I love Elaine but, you know, in the building.

Seinfeld

2.8: The Apartment

The Premise

Jerry suggests Elaine rents the recently vacated apartment above him, but quickly regrets the idea.

Observational

This was Peter Mehlman’s first script for the series and, while you can see why Larry and Jerry instantly welcomed him into the fold, it’s a patchy affair. The two key plot threads are strong enough (the potential problems of having an ex living in the same building and the idea that a wedding ring is a chick magnet) but there is something of a standardised sitcom feeling to the structure.

Most evident is the awkward inclusion of Jerry’s landlord Harold (Glenn Shadix, of Beetlejuice and Heathers fame) and his partner Manny (Tony Plana). These scenes are clumsily constructed, with Jerry required to leave his apartment several times to engage in a stagey conversation in the hallway. This kind of interaction exposes Seinfeld’s shortcomings as an actor, and the scenes are heavy with dead air.

George’s subplot sees him in full miscalculating, misfiring mode as he decides to wear the aforementioned wedding ring (band) to improve his chances with the ladies (Kramer: You know, I don’t know why you’re fooling around with his ring. I’ve been telling you, get yourself some plugs – or a piece”). He gets to test his theory at a party hosted by one of Elaine’s friends, unsubtly waving his ring about (“Yeah, my wife couldn’t make it today”). Of course, he’s on the receiving end of a string of propositions, if only he weren’t married (“That’s too bad, because I really have a thing for bald guys with glasses”).

His back-and-forth with Jerry over how he is the world’s biggest idiot (“No one’s a bigger idiot than me”) displays classic George perversity; at least he gets to be good at something, even if it’s something not very good.

Elaine’s utters her first “Get out!” of the series as she pushes Jerry in response to the news that not only does she have an apartment but also it is dirt-cheap. Her jubilation over the death of Mrs Hudwalker (“She died!”) is just the kind of remote, empathy-free response the show will become famous for (and conclude with), as the characters put their selfishness front-and-centre without a semblance of moderation.

So Jerry’s reaction, which is underhand in the extreme, might be seen as justice if wasn’t aimed at one of the few people he might be expected to go that extra distance for. Getting cold feet over his idea (“I’ll be here all the time!” Elaine tells him), he is relieved to hear that the price has gone up (extoling a sudden, and brief, belief in a divine plan). Until Kramer volunteers him to lend Elaine the money.

Kramer: Wait, you didn’t want her in the building?

Jerry: No, I didn’t.

Kramer: Well, uh, why did you loan her the $5,000 then?

The solution arrives when Kramer finds someone will to put up $10,000. It’s pretty lowdown and remorseless (as far as we know, Elaine never finds out), and comes across as somehow different to the quartet’s usual misanthropy; his “I love Elaine but, you know, in the building” doesn’t really cut it. As it turns out, the guy who moves in above has regular band practice (Kramer: Oh, I love the one they do right after this one) so Jerry’s no winner (Elaine: Wow, you’re right. That is loud). But even that seems like pat sitcom justice, rather than something really clever.

Kramer is beginning to make more of a splash, putting his foot in it on Jerry’s behalf and then coming up with a solution that only makes things worse. He’s also sporting a different look (“I moussed up”). Jerry is quite ready to insult Kramer (“You see, you’re not normal. You’re a pod”) because he knows he won’t take offence; he really doesn’t perceive things the way everyone else does.

If the episode is a bit of shift down in quality compared to the last few, the stand-up bits are surprisingly good; Jerry’s explanation of why the bridge of the Starship Enterprise is the ultimate male fantasy (it’s the perfect living room, with a big screen TV in the middle), although the mistaking someone as pregnant is over-familiar. When the show actually does this within the story, with Kramer in the driver’s seat, it’s very funny, however.

Quotable

Jerry: She died.

Elaine: She died?

Jerry: She died!

Elaine: SHE DIED!

Elaine: Get out!

Woman: What does she do?

George: She’s an entymologist. Er, you know. Bees, flies, gnats.

George: You have no idea what an idiot is.

Jerry: This is an idiot.

George: Is that right? I just threw away a lifetime of guilt-free sex and floor seats for every sporting event in Madison Square Garden. So please, show some respect. For I am Costanza, Lord of the Idiots.

Verdict:

Comments

Oh, you got me right in the pantaloons, partner.

The Party (1968) (SPOILERS) Blake Edwards’ semi-improvisational reunion with Peter Sellers is now probably best known for – I was going to use an elephant-in-the-room gag, but at least one person already went there – Sellers’ “brown face”. And it isn’t a decision one can really defend, even by citing The Party ’s influence on Bollywood. Satyajit Ray had also reportedly been considering working with Sellers… and then he saw the film. One can only assume he’d missed similar performances in The Millionairess and The Road to Hong Kong ; in the latter case, entirely understandable, if not advisable. Nevertheless, for all the flagrant stereotyping, Sellers’ bungling Hrundi V Bakshi is a very likeable character, and indeed, it’s the piece’s good-natured, soft centre – his fledgling romance with Claudine Longet’s Michele – that sees The Party through in spite of its patchy, hit-and-miss quality.

I never strangled a chicken in my life!

