It seems like every few years, whether we want it or not, we're inundated by some new, apparently big revelation about one of our favorite stars of classic Hollywood yore.Katharine Hepburn was bisexual!
Bing Crosby was an abusive drunk!
Cary Grant dabbled in LSD!
A new author always seems to be chomping at the bit on the Today Show with their newest and juiciest bit of dirt to unearth for all to see a truer and more potent side of who (insert celebrity name) really was.
So in 1995 when Colin Clark, in his memoir "My Week with Marilyn" detailed his affair with the titular bombshell during the making of her film "The Prince & The Showgirl" in the summer of 1956, it was an instant success. Fans clamored for as much new and scandalous information as they could about the star that many still don't feel like we knew very well at all.
Unfortunately, for all of it's talk of these missing pieces to the Marilyn Monroe puzzle, the frothy film of "My Week with Marilyn" ends up a slow and shallow attempt that never really reveals much of anything at all.
Told from the perspective of the charming, upstart whipper snapper (of course he is) Colin Clark (Eddie Redmayne), the film really chronicles his experiences and coming-of-age in the midst of having this quick yet impacting affair with "the most famous woman in the world" rather than focusing on this titular woman herself.
Clark, a glorified gofer in the offices of Laurence Olivier's (played with abrasive fun by Kenneth Branagh) production company, is left to try to coax the seemingly always troubled Marilyn to make it to set, to get her to perform, to do whatever the often taciturn Olivier wants of her. But as "The Prince & The Showgirl" continues (slowly) to be filmed, we see that he develops more than a idealized crush on the actress, he really begins to fall for her.
That certainly not without Marilyn's help of course. She, the new bride of playwright Arthur Miller, and in need of attention after he leaves, turns to Colin as her confidant, her friend, and eventually her lover too.
The film screams with potential abound, but fulfills almost none of it. Instead of digging deeply into the emotions and intellect behind Marilyn's behavior it just continues to reinforce the myths and archetypes we've come to expect from the Marilyn Monroe. The script is in such an effort to try to locate these moments of frivolous and lighthearted fun that it forgets that woman at its center was chemically dependent and slowly losing her grip.
Despite those problems though, the woman at the center of this project, Michelle Williams, does what she can with the wonky script to create a real and passionate woman at the center of the project.
Williams is a functioning voluptuary; all breasts, lips, and hips (poorly padded hips, but hips none the less).
Gone are the doleful waifs she's played in "Brokeback Mountain," "Wendy and Lucy," and most recently in "Blue Valentine." She's particularly good in the boozy, half-inebriated sequences though, where she can finally let down the veneer and be the scared little girl she thinks Monroe was. You just wish a better director and a better script could have come across her lap, because in the right hands this performance really could have been even better than it already is.
That's ultimately what's wrong with "My Week with Marilyn." As light hearted, simple-minded, commercial entertainment the film certainly can fulfill some pleasures, and the re-creations of the "Prince" scenes on the film set feel particularly crisp, insightful, and dare I say, fun. They're detailing the particular parallels between two of film's greatest treasures. One, Olivier, a serious actor trying to become a star, and the other Monroe trying to be taken as a serious actress at last. Unfortunately, you'll have to keep craning your neck to try to catch the glimpses of this, because what we're left with is the lovelorn coming-of-age of a horny, over-privileged boy on the brink of manhood. Wait, wasn't it supposed to be about Marilyn Monroe?
Grade: B-
No comments:
Post a Comment