Dear Miss Monroe
Basically I'm in love with you, but you've probably heard that before. Granted, I never met you, you died 22 years before I was born, and I know nothing about you other than what I've seen from the movies you were in, and the very public accounts of your rather tragic and short life.
But get this Miss Monroe, I am a lover of movies, I have been for as long as I remember, if I count the times I've been in love in real life over the times I've been in love with the movies, then the movies would win every
time. And personally I don't find anything wrong with that, I have my both of my feet planted firmly in reality, I know of the hardships, the disappointments, the downright cold loneliness the real world can bring, I am fully aware of its imperfections, but then someone like you can come along and show me through the movies that life can be beautiful.
I have seen most of your films Miss Monroe, right from the very beginning where you were George Sanders' guest in "All About Eve", and Louis Calhern's mole in "The Asphalt Jungle". Your appearances were brief, but left us wanting to know more about you. Your small parts became bigger, you were a secretary in "Monkey Business", going for a joyride with scientist Cary Grant who had just stumbled upon a miracle serum to make him more youthful (Perhaps you were the true fountain of youth for him). Looking at that film again, it's a shame you weren't pared again with Grant, I could almost imagine you as Grace Kelly's somewhat less refined and exciting younger sister in "To Catch a Thief".
Your big break was with "Gentleman Prefer Blondes", playing a golddigger along with best gal pal Jane Russel. There are no apologies for your character, largely because she is so upfront about what she wants, and while it's true you may have ushered in a new "Dumb Blonde" movement with your role, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to know you were in on the joke, how you could not be, the performance is full of many nuances and perfectly timed moments, all comic actresses should take note.
Your star climbed higher with "How to Marry a Millionaire", a stuffy, and sometimes static comedy that seemed to be getting used to its Cinemascope surroundings. The movie died, when you or William Powell weren't on screen. You were playing the foolish blonde yet again, this one was embarrassed to be seen in public without her glasses, yet when they weren't on, she was blind as a bat, a simple overdone premise, but I must admit, the highlight was of you walking into a wall, but you did it with such poise, I figured this is a girl I could go for.
By the time "The Seven Year Itch" came around, you were Marilyn in full form, of course your character was only known as "The Girl", it was obvious to us who you were supposed to be. In that film, more than any other, you were the ideal Marilyn, everyone wanted you to be, sexy, funny, sweet, kind, and bubbly. The irony of that film is the censors completely cut out the idea that you were supposed to have an affair with a married middle aged man, so you were left as more of a tease for the audience, someone who could not be touched despite your best efforts.
For those early films Marilyn, you exuded sex, it was just natural as can be coming from you, and I think that comes from your awareness of the camera, and your own influence on it. You knew what the camera could do, you were photographed more times than any other movie star, even in news footage, there was no denying the fantasy you embodied. You probably didn't want that type of attention all of the time, and it's probably why your real acting abilities weren't taken seriously, you became a cardboard image for people to ogle, to them you may have just as well have been an empty shell.
After "Seven Year Itch", you had exhausted the Marilyn image enough, you had more to prove, and to express, you studied with Lee Strasberg in the Actor's Studio, and came back to movies two years later with "Bus Stop" which was like night and day. This time, you weren't Marilyn, but a fully formed character, one who was a bit lost, confused, and hurt by the real world, and in comes a naive brute of a cowboy who falls in love with you at first sight. You don't know what to make of it, he harasses you, keeps you, even lassos you into not getting away. You try to get away, but what you don't realize is this is a man, albiet a bit rough around the edges who will treat you like the Angel you deserve to be.
This was a new dawn of Marilyn, the type who's vulnerable, and hasn't been treated right her whole life. The simple act of the cowboy covering you with his jacket at the end of the film seemed like something you have been waiting for all of your life.
"Bus Stop" showed a vulnerability that would last through the rest of your career, even when you were asked to bring that bombshell image back with your greatest success "Some Like it Hot". As Sugar Cane, the unlucky in love ukelele player, you were the straight person to Jack Lemmon and Tony Curtis' cross dressing musicians, but in a film full of slapstick, you offered the film's most poignant moments, when you sing "I Wanna be Loved By You", and "I'm Through with Love", you could always sell a musical number, and if "Some Like it Hot" has any kind of heart, you were it baby.
You were perhaps never more alluring than you were in "Let's Make Love, a silly musical comedy which concentrated too much on Yves Montand trying to make you fall in love with him. Like in your earlier films, you were too often moved to the background, but again the film came alive with your musical numbers, but there was a grown maturity with this character, you looked more sophisticated and savvy, there was almost a feeling of you being more relaxed, like you didn't have anything to prove anymore.
Your final word in film was in John Huston's "The Misfits", where you played the film's conscience, someone who didn't understand why people hurt other people, or hurt themselves. Near the end, there is a long wide shot of you in a dessert valley giving off a primal scream, you broke my heart in that film. You shared the film with Clark Gable, who died soon after, also Montgomery Clift who, like you was a damaged star, he would survive longer than you, but not too long.
You would die a year after "The Misfits" was released, it was too soon, it was as if you were just hitting your stride as a serious actress, perhaps someone who could've ranked with the likes of Brando, and to me that's not too hard to believe.
To those who say you were not that strong of an actress, I don't think were paying attention. You gave your all when you were performing for the camera, you created an image which stood as a work of art, and it was no coincidence, you made it all happen, the camera loved you, and we did too.
Miss Monroe, I will always have a crush on you, the way people who love the movies could. I imagine me being that naive cowboy in "Bus Stop" giving you his coat, or even Monty Clift in "The Misfits", who frees all those horses for you, because those actions seemed like they meant the world to you, and perhaps if you had more of those experiences in your life, you could still be with us.
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