Rope (1948) (SPOILERS) Rope doesn’t initially appear to have been one of the most venerated of Hitchcocks, but it has gone through something of a rehabilitation over the years, certainly since it came back into circulation during the 80s. I’ve always rated it highly; yes, the seams of it being, essentially, a formal experiment on the director’s part, are evident, but it’s also an expert piece of writing that uses our immediate knowledge of the crime to create tension throughout; what we/the killers know is juxtaposed with the polite dinner party they’ve thrown in order to wallow in their superiority.

They'll think I've lost control again and put it all down to evolution.

Time Bandits (1981) (SPOILERS) Terry Gilliam had co-directed previously, and his solo debut had visual flourish on its side, but it was with Time Bandits that Gilliam the auteur was born. The first part of his Trilogy of Imagination, it remains a dazzling work – as well as being one of his most successful – rich in theme and overflowing with ideas while resolutely aimed at a wide (family, if you like) audience. Indeed, most impressive about Time Bandits is that there’s no evidence of self-censoring here, of attempting to make it fit a certain formula, format or palatable template.

I'm an old ruin, but she certainly brings my pulse up a beat or two.

The Paradine Case (1947) (SPOILERS) Hitchcock wasn’t very positive about The Paradine Case , his second collaboration with Gregory Peck, but I think he’s a little harsh on a picture that, if it doesn’t quite come together dramatically, nevertheless maintains interest on the basis of its skewed take on the courtroom drama. Peck’s defence counsel falls for his client, Alida Valli’s accused (of murder), while wife Ann Todd wilts dependably and masochistically on the side-lines.

You must have hopes, wishes, dreams.

Brazil (1985) (SPOILERS) Terry Gilliam didn’t consider Brazil the embodiment of a totalitarian nightmare it is often labelled as. His 1984½ (one of the film’s Fellini-riffing working titles) was “ the Nineteen Eighty-Four for 1984 ”, in contrast to Michael Anderson’s Nineteen Eighty-Four from 1948. This despite Gilliam famously boasting never to have read the Orwell’s novel: “ The thing that intrigues me about certain books is that you know them even though you’ve never read them. I guess the images are archetypal ”. Or as Pauline Kael observed, Brazil is to Nineteen Eighty-Four as “ if you’d just heard about it over the years and it had seeped into your visual imagination ”. Gilliam’s suffocating system isn’t unflinchingly cruel and malevolently intolerant of individuality; it is, in his vision of a nightmare “future”, one of evils spawned by the mechanisms of an out-of-control behemoth: a self-perpetuating bureaucracy. And yet, that is not really, despite how indulgently and glee

Miss Livingstone, I presume.

Stage Fright (1950) (SPOILERS) This one has traditionally taken a bit of a bruising, for committing a cardinal crime – lying to the audience. More specifically, lying via a flashback, through which it is implicitly assumed the truth is always relayed. As Richard Schickel commented, though, the egregiousness of the action depends largely on whether you see it as a flaw or a brilliant act of daring: an innovation. I don’t think it’s quite that – not in Stage Fright ’s case anyway; the plot is too ordinary – but I do think it’s a picture that rewards revisiting knowing the twist, since there’s much else to enjoy it for besides.

A herbal enema should fix you up.

Never Say Never Again (1983) (SPOILERS) There are plenty of sub-par Bond s in the official (Eon) franchise, several of them even weaker than this opportunistic remake of Thunderball , but they do still feel like Bond movies. Never Say Never Again , despite – or possibly because he’s part of it – featuring the much-vaunted, title-referencing return of the Sean Connery to the lead role, only ever feels like a cheap imitation. And yet, reputedly, it cost more than the same year’s Rog outing Octopussy .

Do you know the world is a foul sty? Do you know, if you ripped the fronts off houses, you'd find swine? The world's a hell. What does it matter what happens in it?

Shadow of a Doubt (1943) (SPOILERS) I’m not sure you could really classify Shadow of a Doubt as underrated, as some have. Not when it’s widely reported as Hitchcock’s favourite of his films. Underseen might be a more apt sobriquet, since it rarely trips off the lips in the manner of his best-known pictures. Regardless of the best way to categorise it, it’s very easy to see why the director should have been so quick to recognise Shadow of a Doubt 's qualities, even if some of those qualities are somewhat atypical.

I don’t like fighting at all. I try not to do too much of it.

Cuba (1979) (SPOILERS) Cuba -based movies don’t have a great track record at the box office, unless Bad Boys II counts. I guess The Godfather Part II does qualify. Steven Soderbergh , who could later speak to box office bombs revolving around Castro’s revolution, called Richard Lester’s Cuba fascinating but flawed. Which is generous of him.

I think you’re some kind of deviated prevert.

Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb (1964) (SPOILERS) Kubrick’s masterpiece satire of mutually-assured destruction. Or is it? Not the masterpiece bit, because that’s a given. Rather, is all it’s really about the threat of nuclear holocaust? While that’s obviously quite sufficient, all the director’s films are suggested to have, in popular alt-readings, something else going on under the hood, be it exposing the ways of Elite paedophilia ( Lolita , Eyes Wide Shut ), MKUltra programming ( A Clockwork Orange, Full Metal Jacket ), transhumanism and the threat of imminent AI overlords ( 2001: A Space Odyssey ), and most of the aforementioned and more besides (the all-purpose smorgasbord that is The Shining ). Even Barry Lyndon has been posited to exist in a post-reset-history world. Could Kubrick be talking about something else as well in Dr. Strangelove ?

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