APARTMENT 7A (2024)

Anyone who expects filmmaking excellence from a Rosemary’s Baby (1968) prequel hasn’t been paying much attention to the terrible follow-up movies that Roman Polanski’s classic has spawned. Apartment 7A is the newest film to try and break away from that mould, following Terry (Victoria Vetri in the original, now Julia Garner), a young woman who befriended Rosemary shortly before her tragic suicide. Despite the character being little more than a bit player in Rosemary’s Baby, her death, and the gritty realism through which it’s portrayed, made for one of the film’s most memorable scenes. The eerie approach of the camerawork as it hovers over and creeps towards her dead body is so brutal that it provokes the viewer into stunned silence, with an image that lingers in the mind long after it appears.

It’s understandable why co-writer and director Natalie Erika James (Relic) would look to expand on the character of Terry, not just for the obvious commercial incentive in making a movie attached to a horror classic, but also for the fact that Terry exists more as a symbol of foreboding than a fully fleshed-out character. That said, it’s by no means a clever choice, as dedicating an entire feature film to this character ignores the fact that it was her spare appearances in the original film that made her death so impactful. Apartment 7A could still have redeemed itself through talented direction or a compelling story, but these aspects are as lacking as its concept.

The movie’s one saving grace comes in the way of Julia Garner’s excellent leading performance, with the actress working overtime to fill the giant gaps in quality in this narrative. The rest of the cast doesn’t feel nearly as committed to their roles as Garner, who takes great care to make Terry feel believable. Even when surrounded by shoddy storytelling she makes you wish the world could be a brighter place for this character, though she carries an undercurrent of resignation at times that reminds you that such hopes are misplaced here.

Despite a (relatively) promising opening section exploring Terry’s faltering dance career after she experiences a serious injury, once the Castevets are introduced the story quickly devolves into tedium. Kevin McNally is just fine as Roman, the mild-mannered, patrician patron of the arts, with nothing positive or negative to write home about in this portrayal. He is not anywhere near as authentically grand as Sidney Blackmer, but he doesn’t butcher the character either.

It’s Dianne Wiest who’s given the far more difficult task of playing Minnie Castevet, wonderfully portrayed by Ruth Gordon in the ’68 film. Wiest’s attempts to recreate Gordon’s commanding presence and distinctive voice are woeful. This talented actress would have had far better success re-interpreting the character, but Minnie is simply too distinctive to be treated this way. This should have made it clear to James why this venture was ill-advised, but that’s only one of the many warning signs that were ignored to make Apartment 7A.

Perhaps it would have been a touch too derivative to copy the original film’s deeply haunting lullabies, which are as integral to the texture of Rosemary’s Baby as its actors and direction. While no one will expect Apartment 7A’s soundtrack to replicate such highs, Adam Price and Peter Gregson’s score is painfully indistinct. That said, it’s unlikely that any music could have appropriately complimented Terry’s brief, nightmarish imaginings, where she sees demonic hands racing along her stomach or satanic figures lurking in the background. In one particularly egregious moment, Terry looks down to see a demon’s face pulling her stomach into a taut knot from the inside, its open-mouthed, silent scream desperately pushing against the fleshy cage surrounding it. Generic music cues ensue, though it’s rather reductive to mention this since that descriptor also holds for the rest of the film.

Apartment 7A’s jump scares don’t just feel sad and limp in comparison to the original film’s gradual tension, they also aren’t worthwhile irrespective of the existence of Rosemary’s Baby. But the real tragedy is that this movie didn’t even try to be ambitious with its dream sequences. While Rosemary technically wasn’t conscious of the sadistic ritual that caused the conception of her child, she was just cognizant enough to experience a bizarre dream that mixed the surrealism of a typical nightmare with shades of what she experienced that night. Not only is this one of the best scenes in the entire movie, but it vividly portrays the confusion and hazy logic of the dream state.

