‘Anti-biopic’ on Marilyn Monroe is divisive and divine, with Ana de Armas as the otherworldly lead
Director and writer Aaron Sorkin will often describe his films as art, not photos. In reality, what he seems to be saying, as do many before him, should not be a hindrance to telling a compelling story. However, Blonde director Andrew Dominik’s fractured fable about the legend of Marilyn Monroe isn’t a painting or photograph, even though it appears to be Life magazine stills come to… well, life. It’s a maze but an abstract one in the sense that it’s abstract. It’s a mood poem, an ode to tone, and in a year that has seen us witness the nearly insufferable Elvis and the like, it’s a wild cry of discontent against the conventional Hollywood biopics.
However, it is a mistake to compare the complicated Blonde with something as self-parodic as Elvis is an injustice to the film — which is Dominik’s second, or perhaps third, film about the costs of fame and the elusiveness of fame. Blonde has many thematic parallels with the 2007 film by the filmmaker, The Assassination of Jesse James, by the Coward Robert Ford. Suppose the film examined the power of celebrity and was cosplayed to be a revised Western. In that case, Blonde reflects on the culture of stars that echoes the heightened terror films made by Ari Aster and David Lynch. There’s no Happy Birthday song from Mr President in this film, though the president gets an… very happy conclusion.
To avoid the plot in favour of the mood, Dominik creates a collage of the events in Marilyn’s life. It begins with her traumatic childhood with an abusive mother and then moves to a series of relationships with men that vary from blatantly brutal to mildly offensive. Blonde is an incredibly #MeToo-themed film portraying Marilyn and her dad’s issues as archetypes.
Dominik explores aspect ratios, film stock, colour, and black and white to explore the different sides of his character’s personality. It takes time to get used to the film’s extreme temperature. The film starts with a terrifying sequence where the young Marilyn’s mother hurls her directly into the fire to witness “close up” the horrors of hell.” It then gets busy forcing Marilyn into an endless series of terrifying assaults on her. At one point, believe it the opposite, Dominik and his cinematographer, Chayse Irvin, take the camera directly into her Cervix. Later, they appear to compensate for this by putting the drugged Marilyn puke on the lens, but supposedly on you and me.
This is an intentionally controversial film, a three-hour long epic that tests your endurance, not only physically but also psychologically, and maybe a snub to those who come expecting a familiar experience. In a bid to end the generations-old trauma that she’s been handed down by the mother she grew up with, Marilyn is conflicted between her desire to have children and give them the same kind of life she has never experienced but the fear that she may be able to provide her with the life she lived. Dominik imagines her many pregnancy and births through exaggerated CGI fetuses floating in the uterus. It’s just as weird as it sounds and yet another instance of how the film invades her private area, but this time physically invades her body.
This isn’t a sexy film. The camera’s perspective is never changed from Marilyn’s. The film doesn’t leave her side. In scenes that could be seen as dehumanizing, Dominik’s camera focuses its eyes on Marilyn’s eyes. Dominik doesn’t intend to honour the sexism by displaying it on the screen. He’s focused solely on how Marilyn feels and asks viewers to keep their eyes on her until the very end. In reality, there are only three scenes within the film where Marilyn seems to be truly satisfied. In one of these scenes, she is seen frolicking in the ocean with the playwright Arthur Miller — her third husband. Later, she discovers she’s pregnant while Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds are in love.
Dominik can also reclaim many memorable moments from Marilyn’s life, despite the scum and paparazzi who wrote these photos. In revealing the secrets behind the iconic image of her in her white dress, The filmmaker reveals this was staged for an outdoor spectacle where hundreds of screaming men nearly tripped over one another to get her skirt off her. And then, there’s the excellent end. Dominik did give Jesse James’ death an almost operatic feeling of tragedy. However, this was his way of defending the actions of another person who was a ‘coward’ Robert Ford. In Blonde, Dominik is aware of his guilt. After spending more than 150 minutes with only inches between her face, he takes Marilyn’s final moments at a respectful distance. This camera’s last shot appears to be taken away from its tripod and set on the floor like the director tells the audience, “The show’s over. You can go to your home right now.”
Despite all the humiliations and insecurities, Ana de Armas remains flawless. It’s not just a show but a state of mind. De Armas has somehow summoned the spirit of Marilyn Monroe herself to take control of her body, and the result is breathtaking. Her voice is a captivating breathlessness that can make your knees weaken. The costumes and hair contribute to the overall effect. The best method to evaluate an actor’s performance is through those moments when the actor is left with no resources to work with, no co-stars to play or lines, and there’s no drama. In the silence of those moments, de Armas is impossible to ignore. She makes the intelligent decision to play Marilyn as the Brothers Grimm heroine, trapped in a world full of substantial dire wolves. An Oscar isn’t enough of an honour for what she’s accomplished in this film.
The way to salvation was always in sight in the eyes of Marilyn Monroe, beyond the wall of men who were salivating. However, it was never in reach. She pursued it, tracked it, and spied its every step. But she couldn’t reach it. It was almost as if salvation was an eminent celebrity.
Blonde
Director – Andrew Dominik
Cast – Ana de Armas, Adrien Brody, Bobby Cannavale, Xavier Samuel
Rating – 4.5/5
