Crypt 33

by Adela Gregory

  After returning to the Wilder set at Twentieth, Marilyn proclaimed that The Seven-Year Itch was her last for the studio. In response, an emphatic Zanuck declared that she had a three-year-and-four-month contract still in effect, and that she most definitely would fulfill her obligation for Twentieth. Behind the scenes, Zanuck had Fox’s attorneys feverishly negotiating with hers in regard to raising her salary and giving her the latitude to create independent productions. Nothing was settled between the feuding powers, so Marilyn returned to Greene’s quiet Connecticut home for consolation. Having set the wheels of change in motion, Monroe was now following through on her threats. Joe DiMaggio had taught her well.

  By March 1955, Greene had arranged with television journalist Edward R. Murrow for a fifteen-minute interview on “Person to Person,” a nationally televised production. CBS set up cameras in the Greene home, but Milton, the photographer, adjusted the lighting for Marilyn from the conventional flat to a softer look, thereby enhancing her youth and beauty. But Marilyn’s performance as president of her production company did not come off as assertively as Greene had wanted. Attempting to mask her drive and power, as “real women” were expected to do, and afraid of rejection, she shrouded herself with an air of helplessness. Appearing exceptionally demure, she tried not to seem defiant. She was merely stating the facts about her professional desires. She made inoffensive declarations that came off as uncertain and insincere.

  Next, producer Mike Todd, as head of the Arthritis and Rheumatism Foundation, requested that Marilyn attend a gala affair to be held at Madison Square Garden in New York City. Monroe and Greene thought it would be a perfect photo opportunity, so she obliged the producer and made a sensational appearance, emerging resplendent in pink. The actress fortuitously showed Twentieth how popular a star she was and gave the studio more reason to up the odds for its prodigal daughter.

  Relegated to a tiny, uncomfortable room in what had once been a barn, Marilyn soon tired of the cramped living conditions at the Greenes’. Once again she pressured Milton to own up to his promises, subsidizing her move into the luxurious Waldorf Astoria Towers on Park Avenue in Manhattan. His expenses to “keep” the actress were close to $1,000 per week, which put enormous stress on her partner’s assets. Reviewing her personal expenses, Greene was aghast at what he had promised the superstar. Marilyn paid for her mother’s sanitarium expenses, had her own daily visits to her psychoanalyst and exorbitant weekly beauty care costs. The actress paid generously for salon visits several times a week, which included her personal hairdresser, pedicures, manicures, and massages. She lavished on herself more than ever all the beauty expertise and products she and her partner’s money could buy. Perfume costs alone shocked her partner, as she applied it like bath water when she used it. Greene never fathomed that Marilyn “needed” this kind of care. In defense she would repeat that she was used to spending this amount of money as a beauty and a movie star of her stature.

  Greene and Monroe were nervously gambling that Twentieth would fold, succumbing to their demands. Marilyn was the biggest, most talked-about actress in the world. Her films were bringing in box-office revenues that accumulated a vast fortune for the studio. Marilyn Monroe Productions had better be able to hold out longer than the studio. Marilyn’s worldwide image was furthered by hiring Arthur Jacobs Agency, a publicity firm that ensured continued positive exposure while confounding the studio with her apparently successful escape from captivity.

  At a dinner party Marilyn met Lee Strasberg, who took an immediate liking to her. Soon the actress was taking private lessons from the controversial acting coach at his eight-room West Side apartment. Each room was filled with books, plays, and screenplays strewn carelessly about.

  Born in a ghetto in Budzanow, Austria, November 17,1901, Strasberg had emerged from poverty before migrating to the United States. Feeling a common bond with her mentor, Marilyn later would pay Lee’s personal expenses for pleasure vacations and even cover his stock market losses, giving him thousands of dollars. Elia Kazan and Cheryl Crawford had cofounded the Actor’s Studio and Lee became its artistic director in 1948. The Studio’s famous Method style of acting was similar to what Marilyn had already studied with Michael Chekhov. Her fellow students attending classes twice a week impressed the actress. Marlon Brando, her former cohort Shelley Winters, her Itch costar Tom Ewell, Montgomery Clift, Eli Wallach, and James Dean were among Strasberg’s avid followers. In class, he would lead exercises to help the performer signal the emotion needed for the lesson. Regular practice in the sense-memory work of recalling emotions was essential, and Marilyn participated wholeheartedly. She also began a course of psychoanalysis, to break down her defenses and learn to express her deepest feelings. Soon able to layer her emotions and motivations as an actress making conscious choices, what had been an untapped, mostly unconscious process became one of creating the complexities of a performance rich in subtleties.

