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It takes until about a half-hour into Robert Altman's The Company before there's a semblance of a plot, and even that is pretty thin. The ensemble drama about the Joffrey Ballet of Chicago is like a ballet itself, almost impressionistic, running on emotion rather than story, and full of beautiful dance numbers. At times, it's frustrating that we don't learn more about the central figure, an up-and-coming dancer named Ry (Neve Campbell) and even less about the peripheral ones, but if you can get past that quibble and you like ballet, The Company is an almost Zen-like joy to watch.
The plot, such as it is, follows the company as they put on several productions and engage in their simple, daily activities. Altman goes for a naturalistic, documentary-like style, with his trademark overlapping dialogue and scenes that end abruptly, sometimes seemingly in the middle of the action. It gives the story a real, raw feel, augmented by the fact that almost all of the players—except Campbell and Malcolm McDowell as the company's director—are actual dancers from the Chicago Joffrey. Campbell herself is a dancer, too, a onetime member of the National Ballet of Canada, and she conceived the story and serves as one of the film's producers.
The Company bleeds authenticity, and there are many moments of surprising power, including the injury of one of the company's star players, and a suspenseful pas de deux between Ry and dancer Domingo Rubio on-stage at an outdoor amphitheater as a storm rages right in front of them. Ry's romance with a chef (James Franco) is a little underdone, although again Altman relies on motion and texture rather than dialogue to tell the story. It means that certain scenes—the pair cooking breakfast or a wordless exchange about when Ry will be home from her night job as a cocktail waitress—say much while saying little, but at the end of the film you're not quite sure if you really know these characters.
Altman's an old pro at ensemble dramas, from Nashville and M*A*S*H to Short Cuts and Gosford Park, and he handles this film with the assurance of a legend. But Campbell's youthful exuberance shines through, as well, and it's that balance that carries the movie. The story ends as abruptly as many of the scenes, and you may end up feeling a little dissatisfied with the lack of closure, but you'll have gained valuable insight into two artistic processes—the calculated beauty of ballet, and the chaotic balancing act of filmmaking.