BlondeWhat do you think is true? Most of our "knowledge" is told to us, and like it or not, we often believe it. We live in an era where anyone can posit any idea as fact. Accuracy has less to do with something becoming "truth" than a sufficient level of acceptance does. Believing gives us comfort, lies make us uncomfortable. It shakes up our core belief that what we see, what we are informed about, is true. But truth is subjective. No one knows the truth about anyone else; pretending otherwise is either a game or a deception. Or both. Who knew Marilyn Monroe? No one, because she was never real in the first place.
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Directed by Andrew Dominik, Blonde is an adaptation of the novel of the same name by Joyce Carol Oates. It is a work of fiction, based on real people; the author has said as much. But because the characters are (or were) actual human beings, it is natural to assume that at least some aspect of the story is rooted in truth. And here is where Blonde deftly blurs the lines of fantasy and reality--appropriate given the central conceit of the story, which is about a woman who suffers from this same affliction. The film establishes this in its first scene, where a young Norma Jean (Lily Fisher) is shown a framed photograph of someone who she is told is her "father" by her mother, Gladys (Julianne Nicholson). From this moment, the film makes it clear that Norma Jean's world is shaped by what she is shown and told to be true through a framed image, not unlike the Allegory of the Cave, a.k.a. "Plato's Cave". The "picture" becomes her reality. How appropriate then that Blonde has been confused by critics and audiences for being a "biopic". This is because--for the most part--films about real people have this crushing need to try to report the facts without inventing artificial content, all while keeping the attention of its audience. Quite the juggling act. But what each and every viewer of Blonde who has railed against the movie for being "exploitative" has failed to realize is that no biopic is true. Heck, they're all exploitation, if you think about it, because we're using "real" people to satiate our need for entertainment. Furthermore, it's all fantasy--always has been, always will be, because all movies are fantasy to some degree--some more than others. Hollywood is called the "dream factory" for a reason. If you're looking for historic accuracy about the life and times of Marilyn Monroe, go read a reference book instead of watching Blonde. But even then, you have to realize that all information is secondhand. So who is Blonde for? Truly, it is for film fans first. It is for audiences mature enough to appreciate that not everything shown to you on the screen has to be real, or has to placate your individual sensibilities. Blonde is rightly more interested in exploring the parasitic relationship between charismatic movie stars and the audience's expectations of them. That some outspoken and reactionary critics and audiences have outraged at altogether minor elements in Blonde only reinforces the point. These people expected Blonde to speak to their own individual interpretation of reality, and they just couldn't deal with it when it wouldn't pander to them. I suppose everyone's a critic. But the irony is how many of these same critics make careers out of experiencing stories delivered through a framed image (be it a television or the silver screen), not unlike Norma Jean did in our first scene. That this irony is lost on them is one of the greatest strengths of Blonde that cements it as not just a certified work of art, but a clever (if biting) commentary on a subsection of its audience. TL;DR: It isn't real, so check your indignation.
The "Marilyn Monroe" of Blonde (and the grown up Norma Jean) are played by Ana de Armas. And while I rarely feel that gushing over the performance of an actor is meaningful, it is positively eerie how alike to the tragically ill-fated Marilyn that de Armas's performance is, to the point that there are moments where it is truly difficult to tell whether we're looking at the former or the latter. Blonde is unabashedly a film for film buffs, especially films that starred Marilyn Monroe. To begin, there are numerous scenes plucked right from some of the most iconic moments from her movies, recreated for Blonde. The most standout example of these is, of course, the famous/infamous uplift of her white skirt over the subway grate from The Seven Year Itch. But more than just recreate the scene--which Blonde does--the scene depicts a frenzied mob of men, apparently overwhelmed by this display of sexuality...all except for her then-husband, the "Ex-Athlete" (i.e. Joe DiMaggio), played by Bobby Cannavale. Was "The Yankee Clipper" really there at the shoot for this scene? Did throngs of sex-addled men bark and howl like animals on the set? Obviously not. This comes back to how Blonde isn't meant to be realistic, but instead stand as a representation of the "mythos" of Marilyn Monroe, and what her attractive Hollywood persona says about sexual mores, promiscuity, double standards for gender, and the exploitation of sexuality in movies for entertainment. It also concerns itself with the media attention lavished on (and wielded against) Monroe. Marilyn was no stranger to the camera, and Blonde includes plenty of other scenes staged to replicate some of the more famous photos of her, putting them into a wholly different context. Again, history shows that these photos weren't actually taken under the circumstances presented in the movie, like her first meeting with a pair of lovers--Cass Chaplin (Xavier Samuel) and Edward "Eddy" G. Robinson Jr. (Evan Williams)--but instead it is meant to contribute to wholly immersing the audience in a deluge of pure "Marilyn Monroe". It uses this "collage" of Marilyn to help us empathize with what "may" have lead to her untimely demise, mixing these Hollywood players and events together like paint to create its psychologically hellish vista.
