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Following a night of strange chanting sounds coming through the yellow sunny wall, the Woodhouses discover a frightening scene in front of their apartment house. Police tape is being strung. 1,494 more words
Roman Polanski’s Rosemary’s Baby (1968)
By Thomas S. Flowers
There is a strange, perverse, serendipitous feeling watching Rosemary’s Baby. This first of Roman Polanski’s American films opens with a New York City urban landscape, outstretched and panned across, as if what we see is some malevolent box metal toy, wound up and played on the tune of some woman humming an intently sweet and ambiguous lullaby. 1,192 more words
I’m your little ‘enigma’, the code you’d like to decipher, the girl you keep trying to figure out, to unravel.
But little did you know, the similarities that we share, the ones you’d always point out, are the very ones that define a part of who I am. 357 more words