Review of The Apartment (1960) by Adam R — 28 Jul 2014

One of the most meaningful films to skewer modern living without falling back on cynical oversimplification or condescending satire, "The Apartment" is one of a kind, just one of the masterpieces director/co-writer Billy Wilder crafted during his deliriously perfect run of films made from the mid-'40s to early '60s.

C.C. Baxter (Jack Lemmon, once again embodying the contemporary everyman's shortcomings and strengths) is a company man who has secured himself a road he hopes will lead to promotion: loaning out his apartment to the board for extramarital liaisons. The scheme has its downsides; it costs Baxter his health at times (witness his stumbling through the sniffles worst-day-ever, a sequence both pathetic and endearing), doesn't seem to engender the respect and prospects for advancement he hoped for and it's certainly taking its toll on his self-respect.

That all changes when Baxter befriends two people: Fran Kubelik (Shirley MacLaine), a spunky elevator girl whom the burned-out whom the insurance agent takes a shining to, and Jeff Sheldrake (Fred MacMurray), a seemingly upright office manager in C.C.'s company who can't break things off with his mistress and enlists his eager underling to provide a place for his trysts. The connection with Sheldrake gives Baxter the promotion he craves, but at a price: Ms. Kubelik is the boss' mistress he just won't let go.

From here, Wilder and co-screenwriter I.A.L. Diamond imaginatively tackle the price of the American Dream without the usual seriousness that often ponderous phrase evokes. Like "Ace in the Hole" before it, Wilder is a master at switching tones, and gets the best from an able cast. MacLaine, a pixie-like actress not known for adding gravitas to any project, ably makes Fran both an infectious young optimist and a hopeless, nearly tragic romantic. MacMurray manages to make Sheldrake seem like a kindly paternal type who doesn't want to hurt his family but whose boredom with respectable life leads him to make foolish decisions.

Beating them all, however, is Lemmon, whose titanic Baxter is an example of building a character from the ground up and making him an utterly engrossing, three-dimensional individual. Note the scene where his cigarette is all ash but stubbornly refuses to break, or the subsequent moment where he shuffles haphazardly with a dull blond in a dive bar, Baxter's face communicating both contentment and hopelessness.

The most well-known scenes from "Apartment" are the most over-the-top: Lemmon eating a readymade chicken dinner while finding nothing good on TV, straining spaghetti with a tennis racket, etc. But it's seldom acknowledged what a moving romance the film is; who would have expected a good portion of a delightful romantic comedy to be occupied by the hero attempting to resuscitate his heroine after a suicide attempt? It's elements like these that make the movie not just a peerless romp but a sublime piece of filmmaking.