For all of the controversy levied against Blonde for being everything from "exploitative" to "inaccurate"--all of which not only misses the point, but smacks of being just some critic's bias and prejudice offered up as "professional criticism"--the film draws inspiration from some of the best movies ever made. Norma Jean's tragic odyssey into acting makes her a legend, but at the cost of her soul. She loses any sense of self, trapped under the weight of her own alter ego. Hers is a persona that constantly makes her feel at odds with herself, because she simply cannot escape from the deep-seated need for parental love; adoration is a poor substitute. Her mother lost her mind and was institutionalized when she was a child, and her father may not even be real. But for Norma Jean, the need to have a "daddy" in her life is so all-consuming that it leads her into relationships which she can never sustain. Even those that might thrive on an intellectual level--like her second marriage to "The Playwright" (a.k.a. Arthur Miller), played by Adrien Brody--fall apart because she is all too driven toward self-destruction, such as after she falls and miscarries their baby. Norma Jean even calls all of her men "daddy" in a way that never feels like it's just a term of endearment. Each utterance feels painfully like a reminder that she dwells in a state of arrested development. The widening gulf between her two core needs--to be loved, yet the need to be more than an object--rips her apart and drives her crazy. It reminds me of the suicide attempt and confession that follows of Antonio Salieri in Amadeus--another adaptation of a prominent entertainer from history which isn't interested in historical accuracy. Even the fixation on an object from her childhood (the photo of her "father") propels her career trajectory into superstardom, in a kind of a riff on Citizen Kane. All she ever wanted was that one, pure and ephemeral thing that she can never have, and ends up chasing it to her grave. The alternating aspect ratios are true visual treats for fans of cinema. These are largely used as mise en scène, forcing the viewer to absorb the scene in a specific way on an emotional and intellectual level. There are many scenes shot in a "4:3" aspect ratio, more commonly associated with television or older films. These are often paired with some of Norma Jean's more introspective moments. The same kind of effect is achieved by the way Blonde alternates between color and black and white. The color of each scene--frequently including various filters--echoes both movies of the time and the ones that put Marilyn on the map. And despite the ugliness of some of the more harrowing moments in Blonde, most of the film ends up coming across as abstract, even poetic in its exploration of the myth of this movie icon. Juxtapose this with moments of her stardom and the psychological toll it exacts on her makes Blonde resemble the love child between Martin Scorsese's Raging Bull and Satoshi Kon's Perfect Blue. Consider Raging Bull and how it depicts a famed sports figure versus how Blonde explores the story of "Marilyn Monroe", and it becomes all too clear how easy it is for people to fall prey to double standards. What is okay to do with "Jake LaMotta" is not okay to do with the beloved "Marilyn Monroe"; says who?
Recommended for: Fans of a daring and imaginative film about stardom, exploitation, abuse, consumerism, Hollywood, and self-destruction, which also happens to be about the legend of Marilyn Monroe. Despite plenty of "R-rated" movies that I've seen having far more graphic content than Blonde, the movie is rated NC-17, and does contain plenty of affecting material, making it suitable only for adults. Moreover, it's likely to be appreciated the most by intelligent adults willing to leave their expectations at the door.
