The Prince and the Showgirl

The Prince and the Showgirl (Laurence Olivier, 1957) Olivier and his wife Vivien Leigh made a hit play of Terrence Rattigan's bauble "The Sleeping Prince," and, naturally, Olivier wanted to make a film of it. But, Marilyn Monroe's new production company wanted to make a film of it, too, and so a fait accompli was reached—Monroe's company would produce for Warner Bros. Studio and Olivier would direct and star...not too bad a job, considering that the other offer Olivier had at the time was to play Col. Nicholson in David Lean's The Bridge on the River Kwai. It must have seemed to Olivier an easy choice: sweat over multiple takes with Lean in buggy, balmy Burma, or make love on-screen to Marilyn Monroe at Pinewood Studios. What could possibly go wrong?

To Olivier's point of view, Burma might have been the better choice. Monroe came to England—the first time she'd made a movie outside the States—freshly married to playwrite Arthur Miller, and taking classes at the Actors Studio and currently under the tutelage of its head Lee Strasberg (in fact, Strasburg's wife accompanied Monroe to England for filming).

Olivier found working with and directing Monroe frustrating, complaining that she would show up to the set hours late, would have trouble remembering lines, and seemed to not retain directions in her head, never providing the same line reading twice and not hitting her marks.* He also objected to the strong relationship between her acting coach Paula Strasberg, feeling his direction being undermined, and at one point tossing her off the set. In protest, Monroe returned to her dressing room and refused to continue shooting until Strasberg was allowed back. Shooting was stressful on what was supposed to be a light comedy.

It is June 1911 and George V is about to be crowned King of England. For the coronation, the city is flooded with foreign dignitaries including the 16 year old King of Carpathia (Jeremy Spenser), accompanied by his grandmother, the Queen of Carpathia (Dame Sybil Thorndyke), and the Prince Regent Charles (Laurence Olivier), the ostensible leader of the government until the King is of age. The Foreign Office is in high-stiff-upper-lip mode over any incident that might perturb the Prince Regent, as tensions in Europe are high. Thus, Northbrook (Richard Wattis) of the Office is dispatched to the Carpathian Embassy to see to the party's needs.

The first need of the Prince Regent is entertainment, so Northbrook arranges his entourage to a night of musical theater, a little trifle called "The Coconut Girl," featuring an acquaintance of the Prince Regent's in the lead. Backstage, the PR greets the members of the cast, where he is taken by American chorus-girl Elsie Marina (Monroe)—perhaps because she has a wardrobe malfunction when they shake hands. Charles informs Northbrook that he would have much pleasure if Miss Marina could dine with him at the Embassy...at midnight. Northbrook is surprised at the Regent's earlier acquaintance not being asked, but orders are orders.

The invitation is a shock to Elsie—why her? But, with a borrowed dress, and a wary eye, she is brought to the Embassy by Northbrook who sums up the Embassy with "Personally, I find the decoration is a little vulgar." But, Elsie is impressed: "Well, all I can say is give me vulgarity!" She is escorted to the second floor sitting room to await Charles, but she becomes well aware that the Regent is interested in more than just dinner, as the dinner is a private one, only for two. Elsie has other plans, but is more than happy having a fancy dinner. The thing is, she has trouble with the protocol—how to address dignitaries, that one leaves the room walking backwards, facing the dignitary.

Once Charles arrives, he has more concerns about affairs of State than a casual affair—at least for the moment, after making sure she is supplied with drinks, and leaves Elsie to her champagne and food, while he makes telephone calls about the political climate in Europe, while making some disparaging remarks about Americans and their childish democratic notions, which Elsie, her champagne intake increasing, takes as snobbish and insulting. She lets Charles make a clumsy effort at seducing her, but his words are flowery but empty, and more than a little well-practiced. She isn't impressed...nor will she be pressed, vertically or horizontally.

Charles, the Prince Regent: Here am I, having reached the age of 40. And I have never known what it is to love or be loved. It is like the legend of the sleeping princess. Only here, it is the prince who sleeps and awaits the kiss of the beautiful young maiden that will bring him back to life.

Elsie Marina: You mean you want me to kiss you?

Charles, the Prince Regent: You are so literal.

Disconcerting to Charles is that his late night supper still manages to be interrupted...often, and he becomes increasingly annoyed with the pace of the evening, and Elsie's apparent ability to one-up him in his strategies, her impertinence in not succumbing to his admittedly weak efforts at seduction, too practiced and without passion, and her general lack of decorum or fawning respect, something he is used to, but is lacking in what he thought would be a simple sexual conquest. He sums up the evening to Northbrook:

Charles, the Prince Regent: The mind of a backward child, the muscles of a boxer and an approach to life of such stomach-turning sentimentality, that I found myself, Northbrook, I found myself last night uttering phrases which had they been overheard would make me the laughingstock of Europe. To crown it all, she's rendered insensible by an amount of vodka, which in Carpathia, you would add to the morning milk of a 4-year-old child as a mild tonic!

