Roman Polanski is repugnant, especially by the standards of feminism. As a rapist dodging responsibility for his crime, the man’s done real harm with his personal actions.
But can an ugly soul make a beautiful film? While this has been the subject of much debate elsewhere, I firmly believe you can separate the art from the artist; the art can even stand for everything the artist doesn’t. Perhaps that’s how Polanski the monster came to produce a feminist masterpiece in the form of his patiently creepy 1968 thriller, Rosemary’s Baby.
The film has many advocates, but seldom do I hear anyone defend it on its sturdiest moral ground, namely its powerful examination of a woman’s struggle against a subtle, ruthless, unrelenting patriarchy. Rosemary’s Baby has much more to say about men, women, and modern relationship structures than religion or anything else.
To accept that the film is feminist, one must first acknowledge that Rosemary Woodhouse is not only the film’s protagonist, but a person for whom the audience ought to feel compassion. This shouldn’t be difficult; after all, Rosemary is sympathetically portrayed in almost every frame of the film. Her genuine kindness towards her friends and neighbors and her devotion to her husband may come back to haunt her, but those qualities are also endearing. Also, Rosemary’s pain, both physical and psychological, weighs on us as we watch her wither without assistance. If you have a heart at all, you have to care about Rosemary Woodhouse.
If that’s the case, then, her husband, Guy Woodhouse, can only be seen as an enormous jerk. In fact, he’s a seminar on the bad husband. Not only is his name the generic term for a man, he also flaunts the ugly behaviors common to so many guys:
- Using his wife’s body at his discretion. The way Guy sees it, Rosemary’s body is as much his as it is hers. That’s why he’s so comfortable slapping her ass throughout the film — especially at inappropriate moments, like during their apartment search, and after she decides she doesn’t like the necklace the Castevets gave her. That’s also why he laughs off the marks Rosemary receives after her rape by the devil as his having sex with her while she was asleep, which he jokes was “fun, in a necrophile sort of way.” That she is disturbed by his explanation utterly escapes Guy’s attention. His cover for an even more abominable crime was to remind her that he was just using her body for his own ends, a right he obviously believes he holds.
- Final say. Guy has to approve every detail of their life. Though Rosemary loves the apartment after viewing it, Guy only takes that into consideration; he gets to choose where they live. He has to sign off on all dinner plans, and cancels others on a whim. He chooses when they have kids, and on what nights they have sex to try and make one.
- Taking her servitude for granted. Coming home after losing “the part” to Donald Baumgart, Guy is served by Rosemary with a sandwich, chips, and a cold beer. He gulps the beer and munches on the food without a word of thanks, and when Rosemary asks the smallest favor, that he agree to dinner with the Castevets next door, Guy immediately acts put upon. He only relents after noting that his agreement to perform the small request of his doting wife will be his “good deed for the day.” What a saint.
- Neglect. Once Guy’s acting career surges, Rosemary feels abandoned. She tries to dismiss his behavior to their friend Hutch, half-joking through tears that “even Laurence Olivier must be vain and self-centered.” Later, she asks Guy why he won’t look at her or talk to her. Guy might be wigged out his wife is carying the devil’s kid in her belly, but even if she weren’t, his self-absorbtion suggests he’d always be inclined to ignore her in favor of his work, friends, or anything else that suited him.
- Cheap apologies. At some level, Guy recognizes his prickery — at one point, he pulls the old “come home with roses and a kiss” routine. He doesn’t change his behavior one iota, though. Rosemary later extracts another apology out of him and another empty promise to be a better husband, but Guy is more concerned with pacifying his property so she wil continue to serve him than he his for her own real happiness.
- Dismissing emotional behavior. When Rosemary learns she’s pregnant, the couple celebrates it as a happy moment. But once Rosemary chokes up a little at the news, Guy chastises her, “For God’s sake, don’t cry.” How dare his wife ‘act like a girl’ at such a pivotal moment in their lives.
- Bullying. Any time Rosemary demonstrates any free will, Guy berates her until he gets his way. He puts off dinner with their friends for more time with the Castavets by insisting on it. He yells at Rosemary until she eats the drugged mousse from Minnie. He shouts her down after she asks to see a new doctor, calling her friends who helped her “a buncha not very bright bitches who oughta mind their own business” and insisting it wouldn’t be fair to Dr. Sapirstein. He also takes her witch history book away, yells at her for reading it, and orders her to stop as though he’s an angry parent, not her husband.
