Oh, pretty woman- The Apartment (1960)

Never settle for a man, unless he can deal a mean hand, you know, otherwise-wise.

Who knew an insurance clerk who uses a tennis racket to strain spaghetti like a desperate college student could be so captivating? Baxter (Jack Lemmon) and Kubelik’s (Shirley MacLaine) touch and go relationship clearly inspired When Harry Met Sally in more ways than simply the reversed ending. In The Apartment (1960) we meet two lonely people trying to find their way in the world, trapped in this case in a dreary and ruthless corporate limbo. Baxter’s position as just another nameless clerk on the 19th floor touches on the intense despondency so many of us suffer from, surrounded by others too caught up in their own isolation or desires to reach out. It’s a film that is so distinctly human. 

Going into this film I had zero expectations. So, when the main theme began to play over a stunning outdoor shot of an old Manhattan block at dusk, I was surprised to find myself already drawn in. One thing I really appreciate about the film is that Baxter isn’t a perfect boy-next-door kinda guy. Sure, the film wants us to sympathise with him. He’s relatable and endearing, and his love for Kubelik is swoon-worthy by the end. But, he is just another screw amongst the jumble of overworked cogs in the capitalist system. He’s a passive accomplice to his higher ups, helping them carry out their weekly longings for infidelity in pursuit of a promotion. Throughout the film though he does his best to be there for Kubelik and is distraught when she chooses to give Sheldrake (Fred MacMurray) yet another chance. He fails to realise he’s in a similar position himself, choosing to be a part of a corrupt system day after day, believing a shiny new desk is well worth the hassle. As Kubelik notes, “Some people take, some people get took. And they know they're getting took and there's nothing they can do about it." Sometimes we’re trapped by circumstances outside of our control, but what matters is to hold on to what makes you, you. Or as Dr. Dreyfuss (Jack Kruschen) asserts, be a “mensch” (an honourable person).

The darker moments sprinkled throughout had me on the edge of my seat, waiting with baited breath to see how close to home it might hit. The overdose scene and its subsequent storyline is written and handled arguably better than it might’ve been in a lot of modern media. Kubelik and Baxter’s shared experiences capture the deep-rooted terror and shame that cast a shadow over your world when you go through such events. The gnawing, aching feelings of doubt and dread are tough to come to terms with, let alone communicate with another. The film does a heartfelt job of bridging the gap between the characters’ pain and the more comedic moments. It allows them the space they need to work through their trauma without it feeling like an exploitative attempt to add drama. 

It’s a timeless film, one which explores loneliness and love in a way that becomes more relatable with every passing year. An iconic quote from Kubelik which has stuck with me is “I just have this talent for falling in love with the wrong guy in the wrong place at the wrong time." Coupling this with Baxter’s bachelor lifestyle of seclusion paints a grave but familiar picture, as he struggles to find something to watch while he eats dinner. (Because god forbid we let the voices in our head pipe up for a second). Both characters illustrate the crushing weight of simply wanting somebody to be there, to share the same space, the same moment. The fear that we may never find that solace in someone, or that it will shatter once found is overwhelming to say the least. As the delightfully ambiguous ending outlines, this connection doesn’t have to be romantic. Through its satire and bittersweet moments of despair, the film ends with a demand that hope and love, the beauty of human connection, take centre stage. In a time when happiness is fleeting and rare, you might as well seize the opportunities you can.

So, “shut up and deal”. 

Baxter (Jack Lemmon) and Kubelik (Shirley MacLaine) in The Apartment (1960)