Treat yo self to...
Rosemary's Baby (1968)
Love the elegant curly pink font splashed all over the unforgiving brown and grey angles of New York City. It's got me craving Ambrosia salad, really, but that's neither here nor there.
That song, masquerading as a lullaby, unsettles more than it soothes and even at the outset, you might begin to suspect that there's going to be something very wrong with Rosemary's baby.
(Aside: I always forget that this is a William Castle Production. I mean, who could guess that?)