- Objectifying his wife. After Guy’s sees Rosemary’s new short haircut, he’s disgusted by it. What he says to her tells us everything we need to know about how he sees his wife — he calls it “the worst mistake she ever made.” Anyone who believes a person’s haircut to be the worst mistake they ever made in their entire life must see that person as little more than a fuckable mannequin. At the end of the film, Guy explains his deal with the devil to his wife and tells her, “They promised me you wouldn’t be hurt, and you haven’t been, really.” To think that, Guy must honestly believe she’s only what you see on the outside.
- Selfishness. At some level, all the above behaviors are rooted in selfishness, but we haven’t even mentioned the most selfish act of all: he lets his wife be raped by the devil and carry his baby to (painful) term just for some breaks in the acting world. Guy Woodhouse thinks only of himself, damning his wife and the rest of the world just to be offered the lead on “Miami Beach.”
Rosemary loves and dotes on her selfish, cruel husband, but her naivete runs deeper than her own relationship. Rosemary is strongly committed to the patriarchy for most of the film, albeit unwittingly. She tells Minnie she’d be happier if her first child was a boy, and agrees with Minnie’s shock at the idea of wanting a girl first. But this desire to produce a male heir pales as proof of her patriarchal devotion when compared to Rosemary’s trust in men of authority, a quality pervading almost every single choice she makes. Worst of all, it causes her defeat.
Rosemary trusts her husband completely. Beyond giving him total control over the parameters of her life, she confides in him every detail she uncovers of the plot against her. She even tells him of her discovery that Roman Castevet is actually Steven Marcato, despite her husband’s obssessive friendship with the man. It doesn’t cross her mind for an instant that Guy would betray her until a mountain of evidence has piled up in her face. If she’d realized it sooner, she could’ve kept her research to herself, and perhaps it would’ve escaped the notice of the Castevets.
Doctors are also presented to women, especially pregnant women, as men of authority. To Rosemary, they’re holy. After switching from Dr. Hill to Dr. Sapirstein, she trusts him too much, too, almost until it’s too late. For the first half of her pregnancy, Rosemary experiences awful pain and wastes away until she’s “a stick of chalk.” Sapirstein repeatedly dismisses her obviously irregular symptoms, and it takes her girlfriends’ pleas to use common sense and see another doctor for Rosemary to ask it of her husband. And just as she ignored Guy’s ties to the Castevets, she ignores that she was recommended to Sapirstein by the Castevets and celebrated New Year’s Eve with him through them. Rosemary still tells Sapirstein of Roman’s real identity. Most any person would be more suspicious of the man who insisted she let Minnie feed her “herbs” daily, but to Rosemary, it’s almost inconceivable that a man of authority wouldn’t be benevolent. After discovering her husband’s complicity in the coven, Rosemary even goes to Sapirstein’s office for aid. If his nurse hadn’t clued her into his use of the same fungus Minnie pushed on Rosemary, she would’ve handed herself right over to him for protection from his best friends.
But Rosemary did learn of Sapirstein’s involvement, and in her last real attempt to garner freedom, she turns to the safest-looking man of authority in the film, Dr. Hill. He was recommended by an old friend, and came off as a genuinely good soul in her one and only visit to him before she was railroaded to Sapirstein. Rosemary confides her story to Dr. Hill, who appears compassionate, even sympathetic. He coaxes her into feeling safe, then betrays her to Sapirstein and Guy immediately. Presumably, Hill decided that someone he views as a man of authority ought to be trusted more than some hysterical woman. Rosemary continually gives herself over to powerful men, and each time, they subvert her prospects for freedom.
This last betrayal finally seems to awaken Rosemary to the harsh realities of the male-dominated world. After briefly escaping her captors’ clutches, Rosemary rushes into her apartment and calls her friend Elise. Unfortunately, Elise isn’t home, and the witches sneak in through the secret closet entrance and end her flirtation with autonomy. One can only imagine what would’ve happened if Rosemary had simply called Elise first and gone to her for safety. Had she trusted a female friend instead of a male authority figure, Rosemary might’ve escaped. Alas, she figured that out too late.
