Sep. 06, 2006 - Issue #568: Sex in the City
Monroe sizzles in Some Like it Hot
For those of us who weren’t around during her reign as Hollywood screen siren, it can be difficult to truly understand her appeal. I knew that she was stunning, but had heard that she wasn’t the best actress of her day. And her iconic image, with the benefit of hindsight, held a certain amount of tragedy—there was a hefty price in being the quintessential woman.
But listening to her breathe her lines, watching her innocent eyes, as Tony Curtis’s Joe/Josephine stammered in her presence, her inexplicable star quality leapt right at me from the screen.
The film, voted Best Comedy of All Time by the American Film Institute, opens the Edmonton Film Society’s eight-film retrospective Marilyn, and it’s sure to win over some more converts. While I don’t know that I personally agree with the AFI’s assessment, this screwball comedy is certainly deserving of the accolades.
When Joe and Jerry (Jack Lemmon), two musicians in Chicago witness a mob hit, they decide to dress in drag, as Josephine and Daphne, and join an all-female band on its way to Miami. (When the film originally opened, the state of Kansas banned its release, citing the cross-dressing as too risqué and disturbing.)
Now, don’t be fooled—this isn’t standard oh-watch-those-men-try-to-walk-in-heels fare. Director Billy Wilder took full advantage of the comedic possibilities, long before we got to watch Charles Durning hit on Dustin Hoffman in Tootsie.
The two awkward “ladies” befriend Sugar (Monroe), another musician who is trolling for a millionaire husband. Joe is smitten with Sugar, so he decides to pose as the monied man she desires.
The premise is ripe for hilarious hijinks—especially with Curtis and Lemmon at the comedic helm. And when an actual millionaire puts his sights on Daphne, Lemmon is at his neurotic and stuttering best.
But Monroe more than holds her own, delivering what some critics have cited as the best performance of her life. Like some of the best comedians, she plays it utterly straight, never waiting for Curtis or Lemmon to lead the way. We get to see a more serious side to the blonde bombshell in River of No Return (1954) on Oct 2. One of the big attractions about the film for Albertans, of course, is the fact that it was shot in Banff and Jasper.
Rugged landscape aside, however, River is definitely on the gritty side.
Monroe (Kay) plays opposite Robert Mitchum (Matt) and the pair displays an unsettling dynamic. Matt is a gruff man, just released from prison, while Kay is a lounge singer looking for a change of lifestyle. When they meet, there are fireworks—but not always bright and colourful ones. Here, we get to see just how much male/female relationships have changed (thank goodness).
What’s also interesting about River is that director Otto Preminger made the actors do their own stunts, something that is hard to imagine the Monroe of the blowing skirt doing. If you’ve seen the film, you know that there is a hairy river-rafting scene, which, as it turns out, was just as scary in real life as it was portrayed on screen. Monroe had to be rescued when she fell in (and those Rocky Mountain rivers ain’t warm) and her boots filled with water. And both Mitchum and Monroe had to be saved when the raft wedged under a rock and nearly flipped over.
Further along in the series, Monroe matches wits with Laurence Olivier in The Prince and the Showgirl (1957), playing Oct 23. While it’s rumoured that Olivier, also the director of the film, very nearly abandoned directing after working with Monroe (he didn’t direct another until 1970’s Three Sisters)—ostensibly because she was considered a light-weight starlet—her performance far outdoes his one-dimensional prince. And considering his grand reputation, it’s a sight to see.
In November, the series gives us the comedic Bus Stop (1956), where we see Monroe truly shine opposite Don Murray. Constantly struggling to be accepted as a serious actress, she uses this film to play a wonderfully layered and conflicted woman.
How to Marry a Millionaire (1953) is a terrific ensemble film, with Monroe giving a light, comedic performance with Betty Grable and Lauren Bacall.
The series ends, appropriately, with Monroe’s last film, The Misfits (1960), penned for her by then-husband Arthur Miller. Again, with the benefit of hindsight, this film is haunting—the most famous moment being when Monroe launches a tirade against the dishonest and cruel men in her life. It’s hard to forget her yelling, “Murderers!” considering the suspicions around her death.
There’s no doubt that Monroe was tragically beautiful, as she seemed as much disgusted by male lust for her as she seemed to use her beauty to gain attention. But with this series, we have an opportunity to see the woman behind the icon, the woman who desperately wanted to be seen as more than just a bombshell. V
Most Mondays Sep 11 - Nov 20
Marilyn
Various directors & actors
Royal Alberta Museum, $5
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