Rosemary's Baby

Polanski adapts Ira Levin into slow, immaculate paranoia. A young wife in a beautiful old Manhattan building gets pregnant, and the kindly neighbours take an interest that curdles by degrees. Nothing supernatural is shown for almost the entire runtime, and it is more frightening for it.

Mia Farrow gets thinner and more alone as the walls close, and the film never lets you be sure she is right until it is far too late. The horror is that everyone around her is reasonable and she is the problem.

A studio film, not exploitation, and the ancestor of the whole occult cycle.