  Miss Monroe gained the respect of the most polished performers at the Studio. Strasberg would soon place Marilyn’s acting abilities alongside those of Academy Award Winner Marlon Brando. She had reached the top of her class and to her peers she had come of age as an actress. To give her more credibility as a serious one, she attended classes sloppily dressed in baggy, worn-out dungarees and tattered sweaters, not bothering to use makeup, but applying Vaseline to her face instead.

  The more positive responses Marilyn received from Strasberg and Actor’s Studio members, the better her retention and focus. Either Marilyn was rehearsing lines with classmates or watching the “master” at work, soaking up his “words of wisdom” as part of her growth experience. She was intrigued that Strasberg was able to pinpoint her stuttering problem and address it with clarity and understanding. Privately, Lee spoke to her about the fears of conformity and acceptance that she had been dealing with in psychotherapy. Having repressed her past, Marilyn was encouraged to deal with her gut-level feelings head on and to utilize her frailties to create a more complex and interesting character.

  Within the first year Strasberg evaluated her capability: “She can call up emotionally whatever is required in a scene. Her range is infinite, and it is almost wicked that she has not used more of her range or that the films she has been in so far have not required more of her. She is highly nervous. She is more nervous than any other actress I have ever known. But nervousness for an actress is not a handicap. It is a sign of sensitivity. Marilyn had to learn how to channel her nervous, wild flow of energy into her work. For too long, she has been living for publicity. She has to live for herself and for her work. Her quality when photographed is almost of a supernatural beauty.”

  In 1955 William Inge’s Bus Stop had been breaking Broadway box-office records while Arthur Miller’s A View from the Bridge also began its short run. Ernest Borgnine, as Marty, won Oscars for Best Actor and Best Picture, and Italian actress Anna Magnani won for her performance in The Rose Tattoo. Sam Giancana placed contracts with Milwaukee Phil to eliminate a few of his enemies while John F Kennedy was speculating with his father about the senator’s prospects as a vice-presidential candidate.

  On her birthday, June 1, Marilyn Monroe attended the premiere of The Seven-Year Itch in New York’s Loew’s Theater with her estranged husband Joe DiMaggio, who was intent on repairing their failed marriage. The studio embarrassed the actress again by not inviting her directly, instead sending a pair of tickets to magazine photographer Sam Shaw, who recently had been Marilyn’s escort around town. The Yankee Clipper planned to host a birthday party for Marilyn at his friend Toot Shor’s after the show.

  Marilyn Monroe arrived at the theater late with Joe, interrupting her costar’s (Ewell) soliloquy twenty minutes into the film. In a white, off-the-shoulder evening gown and a white fox stole, a jubilant Marilyn, posing for flashing photographers, disturbed the lighting and viewing in the theater. Although reviewers ignored Marilyn’s acting, they reported on the beauty that had overwhelmed the audience. Billy Wilder retorted to the pres
s that Marilyn surely understood comedy, as her sense of timing was uncanny.

  In the film, Marilyn had exhibited her warm, tender side. As the awkward Ewell made feeble advances, instead of being offended, her character innocently attributes his attention to kindness and loneliness. Her character’s loving acceptance of his homely appearance and unappealing approach made unattractive men in the audience feel wanted and loved, not matter how clumsy or gimpy they might appear to be. Wilder added, “She gives this poor ‘schlump’ a sense of his own value as a man.” Wilder was disappointed by the mixed reviews, but not by the box-office revenues. The cost of $1.8 million turned at least a 1,000 percent profit for Twentieth.

