Rosemary's Baby (1968)
It's not what you're expecting.
Year of Release: 1968
Genre: Horror
Rated: R
Running Time: 137 minutes (2:17)
Director: Roman Polanski
Cast:
Mia Farrow ... Rosemary Woodhouse
John Cassavetes ... Guy Woodhouse
Ruth Gordon ... Minnie Castevet
Sidney Blackmer ... Roman Castevet
Maurice Evans ... Hutch
Ralph Bellamy ... Dr. Sapirstein
Victoria Vetri ... Terry
Patsy Kelly ... Laura-Louise
Charles Grodin ... Dr. Hill
William Castle ... Man by Pay Phone (uncredited)
Tony Curtis ... Donald Baumgart (voice) (uncredited)
Summary:
Rosemary and Guy Woodhouse are newlyweds, but Rosemary has no idea that her wedded bliss is about to come to a horrific end. Her husband's ambition as a struggling actor is about to plunge her into an abyss of terror like she has never known. In exchange for a taste of fame, Guy makes a deal with the devil that puts his wife and soul in jeopardy. When Rosemary becomes pregnant, her husband becomes odd, her neighbors border on obsessive and her normal life turns into a surreal nightmare. Slowly, she begins to realize that a seed of evil has been planted... and she is its host.
Review:
Rosemary's Baby, remindin' us that rental assistance is available on the Upper West Side to anyone who's managed to hang onto their soul and is willing to parley.
And speakin' of shady deals, ordinarily my respect for social etiquette would preclude bringin' any additional drama to the internet but this is not an ordinary circumstance, and I'm tellin' everyone right here and now - the miscarriage of justice that went down Thursday night at the ladies' mud wrestling exhibition is exactly why the International Olympic Committee refuses to sanction us as a legitimate sport.
Effective immediately, I am resigning my seat on the Board of Mud Wrestling Affairs at Walleye's Topless Dancin' & Bait Shop, and before I get into exactly what happened for the foreign readers who weren't able to attend or watch the replay on public access, I'd like to address some of the ugly rumors circulatin' about my relationship with the uncrowned champion of Chickawalka County.
1) Randine Tankersley and I are just friends. I can prove this simply by writing out this sentence because were it not the case Duke would have torn my arms off by now.
2) My involvement with her match preparation has been strictly limited to helpin' 'er shave a few hard-to-reach places, and I would like to state, for the record, that I have personally advocated for Randine lettin' her body hair grow back out and wrestling under the name Grizzly Madams.
3) I refuse to date anyone who can beat me in a belching contest.
As you can see, my objection to the outcome of last night's title bout is based solely upon a commitment to fair and equitable semi-nekkid combat, and I'm embarrassed to say that, following a brief post-match conference with the other members of the board, Tetnis and I were outvoted 3-2 in our bid to disqualify Brandi Krebs for outside interference and illegal use of a foreign object. I don't care what anyone says - nipple rings should only be allowed in the ring if they end in a standard barbell configuration.
This may sound nitpicky (or nippicky), but I once saw Bambi Pankins remove one of those spear-tipped suckers that 'er kids gave 'er for Mother's Day and try to stab Otis Turlinger for askin' her to stop makin' fart noises with her armpits while people were tryna bowl. Thankfully she slipped on an onion ring while chasin' Otis around the ball return or he mighta been scarred for life.
I won't recap the entire night, though I would recommend droppin' by if there's ever a rematch between Miranda Chintzley and Sherri Schatz 'cause I got the distinct impression that those two discovered somethin' about themselves durin' their bout that may turn into a full-blown home wrecking if they ever mix it up again.
Now, let me just say that any doubts I may've had about Randine after the way she won the championship back in December are long gone, 'cause she's defended that strap every two weeks like clockwork ever since and in that time she was 18-0 with only one close call when Trudy Eaton got 'er in an Atomic Melvin submission hold and it looked like Randine might tap out until her bikini bottom strap snapped and hit Trudy in the eye.
