A note from a pal startled me. He asked, "So, are you thinking about having a baby? I just read your blog ... lots of baby talk (kind of)." Yikes, no. Merely being surrounded by breeders is more than enough right now, as the cinetrix is a firm believer that pregnancy requires at least one parent who doesn't have the academic or publishing equivalent of a migrant farmer job. But it did remind me...
A few years ago, when the cinetrix had much shorter hair and a skinny smoker's unhealthy physique, she was Rosemary Woodhouse for Halloween. Dying one's hair blonde simply for a costume is far less daunting when there's only a few inches of it to worry about, even if the coiffure in question was not a $5,000 Vidal Sassoon creation. With a thrift-store shift and dark circles under my eyes that suggested that I hadn't slept in, oh, centuries, all I needed was a balloon bump and two "Hello, My Name Is" nametags["Rosemary" for me; "Satan" for the babe], and I was good to go.
Perhaps the most terrifying aspect of my appearance came from afar, when well-meaning Cantabridgians spotted what looked like a teen in trouble drawing deeply on a Marlboro Red.
But what makes Rosemary's Baby so chilling goes back further than tobacco. The history of monstrous birth stories in this country dates back to one Anne Hutchinson, the sassiest girl in early America, who had the temerity to flout the Pilgrim fathers. She was tried and banished from the Massachusetts Bay Colony because she'd developed her own religious following. Although Hutchinson was never accused outright of being a witch, the delivery of a deformed, stillborn infant to one of her female associates in 1638 was interpreted by the Puritan fathers as the Devil’s work. John Winthrop, upon viewing the exhumed corpse, described it as a "monster with horns, claws and scales." [Fun fact: History rehabilitated Ms. Hutchinson. Hers is one of two statues of women on the grounds of the Massachusetts State House.]
Which brings me back to the Dakota, the hellmouth of Manhattan in this lovely tale. Our young Rosemary is married to venal actor Guy and neighbor to the meddling Castavets. She gets pregnant and experiences a more difficult time bringing her child to term than most, what with the anemia, strange potions, and disturbing dreams plaguing her. What happens next you either already know, or should waste no time finding out. You'll never think of Ruth Gordon the same way again, that's for damn sure.
Sometimes it seems that the only thing that scares some male directors more than reproduction is promiscuity. Which is why I am also recommending Rebecca this Halloween. For my money, you can't get much scarier than Mrs. Danvers showing the unnamed second Mrs. DeWinter [Joan Fontaine] the undergarments made in France by nuns for the wicked Rebecca. Also, if you watch the opening sequence without the voiceover audio ["Last night I dreamt I went to Manderly again"], it could be the beginning of any classic monster flick.
A girl in trouble is a serious [and spooky] thing.
Happy Halloween.