  Marilyn had put her career on the fast track again, but she got into a spat with DiMaggio at the birthday party. After exchanging harsh words, in reaction to his disapproving glares from across the room, she stalked out in anger with her friend Shaw. The stress between the couple was obvious to everyone at the function. DiMaggio had still not learned to avoid bullying the actress and she needed him most to treat her with respect and approval for earning her newfound prestige as an actress. If New York, Hollywood, and the world would finally recognize her as a serious actress, why couldn’t Joe? To her he was still unable or unwilling to accept her on her own expanding terms out of spiteful pride.

  Once again on the rebound and committed to surrounding herself with only supportive people, she made the reacquaintance of playwright Arthur Miller at a cocktail party. Making the rounds within the New York theater circuit, the native Californian was invited to numerous soirees given by various directors, actors, and playwrights. Miller, whose marriage was ailing, socialized about town as a single man looking for brighter horizons. Miller was socially awkward and shy, but Marilyn was attracted to introspective men.

  Arthur Miller lived a close-knit life with his three friends, director Elia Kazan, poet and playwright Norman Rosten, and publicist James Proctor. Miller had personal problems with Kazan after Kazan testified before the House Committee on Un-American Activities. Although not card-carrying Communists, writers and intellectuals of the thirties like Ernest Hemingway, Sidney Hook, and James T. Farrell had been attracted to Communism’s ideals. Most later turned their back on the party, but Miller signed up in 1940. During and after World War II he continued to actively align himself with various fronts and causes. Originally a sympathizer, Miller remained unaware of the censorship that Communists in fact practiced. Only as late as 1957 did he ultimately realize the deceit of the Communist Party when, at the request of the Russians at the celebration of a Dostoevsky anniversary, he wrote a scathing essay about censorship and the politicalization of the work of Soviet artists.

  Marilyn was attracted to the playwright for his Lincolnesque looks and his affinity to the world of the mind. Though Monroe had preferred tall, large, more physically active, outdoor types like Dougherty and DiMaggio, as a coming-out-of-the closet intellectual she was hungry for the knowledge she thought Miller possessed. He interested himself in writing his thoughts and emotions into the fabric of his characters’ lives. She read plays as her consuming interest. Both appeared to be searching for truth in their lives. His marriage purportedly having gone stale, Miller was living the life of a recluse. He was ready to transform his existence, and Marilyn appeared to be the one who could help him. He had lost favor with the American public after his unpopular association with the Communist Party, and he was looking to be restored to his pedestal. After his Pulitzer Prize for Death of a Salesman, his success had been limited. Yearning for a fresh start as a writer, Miller decided to try screenwriting. A writer who attached himself to a star like Marilyn would enjoy unlimited access to talent.

  At forty years old, Miller was experiencing a midlife crisis. His wife, Mary Grace Slattery, was a literate political woman who had been the driving intellectual force in his career. As his surrogate mother, she supported his creative endeavors by sponsoring his writing career, first by working as a waitress and then as an editor for Harper and Brothers. A Catholic, Mary Slattery bore him two children, a daughter, Joan Ellen, and a son, Robert, and both by then were in their teens. Miller’s own mother drove a wedge between husband and wife by criticizing them for not raising their offspring in the Jewish faith and thus depriving them of half their heritage.

  Miller used his mother and father’s life experiences as fodder for two of his best known plays. His father’s career as an insurance salesman served as the model for the central character in Death of a Salesman, and his mother was honored by his portrayal of her in All My Sons.

  Arthur was consumed by guilt about his wife and his marriage. He had owed Mary a great debt for carrying the emotional and financial burden those many years and did not want the responsibility of repayment. Like a child, he took, then wanted freedom to run and play. Though he preferred seeing himself as a self-made man, Miller clearly was not. He resented his wife for giving him the “guilts” and being a mother to him, not a mistress. In his attraction to Marilyn the ultimate was possible: she could be both mistress and maker.

  Referring to Miller’s play The Crucible, fellow playwright Clifford Odets remarked that a man would never write such a conflicted, convoluted story about a marriage unless his own was in pieces. Miller was not astute enough to realize how much he exposed himself in his work. The story revolved around a husband, a wife, and a former live-in maid Abigail, who accused the wife of being a witch. The husband proceeds to have an illicit affair with the maid.

