APARTMENT 7A - Mark Reviews Movies

Apartment 7A, Paramount Pictures

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Review by Mark Dujsik | September 26, 2024

The problem with Apartment 7A isn't that it copies the story of Rosemary's Baby, although it certainly does to a certain extent, but that it ignores why the original film is a great piece of psychological horror. There may be supernatural elements in the 1968 film, but most of it is spent in a state of increasing paranoia and finds its most chilling scenes in observing the degree of control other people have on the protagonist. Some of that arises here, in a tale set during the weeks before the events of the original, but ultimately, co-writer/director Natalie Erika James transforms this prequel into a traditional and not especially convincing bit of horror.

Everything that happens in the plot, of course, is pretty much to be expected, both in general and in the specifics of the fate of its central character, for those who have seen the first film. That shouldn't be an issue. After all, the original had a sense of the inevitable, too—and not only because it was based on a popular novel by Ira Levin (that is also credited here as the source material). That film overcame the feeling by the sheer force of its encroaching atmosphere, as well as its examination of the insidious nature of other people's control on one person's life and mind.

In this one, however, the sinister elements at the core of the story aren't so much other people. Instead, they're straightforward visions of terror and evil, playing out in assorted nightmares (including that tired, old gimmick of a bad dream revealing itself to part of a different dream) and jump-scares as poor Terry Gionoffrio (Julia Garner), whose fate in the original turns out to now be the inciting incident of that film's plot, realizes there's something very wrong with her new neighbors.

Yes, a basic summary of this movie's plot does sound very much like the first film at a certain point. The key difference between this movie's hero and the protagonist of the original is that Terry wants some kind of power outside of her own agency as a person. Terry wants to be a Broadway star, but after an on-stage injury makes it difficult for her dance, she loses a role in a chorus line and repeatedly is rejected at assorted auditions.

One denial, by producer Alan Merchand (Jim Sturgess), especially stings, so she follows him to the exclusive apartment building where the producer lives. Feeling faint from the strain of the audition and the pain killers she's taking, a stumbling Terry is helped by an older couple who live in the building. The two let her rest in their apartment and, feeling pity for the young woman, offer to let her live in the apartment they also own down the hall.

Those familiar with the source material likely need no introduction to the pair, but regardless, they're Minnie (Dianne Wiest) and Roman Castevet (Kevin McNally), who seem kind, generous, and most accommodating initially. The other side of the couple is that they're also nosy, forceful, and capable of putting on quite the guilt trip. Wiest certainly has some fun playing up the harder edges of Minnie, since she and the filmmakers smartly figure that any kind of game they might play with the character would be fruitless.

From here, the plot does more or less mirror the movie's predecessor. Terry becomes pregnant under mysterious circumstances that are either realistically or supernaturally unsettling. Minnie and Roman seem happier than they probably should be, and since Terry is single and doesn't know if she wants to carry the pregnancy to term, they even agree to adopt the child if she gives birth. They really, really want her to, even offering, as wealthy patrons of the arts, to help Terry with her acting career if she does agree.

The particulars of Terry's situation are distinct enough to offer some promise, but soon enough, the screenplay (written by James, Christian White, and Skylar James) relies less on creating an air of dread by way of these characters, as well as how they sway Terry by direct and indirect means. Instead, it dives into the clichés.

Terry starts hearing odd noises, begins having those nightmares, and eventually sees a devilish figure in corners or reflections, while also noticing that Minnie keeps turning up and giving her wickedly loaded looks. Everyone and everything here seem to be playing toward the unavoidable conclusion of the mystery of Terry's pregnancy, which isn't a riddle at all for those who know the material—and likely won't be much of one for those coming into this prequel unaware for whatever reason.

The whole of Apartment 7A is simply too blunt, from its formulaic scare scenes to a convenient nun who spells out the solution for Terry without much prompting. It's less frustrating that this is a poor imitation of a great film (Aesthetically, its period re-creation has a phony polish to it). The filmmakers lean into standard-issue horror tactics so much that it eventually doesn't even feel like an imitation of its source.

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