I know I shouldn't get emotionally involved in this kinda thing, but when I watched Trudy turn that thong into a shoulder strap and saw Randine grit her teeth and fight through it I *felt* somethin'. It was sorta like that time Cleave Furguson bet me $20 that I couldn't stick a stingin' nettle bush in my shorts and keep it there for a full minute, but more than that - I felt pride. Pride in our champion.
Anyhow, I prolly oughta get down to the nitty and let you decide for yourselves whether the title change was the result of a conspiracy or a garden-variety half-assed upbringing, but once you hear the story I think you'll agree that, at the very least, the timing of the interference was suspicious.
Admittedly, because the championship matches are always settled in the Main Event, and because Wade likes to start 'em about five minutes after last call, there is evidence to suggest that portions of the crowd may have been schnozzled into next week, and that said schnozzling could have impacted the audience's behavior during the match. This I'll concede. But everyone who comes through the door hasta pass Tetnis on the way, and they know full well that should they fail to comport themselves with the decency befitting a women's athletic event they will be removed from the premises and have their noses physically introduced to their assholes. Most folks go outta their way to avoid that particular experience - though I acknowledge the existence of a small minority who will pay good money for it.
The match started like any other - Wade announced the participants and allowed time for each to flex their assets before ringin' the bell. Naturally, bein' the big gal she is, Brandi tried to end it quick; fully aware that the longer the match went the more likely she'd suffer some stress-related medical emergency, but Randine stayed one move ahead and eventually managed to use Brandi's weight, momentum, and diabetically compromised ankles to bring her down. I guess if you wanna get technical about it Randine accidentally slipped on a glob of styling mousse left over from the Chintzley/Schatz match, and when Brandi went to crush 'er face with her hind end (a maneuver pioneered by Fannie Ogglesby that she calls the Smiledriver) Randine rolled outta the way.
Randine quickly recovered, leap-frogged Brandi, and locked her in a front chancery, but Brandi was too strong and simply stood up and began shifting Randine into position for a Kryptonite Krunch. Woulda gotten 'er too, but Randine managed to hook Brandi in a headscissors on 'er way over and used those cattle skull-crackin' thighs to pull Brandi over backwards and drive her brainpan into the mud.
I don't even know what to call it, it was like a reverse Canadian Destroyer, but whatever it was the crowd ate it up and I figured that had to be it, only when Tetnis asked Brandi if she wanted to give it up she took a dazed but still powerful swing at 'im and he let the fight continue.
Any way you wanna slice it Brandi was on dream street, and Randine was just kinda lurkin' outside Brandi's range of vision waitin' for her to stand up so she could nail 'er with her patented Ginger Snapper neckbreaker, when all the sudden some dildo climbed up on the dancin' runway where the ring's situated and started makin' unflattering remarks about Randine's flannel-patterned bikini bottoms.
I say "started" 'cause he only managed "where'd ya get them dyke britches?" before Randine spun around with a Billy Jack hook kick that knocked two of the guy's teeth into a pitcher of Pole Cat belongin' to Skeet Snooks and sent the rest of 'im tumblin' head-first onto a plate of buffalo wings that hadda be refunded on account of the hot sauce gettin' all gummed up in his pitiful JV-mustache. The thing of it was, that distraction gave Brandi enough time to steady herself and plant Randine with a 230lb belly-to-belly suplex that knocked the wind clean out of 'er, leavin' Tetnis no choice but to count Randine's shoulders to the mud.
The terrorist in question turned out to be Brandi's nephew, and if that whole thing wasn't a setup I'll eat Brandi's arch supports.
Randine ended up with a coupla cracked ribs following the suplex and so she's gonna be outta action a few months, but alls I know is Brandi better enjoy her asterisk-laden reign while she can, 'cause when Randine heals up there's gonna be hell to pay.
Anybody who'd like to do their part to fight this travesty can sign either of the petitions callin' for the vacating of the title and a tournament to crown an interim champion (circulatin' at the Gutter Bowl and Videodome, respectively), but that's the last you'll hear from me on the subject 'cause if I don't get myself focused on somethin' else I may hafta drive out to Hammer Time Hardware in the mornin' to pick up some replacement wood panelin' for the livin' room.
