Twenty One Pilots Set Stadium Ablaze: Concert Film Shakes Up Hollywood

Olivia Bennett, 1/9/2026Twenty One Pilots’ concert film is a neon-lit, sweat-soaked spectacular—equal parts confetti explosion and candid revelation. It’s stadium pop at its peak: cinematic, intimate, and utterly unmissable. Darling, this is no mere tour doc; it’s a baptism by fire in IMAX glory.

If concert documentaries were red carpet attire, most would be a safe black suit—timeless, underplayed, perfectly forgettable. Not this one. No, what we have here is a sequined jumpsuit at a memorial: blinding, scandalous, and almost disrespectfully vivid. Tyler Joseph and Josh Dun, those irrepressible maestros of chaos and cohesion, don’t so much perform as detonate. By the time you’re a song in, pretending not to mouth the lyrics, director Mark C. Eshleman’s lens already feels like it’s inside your bloodstream.

Eshleman’s no mercenary filmmaker parachuting in for a paycheque. He’s family—there since the band was rattling empty bottles in basement venues where “crowd” meant “the other bands.” Sixteen years on, he’s still lurking backstage, GoPro in one hand, hyperbole (mercifully) left at the door. He’s not pining for those club years, exactly, but the contrast between those cramped beginnings and the Mexico City coronation is impossible to miss. “I have spent the better part of the last 16 years of my life following Twenty One Pilots around the world…” Eshleman recalls. There’s almost a smirk in his voice—the kind you get when your underdog friends just scored a Super Bowl slot.

And coronation is the word, isn't it? Some live films groan under the weight of narrative scaffolding, forcing clumsy flashbacks or recycling old tour clips. This one? It’s all immediacy, stitched together from fan-shot dervish and artist’s-eye views, sometimes so close you expect to smell the sweat. The team played catch with twenty cameras all night, and you feel every frantic switchback—one camera swept across the three-tiered balcony, another trailing Tyler through pulsing tunnels backstage. Missing is the tedious gloss: those aerial shots, mercifully, aren’t filler, but a kind of reminder—this is big, in every sense.

It’s easy to roll your eyes at the “intimate and seismic” branding, but here’s the rare case where both words count. Stadium spectacles in 2025 aren't simply concerts, they’re secular pilgrimages—a chance for collective catharsis under a sky full of LED screens. Right now, everyone’s looking for community again, even if it comes packaged with pyrotechnics and a bassline you can feel in your bones. More Than We Ever Imagined leans all the way in.

There’s no denying the live show dominates, but the film doesn’t shy from quieter, even awkward, interludes. Tyler and Josh, trading commentary between backstage jitters and landmarks, occasionally sound more awe-struck than the fans. Oddly, “Breach” doesn’t feature in the lead setlist—one of those little absences fans will surely debate for years. Was it a misstep? An intentional cliffhanger? Sometimes what’s left out stirs more buzz than the spectacle itself.

IMAX, with its wall-to-wall immersion, only amplifies the effect. For those who missed out on touring tickets (and in this economy, who hasn’t?), this screening’s as close as you’ll get to a real-time adrenaline rush—sweat, confetti, and all. Of course, there’s always Trafalgar Releasing’s Kymberli Frueh to get the last word: “This all-new film marks their second time bringing a concert experience to cinemas—and their first with IMAX—delivering the scale, sound, and shared energy that make it feel as close to being at the live show as possible.” Practically a press release, but for once, she might be right.

As curtain calls go, More Than We Ever Imagined settles somewhere between a time capsule and a victory lap—glitter-streaked, unapologetic, and thunderously alive. With their festival calendar studded with high-profile gigs (Victoria Park, Electric Castle—no small potatoes), the band shows no signs of retreat. Hollywood, if you’re listening: the concert film is back, but this time, it’s ditched the tux. Somewhere in the seats, a tired rock critic is probably muttering into their digital recorder about “moments too grand for memory alone.” They may actually have a point for once.

