Blonde (2022)

Carrion, Marilyn ("What Business of Yours is My Life?")

or

"Isn't Love Always Based on Delusion?" 

 

The controversies surrounding Blonde, the new Netflix film about Marilyn Monroe*—with the "about" tending towards the "somewhat surrounding" meaning—have been many and manifold.

 

There's the casting of Ana de Armas, the Cuban born actress of Knives Out, Deep Water, and Balderunner 2049 as Norma Jeane Mortenson that generated many a plucked eyebrow to raise in a reverse of the usual "black-on-white" kvetch-mishegoss. And when the film was completed, it was smacked with an NC-17 rating, which promised some salacious material—to which those looking for it will be disappointed—that limited what venues could advertise the film. The fact that its subject is Monroe, one of the most recognizable (and marketable) icons to come out of Hollywood shouldn't slow down the anticipation or the rush to judgment that such a film would engender.

 

But, we already know the story. Or, at least, we think we know the story—as far as anything gleaned from the entertainment press can be informative. And that is of Norma Jeane, the poor waif from questionable circumstances, rising to fame to achieve ultimate Hollywood stardom—men want her, women want to be her—only to find that happiness in the stratospheric air up there is just as illusive to find as down among the mortals who crave it. But, it's also a story of Hollywood as meat-grinder. Of exploitation as a never-ending cycle. Of the predatory nature of the patriarchy. And of never being able to fight back against "The Wisdom of the Tribe."

Blonde is based on Joyce Carol Oates' "fictionalization" (the author's word) of the accepted and/or whispered Monroe story. Which, in itself, is one more craven attempt to exploit the person. Oates took stories, legends, and gossip and created a creative narrative to make it neat and tidy. But, she was making things up as she went along, only hewing to the facts that have been seen in newsreels and in Cinemascope.

Dominick begins with the harsh glare of klieg lights and flash-bulbs, the one harsh and blinding and strong, the other fast, temporary, and with the aftermath of corruption; it is the scene of Marilyn Monroe filming the "subway grate" scene of The Seven Year Itch and she pirouettes incandescently in slow motion in the glare. The main title pops on, the title filled with embers and waves. And we're in Los Angeles 1933, where 7 year old Norma Jeane (Lily Fisher) lives with her mother (Julianne Nicholson), a "studio employee" who blames the child for the absence of the child's father (another more well-known "studio employee') in her life. On Norma Jeane's birthday, her present is to be allowed to see a photograph of her father—a studio "head-shot"—but whether this is the father or not is a matter of question. Her mother will soon be diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia to spend the rest of her days in an asylum, and Norma Jeane's in an orphanage.

"The press" has been saying that folks turn off Blonde after a few minutes, and one can see why, as these scenes are raw, deal with an unprettified version of mental illness, and involve child endangerment—there is much verbal abuse and when a wild-fire breaks out nearby, the mother is determined to escape to the absent father's house "in the hills" attempting to drive through the flames before being stopped by police. Returning to their boarding room, she kicks the child out, leaving her to fend on her own. Of course, people want to turn away at this point—this is tough stuff—the same way that they want to turn away from the homeless on the street. Why should they watch this to feel bad? Well, sadly, that's the story.

And it's not the story, either. The opening sets up a "Daddy Myth" for movie-Marilyn, that she will seek throughout the entire run-time of Dominik's film. The marriages—the ones portrayed, anyway (the first one's missing)—she constantly addresses her husbands as "Daddy." Is this true? I don't know, I wasn't there. But, Oates and Dominick use it as a through-line for Marilyn's entire life, in ways that she seeks father-figures (which could be true, but there may be something else to it?) and in a life-long hope that she might meet her actual father some day; letters from him are concocted to sustain that story arc, but it ultimately proves to be the cruelest part of this exercise. It is psychological speculation of the most specious, coming to conclusions from mere impressions and another example of "Fake News" from over-active imaginations.

The story then leaps from Norma Jeane's childhood to her career in modeling- seeking-acting-roles, and it is at this point that Ana de Armas enters the movie. Whatever one thinks of the movie itself, its best asset is de Armas. At 34, she still evokes the waif-like qualities that become the Marilyn persona, and her physical resemblance is uncanny enough to deflect "Monroe-memory," something extremely capable past performers have been unable to do. The voice-work is well-done without being a parody and even includes the variations between her "breathy" stage-voice and her still-vocal-coached but more natural tones.

