Blonde

Director: Andrew Dominik
Starring: Ana de Armas, Adrien Brody, Bobby Cannavale, Xavier Samuel, Julianne Nicholson, Evan Williams, Toby Huss, David Warshofsky, Caspar Phillipson, Dan Butler, Lily Fisher, Sara Paxton, Rebecca Wisocky, Tygh Runyan, Scoot McNairy
Running Time: 166 min.
Rating: NC-17

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)  

Before you even get to the rape, physical abuse and talking fetuses, writer/director Andrew Dominik's pulverizing fictional biography of Marilyn Monroe, Blonde, starts at the very beginning. With Norma Jeane's mentally ill mother driving straight into a raging fire with her terrified daughter in the front seat. It may as well be a metaphor for the vitriol that awaited Dominik upon the release of Netflix's NC-17 adaptation of Joyce Carol Oates' 2000 novel, which is less an account of Monroe's life than speculative fantasy assembled from fractured puzzle pieces of it. None of those aforementioned events occurred as presented, whatever truth existing in them sensationalized and reshaped to facilitate Dominik's descent into the star's troubled psyche. 

Far from a straightforward biopic that could share a double bill with Baz Luhrmann's Elvis, it's closer to a surrealistic Lynchian nightmare many have already categorized as a cross between some lost Marilyn snuff film and The Last Temptation of Christ. She's victimized throughout, and though it's not based on historical fact, the specificity of events and unflinching manner in which her suffering's presented could lead some to falsely assume it was. Even if it doesn't endure as the definitive word on the star, she'll always be associated with it, shining the spotlight on a filmmaker's moral responsibility when tackling a real person's life.   

No one can watch this and say it isn't well made or that Ana de Armas doesn't give the performance of her career, empowering Marilyn with a depth and complexity everyone always suspected she had, even when Dominik seems to be going in an entirely different direction. But more than any other examination of the star, we really get inside her head, heavily exploring that marker separating Norma Jeane from her manufactured Hollywood alter ago. When the cameras aren't rolling, Monroe's still the wide-eyed, innocent we see at the film's start, playing make believe as a blonde bombshell. Her helpless upbringing required this survival mechanism, a detail Dominik drills into us for almost 3 hours with scenarios that reflect a sort of truth that's aggressively discomforting

Opening as she turns seven years old in 1933, a young Norma Jeane Mortenson (Lily Fisher) is shown a framed picture of a man her mentally unstable mom Gladys (Julianne Nicholson) claims is her father, a big shot Hollywood mogul. But when the police halt Glady's delusional plans to bring Norma Jeane up to see him in the middle of a fire, she snaps, leading to a violent breakdown that sends Gladys to a mental hospital and her daughter to an orphanage. Norma Jeane reemerges in the 1940's as pinup girl "Marilyn Monroe," aspiring to break into acting despite not being seen for anything other than her looks. 

After being raped by a studio president referred to as Mr. Z (David Warshofsky), Marilyn soon turns all the inner pain and childhood trauma toward acting, and as her film career ascends, she becomes romantically entangled with Hollywood offspring Cass Chaplin (Xavier Samuel) and Eddy Robinson Jr. (Evan Williams). Unsuccessful marriages to an ex-athlete (Bobby Cannavale) and a playwright (Adrien Brody) leave her emotionally shattered, while she's later dehumanized by an eventual affair with the The President (Caspar Phillipson). Through this, Marilyn still clings to the hope of meeting her mythical, estranged father, an increasingly unlikely prospect amidst the abuse, humiliation and mistreatment she endures from nearly every man who enters her doomed life.  

Since the entire film revolves around fictional events people already believed could be true, seeing it depicted on screen runs the risk of further substantiating them. The fact that the actual names of some major players weren't used (likely for legal reasons) does speak to a certain double standard, reinforcing the idea that's she's still being exploited long after her death. But as unfair as it may seem, the creative license Dominik takes isn't far off from what was seen in something like The Social Network, with the only difference being that the subject here is deceased and and has a history of being dragged through the mud by the media.

Dominik isn't making attempts to alter any preconceived notions, instead taking a fever dream approach to the material that was bound to polarize. In certain instances, his timing couldn't have been worse given the current climate, especially those scenes involving abortion and miscarriage. But while he invites these controversies with his "anti-biopic," little of that has any relevance to the film's actual quality, as it's beautifully made and compulsively watchable. Dominik's no stranger to celebrity deconstruction, having already helmed The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford, a movie as long as its title. This is even longer, and even while flirting with repetitiveness, it's edited well enough not to feel at all like a slog.

