Movies are interesting because of the extraordinary stories they tell. Even documentaries often focus on the fantastic exceptions to life’s typical cadence. Viewers can observe and rest at night knowing the content is imaginative creation or, thankfully, not their real-life situation. Since starting through AFI’s Top 100, I have unexpectedly been exposed to perspectives that are not too far-fetched to be relatable. This realization smacked me in the face while watching The Apartment (1960), number eighty on AFI’s list.

The questions I found most pertinent while watching The Apartment were: what am I willing to do to get ahead and what is the point of my actions or “achievements”. Jack Lemmon’s C.C. Baxter is a corporate go-getter working in New York City for a large insurance company of 30,000-plus employees. His profession and membership in a large workforce is important to note because they provide perspective. Baxter is one man trying to establish personal success in a large corporation to carve himself a comfortable place within one of the world’s most populated cities situated in a bigger, more diverse world. Counter to his ambitions, however, Baxter is only going to find success if those higher in the organization notice him through the clutter of the masses and then feel magnanimous enough to extend an uplifting hand. As someone who works in the insurance industry, both the setting and the main character’s aspirations hit a highly-relatable chord. Truly, like any corporation in the world, those at the upper echelons can play God in their decision of whom to promote, hold in place, or dismiss. Despite claims of individual empowerment and innovation being the building blocks for a rewarding career, earning that new position or pay increase depends on someone else’s discretion. The Apartment uses corporate hierarchy as the orbital body around which the film’s events revolve. Baxter works on the nineteenth floor, which means he is a mid-level employee in title and location. His workday passes as he sits at a desk among a sea of desks, co-workers indistinguishable from one another, and working until the close-of-business bell allows everyone to return to their lives. The executives sit on level twenty-seven, and employees from the lower floors do not go above their level unless summoned and granted admission by an executive secretary. Set in present-day 1960, the bosses are all men who give more power and importance to their positions than is warranted. This is the stage upon which the film’s characters attempt to navigate their lives.

To overcome the hurdles of corporate ascendancy, C.C. Baxter used all the resources at his disposal, primarily those outside the office, to get noticed by his superiors. In 1960, apparently, it was common practice for men of power to have mistresses, and, in this case, those mistresses were often women from the office, a glaringly inappropriate arrangement by today’s standards. While I am not naive enough to believe the “man-in-power and mistress” relationship is an artifact from a prior era, like a Norman Rockwell memorialization of Americana, these types of liaisons are at the root of almost every decision the characters make. Women were treated as disposable collectibles who did not possess a valid, independent thought in their heads. The Apartment establishes a pretty clear picture that certain men believe the world is theirs and others must kowtow to their every command, and worse, desire, which is where C.C. Baxter establishes an accommodating solution. A bachelor living alone in a New York City apartment, Baxter offers his residence to his superiors on a nightly basis for them to use for personal purposes. In return, Baxter receives favorable reviews at work and, eventually, promotions. Baxter has no inherently nefarious intentions behind making his apartment available for those who hold little regard for family and others; he is simply trying to upgrade his life, something he would like to view as harmless. As the film progresses, however, we see the cost of those actions and the emotional destruction left in the wake of duplicitous affairs.

Here is the point where the film subtly unfolds emotional and existential conflict under the guise of light-hearted comedy. The message is clear: our actions have consequences and impact more than ourselves. So the questions persist. What are you willing to do to get ahead? If you achieve your goals, what was the point and was it worth it? Mileage in answers will vary from person to person, though I cannot imagine anyone is completely comfortable placing their livelihood and welfare in someone else’s hands. Not only is there tremendous risk, this reliance on others creates yet another variable in life where you end up beholden to the demands of another. Perhaps, that is why individuals may feel the innate desire to rise as high as possible. The higher you go, the fewer people there are above you, and the fewer people of “higher standing” you must answer to. Too much self-analysis in this vein can lead to some dark and upsetting revelations, that perhaps we are wasting our days by not pursuing what is truly important to us.

Well, now that an essay about the merits of The Apartment turned into a socially introspective moment, how was the movie? It was fantastic. Jack Lemmon and Shirley MacLaine were legendary. The supporting cast was equally superb from Dr. Dreyfuss (Jack Kruschen) advising Baxter to wisen up and be a “mensch” (a human being) to Mr. Sheldrake (Fred MacMurray) playing the ignorant villain by acting upon his sense of manipulative superiority. Any film that can positively distract from the art to leave the conversation hanging on its broader commentary is a powerful contribution to cinema. Yes, The Apartment belongs on AFI’s list. This movie serves as illustration for how poorly we can treat our fellow humans and also how small acts of caring for others can change their worlds. Respect yourself. Be good to others. Watch this movie.