Review of Rosemary's Baby (1968) by Davey M — 26 Oct 2011

Rosemary hauntingly lulls us into a daze with the opening seconds of Roman Polanski's beautifully dark thriller. The lullaby one would think contrasts with the brooding, almost frightening architecture of The Bramford, but instead acts as a companion.

We enter another world when we pass through that gaping arch and immediately we feel the cold chill of dread and despair. The happy couple of Rosemary and Guy Woodhouse are searching for a bigger apartment in hopes of expanding two to three, but even in the warmer, earlier scenes, atmosphere is building.

Rosemary is so sweet and innocent (even though, after moving in she just non-chalantly suggests to Guy to make love) that every second that oozes by just lowers one further into the dark abyss that Polanski intends to take us into.

His touch is definitely felt throughout, as a man who has known great pain knows never to shy away from it in his films, without irony or parody. Rosemary's Baby remains one of his best not simply because it is one of the greatest horror films ever committed to celluloid.

No, the real treasure of the film is the fact that it unnerves and unsettles the viewer long after the credits have rolled. The first time I saw it (and this was quite some time ago) I hadn't realized what I had seen, but I dwelled upon it in m head, almost like an obsession.

What I now realize is that it is a film of indelible power, one that the first viewing is the most essential, which to me makes it truly transcendent. The first viewing is always the greatest, but, like the snows of yesteryear, is gone from the world the moment you walk out of the theater.

I value it above all else and Rosemary's Baby has given me something very special.