Malcolm McDowell is looking at me with utter incredulity. 

Though McDowell has acted in more than 100 movies over the course of his career, including films like A Clockwork Orange, Caligula, Star Trek: Generations and numerous other pictures, I’ve never seen him in anything prior to The Company.  And I have just shared this bit of trivia with McDowell.

“You run a film magazine?” he asks with a slight smile on his face.  “And you haven’t seen any of Lindsay Anderson’s films?” 

I shake my head in the negative.   

“A Clockwork Orange?” McDowell tries hopefully.

I shake my head again.  His films have just managed to fall through the cracks of my viewing.

“That’s bizarre,” he acknowledges.  Then, changing his tone slightly, says, “You should be ashamed of yourself.”  He wags a finger at me.  “Shame on you.”

McDowell stops chastising me after making me promise that I will go out and see some of Anderson’s films.  “You have to go out and rent them,” he tells me.  A brief pause and then, “Are you just watching the Hollywood shit that they throw out?”

When I point out that I am there to interview him about a two-hour movie about the inner workings of a ballet company, he nods knowingly and the issue is dropped.

•   •   •   •

The latest project from director Robert Altman, The Company is, in fact, a 112-minute investigation into the world of professional ballet. 

Particularly irritating for both Altman and McDowell is the fact that they have to consistently deal with the American perception that ballet is a lesser athletic activity than a sport like baseball or tennis.

McDowell eschews those who question the nature of ballet by discussing how powerful and athletic the ballet dancers’ bodies really are.  “The sheer physicality of ballet really surprised me.   The dancers go in, they work out, stretch and do exercises for two hours and then they start rehearsing and dance for four or five hours.  They are like Olympic  athletes.”

McDowell pauses for a minute and says, “It’s extremely difficult to do any of those moves.  I mean, it really is.”  He raises his voice slightly to emphasize his point.  “You have to be at it a long time and go through the disciplines before you can get anywhere near it.  It’s highly complex and very technical.”

Altman, on the other hand, is a little less diplomatic.  Tiring of the many different executives and marketing people who want him to insert something into The Company that could be used as a hook to gain a edge with middle American audiences, Altman is fed up with the idea that something is missing from the final cut of his movie.

“Why should I take that kind of life—the life of a dancer in a dance company like this—and try to make it more dramatic?” Altman asks quickly.  “Why should I fuck it up?  To make it more marketable?  That’s absolutely what they would say.  And in their minds, they’re right.”  He takes a deep breath and then says, “But then [The Company ] would look like every other lousy picture that comes along and I’m not interested in that.”

Unlike the Hollywood bean counters, Altman has a vision of dance that is filled with grit, artistic determination, sweat, tears and captivating drama.

The world of ballet greatly intrigues Altman because of the inherent contradictions that are firmly etched into the fabric of the life.  In his director’s statement, Altman says, “I want The Company to show this world with all of its contradictions.  Here are world-class artists who, for the most part, are poorly paid and live hand to mouth; often in very unglamorous conditions.  They take immaculate care of their bodies while smoking countless cigarettes, downing endless cups of coffee and working punishing hours.”

He nods at me, still perturbed that even now, after the movie has been premiered, people are continuing to question the idea of a film about a dance company.  “I wanted the audience to focus on the phenomena of the lives that these dancers lead,” Altman says.  “It’s ‘A Day in the Life of’.” 

Another shake of the head and, “I really don’t care what they think.  I am so happy with this film.  The people who I care about who have seen it are just knocked out about it.”  He holds up a hand at me, smiles and says, “Now that doesn’t mean that it’s going to be a big Master and Commander picture, but the people who see it really like it.  I think we’ve accomplished something here.”

•   •   •   •

Unlike some of Altman’s other recent projects, the idea for The Company did not originate with him.  It came from star Neve Campbell, herself a former ballet dancer.

“Neve Campbell first wanted to make a dance film because she’s a dancer,” Altman tells me.  “So Neve hired Barbara Turner, who is a writer.    She had written Pollack and several other films.  Terrific stuff really,” he says in an aside.  Returning to the story at hand, Altman continues, “Neve just picked her out of a lot of writers.  Together they picked the Joffrey [Ballet Company] and for two years, Neve and Barbara spent time in and out of the company.  They even traveled with them.”

After their research was done, Turner and Campbell began to write the script, with one specific goal in mind.  “Neve wanted to make a dance film, but she didn’t want it to be The Turning Point,” Altman laughs, referencing director Herbert Ross’ 1977 ballet film that starred Shirley MacLaine.

When the script was completed in non-Turning Point fashion, Turner contacted Altman, with whom she had worked as an actress on a project Altman shot for television nearly thirty years ago.  “She called me to try to get me to do it,” Altman sighs.  “I said, ‘I don’t know anything about dance.  This is not the right thing for me.’”

