I'm not sure which I hate more, horror movies or film festivals. So it was more than a bit odd to find myself not only at the Los Angeles Film Festival, but in a small dark theater awaiting a screening of a horror film called, "The Apartment." I popped a Xanax and tried to relax. Due to my condition it may have taken a little longer than usual to recognize what I was seeing. First of all, the production notes for "The Apartment" indicated that it was made for about the same amount I pay for a haircut. But I was quite certain I wasn't watching, or hearing, a low budget short. "The Apartment" is the equal in production values to most big budget pictures. My mood began to levitate.
The Apartment chronicles the rather nasty plight of Brian Fisher who rents apartment 5B in an anonymous building on Manhattan's Upper East Side. The previous tenant's stay ended abruptly after the poor schnook awoke to find his bathtub overflowing with blood. He's introduced to the apartment by a stereotypically frightening NYC real estate agent who conveniently neglects to point out that there's something fishy going on.
One remarkable thing about "The Apartment" is that its director, Michael Helman, manages to elicit chills without resorting to obligatory gore. He directs the film with the subtlety that most slasher film auteurs should take note of. The original score hits all the right notes and the surprisingly fine actors creep you out without wielding instruments of death, or many words for that matter. Helman stays true to film-making rule numero uno; don't have an actor say what the camera already conveys.
I can't tell you the most genius part of "The Apartment" without giving away the climactic twist. Suffice it to say that the real horror isn't what's happening to the tenants of apartment 5B. The real horror is well-known to almost everyone who has ever rented a Manhattan apartment.
Are most modern horror films as clever as The Apartment? I haven't seen enough to know. But my guess is that "story" is not what sells tickets to "Saw." If I'm wrong, I beg you let me know. It may be that I've been missing a lot of brilliance. I would hate that.
The Apartment chronicles the rather nasty plight of Brian Fisher who rents apartment 5B in an anonymous building on Manhattan's Upper East Side. The previous tenant's stay ended abruptly after the poor schnook awoke to find his bathtub overflowing with blood. He's introduced to the apartment by a stereotypically frightening NYC real estate agent who conveniently neglects to point out that there's something fishy going on.
One remarkable thing about "The Apartment" is that its director, Michael Helman, manages to elicit chills without resorting to obligatory gore. He directs the film with the subtlety that most slasher film auteurs should take note of. The original score hits all the right notes and the surprisingly fine actors creep you out without wielding instruments of death, or many words for that matter. Helman stays true to film-making rule numero uno; don't have an actor say what the camera already conveys.
I can't tell you the most genius part of "The Apartment" without giving away the climactic twist. Suffice it to say that the real horror isn't what's happening to the tenants of apartment 5B. The real horror is well-known to almost everyone who has ever rented a Manhattan apartment.
Are most modern horror films as clever as The Apartment? I haven't seen enough to know. But my guess is that "story" is not what sells tickets to "Saw." If I'm wrong, I beg you let me know. It may be that I've been missing a lot of brilliance. I would hate that.