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As we transition into October and the official start of spooky season, it is the perfect time to revisit a classic horror film and what it can teach us about medical trauma. This week, we’re diving into Rosemary’s Baby (1968).
Rosemary’s Baby follows Rosemary Woodhouse, a young woman who becomes pregnant shortly after moving into a New York apartment building with her husband, Guy. As the pregnancy progresses, Rosemary becomes increasingly isolated and suspicious that her neighbors, and eventually her husband, have sinister plans for her unborn child. What begins as subtle unease spirals into full-blown horror, as she realizes her body and her baby are no longer her own.
The Vulnerability of Pregnancy
Pregnancy is a period of heightened vulnerability, often marked by physical dependence, shifting social roles, and increased risk of interpersonal violence. It is also a time when decisions and behaviors are scrutinized, often leaving pregnant people with less control over their own lives. Rosemary’s Baby amplifies these realities: Rosemary’s dependence on her husband and physician, the betrayal by her closest relationships, and the surveillance of her neighbors all underscore how easily these vulnerabilities can be exploited. Rosemary’s nausea, pain, and intuition that something is wrong are repeatedly dismissed. Instead of being met with support, she’s gaslit by her husband, neighbors, and her doctor, told to stop complaining, and urged to trust everyone but herself.
Gaslighting, Medical Control, and Isolation
The horror of Rosemary’s Baby isn’t just the supernatural plot. It’s the way medical and relational systems close in on her. Her husband conspires with the neighbors, prioritizing his career and social standing over her wellbeing. Her physician conspires with her husband and neighbors, impeding Rosemary’s attempts to regain control. At every opportunity Rosemary is cut off from supportive peers and silenced when she protests. It is this infuriating and horrifying core tension of the film that many patients describe in contemporary terms as obstetric violence: being disbelieved, coerced, or subjected to decisions without consent.
Reproductive Autonomy as Commodity
Perhaps the darkest layer of the film is how Rosemary’s pregnancy is treated as a resource for others. Guy sees his wife’s body not as her own, but as a vessel to secure his professional success and social prestige. Rosemary’s objectification in which her pregnancy is reduced to something others can control, exploit, or benefit from resonates far beyond the film’s satanic conspiracy. It’s a reflection of real-world systems where pregnant people are seen less as autonomous individuals and more as means to an end, whether through institutional policies, cultural narratives, or interpersonal dynamics.
Why It Still Resonates
Nearly six decades after its release, Rosemary’s Baby continues to unsettle because it touches on anxieties that remain familiar: the loss of bodily autonomy, the invalidation of perinatal pain and distress, and the fear that those closest to you might not protect you when you are most vulnerable. Contemporary research shows that the perinatal period is associated with greater mental health concerns, like depression and anxiety, but also increased vulnerability to interpersonal and systemic violence. What the film stylizes as gothic horror is not far removed from the psychosocial consequences of perinatal trauma in everyday life. For clinicians, the film underscores the importance of validating perinatal distress, safeguarding patient autonomy, and recognizing how broader sociopolitical contexts often compound the risks of trauma in this period.
The terror of Rosemary’s Baby lies in its all-too-human realism. The film externalizes the fears many pregnant people face: of being silenced, isolated, and stripped of agency during one of life’s most vulnerable phases. That’s why it remains a horror classic, and why it continues to speak loudly to the fears and lived realities of today.
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