The "Marilyn Monroe" of Blonde (and the grown up Norma Jean) are played by Ana de Armas. And while I rarely feel that gushing over the performance of an actor is meaningful, it is positively eerie how alike to the tragically ill-fated Marilyn that de Armas's performance is, to the point that there are moments where it is truly difficult to tell whether we're looking at the former or the latter. Blonde is unabashedly a film for film buffs, especially films that starred Marilyn Monroe. To begin, there are numerous scenes plucked right from some of the most iconic moments from her movies, recreated for Blonde. The most standout example of these is, of course, the famous/infamous uplift of her white skirt over the subway grate from The Seven Year Itch. But more than just recreate the scene--which Blonde does--the scene depicts a frenzied mob of men, apparently overwhelmed by this display of sexuality...all except for her then-husband, the "Ex-Athlete" (i.e. Joe DiMaggio), played by Bobby Cannavale. Was "The Yankee Clipper" really there at the shoot for this scene? Did throngs of sex-addled men bark and howl like animals on the set? Obviously not. This comes back to how Blonde isn't meant to be realistic, but instead stand as a representation of the "mythos" of Marilyn Monroe, and what her attractive Hollywood persona says about sexual mores, promiscuity, double standards for gender, and the exploitation of sexuality in movies for entertainment. It also concerns itself with the media attention lavished on (and wielded against) Monroe. Marilyn was no stranger to the camera, and Blonde includes plenty of other scenes staged to replicate some of the more famous photos of her, putting them into a wholly different context. Again, history shows that these photos weren't actually taken under the circumstances presented in the movie, like her first meeting with a pair of lovers--Cass Chaplin (Xavier Samuel) and Edward "Eddy" G. Robinson Jr. (Evan Williams)--but instead it is meant to contribute to wholly immersing the audience in a deluge of pure "Marilyn Monroe". It uses this "collage" of Marilyn to help us empathize with what "may" have lead to her untimely demise, mixing these Hollywood players and events together like paint to create its psychologically hellish vista.
For all of the controversy levied against Blonde for being everything from "exploitative" to "inaccurate"--all of which not only misses the point, but smacks of being just some critic's bias and prejudice offered up as "professional criticism"--the film draws inspiration from some of the best movies ever made. Norma Jean's tragic odyssey into acting makes her a legend, but at the cost of her soul. She loses any sense of self, trapped under the weight of her own alter ego. Hers is a persona that constantly makes her feel at odds with herself, because she simply cannot escape from the deep-seated need for parental love; adoration is a poor substitute. Her mother lost her mind and was institutionalized when she was a child, and her father may not even be real. But for Norma Jean, the need to have a "daddy" in her life is so all-consuming that it leads her into relationships which she can never sustain. Even those that might thrive on an intellectual level--like her second marriage to "The Playwright" (a.k.a. Arthur Miller), played by Adrien Brody--fall apart because she is all too driven toward self-destruction, such as after she falls and miscarries their baby. Norma Jean even calls all of her men "daddy" in a way that never feels like it's just a term of endearment. Each utterance feels painfully like a reminder that she dwells in a state of arrested development. The widening gulf between her two core needs--to be loved, yet the need to be more than an object--rips her apart and drives her crazy. It reminds me of the suicide attempt and confession that follows of Antonio Salieri in Amadeus--another adaptation of a prominent entertainer from history which isn't interested in historical accuracy. Even the fixation on an object from her childhood (the photo of her "father") propels her career trajectory into superstardom, in a kind of a riff on Citizen Kane. All she ever wanted was that one, pure and ephemeral thing that she can never have, and ends up chasing it to her grave. The alternating aspect ratios are true visual treats for fans of cinema. These are largely used as mise en scène, forcing the viewer to absorb the scene in a specific way on an emotional and intellectual level. There are many scenes shot in a "4:3" aspect ratio, more commonly associated with television or older films. These are often paired with some of Norma Jean's more introspective moments. The same kind of effect is achieved by the way Blonde alternates between color and black and white. The color of each scene--frequently including various filters--echoes both movies of the time and the ones that put Marilyn on the map. And despite the ugliness of some of the more harrowing moments in Blonde, most of the film ends up coming across as abstract, even poetic in its exploration of the myth of this movie icon. Juxtapose this with moments of her stardom and the psychological toll it exacts on her makes Blonde resemble the love child between Martin Scorsese's Raging Bull and Satoshi Kon's Perfect Blue. Consider Raging Bull and how it depicts a famed sports figure versus how Blonde explores the story of "Marilyn Monroe", and it becomes all too clear how easy it is for people to fall prey to double standards. What is okay to do with "Jake LaMotta" is not okay to do with the beloved "Marilyn Monroe"; says who?
Recommended for: Fans of a daring and imaginative film about stardom, exploitation, abuse, consumerism, Hollywood, and self-destruction, which also happens to be about the legend of Marilyn Monroe. Despite plenty of "R-rated" movies that I've seen having far more graphic content than Blonde, the movie is rated NC-17, and does contain plenty of affecting material, making it suitable only for adults. Moreover, it's likely to be appreciated the most by intelligent adults willing to leave their expectations at the door.