Finally, Altman agreed to read the script after “a lot of prodding” from Turner and, instead of following the typical love-at-first-read, still didn’t care for the project.  He looks at me with a what-can-you-do look on his face.  “I said, ‘I don’t even know what this is,’” Altman says,  “I told her, ‘I don’t follow it, I don’t get it.’  The script didn’t seem to have the normal dramatic fillers.  It was just about these two characters and I wasn’t able to visualize it because I don’t know dance.”  He takes a deep breath and finishes, “I didn’t get it.”

For most directors at this point, the project would have been a non-issue.  He read the script, didn’t get it, didn’t understand it and had turned the opportunity down.  It should have been as simple as that.  However, Altman isn’t like most directors; it’s one of his better qualities.  Approached about the project one last time, Altman’s answer changed.  He accepted Turner and Campbell’s offer to direct The Company. He did so because he didn’t know how to.  He states this very succinctly, “I finally decided I would do it because I didn’t know how to do it.”

The decision made perfect sense to Altman.  He smiles again and says, “Why should I keep doing things that I’ve done before?  I was afraid I’d be late for work.”  A shrug of the shoulders, as if it’s common place for directors in Hollywood to tackle projects because they’re not sure how to, and, “That’s the way it started.  We just updated the script as we went along.”

There was no question about Campbell’s presence in the lead.  Not only had she co-written the script with Turner, but she also had an extensive background in ballet, having danced with the National Ballet of Canada for nearly seven years in her teens.  The only major roles that remained open were for the lead’s boyfriend, a role that later went to James Franco, and the role of the ballet company director, Alberto Antonelli (who is affectionately referred to as Mr. A).

Based almost entirely on the experiences of Chicago’s famed Joffrey Ballet Company (“There’s nothing in this film that takes place that didn’t happen,” Altman says.  “All the things you see were just occurrences and I didn’t want to over dramatize them.”), the character of Antonelli is a rough characterization of the Joffrey’s own director/choreographer, Gerald Arpino.

McDowell smiles about how he landed the plum role as Antonelli.  He loves to share the story that, “[Altman and I] have been great friends for nearly thirty years. We've always been in touch. Whenever we're in the same city, we get together. It's just one of those things. I don't do it with anybody else.  It's just him, and I’m not sure why.”

Not that this, in any way, helped McDowell land a role in one of Altman’s previous films; McDowell often jokes that you shouldn’t befriend Altman if you ever want to get cast in one of his projects.

This changed during pre-production on The Company because, as Altman states simply, “I just thought [McDowell] was the kind of guy who would get [the character].”  And McDowell was brought on board to play Antonelli.

Following the real Arpino around to get a sense of what life is like as the director of a major ballet company (“Eighty percent of his time is basically smoozing rich people,” McDowell observes), he came to love and respect both Arpino and the character of Antonelli.

“Choreographers, like directors, are all different,” McDowell informs me.  “The thing about the character I play is that he’s more than just an artistic director.  You have to be a business man.  You have to be an entrepreneur.  You have to sell snake oil.”

When I question him about how much of his performance was based on Arpino’s actual life, habits and speech patterns, McDowell thinks for a moment.  “I just took little snippets of that and then snippets from other places and the rest is made up,” McDowell finally says.  “It’s hard to break it down though because I hate to dissect.  What’s the point?”

Trying my question from a new angle, McDowell says, “The fascinating thing about Antonelli is that he is a mass of contradictions.  Because I knew the structure of the film, I wanted this character to be amusing and lighten the tone a little.”  

McDowell raises his hands so that they are about four feet from one another and continues, “So you have the dance,” he waves his left hand, “and then you have little snippets of my guy,” he waves his right hand.  “I wanted him to have a tone that was fun to people and I wanted to make him unpredictable.”

He pauses for a moment and says, “The most interesting thing for me was that I was given a clean slate.  Bob said, ‘Listen, do whatever you think.’  He gave me a big canvas.”

Delivering what he sees as a layered performance as Antonelli, McDowell says, “It all gives a flavor, all the bullshit backstage, everything.  You add all these layers onto a character and then he’ll do something that comes out of left field.”

Altman’s love of actor improvisation has never earned him rave reviews from his project’s screenwriters.  He once told me in a previous interview, “What difference does it make if a writer doesn’t approve what I’m doing with their script?  [If they don’t like it], then they shouldn’t have sold it to me.”   As my conversation with McDowell continues, it becomes increasingly obvious why he shied away from dissecting any part of his performance in The Company.  Almost a standard operating procedure for Altman shoots, much of McDowell’s dialogue was improvised on the set during the rehearsal and filming. 

“It was really a spontaneous performance because sometimes I didn’t know what was coming out of my mouth next,” McDowell concedes.  “We all know that Bob likes to improvise and use bits here and bits there.  He’ll get on a jag and he’ll love that.  Some of it won’t work, but he loves it.   Now with this high-def thing, you can go on for an hour [without having to cut].  I remember one take where I looked at him and said, ‘Bob, I’ve got nothing else to say.  The well is dry.’”