Fortunately, the second flick in my annual olive branch to polite society is the immortal Rosemary's Baby - which isn't just the grandmammy of the "devil made me do it" flicks, but also one of the finest films to cast against type and bring in Maurice Evans to *fight* the witches.
I've also decided to be one heck of a swell guy and forego the whole discussion about whether it's okay to enjoy a movie made by somebody who oughta have his face hacked off with a lawn mower blade since that kinda thing always brings people down and makes it harder for 'em to appreciate the performance of Mia Farrow as she's besieged on all sides by the forces of darkness. I'm speaking now about the events of Rosemary's Baby and not her subsequent marriage to Woody Allen just in case that was unclear, but let's put that aside and take a quick peek at a few of the flick's less controversial moments and see what kinda unconventional wisdom we can uncover.
First, rush hour traffic *probably* won't flatten you where you stand if you're young, attractive, and nine months pregnant. Second, if an 87-year-old woman goes to the trouble of blockin' a closet with a 200lb dresser, assume there was more than a favorable feng shui rating at stake. And third, the fate of the planet may one day hinge on the abortion policy of the state in which Satan's son is conceived.
The movie begins with Tisa Farrow's sister and John Cassavetes bein' shown around an apartment by a nervous little guy who looks like he can't shake somethin' that happened durin' his screentest with Roman Polanski who then becomes even more upset when he notices a 200lb antique bureau's been pushed up against a closet door to prevent the escape of the various metaphors lurking within. Mia and John decide to rent the place despite the risk of Narnian incursions, but first they hafta break their lease with Maurice Evans who tells 'em about how their new building used to be occupied by a buncha witches who engaged in sadistic tortures before finally agreeing to grant him a divorce from Agnes Moorehead. The couple decide that a few ritual sacrifices are a small price to pay for rent-controlled housing and thumb their noses at superstition by makin' the sign of the argyle snot piranha on the hardwood floors right in front of God and the god-forsaken alike. Then Mia enters into a laundry pact with the reformed junkie next door (Terry) so neither of 'em will hafta wash their delicates alone until Mia's scrubbing buddy goes high-rise diving without a parachute and leaves the sidewalk lookin' like the walls at Mar-A-Lago after a fresh round of unfavorable polling data. Turns out Terry'd been taken in as a stray by a couple old farts (Minnie and Roman) with whom Mia and John share a wall, and upon finding themselves without an aimless 20-something to foist unsolicited advice on they take a shine to the young couple and invite 'em over to their eccentrically decorated apartment to heckle the Pope and use their childless status to question their commitment to American exceptionalism.
The next day, Minnie shows up unbidden with her Pinochle partner and regifts Mia the talisman Terry had been wearin' before she got intimate with the pavement and basically sets up a fun blockade in Mia's livin' room while John presumably suffers a similar fate next door involving the harrowing details of Roman's prostate surgery. Whatever the case, the following day John receives a call from a casting agency offerin' him a gig that'd previously gone to another actor who suddenly went Magoo and so, takin' this as a sign of his good fortune, John suggests they celebrate by kickstartin' an 18-year commitment. It looks like they're gonna hafta call off the sextivities when Minnie interrupts their dinner, but John's able to get rid of 'er after accepting the cups of frozen latte crappuccino pudding she made 'em and things seem to be back on track until Mia gets so dizzy that John hasta lay 'er down so she can have dreams about bein' raped by Satan below deck on the Love Boat while all the members of a senior citizen nudist colony gather 'round and chant some gibberish about the cruelty of gravity. The next mornin', Mia wakes up lookin' like she spent the night wrestlin' a badger and John hasta explain that he wouldna done it except she was at the peak of her cycle and because the new acting role he just landed is gonna make 'im famous and he heard somewhere that women let you do it when you're a star. Then Mia goes to the doctor and finds out she's got an abdominal parasite and that makes 'er so happy that she hasta rush home to split a bottle of Chardonnay with John and the neighbors, start seein' a new obstetrician who received his medical degree on the island of Summerisle (Dr. Sapirstein), and get her hair cut like an 8-year-old boy who wants to look his best for class photo day.
