Merry Marilyn!
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It may not be enough to prove that Monroe was murdered, but it’s more than enough to refute the condescending claims often made by would-be experts ranging from Joseph L. Mankiewicz to Clive James that Monroe was some version of the dumb blonde she was so adept at playing. James once wrote, “She was good at being inarticulatedly abstracted for the same reasons that midgets are good at being short.” Among the more intriguing sections of the transcript are her citations from and sophisticated discussion of Freud’s Introductory Lectures, James Joyce’s Ulysses, Shakespeare, and William Congreve and her persuasive critique of The Misfits: “Arthur [Miller] didn’t know film or how to write for it. The Misfits was not a great film, because it wasn’t a great script.” There are also candid remarks about her feelings for both Kennedys, her recently acquired ability to have orgasms, a brief sexual encounter with Joan Crawford, and a preoccupation with enemas tied to her problems with constipation.
The intelligence that shines through this document can also be seen in most of her best performances, especially in the way she subtly subverted the sexist content of her material. Her brainless secretary in the otherwise brilliant Monkey Business–a relentless mockery of the cult of youth–is a notable exception, but it was made before she became a star. In her next film, the 1953 Niagara (also in the retrospective), she played her only noir heroine, and it’s one of her less distinctive performances, perhaps because the script gives her so little elbow room. But then she costarred in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, and it became easier for her to choose and inflect her roles.
Like the hard-nosed Lorelei Lee–who was perfectly capable of acting like a smart grown-up when it came to her friendship with Dorothy (Jane Russell)–Monroe had discovered early on that her greatest power rested in her capacity to look and sound innocent, hapless, and helpless. A telling anecdote was recorded by a friend of hers, gossip columnist James Bacon, about the shooting of Fritz Lang’s 1952 Clash by Night, before she became a star: “I watched Marilyn spoil 27 takes of a scene one day. She had only one line, but before she could deliver it about 20 other actors had to go through a whole series of intricate movements on a boat. Everybody was letter perfect in every take, but Marilyn could not remember that one line. . . . Finally she got it right and Fritz yelled: ‘Thank God. Print it.’ Later, in her dressing room, Marilyn confessed that she had muffed the line on purpose for all those takes: ‘I just didn’t like the way the scene was going. When I liked it, I said the line perfectly.’”
Where: Gene Siskel Film Center, 164 N. State
