Chicago Sun Times Interviews Robert Altman for The Company 2/1/04

Robert Altman's double-feature smile
By Michael Sragow
Chicago Sun Movie Critic 2/1/04

    "Not unlike Tanner '88," says Altman, "I had a company of 45-50, including dance masters - all non-actors and about five actors. And since I couldn't teach 45 dancers how to act I had to have the actors meld with them and appear to be non-actors." Even Neve Campbell, who initiated the project and financed the script, spent two years with the Joffrey and submerged herself in the group. "We treated her as part of the company. And she never violated that, ever. She had no dressing room, I didn't consult with her, she didn't have veto power, and she couldn't have been better."
    The exception to the no-acting rule was Malcolm McDowell, who is gloriously theatrical and baldly, almost lovingly manipulative as the artistic director. "And that's as it should be. He's the salesman, hustler, con man. I think the way Malcolm played him gives the movie some pizzazz but is also truthful - it's exactly what (Joffrey artistic director) Gerald Arpino is like. His main job is raising money, getting women and their rich husbands to support company. There's no other way of supporting the company than by that sort of donation." But why McDowell for this role? "The minute it came up, Malcolm first came to my mind." Could the connection have been his famous set piece in A Clockwork Orange, committing a horrendous dancing assault to the tune of Singin' in the Rain? "I may have thought of that," Altman confesses, wryly.
    Campbell and Altman picked the Joffrey "because we didn't want the film to be Swan Lake all the time. The Joffrey has an eclectic repertoire and says it's 'the all-star, no-star company,' which is not quite true, but it is eclectic." Altman's selections include Alwin Nikolais' Tensile Involvement, in which the dancers, working with colored ribbons, conjure the effect of a mobile Christo installation, and Lar Lubovitch's My Funny Valentine, a slithery pas de deux set to the Rodgers and Hart song (it's Campbell's big number). The silliest and grandest dance is Robert Desrosiers' The Blue Snake, a creation fable featuring zebras and monkeys and a blue woman leaping around with a balloon attached to her head.
    Altman admits The Blue Snake is "the least dance-worthy - it's a children's ballet, really. But I coouldn't pass up the metaphor of dancers eaten by a giant. Because that is what happens to dancers: they're eaten by the thing they're in. At 32, they're finished, like some athletes. And they're like a sports team. They have to work out every day an hour and a half before they start - that's what they call 'class,' that 90-minute series of exercises. And then they can start stretching and jumping up in the air, otherwise they'd be popping tendons and pulling muscles. There's something melancholy about it, but I love their courage and dedication and discipline."
    In shooting the dances, Altman shattered the two-dimensionality of the stage and emphasized ballet's humanity. "We moved around and over and under and behind and beyond, but we also stayed on the shots long enough so you know there are people doing these dances. I don't say this to deprecate Chicago, but in that film you saw 30 dancers a lot, and you can't remember them because they were perfect. I don't think there's ever been a perfect performance in every aspect of a dance. I'm not trying to say 'this is the best dance, these are the best dancers.' I'm trying to show you a day in the life of.
    "Tanner '88 and The Company - are two of the favorite things I've done. Everything else has in one way or another been tied into things that have been done before. Tanner '88 was new territory. The Company is too."