Miguel Hilari’s Compania has a lot of nature scenes, specifically of horses chewing on grass on the mountains of the titular small town. These long takes aim to make viewers contemplate the images and the sounds that these horses make. Hilari approaches these horses with trepidation. He presents his hesitation in contrast with a Bolivian Indigenous man within the frame who isn’t scared to approach the horses. Afterwards, there’s a man, presumably the same man with the horses, baking some bread. Life is mundane, where people take inspiration from nature into art forms like film or making one’s next meal.

Hilari, thankfully enough, mixes up these nature and daily scenes with portraits of the Indigenous people of Compania. Another thing he’s attempting here is to, presumably, connect nature to life to the people. Let’s keep in mind here that Hilari is also Indigenous, having to go back and forth to his community, just like its other members. The portraits, then, remind us of what he constantly leaves behind. As I write this, there’s something disjointed and joyless about his approach. The people in these portraits also look as lifeless as possible, making a point that feels nihilistic and obtuse.

And that obtuseness seeps into well meaning attempts to show both the Andean lands and the contemporary lives of Indigenous Bolivians. Celebrations and community gatherings have no context. It’s also asking us to extrapolate meaning from the village mountains, getting foggier from one scene to another. Credit is due to the way he captures these people’s music. The kind of thing we hear that most filmmakers accompany with clearer visuals. Why didn’t Hilari just do that instead of choosing an experimental route? A documentary can be experimental and minimalistic, but the result here frustrates instead of providing an enlightened perspective.