Natalie Erika James’ “Apartment 7A” crumbles under circumstantial pressures. Visual blemishes don’t mar the “Rosemary’s Baby” prequel — James can shoot with effusive competence (see “Relic”). This film sleepwalks as a routine horror prequel clinging to classic nostalgia, unlike how “The First Omen” nailed the formula mere months ago. “Apartment 7A” achieves basic prequel accomplishments without finding its independent voice, playing with Roman Polanski’s characters and plotlines like a dull recreation. There’s nothing here we couldn’t already presume from watching “Rosemary’s Baby,” as James finds herself handcuffed to an original in a needless attempt to revive an existing intellectual property.
As seen in its Friday premiere at Fantastic Fest, Julia Garner stars as Terry Gionoffrio, who you’ll remember as a dead body in Polanski’s devilish maternity tale. We meet Terry as a bright-eyed Nebraskan girl with song-and-dance aspirations before a career-threatening injury. She eventually meets Roman (Kevin McNally) and Margaux “Minnie” Castevet (Dianne Wiest), wealthy residents of the Bramford apartment complex in the Upper West Side. Minnie and Roman insist an injured Terry move into their empty loaner apartment until she’s back on her feet (er… foot). The trusting transplant agrees, and the rest is history.
Well, it’s not recorded history. “Apartment 7A” gives recovering drug addict Terry the stage after an untimely demise early into “Rosemary’s Baby” (her “drug addict” backstory is tweaked here). The problem is, there’s nothing revolutionary about what we learn from Terry’s residence at the Bramford. A script from James and her co-writers, Christian White and Skylar James, reflects intro-level assessments of prequel filmmaking. The primary mission of giving audiences an alternative look into the Bramford’s satanism is accomplished with minimal added benefit. Minnie and Roman’s deceitful tendencies are replayed, and we’re taken on another journey into an unwitting mother’s manipulation. Then, bam — we’re back at a familiar beginning. There’s a stunted redundancy about “Apartment 7A” that lacks exploration or introspection, skinning “Rosemary’s Baby” and draping its likeness atop a refurbished skeleton.
What’s worse are the comparison games that “Apartment 7A” forces upon the audience. After “Rosemary’s Baby,” James feels like she’s struggling to keep pace with Polanski’s nastier and more harrowing evaluation of motherhood (with a hellfire bend). There’s no mystery to uncover since we already know the Bramford’s secrets; “Apartment 7A” reintroduces the building’s quirks with a thud. Then there’s “The First Omen,” a standalone genre barnburner smuggled into “The Omen” franchise. Arkasha Stevenson defies prequel odds as her ferocious directorial debut honors “The Omen” while carving its own legacy — James traces “Rosemary’s Baby” like it’s a roadmap. Deviations that exist are already etched in stone (thanks to Polanski). James is a shell of the superstar “Relic” filmmaker who ripped our hearts out with organic, sobering payoffs, seen here cycling through motions that culminate with an already-known fate.
It’s the ultimate prequel conundrum — how does someone honor horror royalty while adding their signature flavors? “Apartment 7A” holds no answers outside Wiest, a shining beacon in an otherwise rigid experiment. Wiest’s portrayal of Minnie recalls Ruth Gordon’s squeaky-voiced helicopter caretaking, but it’s hardly mimicry. Wiest rattles off phrases like “chop chop, little onion” with a grandmotherly warmth while masking her invasive intentions beneath
coddling charisma. The way Minnie’s niceties poorly hide ulterior motives is a treat, like a cat dressed in ’60s attire toying with their starry-eyed prey. Credit to Garner because she falls for the bait all too well, but Wiest is a “Capital P” performer. She is, almost exclusively, stealing any shared scenes.
Garner herself is a capable lead caught between Terry’s professional aspirations and motherhood — a thematic swing with societal oomph. Terry’s protests platform outcries for bodily autonomy as she dare suggest women aren’t born to breed. Garner’s power-driven relationship with Jim Sturgess’ predatory musical producer Alan Marchand dances a delicate back and forth, especially in one visually stimulating dream sequence where Terry succumbs to the same assault as Mia Farrow’s Rosemary Woodhouse. There are flickers of James’ surrealist brushstrokes as Terry falls victim to the unquenchable desires of marquee attention and celebrity stardom, where Garner’s drunk on spotlight attention, but they’re dimmed by the film’s overall inability to escape Polanski’s shadow.
“Apartment 7A” grants its promoted lead newfound agency, but is crafted without urgency. It’s a paint-by-numbers rewind that pushes no envelope and exemplifies a particularly deflating case of prequelitus. James’ ability to replicate Bramford architecture or reintroduce Dr. Abraham Sapirstein 2.0 are glancing blows as questions of necessity invade our minds. A middling script rekindles no adoration for “Rosemary’s Baby” as Terry Gionoffrio’s downfall is exploited without creative enlightenment, dotted by dialogue that reads less natural in practice. “Apartment 7A” is the prequeliest prequel that’s prequeled in recent memory, playing the hits like reading sheet music without improvisational aspirations while being somewhat out of tune.
“Apartment 7A” streams on Paramount+ and VOD starting Sept. 27.
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