There are a lot of reasons for us to revisit Rosemary’s Baby these days – we are living in a cinematic era where horror films have started to shift back to the more psychologically-inert days of fearful terror, with the focus being on the combination of human insecurities and anxieties and the otherworldly – and there have been several terrific films over the past decade that have looked at the more intimate side of horror. Rosemary’s Baby is not a film without flaws – and to assume that this is anything close to a perfect film is misguided. Perhaps not without shortcomings, Rosemary’s Baby is still a remarkable achievement – a frightful meditation on the fears of motherhood (it struck me with this recent viewing that Rosemary’s Baby would be a great companion to David Lynch’s brilliant Eraserhead, both being psychological horror films about parenthood and the fear of the unknown, both literally and metaphysically). Roman Polanski was a tremendous filmmaker, someone capable of inert and complex storytelling in his films, with Rosemary’s Baby being amongst his finest achievements, perhaps being the defining work of his career. Nonetheless, I recently undertook my third viewing of the film to commemorate its fiftieth anniversary, and found that while it may have some structural and narrative problems, Rosemary’s Baby is just as unsettling and disturbing as it was half a century ago – and even by today’s standards, while it may be somewhat tamer since our collective desensitisation to horror, to dismiss this film’s raw psychological impact would be wrong – whether you adore it or despise it, Rosemary’s Baby is an achievement – and of what depends on the viewer.

For those that may not have had the unique experience of watching Rosemary’s Baby, or knowing much about it, it may bear quite a remarkable similarity to similar stories that we’ve seen throughout the years – not only does Rosemary’s Baby contain a familiar story derived from centuries of Biblical folklore and mythology, it has gone on to inspire countless other works that have taken the general storyline and adapted it in their own way – this was by no means the first film to look at the concept of witchcraft and Satanic worship, but it is one of the defining moments in the sub-genre. Quite simply, when Rosemary Woodhouse (Mia Farrow) and her husband, Guy (John Cassavetes) move into an apartment building with an apparently sinister history, they find themselves descending into the clutches of a group of elderly people, lead by their neighbours Roman Castavet (Sidney Blackmer) and his wife, the endlessly curious Minnie (Ruth Gordon), who may be the leaders of a notorious coven of witches that originated in that very apartment building. The couple’s intention to get pregnant soon comes true – but it becomes clear that their baby may not be the bundle of joy that they expected, especially when Rosemary realizes the plot against her, as well as the fact that she may not be able to trust anyone – not her friendly and wise neighbours, not her caring doctor, and most harrowing of all, not even her loving husband, who is well aware of what is transpiring, and is entirely supportive of the idea of his wife carrying the spawn of Satan, all because he’s been promised fame and fortune for giving away what most people hold most dear to them.

Rosemary’s Baby was one of the first leading roles in the career of Mia Farrow, one of cinema’s most fascinating actresses – a performer who was not entirely defined by her pixie-like beauty, but also through her powerful talents, and the fact that she was able to convincingly play a range of characters across several different genres. Arguably, Farrow’s finest work came later, reaching its most significant peak in the 1980s, but Rosemary’s Baby remains a potently powerful performance and proves that she was a true talent, even in the earliest stages of her career. Her innocence is contrasted with the maniacal evil of those around her, and there is a moment during the climax of Rosemary’s Baby when we start to question whether anyone other than Rosemary is actually good, and not the pure embodiment of malice and despair. Acting across from Farrow for most of the film was the doyen of independent cinema, John Cassavetes, who turns in one of the most impressive performances of his career – undeniably, Cassavetes is more known as a director than an actor (despite being masterful in both fields), and he’s really excellent in this film. His transition from doting husband to sinister, fame-obsessed scoundrel is effortless and shocking. Both actors are terrific in the film and lead it with considerable brilliance – even if the film is unequivocally built on the strength of Farrow’s incredible performance.

Rosemary’s Baby is not only limited to the two lead performances, and has actually come to be seen as an enduring classic because of the contributions of the supporting cast, all of which define this film and add to the sinister overtones. Ruth Gordon, who I absolutely adore, gives one of the finest performances in a horror film ever, portraying Minnie Castevet as a bundle of nosy quirks. Gordon was a bona fide Hollywood icon through her screenwriting, as well as being well-known for her stage work – yet her film acting really only became noteworthy in the later stages of her career, with a set of memorable performances such as in Harold and Maude, Where’s Poppa? and  Any Which Way But Loose – but it was her performance in Rosemary’s Baby that truly earned her some of the greatest acclaim of her career (and an Academy Award, one of the most deserving in the history of the category). She is wonderful here – on the surface she is hilariously charming and exceptionally likeable – but deeper, there is a more sinister aspect to her that makes this a truly nuanced performance that is far more than just the “old biddy” that we often see in these kinds of films. Ruth Gordon is just so fabulous in everything she does, I truly adore her. Sidney Blackmer is equally as good as the calm and tranquil Roman Castevet, a kind-hearted elderly man who simply wants to live in peace after a lifetime of travelling. He is excellent, playing Castavet as a solemn but warm individual striving to live a simple life, with very few being privy to both his family background and his secret dealings that make him far less of a charming old man when we realize who he truly is. Ralph Bellamy has a small but memorable role as the sinister doctor, and much like Gordon and Blackmer, his endearing, caring exterior acts as a facade for a much deeper evil lurking within him. Rosemary’s Baby has a terrific cast, with each person, regardless of the size of their role, firing on all cylinders and delivering exceptional and intricate performances that are striking and resonant, and utterly compelling.

