Rosemary's Baby (1968) - a bright wall in a dark room.

4 months ago

Rosemary’s Baby (1968)

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by Andrew Root

Roman Polanski’s landmark horror/drama (and his first American film) is an awkward movie for at least the first 90 minutes. In the first scene following the credits, Rosemary (Mia Farrow) and her husband Guy (perhaps so named because he could literally be anyone else, but is here played by John Cassavetes) are being shown an apartment. They meet the realtor outside of the building, and the doorman is in the foreground of the shot. And then he just kind of wanders out of frame, barely leaving the viewer enough time to realize that the protagonists are being introduced somewhere towards the back. At first, I was willing to accept this awkwardness as a part of the masterpiece that the film is touted to be. Other such moments occur, as when the realtor discovers that an enormous chest of drawers has been mysteriously dragged in front of a closet door. Rosemary notices some marks on the carpet and guesses that the previous tenant (an 89 year-old woman) moved it. The remark is followed by a good few seconds of silence during which (I assumed) the audience was meant to stew on that tidbit of information, mentally digesting the incongruous image of an elderly woman shifting a piece of furniture it takes two grown men to displace.

If this moment is deliberate, it’s one of the few. Almost immediately following this scene, Rosemary and Guy move into the apartment. As they unpack and set up, the ambient sounds are implausibly present. The silence of the two characters cannot help but be noticed. Soon the two have finished their travail and are picnicking on the living room floor, and Rosemary suggests they make love. What follows is more silence: a full sixty seconds of uncut film where the characters undress by rote. The camera cuts once to hide Mia Farrow’s nakedness, and then there’s another 30 seconds of silence. Ninety straight seconds of silence makes for an awkward moment, and it adds nothing to the scene. The characters are comfortable enough with each other to suggest sex spontaneously. The aforementioned cut and a body double protect Farrow’s decency, so it couldn’t have been to showcase the actress’s physicality (p.s. Eat a sandwich, Mia Farrow! Come on!).

Before too long, the Woodhouses meet the Castevets—their invasive neighbours—who are introduced in a scene with such terrible acting that it might have been intentional (though I’m not convinced). There’s something odd about these two, though it’s difficult to pinpoint. They’re more obnoxious than eerie, and Rosemary’s suspicion of them springs forth suddenly out of a block of irritation. The film never really connects the dots between their intrusiveness and the Satanic cult they run in their free time. After the film finishes, you can certainly look back and spot the gossamer strands of correlation between certain scenarios or relationships—but rather than seeming revelatory, the recognition merely appears with a dull thud of recognition. Yup, that happened.

Ruth Gordon (who would later portray Maude in Harold & Maude) actually won an Oscar for her portrayal of the relentlessly obstrusive Minnie. Her performance as a nosy but good-natured know-it-all is littered with genuine nuance (such as when she quickly polishes the divot made in the floor when Rosemary drops the kitchen knife), but one gets the idea that she doesn’t know she’s in a horror film. It’s a very naturalistic performance, but I don’t necessarily mean that in a good way.

Throughout the viewing of this film, I flip-flopped between believing that Rosemary Woodhouse was treated so poorly because it was important to the story for her to be downtrodden and easily manipulated, and believing that just about everyone involved viewed the character as innately stupid. Granted, for the first forty minutes of the film she is infantile in her demeanour, style of dress, and cadence of speech (her voice sounds like a honey dipped Disney princess), but the filmmakers include a number of scenes in which she is uselessly belittled. It’s frustrating because Rosemary never reacts to these abuses, never lets it affect her character. For example, when she pops into the apartment with her now iconic pixie haircut (which she got for no apparent reason), the scene plays out like this:

INT – Apartment. Guy is rehearsing for his new play. Rosemary enters with a new haircut.

Guy: What’s that?

Rosemary (smiling): I’ve been to Vidal Sassoon.

Guy: I hope you didn’t pay for that!

Rosemary (still smiling): Guy, I have a pain…

Guy: Did you go to the doctor?

Rosemary: I’ll go on Wednesday.

Guy: That’s ridiculous! Why didn’t you go see Dr. Saperstein! Why didn’t you go?

Rosemary: I see him regularly on Wednesdays.

END OF SCENE.

What a pointless, unfocussed exchange! She literally has no reaction to her husband’s insult (which is not playful by any stretch of the imagination). That type of hairstyle takes a lot of upkeep. He must have been telling her she looked stupid for months. In another scene, he calls Rosemary’s well-meaning friends “a bunch of not-very-bright bitches who ought to mind their own goddamn business.” Does Rosemary defend her friends? No. Does she protest Guy’s vicious use of language? No. Does she – on an acting level – change her intention or her motivation? NO.

An outburst I had while watching this film goes as follows: Were people in the 60s stupid? A pregnant woman is told by her doctor not to “read any books,” or to listen to her friends because “no two pregnancies are exactly alike,” that the intense pain she’s been experiencing (the pain that has lasted for months and makes her look even more gaunt than usual) will “go away in a few days,” and she doesn’t regard this as odd? Ignoring the sinister undertones of a seemingly innocuous occurrence (the wind making a wayward branch tap against the window, the hotelier who is just a little too knowledgeable of the town’s history, the assurance that people who say you shouldn’t build a house on sacred burial ground are “crackpots”) is a staple of the genre. I get that. But again, Rosemary’s lack of reaction is the problem here. She accepts blindly that she – a pregnant woman - was in the wrong for reading a book about pregnancy. She’s a light switch: Worried/Not Worried. Her lack of intimation to the inherent wrongness of the situation destroys any dramatic tension because she blithely consents to her own ignorance. We’re not worrying along with her, we’re mad at her for not picking up on the hints.

So here’s the problem: it’s very difficult to discern if these loose ends, random abuses, and irrelevancies are intentional or the product of sloppy filmmaking. I’ll admit that the dream sequences are interesting, but they ride the borderline between “needing interpretation” and “impenetrably confusing.” Not to mention that they’re shoehorned into scenes of such banality as to cause gnashing of the teeth. If you’re aware of the basic premise of the film or have seen the climactic scene in which Rosemary, clutching a knife in her blue nightgown, approaches the veiled bassinet, you already know about the vast majority of the film’s importance. Much of the rest of the film is not – strictly speaking – necessary.

I humbly submit that this film is no longer needed. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad that it exists and that it had the impact it did, but it doesn’t feel like required viewing for anyone who considers themselves a fan of cinema. It’s done its time and its served its purpose, but if anyone tells you that you NEED to see it, they’re wrong. Now here’s the kicker: You still have to be aware of it; its premise, its presence, and its payoff. It’s an important work, and the obvious forerunner of other slow-burning horror films that ultimately were a lot more successful in their execution. Rosemary Woodhouse didn’t just give birth to the son of the Devil, she also gave birth to The Wicker Man, The Shining, and perhaps even The Exorcist. But do you need to sit and watch it? No.

Andrew Root lives near Lake Ontario. He welcomes alternative points of view regarding this film here.