The Tenant (1976)

Roman Polanski’s The Tenant (Le Locataire, 1976) is a slow-burning psychological horror film that crawls under your skin and lingers long after the credits roll. The third entry in what has been retrospectively dubbed Polanski’s “Apartment Trilogy” (following Repulsion [1965] and Rosemary’s Baby [1968]), The Tenant is perhaps the most subtle and unsettling of the three. It is a Kafkaesque descent into madness, paranoia, and identity dissolution, wrapped in the eerie claustrophobia of a Parisian apartment building.

Based on the novel Le Locataire Chimérique by Roland Topor, the film blurs the lines between psychological thriller, existential horror, and absurdist tragedy. It is as much about personal disintegration as it is about the oppressive forces of society—how one’s sense of self can be eroded by external scrutiny, isolation, and fear.

Plot Overview

The film follows Trelkovsky (Roman Polanski), a quiet and unassuming Polish office worker in Paris who rents an apartment recently vacated by a woman named Simone Choule, who attempted suicide by jumping out the window. From the moment he moves in, Trelkovsky finds himself in a hostile, suffocating environment. The building’s tenants are officious, petty, and intolerant of noise or any perceived disruption to the building’s rigid norms. Trelkovsky's every action is policed—his visitors are frowned upon, his behavior is constantly criticized, and his autonomy slowly eroded.

As he delves deeper into Simone Choule’s past, Trelkovsky begins to suspect a conspiracy: that the other tenants—and perhaps the entire building—are trying to transform him into the previous occupant, driving him to repeat her fate. Whether this is true or a projection of a deteriorating mind is left tantalizingly ambiguous. The narrative unfolds with an increasing sense of dread, culminating in a chillingly surreal finale that circles back on itself with nightmarish precision.

Roman Polanski as Trelkovsky

Polanski casting himself as Trelkovsky was a risky and deeply personal choice. His performance is understated but powerful. He plays the character with a mix of passive bewilderment and suppressed panic, embodying a man crushed under the weight of scrutiny, xenophobia, and internalized shame. As Trelkovsky becomes more paranoid, dressing in Simone’s clothes and adopting her habits, his identity fractures in a manner both tragic and terrifying.

Trelkovsky is not a traditional protagonist. He is largely reactive, timid, and withdrawn—traits that make his psychological unraveling more credible and affecting. There’s a poignant vulnerability in Polanski’s portrayal that turns the character into a kind of existential martyr—an everyman lost in an uncaring, incomprehensible world.

Themes and Interpretations

Identity and Alienation:

At its core, The Tenant is an exploration of the fragility of identity. Trelkovsky, already an outsider as a Polish immigrant in France, becomes progressively dehumanized. He is never fully accepted, constantly watched, and subtly coerced into conformity. His individuality is stripped away until he becomes a vessel for another's ghostly presence—or perhaps merely his own madness.

Paranoia and Surveillance:

Much like Rear Window or 1984, the film deals with the psychological effects of being watched. The apartment building functions as a panopticon, where Trelkovsky’s every movement is subject to judgment. The seemingly trivial complaints of his neighbors become instruments of oppression, turning the mundane into the menacing.

Transgression and Repression:

There is a strong undercurrent of repressed sexuality and gender identity in the film. As Trelkovsky takes on Simone's habits—smoking her brand of cigarettes, wearing her clothes, applying her makeup—the transformation seems less like a descent into madness and more a painful shedding of imposed identity. Whether this transformation is a symptom of schizophrenia or an allegory for deeper identity issues, Polanski refuses to make it clear.

Existential Horror:

More than jump scares or monsters, the horror in The Tenant comes from a gradual unraveling of the self. It evokes the Kafkaesque terror of a world governed by arbitrary rules and faceless authority. Like The Trial, The Tenant presents a protagonist who is punished not for his actions, but for his very existence.

Visual and Aesthetic Choices

Polanski and cinematographer Sven Nykvist (Ingmar Bergman’s longtime collaborator) create a suffocating atmosphere. The camera lingers in tight spaces and uses long takes to instill unease. The apartment itself becomes a character: a decaying, oppressive space filled with ominous silences and faint noises that prey on the nerves.

Lighting is naturalistic but dim, enhancing the sense of entrapment. Mirrors and windows frequently appear as visual motifs, underscoring themes of reflection, surveillance, and psychological doubling. The recurring image of the communal bathroom across the courtyard—particularly the scene where Trelkovsky witnesses figures eerily standing still inside it—is one of the film’s most disturbing and inexplicable moments, echoing The Shining in its use of uncanny repetition.

Philippe Sarde’s score is minimal but effective, featuring a chilling main theme that suggests inevitability and despair.

Reception and Legacy

At the time of its release, The Tenant received a mixed critical reception. Many found it slow, opaque, and too cerebral. However, in the decades since, it has been reassessed as one of Polanski’s most accomplished and disturbing works. It is now considered a cult classic of psychological horror, praised for its subtlety and existential depth.

The film anticipates later horror explorations of identity and mental breakdown, influencing filmmakers like Darren Aronofsky (Black Swan), David Lynch (Eraserhead, Mulholland Drive), and Ari Aster (Hereditary). Its legacy lies in its capacity to disturb not through gore or shock, but through mood, suggestion, and the horror of disintegration from within.

Final Thoughts

The Tenant is not a film for casual viewing. It demands attention, patience, and a willingness to enter a deeply uncomfortable psychological space. But for those who engage with it on its terms, it is an unforgettable experience—a dark, surreal plunge into madness and societal estrangement.

Polanski crafts a tale that is at once highly personal and universally resonant. Whether viewed as a metaphor for mental illness, an allegory for social alienation, or a reflection on the immigrant experience, The Tenant succeeds in capturing the disorienting terror of losing oneself.

A chilling, enigmatic masterpiece of psychological horror—claustrophobic, tragic, and hauntingly relevant.