Desirous of starting a family, the young Catholic housewife, Rosemary Woodhouse, and her struggling actor husband, Guy, move into the Bramford: New York's iconic building that brims with unpleasant stories of obscure dwellers and ghastly occurrences. Before long, the young couple is befriended by their somehow eccentric next-door neighbours, Roman and Minnie Castevet, and, shortly after, Rosemary gets pregnant. However, little by little--as the inexperienced mother becomes systematically cut off from her circle and friends--alarming hints of a sinister and well-planned conspiracy begin to emerge, enfolding timid Rosemary in a shroud of suspicion and mental agony. In the end, why is everyone so conveniently eager to help? Furthermore, why is Guy allowing it?Written by
Elia Kazan, who lived nearby the street where some scenes were shot, dropped by to watch Roman Polanski work. Boris Karloff also had an apartment just near the same place where the shooting was made. And Lauren Bacall owned an apartment where William Castle the producer came from time to time to visit her. See more »
Spotted twice is the use of 1967 Chevrolet taxicabs, even though the time frame for the film is late 1965 through the end of June 1966. The 1967 models would not have been introduced until the Fall of 1966. See more »
The film originally proved problematic for the UK censors and the rape scene was toned down by the BBFC for the cinema release with edits made to remove dialogue and shots of Rosemary's legs being bound. All later UK video releases featured the uncut print. See more »
When people talk about perfect films I don't actually know what they mean. Perfect for whom? Perfect compared to what? I think that perfection is in the brain and heart of the beholder. "Rosemary's baby" is a perfect film to me. Scary in a way that makes you breathless. You're thinking and feeling throughout the film. One of the many sides of Polanski's genius is to suggest. And what he suggest is so monstrous that we don't want to believe it, but we do. The characters are so perfectly drawn that there is no cheating involved. John Cassavettes's superb study in selfishness and egomaniacal frustration is so real that comes to no surprise that he could do what he does to advance his career, but we are surprised, we're horrified. The spectacular Ruth Gordon and Sidney Blackmer are not Deborah Kerr and David Niven, are they? So that they turn out to be what they turn out to be is totally believable, but Polanski presents it in such a light of normality that you can't believe it. Mia Farrow's predicament is as classic as the boy who cried wolf tale and yet, as told by Roman Polanski in the wonderful face of Mia Farrow, is as if we're hearing it, seeing it and living it for the first time. Every silence, every voice in the distance, every door opening. Your heart is always in your throat. There is something there that accelerates a constant state of dread. Very few movies have been able to take me to that place, most of them by Roman Polanski, what about "The Tenant" or "Repulsion"? Other movies that come to mind: David Lynch's "Eraserhead" and Martin Donovan's "Apartment Zero" But "Rosemary's baby" stands alone as a terrifying masterpiece.
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