In an age of increasingly sensationalized content, the media takes advantage of women’s stories more often than not. As of late, the film industry has come out with a flurry of content dedicated to the portrayal of iconic women and their “iconic” horrors. Still, Andrew Dominik’s recent crudely fictitious depiction of Marilyn Monroe in “Blonde” (2022) raises the question: has the film industry finally taken things too far?
“Blonde” is no typical biopic—it is an imagined retelling of the tragedies of Monroe’s life. This setup does not just affect the audience: Monroe becomes an overwhelmingly fictional character, both to viewers and herself. Even as the credits roll, a single question lingers both on and off screen: Who is Marilyn Monroe? “Blonde” attempts to answer, in a dark and twisted way, that she was the Marilyn who just wanted to be Norma Jeane.
Monroe’s American-icon status is no secret. Marilyn the pin-up model and movie star is practically a national symbol: bottle blonde hair, red lips, curvy frame and beauty mark. In her time, Monroe’s image had largely overpowered her outstanding talent; she served as a sex symbol to a public that hungered for her. But Monroe was just as human as those around her: like everyone else, she had her own insecurities, trials and tribulations.
The opening shot of the film reveals Dominik’s focus as a director, intentional or not: a bright stage light engulfs Monroe as her dress flies up to reveal her underwear—the iconic scene from “The Seven Year Itch.” She is filmed from behind: her face is hidden from the camera, but the crowds of people ogling her are not. They lust after her. The music is somber. The conclusion: this is a film about Marilyn Monroe’s body, not Marilyn Monroe.
“Blonde” fails in substantially developing Monroe’s character beyond distress and sexual appeal, and what remains is a one-dimmensional character unable to express herself. The film stars Ana de Armas as a weakened, tear-stained, almost featherbrained Marilyn. For all the effort “Blonde” makes in trying to pursue Monroe’s displeasure with the premise of being Monroe, de Armas never fully brings Norma Jeane to life. For example, Monroe asks to be called Norma in private, but de Armas maintains Monroe’s signature breathy voice throughout. Norma Jeane — the woman behind the mask — is no separate entity in Dominik’s world; she and Monroe are the same, mere vehicles for exploitation.
Monroe’s traumatic childhood and exploitative journey to and through fame is likewise widely known. “Blonde” pounces on the subject of Monroe’s traumatic past to create a horror-fantasyscape teeming with themes of sexual and domestic violence, miscarriage and addiction. But this is a horror with no moral to its story — the aestheticized cinematography and overly dramatic acting seem to suggest that there is something glamorous and thrilling in being a victim. “Blonde” tricks audiences into thinking they understand, see, and know the real Monroe through graphic displays of physical and emotional pain.
Another recent example of this exploitative practice appears in Hulu’s “Under the Banner of Heaven” (2022). The series explores the complex and chilling murders of mother and daughter Brenda (24 yrs.) and Erica (15 mo.) Lafferty, and the ways in which Mormon fundamentalist beliefs contributed to their deaths. The unique circumstances surrounding the murders and trial — the accused Lafferty brothers’ claim that devine revelation led them to murder — brought the case to the public eye. With this, however, the reality of the gruesome horror faced by the Lafferty’s seemingly faded into the background.
Erasure, in this sense, is comforting to the public. It is so comforting, in fact, that as books, movies and TV shows adapt real-life horrors to their own mediums, they slowly chip away at reality until everything and everyone involved might not have existed at all. But what happens when someone exists to tell the truth? In an interview with Deseret News, Sharon Wright Weeks, sister to Brenda Lafferty, expressed her displeasure with the Hulu series: “I feel like they betrayed Brenda, and that I wasn’t able to prevent that from happening… She didn’t talk like that.” Much like “Blonde,” “Under the Banner of Heaven” sacrifices a necessary, respectful attention to character for a thrilling, horrific tale — a cheap trade at any rate.
Both “Blonde” and “Under the Banner of Heaven” are audiovisual projects adapted from books. If the source materials are revealing themselves to be indications of falsehood, then perhaps that is where the first revisions in the decision-making process should be made. After all, it is not immoral to create upsetting content, but audiences should always prioritize integrity and intention. Each individual is responsible for their own viewing habits. Moving forward, through practicing mindful media consumption and insisting on integrity from content providers, viewers will ultimately decide how stories are brought to life on screen.
