The Apple is a merciless depiction of neo-Eden, flawless in its presentation. Brilliant Israeli director Menahem Golan is the master of his craft. When Copernicus first asserted that the sun, not Earth, was the center of the universe, he attained immediate pariah-status. Yet time proved that he was correct and a brilliant visionary. Those who disparage this starkly beautiful film are those who disparaged Copernicus so many years ago, witness and myopic in their world view. Golan has created a world that is uncanny in its resonance to today's post-Clintonian United States, where corporations choose what music Americans will enjoy and where police officers "break into dance," a subversive symbol of the racial injustice that is today's police force. Dancing nuns? Nostradamus would be proud that Golan could foresee, way back in 1980, the "dance" around the facts of child molestation within the Catholic church. This is truly a tour de force of film verite. In its own brilliant, pitiless way, The Apple evokes our own age in its quest for glitter and success. The Apple doesn't moralize over the fate of the beautiful Mr. Boogelow, who loved so unwisely, although his last song is a thoroughly chilling comment on his life and the world in which he lived (1980).
Catherine Mary Stewart, starlet of The Apple, is a poet and with The Apple as her canvass, this film is as great a cycle of poems as has been written in this century by any poet. This film is so rich and varied that it is difficult to convey how much there is to it. Cleverly constructed, there are hints and cross-references to hidden (and obvious) meanings throughout. Truth and falsity, reality and illusion are constant throughout, side by side, often difficult to differentiate. The Apple is a highly literate, ingenious and intelligent theatrical entertainment, probably cinema's most accomplished screenplay. But while one must respect the screenwriter's wit and erudition, it strikes me as the work of a brilliant impersonator rather than a dramatist with his own authentic voice. The film smells more of the lamp than of the musk of human experience.