At first blush, Minnie and Roman Castevet appear to have a much more balanced and egalitarian relationship than Rosemary and Guy. Truthfully, though, they have the most patriarchal relationship of all. The couple slavishly devotes themselves to Satan, not known in literature for his kindness towards women, and once the coven is revealed in the final scene, Roman demonstrates his absolute authority. He determines who cares for baby Adrian, speaking sharply and sternly as the father figure of his coven when one of his witches merely hints at defiance.
In Rosemary’s Baby, this cult of satanism is nothing more than a cult of patriarchy. Rosemary’s discovery of its machinations is really a discovery of the way she’s been used and controlled by the men around her. Had she wised up sooner to the total disregard men of authority have for women, she might’ve been able to save the world. But she didn’t, and her misguided trust in those men and the institutions they built for themselves allowed the anti-christ to be born.
As far as movies go, that’s pretty goddamned feminist. Literally.
More.
Definitely more.
Marc, it’s a very interesting post. I love these kinds of philosophical questions about pop phenomenon like movies/songs/books/etc. (BTW, I have some points to argue about RE Rosemary’s Baby…)
I was afraid to post first, fearing I would doom another thread. I don’t want you guys to resent my big mouth…(too much…
I was actually thinking about writing one myself, so I’ll say more. Also, your review of the movie is great.
That spiked tea is the patriarchy, and Charles Grodin is the ultimate Nice Guy!
Mike, I think the moral of the story is, essentially, “be savvier than Rosemary.” She _could_ have won the day had she been more feminist, and I think that’s actually a positive message.
Marc, while I agree with your analysis (quite impressive) about the overwhelming patriarchy that is smothering all autonomy from Rosemary, I’m struggling to see how that makes Rosemary’s Baby a feminist film…
(BTW, while you’ve seen the movie ten times in the last month, I think I’ve seen it twice over the last 30-years – most recently probably 10-years ago… FYI…)
Since her every move toward independence and autonomy is squelched, she is unable to prevent them from using her body for their nefarious purpose, and in the end she acquiesces to become mother to the (probably) hideous monster that is her newborn child, where is the feminism?
In order to be properly feminist, wouldn’t she need to do something to reclaim her autonomy? Like kill the child and escape? Or torch the apartment taking them all with her? Or some other action, instead of meekly rolling over and getting screwed again?
Explain?…
I see what you’re saying, but the ending is so hopeless (a good ending, but one without hope), I have a hard time seeing it in a positive light as far as feminism is concerned.
I understand that it’s necessary to perceive the existence of the patriarchy and the problems that result before one can understand why feminism is important. But if there’s no hope (based on the ending of the movie) it’s too easy to dismiss the lessons and sink back into complacency.
I’ve never seen Thelma & Louise, but I understand that it’s considered a feminist movie for many of the same reasons you’ve presented here. But it strikes me that if the only way to deal with the existence of the all-powerful patriarchy is to drive off a cliff – how does that accomplish anything?…
Isn’t there some movie that presents the patriarchy and also provides some hope?…
i’m only naysaying because i really, really don’t want polanski to get any feminist kudos because i loathe him and absolutely don’t think he’s feminist.
so – wouldn’t the feminist aspects of “rosemary’s baby” lie with the writer (ira levin) over the director? since the story and it’s message were originally created by the writer and only brought to life in film by the director? not that ira levin is a feminist or anything (i have no idea anyway) but at least he’s not a rapist. (as far as i know.)
It’s worth noting that Ira Levin also wrote “The Stepford Wives” which is much, much better than the movie.
Sorry MikeEss, but I really don’t follow your argument. Why does a film need a happy ending to be approved as feminist? Lilja 4-ever is a feminist film but its ending is as bleak and hopeless as you can get. In fact, a happy ending would’ve been completely wrong, and negated the film’s point. The same goes for The Circle.
Ira Levin also wrote The Boys From Brazil, The Stepford Wives, and Sliver, if anyone doesn’t know who he is.