Next thing, Maurice drops by to compliment Mia on her heroin chic makeover, only pretty quick Roman shows up to alleviate concerns about Mia's increasing resemblance to the cast of Carnival of Souls before sneakin' off with one of Maurice's mittens. 'Course Maurice figures his glove just got picked up at the bus depot and used as a pleasure device by some weirdo with a Hamburger Helper fetish so he thinks nothin' of it and starts researchin' this Tannis root smoothie business and uncovers some pretty damning evidence regarding its supposed nutritional properties before makin' plans to meet Mia the next day, only to lapse into a coma upon making the realization that he's become a "well, actually" guy. Meanwhile, cracks in Mia's sanity have been slowly developing as she tries to combat the compulsion to eat raw meat, adjust to a social circle whose members can all give firsthand accounts of the Industrial Revolution, and contend with stomach pain that feels like somethin's wringin' all the amniotic fluid out her her uterus. She begins to suspect that something may be wrong until good ole John is able to mainsplain the intricacies of pregnancy so perfectly that the conversation creates an irony vortex that causes Mia's pain to cease. Time passes and her skin tone returns to caucasian from its previous shade of Elmer's glue, her weight doubles to nearly 100lbs, and everything seems to be goin' fine until Maurice shuffles off the mortal coil to perform Shakespeare in the Sky. She runs into the executor of his estate at the funeral who passes on reading material normally reserved for ostracized teenage girls trying to discover their place in a cruel world and Mia's deep-dive uncovers the picture of a warlock who turns out to've been Roman's father or possibly President Grant.
Mia fears Roman shares the Crowley gene with his father and goes to tell Sapirstein that geriatric Satanists livin' in a high-rise apartment building on the Upper West Side have designs on her unborn child, but Sapirstein explains that hers is a perfectly natural conclusion to arrive at while submerged beneath a flood of estrogen and not to worry because the collapse of Roman's empire is imminent due to an aggressive cancer that has led him to spend his remaining days visiting family in the Brocken. Then Mia goes lookin' for the book Maurice left her and when she finds out John pitched it she's so miffed that she durn near asserts herself and goes to buy another copy where she learns about curses and the material requirements thereof before makin' a phone call and findin' out that the actor John replaced lent him a tie the day before his affliction struck, confirming that he was, in fact, blinded by pseudoscience. Her conclusions bolstered, she returns to Sapirstein's office and just about gets an appointment before the receptionist tips 'er off about the similar aromatic scents shared by her talisman and Sapirstein's deodorant until she gets this look on her face like she just woke up married to Woody Allen and gets her encumbered tail outta there. She then goes to see her original doctor (Hill) and spills her guts about the shoddy detective work that took place in 17th Century Salem but the only devilry he senses is that of the red guy's lettuce. So Hill rats her out to Sapirstein and John who try takin' 'er home until she deliberately overturns 'er purse and manages to escape her security detail long enough to reach her apartment, only to find that the rest of the coven has prepared a surprise baby shower. That's probably far enough, but if you haven't already seen this one you'll definitely wanna stick around for the conclusion wherein we get to see just how far that "face only a mother could love" axiom extends.
And with that, a subpar decade for domestic genre films gained a last-minute moment of redemption. The '60s started strong with Psycho and The Birds, but the decade was largely carried by the British Hammer films, supernaturally themed Japanese titles, and the Gothic works of Italian director Mario Bava. Even Roger Corman's flicks (considered his best by many Horror fans) were predominantly European costume dramas based upon Edgar Allen Poe stories, so it wasn't until the decade was comin' to a close that we finally got more decent American offerings with the releases of Night of the Living Dead and Rosemary's Baby. The former is the more important of the two, but Rosemary's Baby is by far the superior production and a rare example of a film that runs nearly two and a half hours long without losing its sense of intrigue.
