My Mom Made Me Watch: ‘APARTMENT 143’

My mother is the reason I’m a genre film fan; it’s all her fault. Over the years I’ve made her countless lists of movies I think she’ll like. I made her watch Session 9 and Pontypool, and finally talked her into seeing Shaun of the Dead.

My mom got a Roku for Christmas. The tables have turned.

I suddenly find myself inundated with recommendations and Netflix instant discoveries. She’s digging deep. Most of her suggestions are indie, low budget, or “what’s that?” horror films.

My mom may have informed my cinematic tastes, but she’s also the woman who forced me to watch Devil in the theater, and goaded me into bumping Chernobyl Diaries and Apollo 18 up my queue. No one’s perfect.

Her tastes may sometimes be questionable, but she’s my mom, and I still do what she says. Because of her I watched Apartment 143.

This 2011 found footage horror film scared her so much she was relieved when I happened to call her in the middle of the day. While I am not anti-found footage, she is decidedly pro, and this film does do some interesting things within the genre. But I’m getting ahead of myself…

A team of parapsychologists are called in to help a family that’s being terrorized by an unknown force in their apartment. There’s little set up before we get phantom door bell rings and the shrill sounding of the oldest and creepiest phone still in use. It’s effective. As is the info dumping that takes place under the guise of explaining gadgets to the family’s youngest member. It’s an interesting way to educate the viewer in the technical side of “ghost hunting.”

But this isn’t a haunted house story. Or it is. In order to explain why I ended up not enjoying this film I have to give away specific plot points, so beware. Our very learned doctor, Michael O’Keefe (Aunt Jackie’s husband [wait, did they ever get married?] on Roseanne), explains that all the creepy happenings are because of the hormonal, schizophrenic teen daughter that also happens to have psychokinetic powers, and a dead mom. No ghost. Lots of other stuff, but no ghost. The word poltergeist is thrown around a bunch. And a medium is brought in. But our fine doctor keeps telling us there’s no ghost; this is what angsty girls with trauma and special powers and mental illness do.

At least I think that’s what happened.

Because there’s levitation. And voices. And there’s an image the aforementioned dead mother in a photo that mysteriously gets erased. So is the doctor wrong? Was his diagnosis misinformed? Is the really unnecessary final scare pointless? I honestly don’t know, and I fancy myself a savvy viewer. Things were a bit unclear for my liking, and when they were spelled out, I still managed to lose my footing. With no rudder to guide you through the film’s myriad themes and conflicting information, the story as a whole suffers.

Apartment 143 is chock full of interesting ideas. Mental instability and telekinesis manifesting to produce a false haunting? Awesome. A whodunit where a malevolent spirit is trying to guide suspicions? Yes! Oh my, but this muddled and foggy movie is not that.

With solid performances (aside from the flat O’Keefe) and likeable characters, it’s far from unwatchable. At the very least it’s bound to get some conversation going, so kudos to the filmmakers for that. That said, my mom tells me I’m over thinking it.