On a purely surface level analysis, Rosemary’s Baby is a conventional horror film, albeit a very elegant one. Like any film that sees an innocent individual unknowingly coming into contact with others who hide sinister, otherworldly secrets, Rosemary’s Baby follows a familiar formula. It is focused mainly on Satanism and witchcraft, which takes up the majority of the thematic content and forces the audience into unwilling despair over the story it represents. There is the underpinning of the traditional “deal with the devil” storyline – has there ever been a concept more exploited across the arts (even pervading into the realm of reality, with urban legends surrounding someone like the iconoclastic musician Robert Johnson) than this? Luckily, Rosemary’s Baby doesn’t exploit the concept too heavily, but it is clearly quite prevalent and serves as the catalyst for the events of the film. The occult is blended beautifully with the notions of Christianity, and there are so many references to Catholicism scattered throughout the film – these seem almost inconsequential at the outset – and it almost demonstrates some disturbing battle between good and evil that remains unseen, but is implied quite heavily. Rosemary’s Baby is kept quite straightforward, and it doesn’t devolve into the realm of the surreal too often, with the exception of the actual conception scene, which remains one of the most disturbing, haunting sequences in all of horror cinema. There is something deeper here, and Rosemary’s Baby only represents one small aspect of some larger grand narrative that we are not shown, but understand to be occurring, through the odd occurrences and the sinister motivations of most people our heroine meets along the way.

I mentioned it above, but Rosemary’s Baby seems like a logical predecessor to Eraserhead, a film no less disturbing, but one that also looks at the notions of parenthood and the fears that come along with it. In an odd way, the most harrowing aspect of Rosemary’s Baby doesn’t come on behalf of the realization that the titular character is the vessel for the spawn of Satan, but through her despair at becoming a mother – her fears and anxieties exist long before she realizes what she has been chosen to do, and it would be misguided to look at Rosemary’s Baby as anything less than a palpable representation of the fearful uncertainty of becoming a parent. Perhaps some unholy conception between a mortal woman and the Prince of Darkness isn’t particularly prevalent, the terror of not knowing what will happen during one’s pregnancy period is the most unsettling part of the film. Levin clearly did not write the novel to be a simple tale of Satanism and the occult, but as a manifesto of parenting, an unconventional story about the perils of motherhood, and the relentless fears that come with the process of having a child. The paranoia and panic of Rosemary is extremely significant, and in the chilling final moments of the film, we finally realize that Rosemary’s Baby is not just about devil worship, witchcraft and sinister motives – it is a powerful film about parenthood, and it stands as one of the most potent on that very topic.

The intersections between the two broad themes mentioned above make Rosemary’s Baby quite a fascinating experience – the way Polanski balances the notions of the realistic and the folkloric is quite masterful and results in the creation of a deeply unsettling horror film that doesn’t really rely on scares, but rather on suspect and implication. There is a myriad of small details that were present in this film that I only noticed on this, my third viewing. Watching Rosemary’s Baby and knowing what it is about, and all the unexpected twists and turns the film will take is quite an experience – there are so many clues present throughout the film – plot points that would normally be dismissed as idle concepts actually serve to be far more complex and contribute to the story in ways that are only clear after the fact. Rosemary’s Baby is a film that is filled with despair and manages to be extremely bleak and haunting – but it is not particularly horrifying in the traditional sense. For a film about Satanism and the occult, we are not presented with anything conventionally associated with these practices, and everything is kept quite elegant and extremely graceful – just consider the conclusion to this film, when the revelation is made, with Rosemary being surrounded by these people who aided in her demonic conception. These are not robe-clad, knife-wielding devil worshippers – they are a group of elderly people, gathered in an over-furnished apartment enjoying cocktails and cigars. It is in this almost tranquil, harmless portrayal of these people that this film becomes truly unsettling because it makes us question those around us, pointing out that absolutely anyone could be involved with sinister forces. Our lovely neighbours, our caring doctor, even our own family, have the potential to be utterly malicious. Rosemary’s Baby never veers off into the territory of the unnecessarily dark, and keeping it within the wide, colourful landscapes of contemporary New York was certainly a choice that resulted in a film far more disturbing than had it been more of a traditional horror.

I found Rosemary’s Baby to be even more exhilarating on this third viewing. My first was when I was relatively young, the second a few years afterwards, and I enjoyed it more each time. It is a film that is complex in its story, simple in its execution – it manages to be terrifying without needing to over-exert itself or prove its worth as a great horror. The performances are marvellous, the filmmaking incredible (even if the lush colours sometimes threw the film off in certain instances, and I wonder how this film would’ve spared if it had been in black-and-white – it would certainly be far more eerie had it been so) and its dedication to being a contemporary metropolitan subversion of centuries-old folklore is remarkable. Obviously, this is not a perfect film, and there are a number of small annoyances pervading it, but none that need to be mentioned explicitly, other than to note that Rosemary’s Baby is a film that admirably embraces its flaws, and makes for suitably unsettling viewing. It really is a great film, and it certainly deserves its status as a horror classic, because it is elegant, effective and extraordinarily terrifying in ways that are unexpected and entirely memorable.

Something else – there is another reason to watch and review this film – Rosemary’s Baby just so happens to be the 666th review I have written. That was certainly not a coincidence.