Quiet Company
Robert Altman’s latest may seem slight, but it serves as a perfect metaphor for the director’s philosophy of artistic endeavor
I’m not really sure how—or even if—to recommend The Company, because it’s such a skimpy little movie. Director Robert Altman has taken producer/star Neve Campbell’s dramatization of life in Chicago’s Joffrey Ballet, purged it of almost all story and made something as much documentary as drama, with more time devoted to onstage performance than to backstage machinations. Loving The Company—which is scheduled to open soon at the Green Hills 16—is sort of a kinky act, an admission that a movie can make do with subtle gestures and even tones, so long as it has....
Well, it’s hard to say what The Company has. It’s not immediately recognizable as an Altman film. Yes, it’s loose, and yes, it has some of the director’s trademark overlapping dialogue and vivid improvisation, as well as his tendency to overuse a piece of score (the song “My Funny Valentine” in this case). But it’s practically devoid of his acid wit or cynicism. Only Malcolm McDowell’s performance as company director Alberto Antonelli has any substantial bite—he blows into scenes like a strong wind, barks a few orders seemingly off the top of his head and then leaves the movie to continue on in its low key. Otherwise, Altman is surprisingly respectful to this community of artists, maintaining such a nonjudgmental spirit that he even allows the more ridiculous dance pieces to pass without comment.
But don’t mistake Altman’s reserve for indifference. What’s so ingratiating about The Company—if you are ingratiated by it—is that it’s one of the few times in his career when he’s seemed almost awestruck. With the exception of the fun but overrated Gosford Park, Altman’s recent work like Cookie’s Fortune and Dr. T & the Women has had a relaxed feel, as though the director were coasting (albeit pleasurably so) through material that required only a fraction of his attention. The Joffrey Ballet and Campbell’s enthusiasm for it must’ve stunned him a little, because he tiptoes around the edges of this movie carefully, afraid to scare it away.
What pops into his frame, almost inadvertently, is a wisp of a story about midlevel ballerina Campbell’s budding love affair with a young chef (played with casual charisma by James Franco) and how she fits it into a full schedule of rehearsal, part-time waitress work and soaking her aching feet. The rest of the film follows the members of Joffrey Ballet at work as they juggle the demands of money-men and the frailties of their own bodies. Altman shoots the ballet from a variety of angles, keeping the camera moving without obscuring the motion of the dancers. Performers step in, performers step out, minor details are fretted over, all while McDowell’s “Mr. A.” prompts, meddles and checks out the results.
Altman’s almost wide-eyed approach to The Company may be attributable to his excitement at finding a perfect, unforced metaphor for his own philosophy of artistic endeavor—a “funny valentine” to the work he loves. He’s always been more interested in staging a happening than following a plot arc, because he gets turned on by the communion of creative personalities, bouncing ideas off each other and plunging unguarded into truthful moments. The Company lets a troupe of artists explain who Altman is with minimum interference from the man himself. There’s not much to The Company, but if you love the director and you love what he stands for—or if you just like watching professionals at work—the movie is a little gift.
—Noel Murray
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