Cinémathèque française, Paris: Marilyn Monroe ! 100 Ans

Cinémathèque française (translated from french):

Celebrating the star, exposing the actress

“I can be smart when it matters, but most men don’t like it.” The famous line from Howard Hawks’s Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (1953) could, in a way, sum things up well: Marilyn Monroe confronted the ruthless studio system during her short acting career in Hollywood (1946–1962) and remains today as much disparaged as an actress as she is adored as a star. Thanks to its scenographic possibilities, the exhibition is particularly well-suited to the visual opulence that Monroe embodied in the 1950s. Her trajectory during the era of Technicolor and the widescreen is illustrated by glamorous publicity materials, a sexy wardrobe, portraits by renowned artists (Eve Arnold, Richard Avedon, Andy Warhol, etc.), and also newsreels analyzing every decision the celebrity made. Or commenting on her passing, which at the age of 36 opens the spectacular chapter of her posthumous "life". This legacy is celebrated in an installation inspired by ballroom culture , which Madonna – the embodiment of pop culture in her ability to appropriate trends and make them shine – popularized long before Drag Race .

Separate the star from the actress?

Monroe is primarily known as a cultural phenomenon, remembered more through her photographs than her films. She is less frequently considered as an actress who embodies and creates roles on screen. One of the exhibition's aims is to refocus attention on her cinematic performances and invite visitors to view them differently. For to this day, it's as if her roles are merely a reflection of emotional states experienced on chaotic film sets, closer to neurosis than to the mysterious psychological depth of other actors who trained at the Actors Studio.

The celebration of her centenary rests on a second observation: Monroe is shrouded in all sorts of legends, and her abundant biographical exegesis converges on the irresolvable question: who is the "real woman" behind the sex symbol? However, what we know of Monroe is largely documented by contradictory accounts, and these interpretations themselves seem to be based on certain preconceptions, both of Hollywood icons and of women in general. The exhibition thus proposes to examine not only the actress, but also the beliefs that contributed to the star's rise within the studios and accompanied her throughout her career.

The on-screen interpretation

At best, it's conceded that Monroe was a good comedy actress, but the most common perception is that she only played herself. The observations of her friends and colleagues at the time weren't particularly malicious, but with hindsight, they reveal how much they contributed to discrediting her: "She knew exactly what effect she had on men. And that's all" (Fritz Lang), "She wasn't acting" (John Huston), "In everything she does, she is 'herself'" (Arthur Miller). By abolishing the connection between being and embodying, these comments obscure the fact that Monroe conceived her roles, prepared for them, and, beyond that, viewed performance as creation.

However, the actress doesn't invariably play the "dumb blonde," vamp, or other seductive type, regardless of the director or the conventions associated with film genres. As James Naremore—a contributor to the catalogue—demonstrates in Acting in the Cinema (1988), meticulously observing facial expressions, focusing on gestures within a frame, and analyzing interactions with fellow actors reveals a deliberate approach to character development, a distinctive style, and undeniable talent. In Monroe's case, this is already evident in her broader emotional range compared to the other actors in Huston's The Asphalt Jungle (1950), despite the brevity of her screen time. Her acting training and the subtle deviations she creates on screen from the expected star image are further ways to grasp her strategies as an actress within an aesthetically and economically constrained system.

Describe your Marilyn to me and I'll tell you who you are.

Beyond our cinephile habits of analyzing films through the lens of their directors, we struggle to grasp Monroe as an actress because of the naiveté associated with her. To understand why we tend to see her merely as a "poser," like a model, and why innocence lies at the heart of her identity, we must return to the workings of the star system . It's difficult to ignore the work of Richard Dyer (also in the catalog), who proposed the following idea in 1986: Monroe embodies the contradictions of the 1950s, simultaneously puritanical and obsessed with sexuality, through her supposed spontaneity stemming from her pin-up image.

In 1945, becoming a model allowed Monroe to divorce and escape her working-class life. In less than a year, she graced the covers of numerous magazines. Twentieth Century Fox adopted this ideal of a vivacious woman, eroticized without ever being vulgar, from her very first films. This image was also reflected in all her public appearances and promotional materials, crafted by the studio's advertising departments and embellished with fictional narratives about the young recruit. The promotional criteria of the "Mmm Girl" would be adopted by her early biographers, whose accounts are still recycled today. In short, as Sarah Churchwell summarizes in her critical historiography of existing Monroe biographies: beliefs often precede facts and reveal more about us than about the star.

Exhibiting Marilyn

In The Seven Year Itch (1955), Billy Wilder and Monroe presented the most parodic and exhibitionist version of the pin-up. That same year, the actress's ambition to take on more complex roles—first and foremost Joshua Logan's Bus Stop (1956)—coincided with the decline of her public image, now tinged with failure, as if her artistic aspirations had been punished. Her personal aspirations would, in fact, struggle to be fulfilled, so enduring was her "dumb blonde" image. This tension between the two is the source of countless legends, amplified by her sudden death and the dispersal of her possessions. Exhibiting Marilyn Monroe thus means first confronting a certain type of discourse (tinged with a fascination for the death of a beautiful young woman) and the relatively difficult access to the archives that, hand in hand, fuel the myth.

“Be sensible, darling, you can’t put muscles into a bank account,” advises Monroe’s character to her friend Dorothy, irresistibly drawn to athletic figures in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes . The star, newly elevated to international sex symbol, is already a lucrative asset in her own right, the bulk of which, one might conveniently say, is now held by a handful of billionaires: whether it be her personal effects—in the hands of private collectors—or her rights and income, exploited by a financial holding company. The myth is here to stay.

Florence Tissot, curator of the exhibition