Marilyn's Shadow

While I think vulnerability in artists and characters is good, and the willingness to be vulnerable can be admirable, I dislike the fetishisation of vulnerability. Into this category falls 2022's Blonde, a movie that revels in the misery of Marilyn Monroe's life, starting with the most pessimistic interpretation of the motives of people around her and then imagining things were even worse. In this film, based on a book by Joyce Carol Oates, Marilyn Monroe becomes the Sufferer and director Andrew Dominik presents one minimalist scene after another in which Marilyn, in a dark room or carefully reconstructed publicity photo or movie scene, is compelled to shed tears or is duped into smiling.

Marilyn Monroe, as a subject, is a bit like Alice in Wonderland. No matter how many films have been made or books written about or inspired by the original, there will always be more. Part of the reason is that there's a distinct feeling that every version, no matter how good, never quite scratches the itch. Marilyn Monroe and Alice in Wonderland both leave the audience with the feeling that there's more under the surface, that there are tantalising avenues to explore, but access to these paths are forever blocked. Not necessarily because there are secrets that can never be uncovered, but because the original subject so successfully suggests the beginnings of ideas and stories.

I imagine Joyce Carol Oates and Andrew Dominik researched Marilyn and were captivated by the idea of how much suffering the woman probably endured behind the scenes. Omitted entirely from the film are Marilyn's first husband, her tenacious struggle to become an actress, and her final completed, greatest film, The Misfits. Instead we meet a persistently passive Norma Jean, who can do little more than shed tears as her mother, overcome by madness, nearly murders her. A passive Marilyn is confused as a studio executive bends her over for anal sex in exchange for her big break. A passive Marilyn feebly discusses the complexity of her character in Don't Bother to Knock. A passive Marilyn drifts into a sexual relationship with the sons of Charlie Chaplin and Edward G. Robinson.

The only really sympathetic male character is Arthur Miller, played with real warmth by Adrien Brody. And yet, while the film pores dully over slow motion, recreated shots of The Seven Year Itch and Gentlemen Prefer Blondes to show how Marilyn was exploited by a chorus of demoniac, slobbering men, Blonde doesn't even mention the film Miller wrote for her, arguably her greatest triumph as an actress, The Misfits. Blonde is not interested in what Marilyn accomplished or if she even had any real talent or positive contribution to the cultural landscape. It's little more than an excuse for the filmmakers to experience the simultaneous pleasure of delighting in a beautiful woman's suffering while caricaturing men--some of whom were probably truly responsible for that suffering, and others who were probably truly not.

Ana de Armas certainly bears an uncanny resemblance to Marilyn, though her nose and jawline are different, and she holds nothing back in the role. It's really a brave performance, if only the material were more worthwhile.

Blonde is available on Netflix.

X Sonnet #1722

Where apple dolphins play, the dinner cooked.
Around the party paper, people sang.
A joyous noise compels a nosy look.
Combustive kites propel a lofty bang.
With stable sets of colours, palettes melt.
Repeated pictures slowly soak the years.
Reduction rendered man below the belt.
Impressive scenes could lack a pool of tears.
Increasing names endorse the smokey meal.
Upon the seven seas a secret sucked.
Retreated houses ask a month to deal.
Another wind before the mill was ducked.
With dancing kappa, ponds were conquered first.
The world beyond endures persistent thirst.