In the 95 years Billy Wilder spent on planet Earth, this legendary jack-of-all-trades left a film legacy which includes such titles as Ball of Fire, The Lost Weekend, Sunset Boulevard, Ace in the Hole, Stalag 17, Sabrina and Some Like it Hot. My personal favorite amongst these Wilder efforts is the seven-category Oscar-nominated film noir masterpiece Double Indemnity; bested in 1944 by the likes of the now dated, less-controversial Bing Crosby napper Going My Way. The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences may be dipped in glitz, glamour and favoritism, but its membership was never accused of being even remotely revolutionary in the recognition and reward of significant innovation.

With all that came before, it is ironic that Billy Wilder reached his apex of accolade with the 1960 theatrical release of The Apartment. Produced at the close of Hollywood’s Golden Age and the emergence of an era representing a more realistic style, the film harbors elements of both with its alternating expression of 1950s convention and the dawn of a benign 1960s urban immorality. Regarded by many as a comedy, I see it as more of a fantasy where the underdog gets his day-in-the-sun by eventually maturing beyond his desire to remain in any position on the corporate ladder.

C. C. Baxter (Jack Lemmon) is shown in an acre of modern open office; his desk crowded-in with scores of anonymous bean-counters like himself. At one point, his apartment was loaned to a co-worker as a convenient place to change clothes for a formal occasion. Word spread, and ever since he finds himself spending more and more time managing the middle-management types who now cheat on their wives with the assistance of his three-room New York City flat. A complex series of phone calls rearrange the schedule so he can spend at least one night in his own apartment while he’s feeling under-the-weather. In an effort to advance his position, C. C. Baxter has become a property-pimp to a select gang of his two-timing superiors.

When his boss Sheldrake (Fred MacMurray) hears word of Baxter’s predicament, he hops on board for an adulterous ride of his own. Despite running a fever, Baxter accepts tickets to The Music Man as compensation for clearing-out of his flat for the evening. Sheldrake’s promise of Baxter's impending corporate reward scores him his very own key.

Fran Kubelik (Shirley MacLaine) is an nice girl who works as an elevator operator (one of the long-expired oddities that date the film) who, for eight hours, goes from the lobby to the 27th floor and back again. Pleasant and pretty with an air of sophistication, she’s the X-factor among the company’s roving pack of wolves; forever the subject of idle sexual speculation. Despite his bumbling shyness, Baxter requests she share in his Broadway largess. She agrees to meet him at the theater; though circumstances of human complexity and plot progression can propel an insecure yes-man into an even more significant chain of events.

In 1959, Fred MacMurray put his budding gig doing family films at Disney Studios in jeopardy by accepting the role of Sheldrake, the gruff and heartless villain of the piece. His mastering of the monotone of monotony style of acting served him well as gateway to film noir legacy; he was unquestionably indebted to Wilder for the two best roles of his career - Double Indemnity’s scheming insurance salesman Walter Neff, and the insufferable smarm Sheldrake. Most boomers may remember him as Steve Douglas, the affable yet distant widower in the 1960s CBS sitcom My Three Sons.

Almost fifty years beyond release, The Apartment shows its age to a greater extent than similar films produced during this transitional era. Although expertly shot using the PanaVision process, the melancholy themes that run throughout are made more desolate through the use of black & white as opposed to the color standard adopted for most comedies and musicals in the 1950s. The is the last black & white film to win the Academy Award for Best Picture (where the process was not used for reasons of aesthetics).

Released in September of 1960, the incoming Kennedy administration would soon put an end to the felt dress hat as a staple of men’s fashion. The new president’s conspicuous lack of head wear was big news in the media’s fawning coverage of Camelot; resulting in a virtual overnight disappearance of the once-fashionable yet functional fedora. Film noir as a genre and the G-Man / gumshoe B-feature would never be the same.

Which makes Jack Lemmon’s fussy purchase of a new Bowler hat an unintended bit of comedy - like shopping for a present-day Halloween costume accessory. Similarly, MacLaine’s Mamie Eisenhower hats, elbow-length kid gloves and her ten-tug efforts to remove same are quite grandmotherly, in retrospect. The first-act mention (via voice-over) of Baxter’s salary (a bit more than $100 per week) and his recent $5 rent increase (to $85 per month) for a New York brownstone apartment will inspire a chuckle, followed by a desired return to the good old days when money went a whole lot further and gas sold for 25 cents a gallon.

Most notable in (relatively promiscuous) supporting roles are the talented journeymen Ray Walston, David Lewis and David White, whose middle-aged hormones account for most of Baxter’s titular grief. To the extent they get around (check-out the B-girl sots they entertain), be sure to wear a latex glove should you ever have reason to shake hands with this crew. All three later made their mark in television, with Walston and White quite successful as My Favorite Martian and ad-man Larry Tate of Bewitched fame, respectively. Popular songstress Edie Adams is almost unrecognizable as Sheldrake’s secretary and revenge-inspired plot-point propeller.

The test of time shows Jack Lemmon as the keystone to the film’s success. As the seemingly hopeless underdog whose circumstance finds him ground beneath life’s heel, his disillusionment breeds comedy in avoidance of resulting insanity. Though the film’s conclusion is uplifting and conventional as only a dramady of its day could be, Lemmon’s understanding of the character adds dimension that the true pros in the industry could present as a form of supplementary intervention; adding subtle elements here and there intuitively as the scene progressed. Though bested in 1960 by the fire-and-brimstone ramblings of Burt Lancaster’s Elmer Gantry, Lemmon’s Oscar nominations (and wins) were always deserved.

Shirley MacLaine’s Best Actress nomination is a mystery to me; her heavy third-act presence is certainly competent, but the starry-eyed dater of married men in the age preceding feminism has a vulnerability that seems out-of-character for someone written as smartly as Miss Kubelik. Then again, love does strange things to people. She’s lovely in a faux-plucky, ordinary way, if that’s possible. She also sleeps through a considerable portion of her screen time.

Three-time Oscar-winning composer Adolph Deutsch gives a bit of sweep to the score’s recurring theme - pushed to an almost commercial excess by way of phonograph and live nightclub piano (à la Casablanca’s “Play it again, Sam”). A vaguely-familiar ditty that’s pleasant enough, but not really built of top-forty material in the tradition of A Summer Place and other more mainstream movie themes of the period. The type of music you would likely hear a portion of while riding Miss Kubelik’s elevator.

Academy members of the day enjoyed the film - ten nominations and five wins equal a good day’s work for an independent film released in any era. Awards for Art Decoration/Set Decoration (another mystery amid such pedestrian dreariness) and Film Editing join Wilder’s three for Direction, Picture and Screenplay (his scripting nod shared with collaborator I. A. L. Diamond). The Christmas/New Year holiday setting gives the film an interesting seasonal angle, but not so much as to inhibit its potential for year-round enjoyment.

Four stars for Lemmon’s performance and the amusing early 1960s austerity that permeates The Apartment.

The Apartment (1960)
Screenplay: I. A. L. Diamond, Billy Wilder
Director: Billy Wilder
The Mirisch Corporation
Released thru United Artists
DVD: M-G-M Home Video (2001)
Collector’s Edition: M-G-M Home Video (2008)

Recommended:
Yes

Viewing Format: DVD
Video Occasion: Good for a Rainy Day
Suitability For Children: Suitable for Children Age 13 and Older