De Armas also has a quality that helps—the camera loves her, which is that undefinable fairy-dust that shows an actor to their best advantage, but also allows the audience to read any emotional shift in their face—a quality she shares with Monroe. And Dominik has such faith in the actress and her resemblance—but, more importantly, her performance—that he risks the most brutal close-ups in emotional scenes. And they are frequent. De Armas is in such full command that she allows her face to crumple into ugliness at extreme moments—her humiliating exit from a an office meeting with a studio head (a "Mr. Z" because "lawyers"**) that is more of a pretense for rape, for example. It's one of the most brutal performances—while under scrutinized control—of any actress I've seen. De Armas has the best luck (prominent movies where she's singled out) but also the worst luck (being heavily cut out of movies) that, hopefully, casting types will see her amazing range.

If only it was in service to something better. Oates posits the newly re-christened Marilyn meeting up with fellow acting students, who also have a "Daddy" complex, but 180° opposed to hers, as they're only too well-associated with their fathers. They are Charles Chaplin Jr. (Xavier Samuel) and Edward G. Robinson Jr. (Evan Williams). The namesakes involve her in an extended ménage à trois in which they ply her with booze, sweet nothings of devotion, all the while sexually using her. They're the true villains of the piece, narcissistic, privileged Hollywood kids who can't be successful on their own but only by making a living parasitically. Later, the two will use nude pictures they've taken of her to blackmail "The Athlete" (Bobby Cannavale) who marries Monroe, and...as mentioned...have a direct correlation to Monroe's fatal overdose. Indications in the real world are that Monroe may have encountered them in her career, but whether there was a threesome relationship or that it resulted in a pregnancy (as the film depicts) is just conjecture. I don't know, I wasn't there. Neither was Oates, or Dominik.

At least, the director-screenwriter eliminated Oates' scenario that Monroe was killed by assassins at the order of the then-Attorney-General. As it is, they merely suggest an assignation with the President (Caspar Phillipson)—that might have resulted in a pregnancy and a forced abortion which is played out like a "horrible dream." What he's replaced it with isn't much better, even if it hues closer to the actual autopsy report, although even then its casting for a reason for "why" centers on manipulation and cruelty, which seem to be the mainstays in this sensationalistic re-imagining of her life.

The pacing seems off as well. There is short-shrift given to her marriages to "The Ex-Athlete" (the issue seems to be she's too much a celebrity) and "The Playwright" (their attempt to create a simple life is hampered by her difficulties carrying a child to term and his writerly penchant to betray confidences) and her dependence on drugs and alcohol to maintain her schedule. It was probably more complicated than that. By this time, Monroe had her own production company and was wrangling creative control with her former bosses and potential new ones. Dominik has her throwing tantrums, but as far as being a tough businesswoman in a male-dominated town? Nothing.

Two opposing views: Monroe filming The Seven Year Itch; 

"The Ex-Athlete" witnessing in disgust.

Enough. The script, the attitude, the promiscuous, indiscriminate character assassination, the utter cruel tone of the entire project can be parsed for a week of posts. One could get sick of it. But, aside from de Armas' gutsy and (one would even go so far as to say) heroic performance, is there anything else to recommend even a casual glance at this?

Sure. Blonde is a marvel, visually. Dominik moves through formats, aspect ratios, gradations of color and and depths of black and white all to the service of making it look authentic to the period and our cultural memory, despite the lack of any matching veracity in the script. Complementing de Armas' "you'd-swear-it-was-reality" performance, the creative team endeavored (and you can compare their efforts to real pictures above***) to reproduce the appearances of one of the most photographed women from the Hollywood era. It's chilling, really, how much they get the visual right while the story has so much wrong. When the movie jack-knifes into surrealism towards the end, you're willing to believe it.

I will applaud the dedication to detail to recreate those touchstones that any schlub off the street would recognize. Poster images, movie recreations, photo recreations are done meticulously to pass muster. But, one could also see it as an attempt to give all the rampant speculation some legitimacy.

