-songwriter Cameron Winter in front of a packed, reverent audience at the historic Carnegie Hall on Dec. 11, 2025.

Consisting entirely of Winter sitting alone at a Steinway grand piano and singing his gorgeous, meditative trance tunes, the film delivers a sonic experience unlike almost anything else in modern cinema or concert recording. The slow-rolling piano chords echo through the legendary hall like a rhapsody from the deep. The audio mix is remarkably rich, lustrous, bottom-heavy, and grand. And then there is that voice. Winter sings in an astonishingly powerful low baritone—and occasionally a striking high register—holding notes in a suspended quaver so bold it borders on the hypnotic.

Throughout the performance, Winter evokes ghosts of rock and folk royalty without ever sounding derivative. At times, he channels a low-octave Thom Yorke, capturing a lost-in-the-haze midnight rapture that recalls Tom Waits minus the gravel. There are strong echoes of early Bruce Springsteen—specifically the plaintive bard of “Incident on 57th Street”—found in his soaring vocal caress and wide vibrato. The intimacy and stark arrangement also bring to mind John Cale’s legendary 1992 live album, “Fragments of a Rainy Season.” Yet the artist Winter most magically resembles in this setting is Bob Dylan: the mid-career Dylan who let words pour out in a blissful torrent, singing them as if utterly possessed. Like Dylan, Winter isn’t merely performing pop songs; he is crafting an incantation, a rhapsody, and a prayer.

As the concert begins, Winter cuts a striking figure. Very tall, dressed in a simple black shirt and trousers, and sporting shaggy, unkempt indie hair with thick eyebrows and a doleful countenance, he resembles a solemn, real-life version of Nicolas Cage in “Leaving Las Vegas.” He lopes onto the bare stage, standing briefly in front of the piano to introduce himself with a gesture that looks like a slight bow—though it is so reticent it could easily pass for a casual hipster stoop.

While Winter is widely known as the charismatic frontman of Geese, the indie rock band of the moment whose sound sits somewhere between Wilco and Arcade Fire on the tuneful-versus-tuneless scale, his solo work reveals an entirely different dimension of his artistry. Although Geese have enjoyed substantial critical acclaim, Winter’s 2024 solo record, “Heavy Metal,” proved far more compelling, giving voice to the meditative, introspective soul hiding inside the noise-rock exterior. “Cameron Winter at Carnegie Hall” serves as the ultimate showcase for this side of Winter: the quiet chanteuse of sadness and faith.

On the bare Carnegie stage, the grand piano is positioned at a slight angle, meaning Winter essentially performs with his back to the audience. This is not a gesture of alienation or hostility, but rather a testament to his desire to let the music command the room entirely. Translating this minimalist staging to the medium of film requires a delicate touch, and Paul Thomas Anderson—directing only his second music-performance film following his 2015 Jonny Greenwood documentary “Junun”—delivers a visually spellbinding work that remains entirely free of showiness or grandiosity.

Anderson frames the piano from various thoughtful angles, bringing viewers up close to Winter and drawing them directly into his emotional orbit. Interspersed are striking stage-eye-view shots looking out at the audience, capturing the four distinct balconies of Carnegie Hall separated by three warm rows of light. The entire visual palette of the movie is suffused with an amber orange-yellow glow, evoking the ambiance of a classical church illuminated solely by candlelight at sunset. This aesthetic matches Winter’s music, which navigates the complex terrain of mystery and heartbreak with a beauty that makes sorrow inseparable from joy.

Attempting to decode Winter’s lyrics too rigidly misses the point. They are suggestive pieces of poetry that risk being diminished by overanalysis; the true meaning resides in the conviction of his delivery, his passion ringing out like a deep, dark bell with undertones of both accusation and awe. He hooks the viewer immediately with the opening number, “It All Fell in the River,” a track that appears to explore the catharsis of tears. He then carries the listener through “If You Turn Back Now,” a tense relationship drama that seamlessly incorporates an inquisition on the devil. He elicits the palpable, emasculating belittlement of “$0,” pivots to the stirring declaration that “God is actually real,” and ultimately culminates the film with a breathtaking performance of “Take It With You.” Singing lines like, “I found a keepsake of you by the window in the kitchen, babe / Take it with you when you leave,” he channels the scalded, majestic romanticism of Dylan at his absolute peak.

Because Winter’s solo compositions generally share a slow, deliberate tempo and eschew conventional verse-chorus structures, “Cameron Winter at Carnegie Hall” functions less like a standard setlist and more like a slow-motion song cycle, reminiscent of Leonard Cohen’s foundational early work. In lesser hands, the unhurried pacing might risk feeling lugubrious, but Winter’s voice acts as a miraculous instrument—indie rock filtered through a low-slung operatic sensibility. Throughout the film, he appears utterly possessed by the music, so completely lost in its depths that viewers are left hoping he is never found.