Rosemary’s Baby Christian Review

Rosemary’s Baby has long been hailed as a quintessential horror masterpiece, and for good reason. It’s a film that crawls under your skin slowly, without announcing its intentions from the start. This 1968 classic, adapted from Ira Levin’s novel, isn’t just a horror story in the conventional sense—it’s a meticulously crafted psychological thriller, and more than that, it’s a disturbing exploration of evil lurking in plain sight. Yet, what sets Rosemary’s Baby apart from other horror films is how it warps the everyday into something deeply unnerving.

Suburbia Meets Satan

Polanski’s directorial genius is apparent from the get-go. What makes Rosemary’s Baby unsettling isn’t that it takes place in some distant, misty castle or a forgotten town haunted by spirits. No, this film is firmly planted in modern urban life, where Satanism feels just as plausible as picking up groceries from the store. The horror here isn’t draped in gothic capes and crosses; instead, it’s wrapped in the mundanity of an average city apartment. The villains? They’re not vampires or ghosts. They’re the kindly neighbors next door, baking cookies and chatting you up over tea. Everyday folks, you might say.

That’s the brilliance of the story. The horror is woven into something so familiar, so domestic, that you can’t help but feel an escalating discomfort. Polanski, with his precise direction, makes it clear that horror can live anywhere, even in the most ordinary places. In this world, Satanists don’t wear dark robes and chant in forests—they live in apartment 7A.

A Slow Descent into Terror

As you watch Rosemary (played with immense vulnerability by Mia Farrow), you’re drawn into her world, slowly unraveling, and not in the way you might expect from a horror movie. There are no jump scares here, no immediate terrors to signal danger. Instead, the film is a masterclass in building dread—a slow, creeping unease that makes you question everything that’s happening around her. The audience is always asking: Is this real? Or is Rosemary simply losing her mind?

As the strange coincidences pile up and the peculiar behavior of her neighbors becomes more unsettling, you can’t help but feel what she feels: a growing sense that something is very, very wrong. But Polanski is careful. He doesn’t let you off the hook quickly. There’s no sudden twist or monstrous reveal early on. Instead, the horror inches forward, giving you just enough to keep you on edge, but never enough to fully confirm your suspicions until it’s too late.

The film plays with your sense of reality, forcing you to experience Rosemary’s confusion and paranoia. It’s a slow burn, yes, but that’s what makes the horror all the more potent. The dread builds steadily, wrapping you up in it until you’re entirely consumed by it.

The Banality of Evil

What’s terrifying about Rosemary’s Baby isn’t necessarily the satanic ritual that unfolds at the end. No, it’s the banality of the evil in the film. It’s the way Polanski makes the most horrific things seem so casual, so… normal. The neighbors, who at first seem like nothing more than quirky, over-friendly city-dwellers, reveal themselves to be far more sinister than you’d ever imagine.

They aren’t monsters in the traditional sense—they’re just people. And that’s what’s so horrifying. They are Satanists, sure, but they also play Scrabble on the weekends and check in on you when you’re feeling down. Evil, in this film, is not some distant, abstract force; it’s right next door. It’s unassuming, always lurking behind a friendly smile.

In a way, Rosemary’s Baby feels prophetic, warning us about how easily we can be deceived by appearances, how evil doesn’t always announce itself with a dramatic flair. Sometimes, it comes wearing a sweater vest, carrying a casserole. The Devil is in the details, quite literally in this case.

Rosemary: A Tragic Hero

The core of the film’s power lies in Mia Farrow’s performance. She embodies Rosemary with such fragility and quiet strength that you can’t help but root for her, even as the forces around her grow darker and more oppressive. Rosemary is not just a victim; she’s a tragic hero, fighting against forces she doesn’t fully understand but knows are there. Farrow brings such a raw vulnerability to the role that by the end, when the horrifying truth is revealed, you feel utterly shattered alongside her.

Her journey is not just one of physical terror but spiritual as well. Rosemary’s Baby taps into deep religious themes of faith, trust, and the nature of evil. There’s a feeling of betrayal that permeates the film—not just by those closest to her, but by God Himself. How could this happen to someone so innocent, so good?

Themes of Faith and Evil

From a Christian perspective, Rosemary’s Baby offers a chilling exploration of the concept of evil. The Satanic plot that surrounds Rosemary is not just a metaphorical battle between good and evil; it’s a literal one. Yet, there’s a sense of hopelessness in the film. The forces of darkness, it seems, are unstoppable. The film doesn’t offer a neat resolution where good triumphs over evil. Instead, we are left with the disturbing reality that sometimes, evil wins.

For Christians, this can be a hard pill to swallow. The idea that the innocent can be corrupted, that evil can be so pervasive and insidious, is a difficult one. But in the world of Rosemary’s Baby, that’s exactly what happens. It’s a film that forces us to confront the reality of evil in a fallen world and how easily we can be deceived by it.

Theologically, Rosemary’s Baby doesn’t provide any answers. It doesn’t offer redemption or hope. Instead, it asks uncomfortable questions about the nature of evil, the role of faith, and the vulnerability of the innocent.

Conclusion

Rosemary’s Baby is not just a horror film. It’s a meditation on evil, faith, and trust. Polanski’s direction, combined with Farrow’s haunting performance, makes this film a masterclass in psychological horror. It’s a film that will leave you questioning long after the credits roll—not just about what you’ve watched, but about the nature of the world around you. In its quiet, creeping way, it forces us to confront the unsettling reality that evil can exist anywhere, even in the most ordinary places.

Rating: 7.5/10