“Let me tell you a story” is a line you’ll hear often throughout Casey Affleck’s steely, eerie Company, an anthology film about three women across several decades of American history who recount fables and murder mysteries. It’s also one of the many stifling chokeholds that keep Affleck’s film from breaking out beyond the narrative framework of what sounds like a writerly tale. 

Company feels one of those small projects that provides enough material for a precise mood and atmosphere, offers very dynamic parts for a lot of actors who don’t have to share scenes with each other (makes for an easier shoot schedule), and reeks of pomp, as actors function as mouthpieces for themes and ideas, rather than characters to latch onto as vehicles for these ideas.

The film recalls the works of Flannery O’Connor (think of her short story collection, “A Good Man Is Hard to Find and Other Stories”), as the screenplay, co-written by Affleck and Ron Hansen, infuses the film with dark gothic themes of the mysterious American terrain and the types of personalities one could encounter. The film also places greater emphasis on third-person omniscience, as characters narrating already know the outcome of events. Affleck’s storytelling feels reduced to a stilted, sometimes awkward attempt at a gothic western tale, despite the efforts of many talented artists surrounding Affleck, in front of and behind the camera. 

It’s 1975 — a young woman, Evelyn (Emily Alyn Lind), enters a wealthy neighborhood on a rainy night and knocks on the door of a large mansion, asking The Host (David Alexander) for a “Benedict,” but to no avail. Instead, she settles down with The Host’s Christmas dinner party and offers them a story. Her narration leads to a 20-year flashback to an old man, Tom (Nick Nolte), living alone in a log cabin in the Colorado wilderness; it’s the first day of Winter. He finds a young woman, Alice (Caylee Cowan), passed out in the snow, and brings her inside for safety. Once awake, she joins him by the fire and offers to tell him a story as to why she is where she is, involving her grandmother. 

Affleck already evokes the generational passage of storytelling, and how much history can repeat itself, as details become indistinguishable from one another. However, Affleck emphasizes structure and style rather than character development. 

We jump back to 1903, where a string of grizzly murders involving the hearts of cattle and people being removed is wrecking the wintry Colorado frontier. A married couple, Emmet (Scott McNairy) and Rebecca (Adelaide Clemens), find a young man, Caleb (Atticus Affleck), passed out in the snow on their isolated property. Once awake, the couple tasks him with watching their cattle at night in exchange for room and food. We soon learn he’s a drifter with no family (or shortage of places he’s traveled), and far more callous and direct in his musings on death and life’s hardships as a loner. As his abrasive, self-important attitude clashes with the couple’s grounded humility, their conflict sparks the inception of this multifaceted tale that encompasses all of these characters’ lives.

As the film progresses, it’s clear Affleck’s affinity for folklore comes from a sense of a tradition being passed down, showing the evolution of a gothic horror tale. All three layers of narration coalesce, revealing a far more insidious linkage than each narrator lets on, even as side characters add tangents of lore and context to the overarching narrative that pervades Affleck’s picture. Where and how it culminates may enamor viewers or put them off, but there’s no denying Affleck’s third directorial effort is aiming for mood, aesthetic, and ambiance.

All three narratives intertwine fluidly, as precise editing (Leslie Jones, Radek Sienski, Julie Monroe, Casey Affleck) makes each tale feel like it follows the previous one, told by a narrator. Sometimes all three narrations synchronize, symbolizing the continuity of storytelling passed from person to person throughout history and shaping each narrator’s identity. It’s an effective trick that helps break up the sluggish pacing, as the third story involving Caleb becomes the central focus and visualizes the tangled web of stories as more harmoniously connected than fragmented. 

Thankfully, the rest of the cast makes up for the lack of development through their sheer presence. Nolte manages to make a significant impact, despite little screen time for a man who’s suffered tremendous loss of his family. His gruff, grizzled look is coupled with his soulful eyes of regret. His appearance is short, and often he’s reacting to Cowan’s narration, yet his final moments provide hefty dramatic material in which his character culminates in the narrative that makes his performance richly compelling. Even Cowan’s narration, however brief her scenes are, casts an authorial presence that is absorbing for a narrative that shifts perspectives frequently; knowing she’s speaking to a frail, spiritually weak Nolte makes her performance more heartfelt and alluring.

While Atticus Affleck carries much of the narrative’s momentum, his delivery comes off as stilted and monotone, often conveying the morose, downtrodden depth of this upset character. It’s clear he’s channeling Casey Affleck’s performance from The Assassination of Jessie James by the Coward Robert Ford (2007), yet Atticus lacks the youthful yearning and openness which made Casey’s performance layered. Thankfully, the scenes he shares with Adelaide Clemens contrast his darkness through her warm embrace as a wife, whose love for her husband exceeds Atticus’s comprehension. In a story filled with callous nature and unruly violence, Clemens’s Rebecca is a welcome surprise that adds layers of mystery and curiosity as more is revealed about her marriage and her relationship with Emmett. 

Aflleck’s direction brings on a foreboding tone and atmosphere, as characters mainly spend their time in darkly-lit rooms or cold snowy backdrops musing about life, death, purpose, rage, and finding peace. The cinematography (a combination of several names attached) helps ground the film in a cold, tangible reality where the icy Midwestern setting invites more mystique and menace that can surprise characters when they least suspect it. The images are textured and painterly, which offsets the sense of Company being more intimate and a throwback to classically made films than the crisp, colorless images most contemporary crime fables try to emulate.  

Company tries to sustain that ominous mood, but the overt screenplay undercuts it, relying heavily on narration that fails to develop its characters. Affleck and co-writer Ron Hansen seem to aim for the hopelessness of revenge fueling the human desire for resolution, as many characters like Caleb and Tom are instilled with anger and resentment toward the callous nature of the world. For a third feature film, it’s admirable to see Affleck stretch his directorial muscles for an ambitious novelistic film, yet it’s a shame the film feels far too strained and confined to an over-developed framework that calls more attention to itself than the players occupying it. 

Review Courtesy of Amritpal Rai

Feature Image Courtesy of La Biennale di Venezia