Roman Polanski is a complex character, and while I wouldn’t say he’s a feminist (being a rapist and because of Bitter Moon) a lot of his work does lend itself to feminist analysis. Chinatown explores incest/rape and he also adapted Tess of the d’Urbervilles, which I think has some parallels with Rosemary’s Baby.
Oh, and I totally forgot his adaptation if Death and the Maiden. Shit.
My favorite part of Rosemary’s Baby comes at the end, when Rosemary spits in Guy’s face. Too little too late, but awesome all the same.
PD, I guess the ending of Rosemary’s Baby is very dark, so dark it overshadows (for me) the feminist aspects.
Even though I have only seen the film a couple times, it made a very big impression on me – but as horror classic. I am very interested in Marc’s analysis because it pointed out some things I hadn’t considered.
I knew Rosemary had been betrayed by everyone around her, I just didn’t see how the betrayals all fit into the patriarchal narrative. To see it fit together like that was interesting.
As I gotten older (I’m 46) and learned more about the world, my perspectives on a lot of topics have changed a lot. I often find myself re-watching films I have watched and enjoyed over the years, and I’m often surprised by the levels of racism, misogyny, and sexism frequently present. Some films hold up well under that kind re-evaluation, and others don’t.
But I still love the discussion…
Heh. When i was in college I was dating this controlling jerk. When we watched this film together, I said I thought Guy was an asshole for making Rosemary eat the pudding, and yet he totally empathized with the Guy, saying that he would do the same. Right then was when I think I realized the relationship wasn’t going to work. Unfortunately I was endlessly niave and forgiving, so the relationship continued long after that. But it was my first big clue, and I’ll always remember it.
I just remembered that the bit in Chinatown where it “explores incest/rape” comes straight after the bit where Jack Nicholson slaps Faye Dunaway around.
Also, I’ve really got to emphasize what a deeply misogynistic film Bitter Moon is. Whatever cred Polanski gets for Rosemary’s Baby is counteracted by that one. There was a time in my life where Bitter Moon was one of my favourite films, but I was also a big fan of Cerebus the Aardvark. I’m glad I got past that.
arrow– when a then-boyfriend and i watched “high fidelity” he completely identified with the dude and thought the ex/girlfriend was a bitch; whereas i and the others we saw it with were sure that the guy was supposed to be, you know, mostly a complete jackass, albeit a sympathetically-presented one (because he is the narrator, duh).
that really weirded me out and in retrospect confirmed a ton about our relationship that i should’ve heeded earlier. maybe this is a stupid story, especially because “high fidelity” is nowhere near as fucking creepy as “rosemary’s baby”, but… still.
Ira Levin almost surely was tweaking the patriarchy when he wrote the book—after all, the plot of The Stepford Wives was almost identical, which is to say a smart but overly trusting young woman is the victim of a patriarchal conspiracy to subjugate her so they can use her body for their own ends, damn the damage (in Stepford Wives, she dies) to her. That said, directors can do whatever they want with a story, and Polanski not only chose a story that was feminist, he made sure to preserve it as written.
Tess is not a great movie, but I’d argue that it’s feminist as well. And it’s interesting to me that a rapist like Polanski picked a novel that is above all other things, a poignant story of how serious a crime rape is. Public outcry against Hardy for writing it was significant though I can’t remember if it’s that book or Jude the Obscure that made him quit writing because he was frustrated at people’s pigheaded misogyny (to make a long story short). Anyway, Polanski very deliberately made the murder of the rapist seem necessary and I think gleeful—as a rapist himself, what does that say about him? That he harbors self-loathing, maybe.
Polanksi does seem to harbor self loathing, but not enough to comeback to the US and take responsibility for his crimes.
