In The seed of the devil, Ira Levin's novel about a young woman who could be pregnant by Satan, when Rosemary, the protagonist, announces to a friend her intention to move into an apartment in the Bramford building, he puts his hands on his head. He then brings up a gruesome anecdote that includes episodes of murder, cannibalism and witchcraft. If Rosemary is determined to be seduced by the nineteenth-century splendor of Manhattan, her friend comes to tell her, there are less foolish options. “Better go to the Dakota,” she suggests. She doesn't follow the advice, and that's where her problems begin.

However, it is the Dakota, and not the Bramford – which only exists in fiction –, the property that would be forever associated with The seed of the devil, because Roman Polanski filmed part of his successful film adaptation there in 1968. The Dakota Building, the Dakota Apartments or, simply, the Dakota, one of the architectural icons of New York, was always thought to be the chosen model by Levin for his novel. However, Nicholas Levin, the writer's son, has pointed out that in fact his main inspiration came from nearby Alwyn Court. But the Dakota was more famous, older and more spectacular, making it ideal as a film location.

On the other hand, it should be noted that most of the scenes in the film, including all the interiors of the disturbing condominium to which Rosemary and her husband move and where she experiences her pregnancy, were filmed at the Paramount studios in Hollywood. , on sets designed by production director Richard Sylbert. A work that is not very brilliant precisely because it is masterful, since the viewer assumes that those apartments with long corridors and large rooms, whose walls seem to radiate some evil energy, are those of the authentic Dakota. Of which only some views of the façade, the patio and other common rooms are shown.

As soon as Rosemary (Mia Farrow) sees that stately apartment for rent, she is fascinated and insists to her husband, Guy (John Cassavetes), that they keep it. Once her wish has been fulfilled, she decides to add a touch of light, painting her walls white and decorating it with the cheerful tones that could be expected of a young and dynamic American couple in the mid-sixties. In contrast, the house of their elderly neighbors, the solicitous – if somewhat meddlesome – Roman and Minnie Castevet, maintains a solemn interior design, with heavy cabinetry furniture and dark paneling that makes it a perfect setting to host all kinds of covens and satanic invocations. As it is said somewhat conventionally, the Dakota becomes another character in the story, and in him crystallize the terrible suspicions that assail Rosemary as her pregnancy progresses.

The Dakota is surrounded by a legend that incorporates the usual repertoire of haunted house events: spectral apparitions, noises of unknown origin, objects that change places, elevators that go up and down by themselves. But it would be an exaggeration to foist on him the gloomy record that Rosemary's friend attributed to the fictitious Bramford. The truth is that the most disastrous event that his walls have seen occurred long after the publication of the novel and the premiere of the film. It was around 10:50 p.m. on December 8, 1980, when singer and songwriter John Lennon, a resident of the building, was shot dead at the door by a fan with mental health problems named Mark David Chapman, whom He had signed an autograph a few hours earlier in the same place. This did not prevent the artist Yoko Ono, Lennon's wife and witness to the murder, continued to reside in the Dakota until last summer, when it was announced that he would be moving to a country farm.

Since 1961, the residents have owned the building as a cooperative, which means that they have the right to admit or reject the applications of new residents. The list of historical occupants is especially crowded with the guild of film stars, with Lauren Bacall, Judy Garland, Judy Hollyday, Jack Palance, Rosie O'Donnell, Lillian Gish, José Ferrer and Boris Karloff (it cannot be ruled out that the protagonist of Frankenstein will contribute something to the mournful fame of the house). But it also includes the dancer Rudolf Nureyev, the playwright William Inge, the musician Leonard Bernstein or the singers Roberta Flack and Paul Simon. And almost as airy is the list of those who were rejected: among them, Madonna, Cher, Billy Joel, Judd Apatow and the couple at the time composed of Melanie Griffith and Antonio Banderas.

