I totally get why Company, Casey Affleck‘s first directorial effort since his sophomore film behind the lens, 2019’s Light of My Life, is titled the way it is. This movie spanning a trio of generations in the 20th century is essentially divided into three parts, each one specifically is about human connection and how we deal with each other, so “company” is a nice shorthand way to describe it, the company of strangers when they meet. I would say a just as good if not better title might be Stories, because that is what lies beneath this beautifully shot, deliberately paced meditative gothic mystery. It is all about the stories we tell each other, tales that can offer more meaning to our lives, whether about our private grief, our need for revenge versus compassion, our ability to communicate and understand each other even in the face of times when raging against the world might not be our better instinct.

Affleck as a filmmaker, both with the aforementioned Light of My Life and now Company, stylistically seems most influenced by films in which he starred — like his Oscar-winning role in Manchester By the Sea, The Assassination of Jesse James By the Coward Robert Ford, and David Lowery’s A Ghost Story to cite three that ask us to go with flow, slow down and take it all in. That is how I felt watching Company, a movie that asks us to simply watch and listen, to let it roll over us, and perhaps to discover the meaning of the words we say to each other, to let the stories unfold, because by the time they end we may be better for the experience.

With a screenplay Affleck collaborated on with Ron Hansen, this all could have been a play, but with the help of no less than eight credited cinematographers, Company is richly cinematic. It opens at a Christmas party in 1975 as Evelyn (Emily Alyn Lind) arrives in the crowded home and soon is regaling the rapt celebratory crowd with a story, and it becomes that rare large gathering where all ears are pointed in her direction as the scene switches to a rural snowy landscape and cabin in 1953. We meet Tom (Nick Nolte), an old grizzled hermit living alone deep in the Colorado mountains. But just outside in the freezing terrain lies a woman who appears to be frozen in the snow. He rescues her, takes her inside by the fire, and brings her back to life, as it were. Her name is Alice (Caylee Cowan), and she is an actress. In return for Tom’s kindness she strikes up a conversation and then relays a story she tells him.

And so our third acts begins circa 1903 where another person is found unconscious in the snow. He is taken in by a kind, welcoming couple, Rebecca (Adelaide Clemens) and Emmett (Scott McNairy). This drifter turns out to be a rather intense young man named Caleb (Atticus Affleck), a guy with dark eyes that could burn your soul — but just who is he? There have been a series of deaths that people around these parts have heard about, victims whose hearts have been taken the story goes, and that horrifying fact signals that perhaps Rebecca and Emmett may have the culprit in their home, or not. As is the case for all of this, it is the springboard for discussion, especially between Rebecca and Caleb, the latter teeming with a need for violence and vengeance as their interactions suggests. Truths will be revealed, suspicions may be confirmed, the story continues.

To say more would be to spoil the twists that come within Affleck’s oddly unstructured narrative, a freestyle filmmaking choice that doesn’t follow conventional rules of screenwriting; this film is more interested in telling stories, however they play out in the telling, whatever meaning we can get from them.

This is not to say it’s all dialogue and no action, but the brooding tone of the piece demands patience. In the end we may not know more than when it all began, but we have been given much to think about and relate to in a contemporary world where the same kind of human behavior threatens to rip us apart. Words, stories, the company of others can help ease the pain that is interconnected through the first three quarters of the 20th century, and sadly still resonating right thru the first quarter of the 21st.

Apparently Affleck got this film made quickly and for little money, so it was necessary to patch together crews where and when he could, thus the need for all those running the camera (including him) at different times. You would never know though as the final film is cohesive and gorgeous to look at. He is also lucky to have a cast that delivers, starting with Nolte, a fine trio of female storytellers and/or drivers, plus journeyman actors like McNairy and Ben Mendelsohn, the latter playing a man who has an unfortunate confrontation with Caleb.

And then there is Affleck’s son Atticus, who plays Caleb in a mesmerizing performance that signals the birth of yet another acting star in the family. Apparently he didn’t have those aspirations before his father cast him after being unable to find someone who could handle this tricky role that becomes key to the whole thing working as well as it does. This isn’t a small cameo. Atticus, like the best actors, just seems a complete natural in front of the camera and creates a haunting portrait of a young man whose violent restless nature is not easy to tame, even as Clemens’ empathetic Rebecca tries. Another son, Indiana Affleck, also turns up to good if far briefer effect.

In telling these stories, and in connecting them to a greater idea common to our lives as we live them now, Affleck doesn’t solve the world’s problems but rather, it seems, against all odds, wants to ask how we might become better people living in it.

Producers are Steven Schneider, Roy Lee, Affleck, Dan Lawler, Enso Marc, Anthony Katagas, Catherine Caylee Cowan, Sienna Oberman, K. Asher Levin and Sean Patrick O’Reilly. Ben Affleck and Matt Damon’s Artists Equity is among the producing companies listed.