I would have a lot more respect for his talent if he were man enough to face the consequences of his actions. Otherwise he’s just another guy trying to get away with it…
It seems to me that there are two modes of doing feminist popular narrative. One is the Rosemary’s Baby mode: patriarchy is inescapable and women are doomed by it. If it were possible to escape by luck or by smarts, then victims of patriarchy (say, women) would deserve their fate in it — right? It would be their fault. If patriarchy is a system that we’re in (all of us, though some more disadvantaged than others in it), it has to be inescapable. That is, of course, not the only thing feminists believe, but it is one thing we believe. The other is that women (and men and queers and trannies and people of color) DO survive, no matter what, sometimes, anyway, and are to be celebrated and affirmed for that survival. That narrative is a different mode, a positive and celebratory mode. Watchers of Thelma & Louise on DVD know that the original intent of the film was to have them survive the drive off the cliff — the original ending kept the film more consistently in its celebratory mode. Killing them at the end shifted the film to the Rosemary’s Baby mode, the critique of patriarchy mode, we might call it (vs. the survival of difference mode, say). What’s difficult, maybe even impossible, is to do both at once — at least in popular narratives like cinema. Ira Levin is a master of the critique of patriarchy in the horror mode — the writer who would take a 70s radical feminist analysis and make it the central premise of a horror story (the original Stepford Wives — though save us all from the hideous remake!). Rosemary’s Baby has always been too scary for me, but now I want to see it through if I can stand it.
I can’t remember if the movie ending and the book ending are the same, and if they aren’t, which ending I’m remembering, but I thought that Rosemary had some sort of epiphany at the end where she realizes that Satan and the Baby will never truly reward or respect Guy for selling her out, and it’s she who has the potential to become a powerful, iconic figure, when she stands and screams, “His name is not Adrian! His name is Andrew! I will give him his name, because I. Am. His. MOTHER.” And all the satanists start chanting “Hail Andrew! Hail Rosemary!” and Guy looks like he threw up in his mouth a little, and slinks off to Hollywood without her.
I always found that ending to be delicious.
Rawk. Excellent analysis. I need to watch Rosemary’s Baby again– I’ve only seen it once, but I actually have the DVD in my possession. Plus, that movie gives me evil points for sharing a name with the anti-christ [except my name has a diminutive spelling to signify my lower status in society].
P.S. I like when Marc said I firmly believe you can separate the art from the artist. That’s the only way I can justify liking Degas’ paintings of pretty young ballerinas when you know that he was totally stalking them all and being a totally creepy ass pedophile.
OT – but gotta answer the Hardy question
Amanda, I’m pretty sure it was Jude that put Hardy off writing. Well, not completely. It was the last novel he wrote, but he kept writing poetry until he died. I haven’t really read any of his poetry, but I’ve been told that he was a much better novelist than poet
Oh, and another book question (yes, I read too much
) – flea, I have read the book but not seen the movie. The ending you describe is definitely in the book (obviously, can’t speak for the movie). I also liked it … well, found it rather fascinating in all its implications, anyway!
Marc, your analysis makes a LOT of sense. I’d never thought about it like that before.
I haven’t seen Rosemary’s Baby, but I agree you can separate the art from the artist, if only because Polanski himself made what might be my favorite film of all time: The Pianist. God what a film.
Great post–articulated a lot of hunches I’ve had about this movie but have never given enough thought to. Repulsion is another wonderful Polanski film with feminist tones that lends itself well to a feminist analyses. Why Roman Polanski of all people has this gift and vision remains a mystery…
While I agree the movie has plenty of patriarchal figures, I’m afraid to say it may be incidental to Polanski’s view of the world. Also, many of Guy’s behaviors can be traced to his anxiety over having sold his soul to the Devil, rather than institutionalized patriarchy. Certainly, he wants the transition to go as smoothly as possible.
By suggesting patriarchy is responsible for Rosemary’s plight, you miss a few key exchanges or rather you see them, but don’t acknowledge them the natural light of her character.
First, is her concession to join Mimi and Roman for dinner in the first place. This is followed by her willingness to have her legs tied per the suggestion of the women in the dress. Then, her willingness to take the pills and accept Mimi’s suggestion of a doctor. Next, is her concession to contact Dr. Hill based on her friend’s suggestions. Rosemary doesn’t look at men as exclusive authority figures. She looks at anyone but herself as such, right until the end, when she finally accepts her own authority, telling Laura-Louise she is rocking the baby too fast and taking over the job.
However, in the end, strangely, everyone gets what they want. The coven does Satan’s bidding/gets their assumed power under the antichrist, Guy gets his big career bump, Rosemary gets her baby and Satan gets his son.
I believe the real point is that the selfish are rewarded. It is more an existentialist piece than a feminist one, though I applaud your analysis.