In this prequel film, the closest thing the viewer gets to this is slightly blurry visuals and indistinct, echoing audio as Terry veers towards unconsciousness on more than one occasion, reality swaying gently before her. While the audio is immersive in these moments, such scenes pale in comparison to the acute way that Polanski recreated the frightful beauty of dream logic. As for Apartment 7A’s tension, this is limited to jump scares, of which only one or two have any effect. But for a jump scare to rattle viewers, there should be a build-up of tension, as well as a gradual period afterwards where viewers find themselves relinquishing the fear that gripped them. Here, though, no sense of terror is adequately built up, with these sudden shocks fading from memory seconds after they’ve appeared.

Apartment 7A also messes up the brilliant formula of Rosemary’s Baby, where that film’s protagonist had her life enshrined in terror and paranoia, being gaslit by everyone around her as she dwindled to a shell of her former self. In fairness to this prequel, it would be old hat to copy this story exactly, but its plotlines miss out on what was so absorbing about the original. It is crowded with hackneyed moments, where the words ‘EVIL’ might as well be imprinted on certain characters’ heads, like Minnie or Alan Marchand (Jim Sturgess), a Broadway producer who plays the most stereotypical, one-note iteration of a sleazy producer imaginable.

Quite a few times Terry is left grimly observing her fate, and although she isn’t certain what will befall her, she is faintly aware that something has gone awry. The film, knowing that the vast majority of people watching it will only be doing so because of its connection to the original, can’t pretend that it has any surprises in store. So it wears its attempt at a menacing tone on its sleeve, overdoing its emphasis on how sinister these people in Terry’s life appear.

After rewatching the original film recently, not only is it fascinating to study the facial expressions of Rosemary’s husband Guy (John Cassavetes) and some of the other residents in their building, but the film’s dialogue maintains a brisk pace, with strands of conversations cutting into one another. This creates a fast-paced rhythm that makes it easy to forget the foreboding cues offered to the viewer, but it also feels quite disconcerting, especially when the camera slows this brisk pace to linger on an important item. This prequel film doesn’t come close to matching those highs: then again, who would have expected it to?

Knowing her ultimate fate, the audience is well aware that when faced with the black pit in the centre of Terry’s universe, which threatens to swallow her completely, a sheer fall from a height seems almost pleasant in comparison. There is great tragedy embedded in the core of such an idea, but the movie can’t find a way to unlock it. Its formula may be simply unable to facilitate such a dramatic arc, but Apartment 7A isn’t nearly compelling enough to make the viewer forget about what they know will befall its protagonist.

Even when Rosemary knew something was seriously wrong with her psyche, her overall health, and the behaviours of the people around her, she was still wrapped up in a swirl of confusion, with the presence of her husband complicating the matter to a great extent. No such deceptions are accessed here. Apartment 7A is too plain and incurious for that, to the point where it’s difficult to see a creative vision amidst the cash grab that this movie appears as.

While its opening scenes did show promise, with a fleshed-out and earnest attempt to fill in Terry’s backstory (though to be honest, I would’ve preferred for it to follow the background of the original film, where Terry was a recovering addict), this feature film is far less memorable than its protagonist’s death in Rosemary’s Baby. There’s nothing in this journey that comes close to the gut-wrenching reveal of Terry’s demise in the original film.

Instead, viewers get to watch one of the worst dance sequences in modern cinema, which is so tonally imbalanced that it’s an insult to the phenomenal storytelling in the final scenes of Rosemary’s Baby. I held out hope for how the movie would handle its tragic denouement, even if it had big shoes to fill after the heart-breaking final moments in the 1968 film, where Rosemary’s pure heart in the face of evil is profoundly sad. But it’s at this point where a comparison between both movies showcases an imbalance in quality so stark that it’s hard not to finish Apartment 7A without a sour taste in one’s mouth. Not even the wonderfully talented Julia Garner can save this limp and unnecessary prequel.

USA • AUSTRALIA • UK | 2024 | 104 MINUTES | 1.85:1 | COLOUR | ENGLISH

Cast & Crew

director: Natalie Erika James.
writers: Natalie Erika James, Christian White & Skylar James (story by Skylar James; based on ‘Rosemary’s Baby’ by Ira Levin).
starring: Julia Garner, Dianne Wiest, Jim Sturgess, Kevin McNally, Marli Siu, Andrew Buchan, Rosy McEwen & Kobna Holdbrook-Smith.