It wouldn't be long before the arrival of the 1970s ushered in a shift towards bleak, gritty storytelling with an increased focus on violence and bloodletting, but Rosemary's Baby's potboiler approach to a woman slowly uncovering the details of a supernatural conspiracy without the need for axe murders pays out just enough line (and keeps it taut) to keep us invested. It could be argued that (with the exception of a single horrific scene) the flick skews more toward the Mystery genre, as Mia Farrow slowly comes to grips with the motivations and strange behavior of those around her until the payoff ultimately brings the film squarely back into Horror territory, and this is what makes the movie both popular and accessible to a broader audience.
The subject matter is horrifying enough for genre fans (at least those who attended the theatrical release or grew up watching it on cable), but the psychological case study approach that precludes violence and gore keeps it above board for folks who would otherwise raise their noses at the idea of attending films of this genre, and this appeal to a wide swath of the movie-going public made it a cultural phenomenon. Even if the Academy still considered it beneath them, as they demonstrated by failing to even nominate Mia Farrow for an Oscar. I'll bet that bitter, grumpy old Frank Sinatra got to the Academy. Probably phoned 'em up and was like - "You turkeys give my ungrateful ex-wife the Oscar for that trash and I'll go on Laugh-In and sing 'High Hopes' till everyone scrapes their ears off with a cheese grater" or somethin'.
Anyway, let's have a quick gnaw on this baby's umbilical cord and see if it's tough enough to withstand the rigors of a modern society that assigns greater importance to dental care.
The plot is, in a broad sense, simple and straightforward, but thoroughly fleshed out with strong attention to detail after having its story whittled down from an original running time of over four hours by editor Sam O'Steen. With the exception of one shocking moment that occurs mid-film, the plot features no strange twists or turns and follows a linear path of utter hopelessness for the protagonist, as the conspiracy against her remains one step ahead in its anticipation of her every move. This may be interpreted as dull by some, but the sequence of events is laid out in such a way as to establish that these Satanists have prepared tirelessly for this moment and devised contingency plans to deal with every potential pitfall to ramp up the audience's sense of dread. It's a slow build to be sure, but O'Steen created what is essentially a perfect cut of the film after removing two hours of footage, yet ensured every scene that made the final cut either heightened the paranoia or tightened the noose, and it's a testament to the talents of both editor and screenwriters that a flick which is now over 55 years old and runs nearly two and a half hours keeps pace and remains faithful to its source material.
The acting is phenomenal, with Mia Farrow giving one of the most sympathetic performances in genre history which, in conjunction with her increasingly hopeless circumstances, makes for an unforgettable flick. As the film progresses the situation becomes Mia against the world, and with the odds stacked so steeply against her, she is given the difficult task of projecting abject fear while still keeping herself together just enough for the viewer to maintain a tiny sliver of hope that she may somehow find salvation. John Cassavetes is suitably slimy as the shortcut-inclined husband willing to sacrifice his firstborn to secure the lead in a hit series, while Maurice Evans and Sidney Blackmer add dueling performances laden with old-world charm to help round out the supporting cast. That said, the most pivotal role outside that of the protagonist is Ruth Gordon's portrayal of the seemingly well-meaning, obsessive neighbor with a sinister secret, and she pulls off one of the best two-faced displays you'll ever see. She gets third billing, but her part is arguably more important than Cassavetes', and her matter-of-fact, won't-take-no-for-an-answer performance plays so well against Mia Farrow's deferential demeanor that she's able to build up a lot of heat from the audience while stealing just about every scenes she's in. You won't find a weak link in the cast, but Gordon's manipulation of Farrow and the sympathy it garners earn the flick a perfect score on the acting front.