None of that makes this any easier to watch, not that it's intended to be. It leans further into the idea of men viewing Marilyn as a sex object than was even anticipated, no matter how much trauma and genuine emotion she poured into her craft. The moments where she's portrayed as a student of the game with unlimited intellectual capacity are fleeting since everyone saw "Marilyn Monroe" instead. The framing device involving her estranged, Clark Gable lookalike father is another fabrication, but it's Blonde's best, intrinsically tied to a stuffed animal that emerges as the film's answer to Citizen Kane's "Rosebud." And for anyone who didn't get the memo she has daddy issues, her incessantly calling all her lovers "daddy" should quickly clear that up. 

Alternating between monochrome and color and shifting aspect ratios, cinematographer Chayse Irvin gives the film a stylized look that compellingly reflects the dueling identities of its subject, with Nick Cave and Warren Ellis' hypnotic score matching that disorientation. An early Marilyn audition scene is enthralling to watch, before turning painfully uncomfortable and hopeless when we see the male studio executives' reaction to it, reaffirming that even behind her back she's enduring some form of abuse. Dominik also comes up with some unnerving visual tricks that further convey Marilyn's  objectified existence, with ogling, cackling, distorted faces leering her down, horrifyingly transforming the Some Like it Hot premiere into a lost Twilight Zone episode.

Dominik covers a lot of ground with Marilyn's relationships and marriages, while impressively needing only a few scenes to convey how they develop and quickly end. She probably seems "happiest" and least burdened with the celebrity twins, at least before the tidal wave of fame comes crushing down. If first husband DiMaggio (well played by Cannavale), reveals himself to be a controlling, abusive brute, Arthur Miller's an anomaly for being the only kind male figure in Marilyn's life who outwardly recognizes her humanity. Brody's performance as the hyper intellectual Miller is subtly exceptional and there's something special about this section that even the film's most vehement opponents would admit is its high point. Unfortunately, by the time Marilyn weds him, she's already drowning in prescription pills and alcohol, prone to wild mood swings. 

While the talking CGI fetus has been heavily criticized for pedaling in tasteless shock value, the circumstances and fallout surrounding Marilyn's decision to abort aren't brushed under the rug and it's highlighted as a traumatic, life-altering event she understandably can't move beyond. The plot would be offensive only if the screenplay relegated it to an afterthought, even as it's easy to recognize none of this is a pleasant sit. Equally unpleasant is Marilyn's affair with JFK, here is encapsulated in a one night rape when she's literally dragged to the President's suite like a slab of meat by Secret Service. 

On content alone, this doesn't deserve an NC-17 (it's easy to name check numerous film titles with more nudity, sex, violence and language), but you needn't look further than the JFK scene to understand why. It's just a bridge too far for the MPAA, whose members probably scoff at consensual sex scenes, much less a non-consensual one as discomforting and disturbing as this. But few directors would have the guts to even fictionally depict the 35th President as a rapist, dispelling accusations that the movie is some kind of Marilyn hit job. Still, it's not hard to believe the rating designation is at least partially responsible for throwing gasoline on the furor that was already erupting over the picture.

Under different circumstances, Ana de Armas would be a strong Best Actress contender, and still could be. Strangely enough, it's the Marilyn performance everyone's always wanted, just not in the film we envisioned it would occur. It's hardly noteworthy when her Cuban accent occasionally slips through, but amazing how she simultaneously captures the breathy, seductive qualities of Marilyn and the insecurity and pain tormenting Norma Jeane, sometimes within a single scene. And it's also surprising how much de Armas does physically resemble her in certain iconic Monroe moments where you nearly have to do a double take. As disturbed mother, Gladys, Julianne Nicholson is haunting, going on an absolute tear in the film's opening section, then again later when her character returns in a far different capacity. 

A more extreme escalation of the horror and isolation of last year's Spencer than a snapshot along the lines of My Week With Marilyn, Dominik vaguely operates within the guardrails of an acceptable chronological timeline while incorporating the sensationalized events of Oates' novel. The biggest bone of contention will be that Marilyn had a troubled life, just not this troubled, and there are aspects to her that go ignored. But the film's an adaptation so any argument regarding its truthfulness should probably be settled in an actual court rather than one of public opinion. It succeeds in painting a nightmarish, hypnotizing portrait of the star's hellish existence from her own perspective, leaving no doubt how far this intends to go in its final, unrelenting minutes. 

If all Marilyn wanted was to be was respected for her intellect and acting skills, it's cruelly ironic that this film's release may have just permanently derailed that, no matter how impressive the filmmaking. There seems to be a disconnect amongst viewers regarding what they felt the goals should have been going in, as this is undeniably difficult and definitely not for everyone. But a safer, more grounded approach that's superficially respectful to Marilyn's memory could have easily resulted in the kind of safe biopic everyone complains about anyway. Blonde is far less forgettable, taking the gloves off and in the process starting a controversial conversation about how celebrities are perceived and consumed.