•   •   •   •

When I last spoke to Altman in June of 2002, we were sitting at his home in Malibu and he was singing the praises of Darby Vision.  The little known Darby Vision is a process that is applied to footage that is shot on high-definition video (high-def) that gives the images more of a three-dimensional feel to them.

“Darby Vision had just arrived when we took Gosford Park to DVD,” Altman says.  “One of my sons was involved with it and we used it on the DVD of Gosford Park.  The big complaint with [shooting] high-def is its flatness.  High-def doesn’t seem to have the depth that film does.”  He cocks his head slightly and says, “I don’t know if that’s exactly true, but [with Darby Vision] I was able to shoot the whole project in high-def and, at the last minute, put the Darby Vision on.  Then it goes to anamorphic film.”

He relates the travails some of his friends who continue to shoot on film have had.  “You don’t have to do that,” Altman says, with the casual tone of a man who has found a better way.  “Now, when friends of mine are shooting on film, they transfer the film to high-def and throw that film negative away.  Then they go through the whole experience like I have and at the end, they put it back on film.”  He sighs and asks, “What’s the point of it that way?”

Altman returns the topic to The Company, smiles proudly and says, “This film that you saw plays on the biggest screens in the world and nobody would know that we shot in high-def unless we told them.”  He shakes his head.  “There’s just no way, because it’s like saying, ‘Did you shoot this with an Aeroflex or a Panovision?’  High-def is just a mechanical tool.”

Though the actors tend to agree with the pronouncement—states McDowell, “It doesn’t make any difference to us, really.  It’s a camera, it has a lens.”—Altman’s casual phrasing almost undermines the import role that shooting high-def played in making The Company.  Shooting to high-def tape is considerably cheaper than shooting to celluloid; Altman has noted in several different interviews that he wouldn’t have been able to afford to make The Company had he decided to shoot it on film (“You also don’t have to worry about ‘Am I wasting all this film?’” Altman notes). 

Inasmuch as The Company is a film about a ballet company, Altman and crew shot several lengthy dance sequences that were integral to the final cut of the film.  Rather than have the dancers perform the routines four and five times over the course of a week, shooting different sections of the dance in each subsequent performance, Altman chose to shoot the dance numbers with as many as five high-def cameras all at once.  Unlike shooting to film, which generally allows only about 10-12 minutes of material to be shot in one take, high-def allows an almost limitless amount of material to be shot.   “In most cases, the dancers would only do them once,” Altman informs me.  “Maybe we’d do a section twice, but in most cases, they just can’t do it.  They need a couple of days of rest between performances.”

He mentions one scene in particular that pleased him.  “The scene where the company has the Christmas roast,” Altman says.  “We were able to shoot that scene so easily.  We shot four cameras for 26 minutes.  We ran through the whole scene like that.”  He looks at me, impressed with these new found freedoms.  “You can do that with high-def.”

McDowell concurs, “Bob was able to shoot all the dances quickly.  The dancers just can’t do them over and over.  [With high-def], it’s one shot and you’ve got it.”  He smiles and says, “Well, you’ve got to have it.  It’s real hard on the dancers to do these things over and over.”

Shooting high-def also allowed Altman and his cast to instantly see the results of their labor.  No rushes were necessary.

“With high-def you know exactly what you’re getting,” Altman states.  “What you see on your monitor—the monitor you and your DP look at—are your dailies.  What’s there is what it is.  You don’t have to process the film.  You don’t have to project the film.  You don’t have to run it again.”

And for a director who favors improvisation among his actors as much as Altman does, shooting high-def became an enormous positive for the production.  “We know that Bob likes to improvise,” McDowell says for a second time during our interview.  “That’s not to say that the script as it was was bad, it’s that Bob...” McDowell trails off.  He changes directions and starts again, “Bob has this element of risk and daring.  It’s so amazing really when you consider how much [a production] costs per day and Bob’s out there doing these little things.  ‘Oh, let’s try this,’ and ‘Let’s try that.’”

Altman dismisses his ‘risk’ and ‘daring’ with a grunt and mentions the specifics of how much more inexpensive the project was because of the choice to shoot high-def.  “We used three cameras almost all of the time,” to cover the scenes, Altman recalls.  “But we didn’t have to stop the cameras either.”  He shifts his weight in his chair and continues talking.  “Usually you shoot six thousand feet of film a day.  If you shoot ten thousand, it’s getting expensive.”  Altman waits a beat to let the numbers settle in.  “We shot the equivalent of twenty to thirty thousand feet of film everyday on The Company.”

•   •   •   •

The story of The Company is special, Not because it was nominated for a number of different awards or because it’s about ballet, but because the project really took off when Altman came to the conclusion that he didn’t know how he would do the film.  He accepted the opportunity so that he could learn.  The resulting project is a reflection of Altman’s love of the unknown and his unique passion for the feature film medium.  And that is a story worth telling.

chris neumer