The ultimate tragedy of Marilyn Monroe is that, even after her death in 1962, people are still taking advantage of her, making a buck off her, and dragging her through the mud, just as much as they were doing while she was alive. Usually after a passing, there can be some perspective where one "never speaks ill of the dead", or a charitable view will become the one agreed upon. Not so with Marilyn, evidently. Her afterlife is one composed of the same exploitation foisted upon her while she was alive, a Hell of our own making...and marketing...for all eternity.

It all feels like dancing on her grave...if not outright pissing on it. That's a fate best served to mass-murderers, serial killers and autocrats.

 

But, what did she ever do to us, except entertain us?

Traditionally, movie reviews end with the ranking of stars—5 stars, 4 stars, whatever—and I usually don't do that. But, Blonde made me want to say three Hail Mary's and make a good Act of Contrition. 

 

And, maybe, light a candle.

* Up to a few weeks ago there was a www.marilynmonroe.com web-site that seems to have disappeared into the ether, and now re-directs to an Instagram account. Seems apt.

 

** The studio head is never named but given that Monroe's career was mostly for 20th Century Fox (run by Darryl F. Zanuck) the implication is clear without spelling it out. This "supposedly" didn't happen with Zanuck (according to the always trustworthy entertainment press) but Zanuck was known for having (what was once known as ) "proteges" who were usually beautiful young women, but also usually from Europe. Still, the production did have to get its clips (to reproduce) from 20th Century Fox, didn't they?

 

 *** Oh. The ones on the LEFT are the real Marilyn, while the ones on the right are from Blonde.

She's scary-good.

No Time to Die

James Bond's Swann Song

or

In The War of Orphans, Winning is Who You Leave Behind

or

"Tell Mother I Died Game" ("Well, It Just Goes to Show No One's Indestructible")

 

The continuity-conscious Daniel Craig era of the James Bond series has had a through-line simmering throughout all of its previous four films—"Don't trust anyone." 

From Craig's first film, Casino Royale, when the newly designated "00" agent James Bond has a moment of romantic weakness with the wrong person, continuing to the next film when he finds that his service has been compromised, and that the allied CIA works to cross-purposes, through Skyfall, where his boss "M" (Dame Judi Dench) sacrifices agents (including himself) indiscriminately, to the last one, where he discovers he can't even trust his past, this version of Bond walks under a cloud of suspicion, never letting his armor down, lest he be betrayed...by anyone. 

By the time of Craig's fourth film, SPECTRE, he has tipped so far over the edge that he draws down on a random mouse to ask it "Who sent you? Who are you working for?"   

As the song (from Quantum of Solace) says: "...someone that you think that you can trust is just another way to die."

The official series' 25th entry*, No Time to Die, sees Craig's James Bond retired in Jamaica and recruited—by CIA pal Felix Leiter (Jeffrey Wright)—for an operation that eventually reunites him with the people he does trust to go after people he can't, something involving a missing scientist. Another one. Hey, the series has been going on for nearly 60 years, everything can't be original and nor would the many "James Bond" devotees not allow the "familiarity factor" to creep into the story ("Where's the Aston Martin?" "Where's the martini line?" "I didn't hear 'Bond...James Bond!" "Is he going 'rogue' again?"**).

Still, with all the Fleming novels having been filmed—in one form or another—and a good smattering of the short stories included, the filmmakers have been hard pressed to keep Bond current, the movie-plots being set "a few minutes from now" with call-backs from past novels and films spattered in, as well as acknowledgments from other sources that the producers use to know that they know they're being watched.*** And the films have for the most part been formulaic—Pre-Credit Sequence/Main Title/Meeting with M/Visit to Q/Two Women (at least) with one being of mixed loyalty/The Sacrificial Lamb/Meet the Villain/Big Finish (with Explosion)/Sting in the Tail With a Challenging Henchman/"James Bond Will Return in..."—so that there were things you could count on. Rules were played with, but some you just didn't violate.

 

No Time to Die up-ends them.

As I mentioned, the Craig films are continuity-conscious. When last we left James Bond (Daniel Craig, pushing it this time, in all aspects—age, acting, etc...), he had crushed the international crime league, S.P.E.C.T.R.E., and brought to ground (literally) its ring-leader, Ernst Stavro Blofeld (Christoph Waltz)—but didn't kill him—instead walking off into the London night with Dr. Madeleine Swann (Lea Seydoux), daughter of the mysterious SPECTRE middle-man Mr. White (seen in three of the Craig's). The last shot of SPECTRE had the two seated in Bond's recently re-constructed Aston Martin, sharing smug, self-satisfied smiles. They were meant for each other.