Heres who matters and why (less Mia Farrow, Tony Curtis, and William Castle): John Cassavetes (The Incubus, The Fury), Ruth Gordon (Voyage of the Rock Aliens, Don't Go to Sleep, Look What's Happened to Rosemary's Baby), Sidney Blackmer (The Lady and the Monster), Maurice Evans (Planet of the Apes, Beneath the Planet of the Apes, The Six Million Dollar Man: The Solid Gold Kidnapping, Terror in the Wax Museum, The Body Stealers), Ralph Bellamy (The Wolf Man, Something Evil, The Ghost of Frankenstein), Victoria Vetri (When Dinosaurs Ruled the Earth, Invasion of the Bee Girls), Patsy Kelly (The Gorilla), Elisha Cook Jr. (Messiah of Evil, Salem's Lot, Dead of Night 1977, Blacula, The Night Stalker, Night Slaves, The Haunted Palace, Black Zoo, House on Haunted Hill 1959, Voodoo Island), Charles Grodin (King Kong 1976), Hanna Landy (Return 1985, Mysterious Planet, Monstroid, Dark Echos, The Night that Panicked America), Phil Leeds (Saturday the 14th Strikes Back, Frankenstein's Great Aunt Tillie), Hope Summers (Evil Town), Marianne Gordon (The Being, The Legend of Blood Mountain), Wende Wagner (Destination Inner Space), Rutanya Alda (Amityville Horror II, The Dark Half, Night of the Wolf, Steel, The Stuff, Christmas Evil, Girls Nite Out, The Fury, The Terminal Man, When a Stranger Calls).
Plus: Bill Baldwin (Scream of the Wolf, The Bamboo Saucer, The Unknown Terror, Beginning of the End, Revenge of the Creature, Abbott and Costello Go to Mars), Walter Baldwin (The Devil Commands), Roy Barcroft (The Purple Monster Strikes, Radar Men from the Moon, Destination Inner Space, Billy the Kid vs. Dracula, The Vampire's Ghost, Flash Gordon Conquers the Universe, The Phantom Creeps, Glash Gordon's Trip to Mars, Flash Gordon 1936), Gail Bonney (The Devil's Daughter 1973, The Tingler, Bud Abbott and Lou Costello Mee the Killer Boris Karloff), Carol Brewster (Cat-Women of the Moon, Untamed Women), Sebastian Brook (The Jekyll and Hyde Portfolio), Roger Creed (Damnation Alley, Jesse James Meets Frankenstein's Daughter), Jane Crowley (Phantom of the Rue Morgue, The War of the Worlds 1953, M 1951, Bedlam), Alphonso Dubois (Young Frankenstein), Duke Fishman (Jesse James Meets Frankenstein's Daughter, 20 Million Miles to Earth, It Came from Beneath the Sea).
And the rest: John Halloran (Kronos, Cult of the Cobra), Ernest Harada (Wicked Stepmother, Dreamscape), Marilyn Harvey (The Astounding She-Monster), Ray Johnson (The Monster and the Girl), Irene Kelly (Enter the Devil 1972), Jack Knight (Class of 1999 II, Wicked Wicked), Louise Lawson (The Creeping Terror), Craig Littler (Superbeast), Donna Mantoan (Blood of the Iron Maiden), Natalie Masters (The Vampire 1957, The Bad Seed 1956), Elmer Modlin (Edge of the Axe, Beaks: The Movie), Robert Osterloh (I Bury the Living, Invasion of the Body Snatchers 1956, The Day the Earth Stood Still 1951), George R. Robertson (Murder by Phone), Almira Sessions (Willard 1971), Tom Signorelli (Alice Sweet Alice), Clay Tanner (Race with the Devil), Eleanore Vogel (M 1951, Bedlam), Max Wagner (Young Frankenstein, Terror in the Wax Museum, Donovan's Brain 1953, Invaders from Mars 1953, Mighty Joe Young 1949).
