“Just a BLONDE” - Thoughts on the Wicked Beauty of Dissecting Marilyn Monroe
“She was never mad, but the one thing you can diagnose her with in our modern age is the disease of metonymy. Nothin’ but a BLONDE. Nothing but her darkness.”
Monroe at an auction, subtly begging for her freedom. Source: i-D Magazine
Her poised, half-cocked lips fill the screen. A screenshot and snapshot of her life’s work.
If only her teeth had bellowing and blossoming skirts that flow upwards with each of her considered breaths.
Yet, Ms Norma Jeane Baker was a half-baked blonde. Labeled platinum-blonde, according to Madame Tussauds. Yet, born a brunette.
Imagine that, captured in your own hair dye! If she had changed it, she would have ceased to be the Monroe we know and love.
Gentleman Prefer Blondes, you see.
Some Like it Hot, whilst others prefer sitting through The Seven Year Itch.
"She's not just the person that stands on the air vent and looks pretty ditzy," Emma Cooper, the director of The Mystery of Marilyn Monroe: The Unheard Tapes said.
"There is a lot of pain and there's a lot of strength in her. I'm completely obsessed with her."
Even her fans, her oh-so-liberating fans, are obsessed with her.
The question, then: is the new Marilyn Monroe BLONDE movie wickedly beautiful? Or just plain wicked?
When does ironic exploitation become actual exploitation? Source: IMDb
The answer is simple. It can’t be anything but wickedly beautiful. That’s the essence of Monroe that we’ve communally created.
As much as Marilyn Monroe’s BLONDE movie strives to emphasize that “Marilyn doesn’t exist,” she permeates every pore.
Everyone sympathizes with Norma Jean. It’s the go-to position to make it culturally appropriate to continue the conversation on Monroe. The endless conversation. Us – the media’s dissemination – a public relations orgasm.
It leads people to find justifications for Monroe’s wide-eyed eyes, which we unconsciously imitate as her parts pass across the screen.
“Oh-dear,” we cry. Asking oh-so-forlornly, “What would Marilyn Say?”
We talk about not talking about her. We spread information about not spreading disinformation. The Asshole Jungle.
We say things in YouTube comment sections like…
“It is not even a biopic that has dramatic embellishments in it. It’s a fictional story based on the theme and events of “a” Marilyn Monroe. Not THE Marilyn. Almost like a tribute.”
Almost like a tribute. Almost. But not quite.
An exploitation film based on the “platinum cotton-candy head” gal we all know and love isn’t culturally possible.
Marilyn Monroe’s personal brand was built on the nailbed of exploitation. Those nails segmented her – nay, her body – into pieces. She became her parts. Never put together, she became far, far less than a whole.
She became afflicted by the disease of metonymy. Y’know, where “lend me your ears, dear reader” stands in for something related.
The source honestly doesn’t matter.
She became her beauty mark. And she still is.
She became her half-parted lips. And she still is.
She became the platinum bobs. And she still is.
She became her wide-eyed doe-eyed stare. And she still is.
She became the uncontrollable, tantalizing skirt brought to life by the stale stench of Hollywood’s vents. She still is.
Our grandparents reveled in her smiles and sex appeal. Now, we drink up the “deeper, sadder, and a little dark[er]” parts. We revel in the catastrophe our ancestors caused.
The worst part?
I can’t bloody wait for the latest exploitation in this ageless saga.
The cinematography is just so damn beautiful.
