The Sentinel came out in 1977 at what seemed like the tail-end of the “Watch Out For The Devil” phase (AKA: “Only The Catholic Church Can Save Us”). It followed films like Rosemary’s Baby, The Exorcist, Beyond the Door, and The Omen, where Old Scratch had a hankering to break on through to the Other Side and screw around with some poor schmuck’s life.

The Sentinel is the tale of Alison Parker, a rising commercial model who finds the Holy Grail of deals in New York reality: a two-bedroom apartment for $400. A quick search on the interwebs shows me that’s around $1500 a month in today’s prices. Another search shows apartments go between $4 and $8000 in 2020.

Holy. Shit.

So, Alison’s problem, of course, is her neighbors range from quirky (one old man likes to give his cat birthday parties, cake and all) to fucking bizarre (a pair of lesbians invite her over for tea, and believe fondling themselves to orgasm is the best way to say “can you bring over our mail if it accidentally goes to your place?”)

This is only that much scarier to me because I did have a roommate once who believed self-abuse in our common area was acceptable behavior. (Spoiler alert to anyone who has or is thinking about getting a roommate: it isn’t.)

The one neighbor she really doesn’t have much of a problem with is an old, blind priest who lives on the fifth floor above her. His hobbies include staring out windows ominously, laying cryptic clues as to why the brownstone is ground zero for bat-shit crazy people, and who is the Sentinel in the film’s title. But who knows? I saw Spotlight. Maybe he’s as tainted as the others and the Church just relocated him there because he had some “problems” in another district.

Now, it might not seem like it, but I really love this movie. I’ve seen it several times and often write to it in the background (perhaps an omen unto itself why my work doesn’t sell). But there’s something about the mystery of the apartment, the natural charm and beauty of Alison, and the creepy vibe of her past traumas that hook me in every time (I’m a sucker for women protagonists haunted by their own personal demons).

The film is also filled with talent: Ava Gardener, Burgess Meredith, Christopher Walken, Jeff Goldblum, Eli Wallach, Jerry Orbach, and Beverly D’Angelo. Tom Berenger even makes a cameo at the end. And dammit, who doesn’t like watching Chris Sarandon at the top of his game, playing a character whose motives you’re never quite sure of (my sympathy to the poor bastard, however, for having to spend eternity in a white linen suit circa 1976).

But watching it, I realized the movie could never be remade today. In today’s landscape, Alison would just shrug at her neighbors’ peculiarities. I’ve seen more than my fair share of “Judge Judy”; there are way worse people you could live next to. For $400 a month, Alison would just hunker down and smile as she goes up and down the stairwell. Hell, for that kind of rent, I’d be willing to sing “Happy Birthday” to a cat too.