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

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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The winning combination of whimsy, gravitas and good looks that Gael García Bernal has brought to both the big (Amores Perros, Y tu mamá tambíen) and small (Mozart in the Jungle) screens fails to translate to his second stab as director, Hombre Al Agua, an offbeat dramedy that’s too chaotic and muddled to hit its marks.

The actor, who wrote the script with Mariano Pensotti, does double duty as star and helmer in this overcooked story of a Cuban lifeguard who becomes the right-hand man to a Mexican business tycoon, only to have his life quickly unravel because, well, that’s what these quirky dramedies do. The film strains for laughs and meaning despite a good cast that’s easy on the eyes, even if they play characters who seldom feel like real people. After its premiere in the Venice Spotlight sidebar, Hombre should make headways in Latin America but will have a harder time navigating international waters.

The title translates to “man overboard,” which applies to both the topsy-turvy tone the actor gives his third feature after his more restrained 2019 debut drama, Chicuarotes, as well as to his new movie’s inciting incident. Following a rather hilariously botched opening sex scene between Cuban émigré Camilo (Bernal) and his pro athlete wife Juana (Esmeralda Pimentel), we flash back to see how Camilo went from being a lonely lifeguard on Cuba’s Varadero Beach to a successful father and businessman after saving scion Don Abel (Jorge Salinas) from drowning, marrying the man’s daughter soon after. Now he lives on his boss and father-in-law’s bodacious country estate in Yucatán, helping Juana take care of their baby daughter and managing a factory that holds a monopoly on zip ties.

The set-up is fast and the humor on the wacky side, like a Coen brothers flick minus their mastery of narrative rhythm, which here remains erratic throughout. Lots of crazy things start happening to Camilo, beginning with the breakdown of his marriage as Juana gets too close to a striking Brazilian actress, Fabiana (Débora Nascimento), whom she’s training to portray a professional pole vaulter onscreen. Meanwhile, Don Abel gets hit by a truck and confidentially asks Camilo to take care of his pregnant Argentine mistress Silvana (Natalia Oreiro), whom he tucks away on the estate for most of the film. Things are also coming apart at Camilo’s factory, where he’s forced to lay off a chunk of the staff.

The actor-director tosses all he can at his protagonist without much logic, in what feels like a rudderless midlife crisis scenario that never finds a strong throughline. It’s hard to know what the unifying principle is in Hombre Al Agua, aside from Bernal surrounding himself with three beautiful women — and one beautiful man in the form of Ricky Martin, who makes a fun cameo — in a beautiful location.

He seems to be having a good time, flexing a Cuban accent and his usual charms to play a decent man who’s desperately hanging onto a privileged life that fell into his lap. There’s some running social commentary in the film about the Mexican class divide, whether it involves Don Abel’s complete disregard for his workers or Juana prancing around like a spoiled princess in gym wear, but such observations rarely dip below the surface. A black-and-white Brazilian telenovela, starring Fabiana as the wife of a blue-collar rebel, constantly plays in the background but doesn’t leave much of a mark. 

At best, Hombre Al Agua is a passion project in which the Mexican star dishes out some thoughts on fatherhood, masculinity and moral purpose. But tighter scripting and less mayhem would have helped make his message heard, instead of diluting it with too many shenanigans. “This is like a bad sitcom,” Camilo exclaims at a point when things really get silly, and you can’t help wondering if Bernal is saying aloud what we’ve all been thinking.