No Time to Die begins with an episode from the past (not involving Bond, but will), and the story of the two scar-crossed lovers on a European honeymoon of sorts that is ruined when Bond is attacked visiting the grave of...Vesper Lynd (the "other woman" from Casino Royale). Coincidence? Not much of one, and as Swann and Bond are high-tailing it out of there, it's revealed that Blofeld has engineered the whole thing from his prison and implicates Madeleine. Despite her protests, Bond puts her on a train and she's out of his life. Bond and his trust-issues again.

In the past, we'd gotten used to the disappearing Bond-girl act, where after the final clinch of each movie, she is never seen...or mentioned...again. "Who?" But, the fact that Seydoux is even there—and she's the only actress playing the same Bond-woman part over two movies—means that she's special. And that the producers have "borrowed" a piece of music from the series' past (written by John Barry!!) to serenade the Bond-Swann romance means she's more than special. More on that later—Madeleine Swann Will Return.

Five years later and Bond is retired in Jamaica and alone, spending his days fishing, cooking and (probably) drinking. One day, he comes back to his house and sees evidence that someone had been there—someone who smokes cigars. He goes into town, realizes he's being followed, and manages to catch the culprits in the act. It turns out to be Leiter and a State Department official Logan Ash (Billy Magnussen) who are trying to get Bond to help track down Valdo Obruchev (David Dencik), a biochemist who has recently been kidnapped by SPECTRE. Bond had a hand in bringing him in during his tenure, and under the agency's careful watch, the man had been working on something called the Heracles Project, a form of targeted weaponized virus. MI6 lost him and the CIA is trying to get him back.

But, they're not the only one. Also tracking him in Jamaica is a "00" agent from MI6, in fact, the new "007" ("I'll bet you thought they'd retired it"), Nomi (Lashana Lynch), who's also on the look-out for the chemist. Despite her warnings to back off, Bond travels to Cuba, where SPECTRE agents seem to be gathering. Nomi is there too, and with the help of a new CIA agent (Ana de Armas), Bond walks right into a viper's nest.

The Cuba sequence, with its fights, the jokey repartee of Bond and "Paloma," their pauses to drink, while Nomi is skulking in the background looking for opportunity is probably the highlight of the film. It works like a violent dance, with a Cuban jazz background (part of Hans Zimmer's functional score) that gives it verve and a sense of hysteria. That it follows one of the creepiest scenes in a Bond film probably helps to provide that sense of chaotic relief.

But, just because that's the giddy apex of the movie doesn't mean the rest of its bad. There's a hell-bent Aston Martin chase in an Italian villa, a spooky cross-country shoot-out through a foggy Norwegian forest that is terrific, and another example of those spectacular villain lair designs that have always set the series apart from its competitors. 

This is another of those Bond films that stun for how well done the practical effects are, the cinematography—by not one of the upper tier of photographers—is lush and colorful, the editing is crisp and tight (while giving you a sense of continuity and flow—something not apparent in Quantum of Solace), and the sheer kinetic verve of the action sequences goggle. Credit director Cary Joji Fukunaga for his precise direction and making a movie that never feels like it's 2 hours 46 minutes in length ("We Have All the Time in the World," indeed!). It's a bit of a miracle, really.

Fukunaga has also inspired Craig's most intense performance as Bond, part of which must also be credited to Phoebe Waller-Bridge's re-write of the original Purvis/Wade script. Fukunaga's practice of letting the actors "wing it" gives the film a richer, fuller life, much more than the standard Bond direction of "line (beat)/funny line (beat-beat)" that makes the viewing of the older films of the series seem awkward. Here the dialogue fairly scampers when Craig's present, and only slows to a crawl when Rami Malik's puppet-master Safin appears. "He's kinda creepy" is how he's described early and, indeed, he is, reminiscent of a trembling Peter Lorre, with a philosophy that's a bit hard to decipher, though natter on about it he does. The Bond villains have some motivation, whether it be greed, errant activism, or a power grab. Safin is simply crazy, but a self-important, rambling crazy.

