Apartment 7A (Fantastic Fest 2024)

The horror genre is often characterised by ongoing sequels, as filmmakers devise ever more convoluted ways to bring back the threat. In recent years, the legacy sequel has become popular, from Scream V (and VI) to Halloween (2018 and its sequels) to The Exorcist: Believer. Amongst these continuations, there have also been prequels, such as A Quiet Place: Day One, Saw X and Pearl. Put the two together and we get the legacy prequel, a return to an established narrative, released long after the original, that explains how some of the aspects of the familiar story came to be. Into this arena and on the heels of The First Omen comes Apartment 7A, a prequel to Rosemary’s Baby that explores the tale of the resident of the titular apartment, that will later / was previously seen to be occupied by Rosemary (Mia Farrow) and Guy Woodhouse (John Cassavetes). 

Opening in 1965, we are introduced to Terry Gionoffrio (Julia Garner) a Broadway dancer preparing for her next performance. This performance proves pivotal as she suffers an injury that curtails her career, before having a (possibly) chance encounter with Minnie and Roman Castevet. Seemingly out of great generosity, they offer her their spare apartment at the lavish Bramford building and as you might expect, things get weird. 

It is inevitable to compare this prequel to the 1968 original, a film that casts a shadow as long as the controversy surrounding its director. Indeed, any prequel must tread a tricky line between meeting expectations and providing innovation. That is especially the case with a prequel released nearly sixty years after the original. How will this work for fans of Rosemary’s Baby, and will it work for audiences unfamiliar with the earlier film? 

For the most part, director Natalie Erika James (who previously directed the excellent Relic) does not try to emulate Roman Polanski, or indeed to recreate the look and feel of Rosemary’s Baby. Despite the period setting complete with appropriate production and costume design, Apartment 7A has the feel of contemporary cinema. This contemporary vibe comes from the style, with ominous long takes, sudden inserts and surreal sequences that partly echo the dreams / hallucinations of Polanski’s film, but which lack the slightly camp tone of that film. Instead, the dreamlike sequences of Apartment 7A, especially a disturbing dance number, are closely tied to our protagonist. Brief appearances of something non-human provide jump scares, but more unsettling is the consistent presentation of Terry’s fear. The viewer is brought into her headspace early on, seeing her as she sees herself in the mirror preparing for a performance, and her ambitions are highlighted through close attention to dancing. 

Dance and horror have a long history, from the balletic movements of The Cabinet of Dr Caligari to the dazzling colours of Suspiria, and to the Oscar-winning body horror of Black Swan. The physical beauty and punishment of dance appears here as well, the most wince-inducing moments relating not to anything supernatural but to Terry’s damaged feet (whether this is a film that will titillate or revolt foot fetishists is open for discussion). Dance proves a deadly temptation for Terry, bringing harm to her in various ways, and when we stick closely to her experience the film is at its most absorbing. This continues with the danse macabre undertaken in the apartment, with her highly invasive neighbours swiftly moving from welcoming to overbearing to (wouldn’t you know it?) downright creepy. The movements through the corridors, apartments, elevator and laundry room are effective and engaging, the various sounds of the Bramford conveying the menace that Terry feels.

The film becomes less successful is the third act, when we start to move towards the inevitable tying of the events to those of Rosemary’s Baby. Here, the film rushes through the connections with various characters providing plot-essential pointers for Terry (and the audience, which is odd considering the earlier film’s legacy, but also helps this film stand on its own), including a very clunky scene with Sister Claire of the Exposition (Patricia Jones). Once these connections are made, Apartment 7A leans back into Terry’s story, and goes to some interesting places, making it almost a shame this film is not independent of the earlier one. 

Much of the audience’s engagement will depend on how we feel about the central character. Julia Garner delivers a performance that balances steel with tremulousness, often seeming to be barely restrained while at other times releasing her power, especially in one glorious moment at the film’s climax. She is ably supported by Diane Wiest and Kevin McNally, who make the iconic characters previously played by Ruth Gordon and Sidney Blackmer their own. Further distinctiveness comes from this film’s attention to the female experience. While Rosemary’s Baby focused on the journey of maternity, the far more modern sensibility of Apartment 7A highlights different female narratives. Professional success, ambition and fame are all discussed, along with the cutthroat nature of the arts, exploitation and abuse of women, and indeed adoption and abortion. Post the overturning of Roe vs Wade, the notion of what women might do in the matter of pregnancy gives this film a strong contemporary resonance. A scene featuring an occult ritual and the subsequent marks on Terry’s body express the idea of physical abuse, while an attempted abortion scene is unflinching and deeply uncomfortable. 

There is a curious poetry about Apartment 7A’s presentation of female suffering in relation to Polanski’s rape conviction, and one could read this film as something of a defiant shout against such controlling men. That may not have been James’ intention, but it does add an extra layer in making Apartment 7A an interesting companion piece to Rosemary’s Baby, as well as being an effective horror chiller in its own right, filled with malevolent spaces and the horrors of body and gender.

Vince’s Archive – Apartment 7A (2024)