Title: Company
Festival: Venice (Competition)
Director: Casey Affleck
Screenwriters: Casey Affleck and Ron Hansen
Cast: Nick Nolte, Ben Mendelsohn, Adelaide Clemens, Scott McNairy, Emily Alyn Lind, Caylee Cowan, Atticus Affleck, Indiana Affleck
Sales agents: Gersh, Range, Cinetic (North America); AGC Studios, Spook Pictures (international)
Running time: 1 hr 35 mins

Chris Lake doesn’t consider himself to be a “money-minded person.” But if there’s one thing the British DJ has learned about being an independent artist, it’s that touring is “a really good way to spend a lot of money.”

“The truth is I’ll only look at the final [cost], because if I start getting into the weeds of all the numbers, my eyes start going like this,” said Lake, imitating his eyes rolling back during a recent Zoom call. “It all depends on if the number’s black or red.”

Lake recently ended his string of open-air summer concerts, where he transformed spots like the underbelly of a New York bridge, Chicago’s Navy Pier and L.A. State Historic Park into sites of flashing lights, booming bass and countless sweaty bodies. With over 20 years of DJing under his belt, the Grammy-nominated artist said even though it’s rare for him to see a bleeding tour budget sheet, live shows are almost always worth the splurge.

Touring is what keeps him and most other performing musicians afloat. In today’s music industry, when artists aren’t reaping the full benefits of the recording economy because of streaming platforms, the live experience is as vital as ever.

“If you’re an artist and you’ve got a recording business, it’s probably upside down,” said Lake, who runs his own label, Black Book Records. “You have to make your touring business work financially, or you’re f—d.”

But that doesn’t make it any less pricey, especially as an artist not backed by a major label. Touring presents a unique opportunity for musicians as it’s both a way to gain significant exposure and take a big financial risk — and still it doesn’t guarantee a sizable profit.

“You can make choices on production that become unbelievably expensive. They turn the budget of the show upside down and make it kind of untenable, or you just lose money,” said Lake, who likens tour planning to home renovations, where unexpected costs keep popping up.

Before fully dedicating himself to music, Lake worked as a postman and did manual labor jobs in the fish processing industry in the U.K. These jobs allowed him to purchase music equipment for the first time, officially opening the door to start remixing and producing electronic tracks. He first made his breakthrough in the early 2000s with charting tracks like the synth-heavy “Changes.” Ever since then, he’s cemented himself as a mainstay in techno and house music, frequently collaborating with fellow artists such as Sammy Virji, Skrillex and Fisher. And over the last decade, he’s operated as a fully independent artist. (His label Black Book Records had a brief licensing deal with Universal Music Group’s Astralwerks, which expired in 2024.)

By the end of 2026, he will have played between 50 and 60 shows, in roughly 35 cities. Some of the largest of his shows were in June when he played L.A. Historic Park and sold around 40,000 tickets over two nights, making it his biggest headline show to date.

As someone who’s lived in the city for the last 15 years, he knew he needed to pull off a show that suited the city. Because L.A. Historic Park isn’t a permanent concert venue, it doesn’t have the traditional infrastructure in place to put on a show.

It was up to Lake’s team to build a stage structure, on top of all the regular production costs. Due to L.A. being an expensive market and the extra costs, Chris Schroeder, the owner of the production company Lake works with, said the show ended up costing two to three times more. He said putting on a production like Lake’s could range anywhere between $500,000 and $1.5 million, depending on many factors like location, venue and deals with promoters.

While standing up on that L.A. stage in June, Lake recalled looking out at the downtown skyline and being transported back to when he first moved to the city.

“I knew what I came to L.A. for. It was music,” said Lake. “L.A.’s given me a lot. I love the city.”

The last time Lake played in L.A., he was alongside fellow DJ and frequent collaborator, Fisher, in 2023. The duo fully shut down three blocks of Hollywood Boulevard, marking the first time the street had been shut down for a major DJ gig. Lake said investing both time and funds into making live experiences as distinctive as possible for fans is essential in today’s world of EDM.

“There was an old-school attitude with DJs. You’d get the fee for your show and just turn up and do the gig. Work’s done,” Lake said. “I don’t believe in that attitude…My focus will be on making sure everything about the show is a success.”

The overall experience, from the sound to the lights and lasers, is something Lake is willing to spend big on.

(Claire S. Burke / Off Angle Creative)

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Whether it’s an abandoned warehouse, the inside of a laundromat or even the mall, live electronic music shows and raves are consistently pushing the limits of what’s possible. This sense of innovation combined with high-quality tech for sound and lighting is often what pushes shows over budget, as Lake described. But it’s also what makes a dance floor worth joining and makes people “come together to make people feel something,” he added.

“I’m keeping it simple and keeping the focus on the crowd and the overall collective experience of everyone,” said Lake, who considers himself to be more of a “puppet master” than anything else.

Like many other “successful electronic artists,” Tiffany Naiman, UCLA’s director of music industry programs, explains how Lake has built an entire economic network rooted in live experiences, from his actual performances to his label and the artists he backs.