Now, this is going to be a spoiler-free review, but, as mentioned, this one up-ends things, but not in a way that anyone who's read a book by Bond-creator Fleming wouldn't recognize. Because the Bond films have only flirted with a strict continuity lately means they can get away with it with no harm done. The older films had a strict "Bond is fresh with each adventure" edict, which the Craig films have ignored. Bond never got hurt in the old films, but now they keep track of the scars. This is Craig's last film—he's been doing it for 16 years, longer than anybody, and wife Rachel Weisz was getting annoyed he was coming home broken. There will be another Bond, but whether the series will be as continuity-conscious next go-'round hasn't been decided. 

Original Bond producer Cubby Broccoli always maintained that Bond should be "at the top of his game" and that nobody would be interested in an "early Bond" origin story. When his kids got control, they tried it with Craig and it's worked. But, now that they've done it, there's no need to do it again. Bond may go a different route, like going back to stand-alone movies. Maybe they'll do Cold War period pieces. Maybe they'll remake a couple of the bad ones. Who's to say? And who's to say who'll be the next Bond. Finding Craig was something of a miracle despite the initial nay-saying, so I'll trust their judgment on the matter.

 

One thing is certain and that is, as the credit says "James Bond will Return." As long as the British flag flies, and the box office receipts are healthy.

 

* "Official" refers to the films made by EON Productions (founded by Harry Saltzman and Albert R. Broccoli), starting with Dr. No in 1962, and featuring the Ian Fleming titles they had the film-rights to, which—at the time—excluded "Casino Royale" and (owing to an early '60's plagiarism suit) "Thunderball". "Casino Royale" appeared ("unofficially") as an episode of CBS-TV's "Climax" (starring Barry Nelson as "Jimmy" Bond, American) and a 1967 "spoof" film starring David Niven, Peter Sellers and Woody Allen, before EON got the rights to it for the first of Daniel Craig's films. Thunderball became an EON presentation when the fellow who won that lawsuit wanted to make his movie with Sean Connery and worked out a deal with EON to "present" the film—with Connery—thus avoiding any competition that might hurt box-office receipts. However, when that same guy wanted to remake Thunderball (which, contractually, he could do after ten years), things were so contentious between him and EON that both sides battled in court before that remake (called Never Say Never Again and starring Sean Connery) was released in 1983, the same year as EON's Octopussy starring Roger Moore. EON now owns the rights to both the books "Casino Royale" and "Thunderball" (even including those "un-official" movie versions). They've since been doing original stories for ages, (and over several agents), and it's a wonder when some morsel of the original Fleming writing sneaks undercover into the films.

 

** The series' Bond has "gone rogue" in On Her Majesty's Secret Service, Licence To Kill, Die Another Day, Casino Royale, Quantum of Solace, Skyfall, and SPECTRE. It's as if the producers have preferred Bond's role to be less a company man and more of a rebel.

 

*** Hmm. Live and Let Die was put in during the craze for "Blax-ploitation" films, The Man with the Golden Gun was taken out of its novel-locale of Cuba to be set in Hong Kong, Thailand, and Cambodia to catch the "Kung-Fu" craze, Moonraker timed to take advantage of the Star Wars-prepped audience, Octopussy threw in some Indiana Jones action, Goldeneye's Xenia Onatopp was a soul-sister to Never Say Never Again's Fatima Blush, the fight sequences of late owe much to the "Bourne" series, and the Austin Powers movies stole all of the series' leering jokes leaving the Craig films to be a bit more stoic—although the Bond screenwriters stole the "villain-is-a-relation-to-the-hero" bit from Goldmember...as either series might say "Tit for Tat" 

 

Related Links: Now I've Seen Everything Dept.: The James Bond Series 

Knives Out

Thrombey-land
or
Ladies and Gentlemen Grieve in Different Ways

Mystery author Harlan Thrombey (Christopher Plumber) is celebrating his 85th birthday in a big way. His family is celebrating at the quirky family home for the old man and—as with most family-gatherings—there are issues and squabbles. They all involve money, because Thrombey has been quite a success.

The first clue to that is that he's 85 and living in his own home, as opposed to a facility no matter how healthy he is.