Let’s be honest—nothing quite prepares you for the shockwave of sixty thousand voices roaring back at you. Forget grainy hometown club gigs. This isn’t bedtime reminiscing over sticker-riddled guitar cases. One step into the stadium, under that jaw-rattling volley of sound, and you’ll get it: More Than We Ever Imagined, the freshly unveiled concert film from Twenty One Pilots, isn’t merely documenting a show. It’s bottling a riot.If concert documentaries were red carpet attire, most would be a safe black suit—timeless, underplayed, perfectly forgettable. Not this one. No, what we have here is a sequined jumpsuit at a memorial: blinding, scandalous, and almost disrespectfully vivid. Tyler Joseph and Josh Dun, those irrepressible maestros of chaos and cohesion, don’t so much perform as detonate. By the time you’re a song in, pretending not to mouth the lyrics, director Mark C. Eshleman’s lens already feels like it’s inside your bloodstream.Eshleman’s no mercenary filmmaker parachuting in for a paycheque. He’s family—there since the band was rattling empty bottles in basement venues where “crowd” meant “the other bands.” Sixteen years on, he’s still lurking backstage, GoPro in one hand, hyperbole (mercifully) left at the door. He’s not pining for those club years, exactly, but the contrast between those cramped beginnings and the Mexico City coronation is impossible to miss. “I have spent the better part of the last 16 years of my life following Twenty One Pilots around the world…” Eshleman recalls. There’s almost a smirk in his voice—the kind you get when your underdog friends just scored a Super Bowl slot.And coronation is the word, isn't it? Some live films groan under the weight of narrative scaffolding, forcing clumsy flashbacks or recycling old tour clips. This one? It’s all immediacy, stitched together from fan-shot dervish and artist’s-eye views, sometimes so close you expect to smell the sweat. The team played catch with twenty cameras all night, and you feel every frantic switchback—one camera swept across the three-tiered balcony, another trailing Tyler through pulsing tunnels backstage. Missing is the tedious gloss: those aerial shots, mercifully, aren’t filler, but a kind of reminder—this is big, in every sense.It’s easy to roll your eyes at the “intimate and seismic” branding, but here’s the rare case where both words count. Stadium spectacles in 2025 aren't simply concerts, they’re secular pilgrimages—a chance for collective catharsis under a sky full of LED screens. Right now, everyone’s looking for community again, even if it comes packaged with pyrotechnics and a bassline you can feel in your bones. More Than We Ever Imagined leans all the way in.There’s no denying the live show dominates, but the film doesn’t shy from quieter, even awkward, interludes. Tyler and Josh, trading commentary between backstage jitters and landmarks, occasionally sound more awe-struck than the fans. Oddly, “Breach” doesn’t feature in the lead setlist—one of those little absences fans will surely debate for years. Was it a misstep? An intentional cliffhanger? Sometimes what’s left out stirs more buzz than the spectacle itself.IMAX, with its wall-to-wall immersion, only amplifies the effect. For those who missed out on touring tickets (and in this economy, who hasn’t?), this screening’s as close as you’ll get to a real-time adrenaline rush—sweat, confetti, and all. Of course, there’s always Trafalgar Releasing’s Kymberli Frueh to get the last word: “This all-new film marks their second time bringing a concert experience to cinemas—and their first with IMAX—delivering the scale, sound, and shared energy that make it feel as close to being at the live show as possible.” Practically a press release, but for once, she might be right.As curtain calls go, More Than We Ever Imagined settles somewhere between a time capsule and a victory lap—glitter-streaked, unapologetic, and thunderously alive. With their festival calendar studded with high-profile gigs (Victoria Park, Electric Castle—no small potatoes), the band shows no signs of retreat. Hollywood, if you’re listening: the concert film is back, but this time, it’s ditched the tux. Somewhere in the seats, a tired rock critic is probably muttering into their digital recorder about “moments too grand for memory alone.” They may actually have a point for once.