57. Rosemary's Baby

Roman Polanski, 1968

Rosemary’s Baby is the king of psychological horror films. Mia Farrow is Rosemary, a young newlywed who moves into a big gothic apartment building with her young actor husband. One night, not long after they’ve moved in, Rosemary has a startling nightmare. It’s not entirely clear what is going on, but it seems that she is being raped by Satan himself. With the morning, she is able to convince herself that it was all a nightmare. A short time later, Rosemary discovers that she is pregnant. She and her husband, and even their neighbors, couldn’t be happier. Hell, hubby’s acting career is picking up too. Sure he got the job after the original actor went somewhat suspiciously blind, but let’s not pick nits, eh? Then things start to go awry. Rosemary is convinced that there is something wrong with the pregnancy. She is loosing a lot of weight and really just looks like Hell warmed over. Her husband doesn’t think it’s anything unusual and her neighbor’s homemade remedies are only making her feel worse. She tries to confide in her doctor, Charles Grodin, but he’s no help. And, worse, she stumbles upon a book that suggests that her neighbors might be devil worshipers. She even finds a secret door connecting the apartments. When she goes through one night, she could swear they were performing a satanic ritual. Or was that just another nightmare? Is any of this happening or is the stress of her pregnancy just making her hysterical?

You see, that’s the thing about Rosemary’s Baby, you, like Rosemary, can never be sure of anything. Up until the very end, director Roman Polanski keeps you guessing. You want to side with Rosemary, but her suspicions are just so unusual and there is the very real possibility that she’s just sick in the head. This is part of what makes Rosemary’s Baby scarier than all ten Friday the 13th movies (except, of course, part 8; I thought for sure he was really going to take Manhattan). Rosemary lives in a world where she cannot trust anyone. Remember, her neighbors may be devil worshippers and her own husband and her doctor may be in on it as well. Then there’s the question of the thing inside her. Is it a baby? Is there really something wrong with the pregnancy? Why? What about that nightmare? Did that really happen? Rosemary’s Baby is that rare terrific horror film that doesn’t rely on monsters or serial killers or gore to frighten the viewer, but on ideas. The possibilities are what’s frightening here. I’m damned tempted to tell you how it all ends, but I won’t. Suffice to say, that’s the scariest thing of all, both what you see at the end and what you don’t.

I cannot say enough good things about Mia Farrow here. To be honest, I haven’t really seen her in anything else. Well, I did see Supergirl, but the less said about that the better. Here, though, you’re with Mia every step of the way. Her fear, for herself and for her unborn child (and, sometimes, because of it) is absolutely palpable. She is no scream queen, but is an intelligent, modern woman faced with bizarre and frightening possibilities. Throughout the film, she is a gaunt steel trap, so tense with the fear around her that you pray its over soon. Farrow also sang the film’s haunting lullaby, which is one of the most unforgettable and, in light of the conclusion, most unsettling themes in all filmdom. It goes without saying, but Rosemary’s Baby is about Rosemary. It’s a brilliant script and a great film, but, without a woman capable of expressing the abject terror that Rosemary goes through, it would fall apart. Luckily, Mia goes above and beyond the call of duty, creating a character who we can actually care about and whose ultimate fate is one we dread knowing.