The family Thrombey has done very well for itself: daughter Linda (Jamie Lee Curtis) runs a real estate empire with her husband Richard (Don Johnson), but that was done with a considerable loan from Harlan—their son Hugh Ransom (Chris Evans) left the party early after a tiff; oldest son Walt (Michael Shannon) runs the successful Thrombey publishing empire, but is dissatisfied with the elder Thrombey's resistance to selling the filming rights—he's joined by his wife Donna (Riki Lindhome) and son Jacob (Jaeden Martell); daughter-in-law Joni (Toni Collette), widow of late son Neil, has a line of beauty products and her own self-help business and is paying for her daughter Meg (Katherine Langford) to go an ivy league college.

Then, there's "the help"—housekeeper Fran (Edi Patterson) views the family with a jaundiced eye and maintains her helping attitude with a hidden stash of dope; caretaker-nurse Marta (Ana de Armas) is well-regarded by the family (even if they can't remember her country of origin) and much favored by Harlan for her good heart and her proficiency with the game "Go." After the party, Harlan, after talking privately with all the family members, retires at 11:30.

When Fran brings up his coffee, she finds his bed unslept in and undisturbed. Continuing to his attic study, she finds it very much disturbed and Harlan dead from a slit throat, bled out, his dramatic knife/letter-opener still in his bloody hand. The police think it's suicide and they are in the process—in the form of Trooper Wagner (Noah Segan) and Lt. Elliott (Lakeith Stanfield)—of interviewing the family about the events of that evening, with one addition. He is Benoit Blanc (Daniel Craig, looking perpetually smug and utilizing the drawl of Shelby Foote), consulting detective of note (and "The New Yorker") who has been hired—by parties unknown—to determine if Harlan Trombley really did take his own life...or if it was done by the hand of another.

Like that double-conundrum, Knives Out is a multi-layered movie, not only in its plot, but in its timeline-juggling and presentation. There are complexities built on complexities: the mystery of Thrombey's death, which—at the beginning of the movie—is assumed to be one thing, which is called into question not once but twice for different motivations; the mystery of Benoit Blanc's benefactor as the detective is publicly seeking the truth of the first mystery, but privately is working on who hired him for the job.

He spends a lot of his time grilling the family members, not only looking for clues, but also for motivations about why he might be there. So he eyes the entire family like a smirking hawk, which, initially makes him an unwelcome guest and something of a detecting third wheel—he calms the family's fears by purring "My position here is purely ornamental."). But with the reading of Thrombey's newly-drafted will—"Think of it as a tax return by a community theater..."—the family gloms onto him to prove that Thrombey might actually have been killed, staged to look like a suicide, thus nullifying a will that would leave his family nothing.

And that's where things really get complicated. But, to say more would destroy the web of evidence, the suspicions and the dynamics going on amongst the suspected and suspecting family, as well as the timelines based on points of view that Johnson has intricately constructed like a jenga tower to tell a complicated story, while simultaneously building on it.

Now, the way Johnson has designed it, it puts some focus on the family members and the actors playing them. But, no one has more pressure put on them than the character of Thrombey's nurse, Marta Cabrera (de Armas). Of all the denizens of the Thrombey estate, she is the one closest to the old man, knowing him best and having his trust. She is also the most vulnerable—she's not family, but part of "the help." She has to be compliant and complacent, because her mother is an illegal immigrant and the Thrombey patronage keeps her employed and her mother safe. She fears any threat to that comfort, and the family, especially in the absence of the patriarch, is a hostile work-environment despite the smiles and the surface friendliness.

All the actors have a fine time chewing their respective scenery, but de Armas has the toughest role, playing someone "with a good heart" in a den of thieves while not looking like a victim but also looking competent. De Armas has to go through so many moods that swing back and forth like a pendulum, fading into the background, lest she betray something to the family. She must become simultaneously suspect and detective in order to protect herself and her family. It's a tough job, and de Armas pulls it off charmingly.

Knives Out carries out the time-honored game-plan of the mystery genre, but twists it in a gordian knot. to build audience expectations and then pulls the rug out from under them, staying ahead of the amateur sleuths who are trying to outguess the already-worked-out scenario. At the same time, it's a Christie-an exploration of the foibles and frailties of the upper crust, who are only too ready to break through and fall into the goo, and showing how far things can descend when greed is bad...not good.