I don’t think I’m hanging my laundry out on a limb when I say, I think Jack Lemmon is one of the greatest actors to ever grace the big screen. Of course, every actor, good or bad, male or female, is immortal; their movies are their legacy. Luckily for us, Mr. Lemmon left us with a legacy that many strive for, but fail to achieve.
Jack’s acting skills are as versatile as a politician’s poll numbers. He does drama with an intensity that damn near jumpes off the screen. Who can forget his Academy Award nominated performance as alcoholic public relations man Joe Clay in Days of Wine and Roses, or the profoundly delusional, broken-down salesman Shelley Levene, in Glenngary Glenn Ross? He is such a talent, his facial expressions alone emit such emotion, often dialog is unnecessary.
But, I believe, comedy is where this icon truly shines. Think about it: Some Like it Hot, The Odd Couple, The Out-of-Towners, Grumpy Old Men, just to name a few. All of these films are classics, but there is one film I’d like to delve into a bit further, because it’s one of my favorite movies of all time: The Apartment.
The Apartment is written and directed by one of Hollywood’s greatest ever: Mr. Billy Wilder. Yes, yes, I know, Mr. Wilder is responsible for Some Like it Hot (and many of Hollywood's greatest movies, Sunset Blvd. ring a bell?), but for me, The Apartment is magical (and won 5 Academy Awards, by the way), and Lemmon’s role as young insurance actuary, C. C. Baxter is hilariously funny and heart-breaking at the same time.
The main plot of The Apartment revolves around Baxter’s apartment located on 67th St. in New York. Baxter’s an ambitious, single guy who just wants to advance his budding career. But, as we are introduced to Baxter (via some fine voice-over), it seems he’s dealing with a bit of a dilemma: His apartment is being exploited by four Executives at the company he works for as a “flop house” for their extramarital affairs (mind you, this film was released in 1960), and these guys have no reserve about booting Baxter out of his place - at any time of night, or early morning. In one scene, some schlep Executive kicks Baxter, who’s suffering from a cold, out on the street at about 1:30 a.m., where it’s freezing. As Baxter shivers and folds his arms tightly to his body in a vain attempt at warmth, one can’t help but feel empathetic toward the poor fellow, and Lemmon plays this to perfection. (I read it was below freezing when they shot the scene, and Lemmon actually caught a whopper of a cold).
The dilemma Baxter’s dealing with is that one of the married Executives who’s exploiting Baxter’s “love nest” is Mr. Jeff D. Sheldrake (Fred MacMurray), who continually promises, and delivers, promotions to Baxter for the continued use of the “love shack.” Sheldrake is having a fling with elevator operator Fran Kubelik (Shirley MacLaine, in one of her first roles), and eventual love interest for good ‘ole Baxter.
Yep, the respectable, God fearing father, Steve Douglas from “My Three Sons,” is banging out of wedlock in The Apartment. (He is an actor, after all).
Billy Wilder’s script (which I read) is one of the greatest ever put to paper. Almost every line that comes out of Baxter’s mouth is either a set-up for a joke, foreshadowing, or a zinger that’s Wilder’s calling card. Also, the script rises to the zenith of wit and to the depths of hopelessness, as when Baxter is blown off by Ms. Kubelik for a date. One feels Baxter’s pain as if it were shot through ‘em with a speeding bullet.
The acting is superb by Lemmon, MacLaine, and MacMurray; the story line is brilliant; the character arch’s are perfect; and this movie has one of the greatest ending twists I’ve ever observed. There’s something to be said about morals, and Baxter finally realizes this in one the movie’s most moving and surprising scenes.
Given the time the movie was released, it caused quite a bit of ruckus, and my advice for anybody who wants to witness one of the greatest movies ever made, rent it now, or the ghost of Jack Lemmon might appear and whack you in the ass with his famous tennis racquet. Spaghetti anyone?
I give it six beers out of a six pack, and I think it’s obvious why.