On the other hand, when the Dakota was conceived, back in the last quarter of the 19th century, the idea of ​​living in an apartment tower was not very attractive to New York's social elite. Contrary to what happened in European capitals such as Paris, Rome, London or Madrid, apartments were reserved almost exclusively for the working classes, crammed into vertical buildings under the elevated train tracks, while the “well-off people” only considered decent occupy the single-family homes that still spread throughout the center of the city. The Age of Innocence (novel by Edith Wharton and film by Martin Scorsese) or the television series The Gilded Age have portrayed that period in New York's history, focusing exclusively on its most privileged sectors.

That was also the time when the first apartments aimed at the middle and upper classes were built, such as the Stuyvesant or the Spanish Flats of the San Sebastian businessman Juan Navarro, demolished during the 20th century. The magnate Edward Cabot Clark also saw a business opportunity there, thinking that perhaps it would be difficult to convince the upper layer of the economic aristocracy of the benefits of tenement houses, but that just below them there was a substantial segment to exploit. .

Clark had amassed a large fortune through his association with Isaac Merritt Singer, founder of the Singer sewing machine manufacturing company, of which he was president. And he set out to multiply that wealth by entering the real estate development business. To do this, he acquired a plot of land on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, on the west side of Central Park, which was not a risk-free decision: it was not then a very attractive enclave for a bourgeoisie unwilling to abandon its positions of the Fifth Avenue and surroundings. In fact, although there is no certainty about the reasons why the building was named Dakota, it is believed that it was due to its location in the city, perceived as somewhat remote at that time. It was, in any case, a name that was both exotic and familiar, with resonances of territory to be conquered. This principle ended up becoming customary in the neighborhood: later a Nevada building, a Montana, a Yosemite and a Wyoming would come.

To design what became known by the alternative name of Clark's folly (“Clark's nonsense”), the young architect Henry Janeway Hardenbergh was hired, who had just designed the Vancorlear, the city's first apartment hotel. Construction spanned from 1880 to 1884, and Clark died two years before its completion. He was unable to witness the success of his business, which was soon filled with businessmen, bankers, stockbrokers and other prominent professionals who fit the target profile he had envisioned. All of them had been attracted by that architecture, which was essentially a hypervitaminized version of the Vanderbilt or Astor mansions, the tops of the aspirational pyramid of that society.

With nine floors and 65 apartments, each consisting of between 4 and 20 rooms, the Dakota radiates the energy of a majestic mass. His style mixes revival Gothic and the French and German Renaissance, in a typical pastiche of the residential architecture of the power of the time. On its brick façade, the vertical lines of viewpoints, the terracotta finishes, the elegant cornice, the upper metal balustrade and the imposing mansards that finish it stand out. But above all the double arch of the main entrance, more than six meters high, which gives access to the H-shaped interior patio through which you reach the different homes. There is a second, more modest access, initially planned for the service, which today remains closed except to evacuate the bodies of the deceased, which is why it is known as “the door to the funeral home.” It is estimated that it opens once a year.

For the rest, four elevators were originally installed for the residents and the same number for the service – the elevators were then a sumptuous element -, the stairs were made of wrought bronze, in the patio there were two stone fountains with metal decorations in the shape of coves. that threw water, the common areas were covered with marble and fine woods, the homes had a generous profusion of fireplaces, and common rooms were planned such as a ballroom, a dining room, kitchens from which to order meals, a laundry and an office of own telegraphs.

It would be in the middle of the 20th century when the Dakota began to gain popularity among celebrities, who succeeded the more conventional bourgeoisie of its beginnings. But, perhaps traumatized by the murder of John Lennon, the neighbors later changed their strategy. When in 2005 they prevented the sale of one of the apartments to Griffith and Banderas, its owner, documentary filmmaker Albert Maysles, publicly lamented that that community was moving away from creative profiles to favor the entry of other types of wealthy people. In the following years there have also been no shortage of accusations of racismalthough In 2015 a court ruling rejected this hypothesis.

Less popular than in other times, the Dakota still retains its legendary aura. And the extravagant glamor of having welcomed the cradle of the Antichrist.

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