And the glory hounds: John Cassavetes (Maurice Aarons in Opening Night, Nickey in Mikey and Nicky, Robert Harmon in Love Streams, Gus Dimetri in Husbands, Victor Franco in The Dirty Dozen, Johnny North in The Killers), Ruth Gordon (Maude in Harold and Maude), Sidney Blackmer (Seth Lord in High Society, Arthur Higgins in People Will Talk), Maurice Evans (Maurice on Bewitched), Ralph Bellamy (James Morse in Pretty Woman, Mike Barnett in the TV series Man Against Crime, and Bruce Baldwin in His Girl Friday), Patsy Kelly (Mac in The Naked Kiss), Emmaline Henry (Amanda Bellows on Bewitched, Kate Dickens on I'm Dickens He's Fenster), Charles Grodin (Jonathan Mardukas in Midnight Run, Lenny Cantrow in The Heartbreak Kid, Harrison Winslow in Heart and Souls, Nicky Holiday in The Great Muppet Caper, Tony ABbott in Heaven Can Wait), Hope Summers (Clara Edwards on The Andy Griffith Show, Hattie Denton on The Rifleman, Belinda Catherwood on Hawkins Falls: A Television Novel), Marianne Gordon (Marianna Magnolia on Hee Haw), Wende Wagner (Lenore Case on The Green Hornet), Rutanya Alda (Angela in The Deer Hunter), Bill Baldwin (the narrator on Bat Masterson, the announcer on The Bob Cummings Show, the narrator on Harbor Command), Roy Barcroft (Col. Logan on The Adventures of Spin and Marty), Jean Inness (Beatrice Fain on Dr. Kildare), Craig Littler (Jason on Jason of Star Command), George R. Robertson (Chief Hurst in the Police Academy movies).
The special effects are limited due to the mainstream appeal sought by the studio and the age of the film, and fortunately, its successes in other areas create an atmosphere that eliminates the need for elaborate gore effects. That's not to say that the flick is an entirely bloodless affair, and although the blood running down the sidewalk following the suicide of Victoria Vetri is too bright and shares a consistency with paint, the sickly makeup applied to Mia Farrow is excellent, the scratches on her back are convincing, and the devil's hands and face are pretty creepy as well. Truthfully, the movie was conceived and constructed in such a way that disgusting gore effects would actually hurt it as they would be tonally inconsistent with the rest of the film, so this is a rare instance where less really is more.
The shooting locations, and particularly the sets and production design, are exquisite. From the opening crane shot of Manhattan's Upper West side to the leisurely trip through the lobby of the Dakota Hotel and the various NYC landmarks that follow (Radio City Music Hall, the Time-Life Building, etc.), the movie's a snapshot of late 1960s Manhattan, and a surprisingly clean one at that. Locals will enjoy the look back at what was (I mean, in as much as New Yorkers are capable of enjoying anything), but the area where the production design really shines is in the set decoration of Farrow and Cassavetes' apartment prior to their leasing it, and the adjoining room occupied by the kindly old Satanists. The beautiful antique furniture and old-world design of these two rooms immediately establish the sophisticated, well-traveled nature of the building's occupants and paint a picture that reveals the clout and financial security afforded them by the various quid pro quo they've received from the man downstairs. No doubt the furniture must have consumed a fair portion of the production's budget, but it's areas like this where big-budget features have the opportunity to show off and earn extra credit points. Very, very good production design, and superb cinematography by William Fraker who would go on to ply his wares on such films as Bullitt, Paint Your Wagon, Wargames, and Tombstone.
The soundtrack effectively taps into the theme of impending motherhood with a mildly sinister lullaby that includes vocals by Farrow, while also managing a catchy, unique sound that feels tailor-made for the script. I harp on this all the time but credit where it's due - Krzysztof Komeda's score is one of the earliest examples of a Horror soundtrack where the score is in tune with the events on screen, catchy, and successfully coaleses with the story to build a finished product greater than the sum of its parts. The soundtrack centered around one particularly effective piece and laden with remixes utilizing different instruments and pacing as the plot dictates would become the standard in the coming years, but Komeda's score is a superior early textbook example of that formula. Unfortunately, just months after completing the score, Komeda would develop a brain clot following a fall at a party and pass away a short time later, but his contribution to Rosemary's Baby cannot be overstated, as his music adds another strong showing for the film's technical score.
Overall, Rosemary's Baby is among the great socially acceptable genre flicks of the 20th Century and boasts high production values that elevate it above the vast majority of the genre output of the era, while still packing a punch nearly 60 years after its original theatrical run. Incredibly tame by modern standards, it remains a solid choice for a Sunday afternoon and features so many great visuals that it will probably never reach obsolescence despite the continuing trend of diminishing attention spans. If you haven't gotten around to it be sure to check it out, and if you have, check it out every few years regardless.
Rating: 87%