Northbrook: Do I gather, Sir, that the evening was not an entirely happy one?

Charles, the Prince Regent: Northbrook, this British understatement of yours, I begin to find irritating. The evening was an unqualified nightmare.

Northbrook: I'm so sorry, Sir.

Charles, the Prince Regent: I have only one evening in London. One single evening in which to arrange for myself relaxation. And what happens? Out of the whole of this vast, teeming city, teeming with beautiful, intelligent women, you find me what? A little American ninnycompoop.

Northbrook: With respect, Sir, either ninny, by itself, or nincompoop.

Charles, the Prince Regent: Ninnycompoop will serve. She fully deserves a new word.

Confusion ensues. Elsie passes out from the alcohol—never mix with champagne with vodka—and is forced to spend the night at the Embassy, which, although the circumstances are innocent enough, would be scandalous, if found out...especially by the Queen Mother. Then, there is the young King, who, chafing under his father's repressive and autocratic regency, conspires with the Germans to overthrow his father, and is more sympathetic with Elsie for her openness and belief in democratic elections. The two form a bond as she overhears a call the King makes to the German Embassy ("I understand German. I grew up in Milwaukee!") against the Regent, sympathizing with the young King, and hoping she can ease tensions between...everyone.

Monroe exits the room backwards and ad-libs: "Pretty good, huh?"...which stayed in the movie.

On top of that, circumstances allow her to attend the coronation as one of the Dowager Queen's ladies-in-waiting, a ceremony that moves and overwhelms her. Quite a busy couple of days for a seemingly simple show-girl.

It is an unlikely trifle that doesn't amount to much. What is fascinating is the dynamic of the production, which, despite Olivier's complaints of frustration, are rather seamless—except for Monroe calling the Regent "Laurence" at one point. The whole film is carefully plotted and the performances quite proper and professional. All very much as it should be for a rather formal light entertainment, with one element slightly askew.

And that element is Monroe. In such a stuffy environment, and in such a manicured production, she is a breath of fresh air, a release from the tensions and regimentation of the presentation. Where everyone is stiff—none more so than Olivier—she is loose and funny and unbridled, mercurial in her reactions, irreverent in her demeanor, and with a goose-like grace that threatens to trip over its own tail-feathers. And, seriously (and comically) isn't that what the character SHOULD be—an antidote to protocol? While everyone is—sometimes hypocritically—putting on a display of airs with hidden agendas, shouldn't she be the bump in the carpet that they trip over with her honesty and lack of guile?

The answer is a resounding "yes." The actress and her clash of style and method is the perfect element to include in order to point out the folly of the strutting prima-donna's (both before and behind the camera) that their very proper charades are a sham. There is an impertinence in Monroe's performance and manner that speaks truth to power that goes far beyond the movie's surface arguments that her character is in the right, and, thus, garners the audience's sympathy for what the play struggles to preach. Ultimately, the movie fails to convince that there is a love story there, beyond the words expressed, but there is never any doubt the story's soul resides with Monroe's character and the way in which she plays it. 

Sometimes, directors just luck out, even if they don't recognize it or have the capacity to admit it. Maybe Olivier would have preferred his wife play the role, as she did on-stage, but one doubts it would have been as good, or beneficial to the film. One can't even imagine the movie being as effective if the next obvious choice to play the role—Grace Kelly (who had starred in another Rattigan confection the previous year)—had played the part, as she was too regimented, too practiced, too perfect to be an effective foil for the pretensions of the rest of the movie. 

Olivier would go on to grouse about Monroe's behavior and her performance for the rest of his life (no doubt annoyed that everyone always asks about her), but the truth is she's the best thing about The Prince and the Showgirl as well as aiding the movie and its purpose. Perhaps (as suggested in My Week with Marilyn, which we'll look at tomorrow) he was confounded that she was SO good despite his efforts to manipulate her to something else he had in mind—that he couldn't direct her to be as effective as she is on the screen. She simply was (as many directors were forced to admit), without his direction being a factor. One couldn't direct... or teach...what she presented on camera. It was an undefinable something that couldn't be coaxed or understood.

One wonders if she understood that capacity, as well. And feared losing it.

* Counter-argument

Lord Laurence Olivier dishing on Marilyn Monroe