“The show isn’t just where you hear the music; it’s where an artist builds a community, develops other artists and creates a brand that can sustain a career,” Naiman said.

“His example also illustrates the divide between the top of the market and the independent artist. Lake has reached a scale where he can turn the live experience into an ecosystem,” she added, while the majority of indie musicians are still trying to navigate the basic economics of getting themselves on stage.

But at the same time, many of Lake’s financial decisions are possible because he isn’t signed to a larger label. When lots of money is being invested, and a lot is riding on a particular artist or an album, Lake said it can often point people toward the direction of making bad, short-sighted decisions for art and artists. Now, he’s in the position to take on full financial risk himself and retain control of decisions without worrying about external financial influences.

“When push comes to shove, I’m very often very comfortable with making decisions that don’t make financial sense,” Lake said. “Being an independent artist puts me in the best position to make bad financial decisions, and that’s exactly what I do. That is what Black Book’s about. I, in essence, am an accountant’s nightmare.”

In a year filled with horror films about nostalgic media, the Canadian mockumentary, Buffet Infinity, is the most transporting.

2026 has seen no shortage of satirical, darkly comedic horror films that examine the deceptively transgressive concepts shoehorned into early broadcast media, such as Backrooms, which examined the terror of ‘90s amateur camcorder videos, whereas Teenage Sex & Death at Camp Miasma explored the enduring appeal of slashers.

While it’s fascinating to see contemporary filmmakers wrestle with the unspoken darkness within these familiar mediums, they all made films that were about said media, and not set within it, which is what makes Buffet Infinity one of the most impressive horror debuts in quite some time, and surely a future object of cult fascination; above everything else, Simon Glassman’s unusual dark comedy completely commits to the bit.

Buffet Infinity is composed entirely of commercials, news reports, local notices, and other regularly-scheduled programming from a fictional small town in Alberta, Canada. The establishing information is only gradually presented to viewers, but eventually a narrative comes into focus: an all-you-can-eat restaurant known as Buffet Infinity has slowly been expanding and consuming other small businesses, despite the presence of a looming sinkhole proximate to its location off the side of a highway.

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The ads for Buffet Infinity are intercut with a number of other local businesses, with a recurring focus on a shady lawyer fighting libel charges, a dubious resale shop, a low-priced vehicle lot, and a rival restaurant prided on being a “family business”. While a specific timeline is not identified, the film is clearly inspired by the Second City Television sketches of the late ‘70s and early ‘80s, and fits within that era’s grainy filmmaking techniques.

Buffet Infinity uses rampant consumerism and commercialism to paint a portrait of the powerful role that these businesses play in a community, showing how monopolies and dynasties form out of seemingly humble enterprises. The commercials are completely dedicated in style to the types that might have been seen on a local station within the era, and they’re cut together at such a rapid pace that a sense of momentum builds. Yet, there’s something decidedly off from the beginning that goes beyond making fun of the awkward phrasing, low-budget productions, and amateur acting.

The film explores the uncomfortable subtext common across the ads, and begins to dial it up to the extreme as they become more shameless. It’s through dark jokes and probing mysteries that it lays out an insidious conspiracy so obvious that it could be understood by a passive onlooker watching the events unfold from their television sets. Following the recurring ads will feel familiar to anyone who remembers a time in which the figures in commercials were developed over time and slowly turned into corporate mascots, even if they began as somewhat novel inventions.

The soul-sucking power of ruthless business practices becomes literal when a death cult begins to emerge within the news reports, but Buffet Infinity is brilliant in showing how guileless the media can be in permitting these warning signs to go unnoticed. What begins as honest journalism becomes sensationalism, which itself transforms into exploitation and compliance; at the same time, Glassman points out the irony of powerful companies that wield their influence to rail against “the media” as an abstract term, discrediting any honest reporting as libellous. Even if the setting is retro, the themes are just as relevant today.

Buffet Infinity succeeds in being more than just a neat idea for a YouTube sketch (which is what it began as) because it strikes the right balance between spontaneity and intentionality. There’s an arc to how the brief flashes and gags are laid out, but the film also moves at its own wavelength, revelling in how inherently bizarre the era was. The only aspect that seems to specifically target a specific incident is the appearance by a bizarre science fiction author who becomes an underground cult leader with a fledgling interest in music, an obvious stand-in for L Ron Hubbard and the Scientology movement, but even then, it creates a compelling stand-alone character who is both disturbing and hilarious.

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The best thing is that the mockumentary is completely singular, and could have only been made by someone willing to work outside of the mainstream and risk alienating a casual audience. Although it does begin to lose some momentum when the overarching threat has already escalated to the point where subtly is no longer an option, Buffet Infinity is also so packed with details that it’s surely more fascinating upon repeated viewings.

It’s often premature to declare a film to be a future cult classic before it has time to develop a niche audience, but it’s hard to imagine those who click with Buffet Infinity not being completely enamoured by it.

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