  The answer to Millers current life crisis instantly materialized in the form of Marilyn Monroe. With her he could break through his personal guilt, if only temporarily.

  The stage was set for the Millers’ divorce. Choosing a woman like Marilyn Monroe meant relief for Arthur. Nobody could blame him for falling in love with America’s sex goddess, every red-blooded American male’s dream! Not even the intellectual community would be repulsed by his infidelity.

  At the party Marilyn stood alone, nervously sipping her drink when Miller approached and leaned over her. They spoke at length of the theater and Lee Strasberg. The actress was aroused, later claiming that she got goose bumps the closer he came to her. Miss Monroe was flattered that such a well-known and respected intellectual would see beyond her attractiveness and respond so much to her intelligence, the way she wished the public would do. The attraction was obviously mutual. She began fantasizing that Miller would someday write a Pulitzer Prize play with a principal role for her.

  Known as a free thinker, Miller was impressed by Marilyn’s mind as well as her body. But Monroe remained cool toward his advances that evening, leaving with her escorts, Eli Wallach and his wife, Anne Jackson. Marilyn enjoyed Wallach’s company immensely, but rarely involved herself with actors, ironically finding them too self-absorbed and insecure. She observed many a Hollywood marriage breakup, and realized that competition between fragile egos breeds unresolvable conflict. She was still suffering from the hardship of her own superstar divorce.

  After Paula Strasberg gave him Marilyn’s unlisted phone number, Miller took almost two weeks to muster the courage to call her. Obviously Paula had given her blessing to the relationship, so Arthur arranged for dinner in the home of his friends, Hedda and Norman Rosten. Miller discreetly used the Rostens as a convenient cover to shield the developing relationship from the world.

  Instead of renting an apartment or a hotel room for their trysts, all summer long Miller met surreptitiously to make love with Marilyn at the Rostens’, the Greenes’ in Weston, and with the Strasbergs’ on Fire Island. But by fall, Marilyn had moved from the Waldorf-Astoria into an apartment on 2 Sutton Place. Marilyn and Arthur managed to continue seeing each other while keeping the publicity hounds at bay with “beard” Wallach. Earl Wilson tried unsuccessfully to break their code, but Marilyn railroaded his intentions by innocently toying with his questions, replying, “Why, Earl, you know Arthur is a married man.” The rumors persisted, but Marilyn resisted telling the truth.

 
; Meanwhile, Marilyn’s career continued to be blessed with good timing and luck. Greene was at the end of his rope financially, out of cash reserves, and both he and Marilyn were praying for a miracle. Had Twentieth known, it probably would not have relented. Fortunately for Monroe, Zanuck had resigned and been replaced by Buddy Adler, and the studio purchased the rights to William Inge’s Bus Stop with Marilyn in mind. By year’s end her attorney, Frank Delaney, would renegotiate a new contract for Marilyn Monroe with the studio. The last day of 1955 brought Marilyn unprecedented luck as she received her biggest paycheck ever from Fox. Monroe’s agent and Itch producer Charles K. Feldman had negotiated for her without the benefit of the film’s release. With the extra money, Monroe Productions purchased the rights to The Sleeping Prince, the Terrence Rattigan comedy that Greene had been eying. Without even reading it, Marilyn bought the comedy on Greene’s recommendation alone.

  The complex, eighty-five-page document was the most lucrative contract ever signed by an actress. The seven-year contract limited her to completing four class “A” films at a salary of $100,000 per film (although Miller claims it was $150,000 per picture), a personal maid, $500 a week for petty cash, plus the privilege of making one independent film yearly and a total of six television appearances over the next seven years. In addition, the agreement gave the actress director approval. She sanctioned sixteen directors: George Stevens, Fred Zinnemann, Billy Wilder, William Wyler, Alfred Hitchcock, Vittorio de Sica, Joseph Mankiewicz, George Cukor, Elia Kazan, Carol Reed, David Lean, John Huston, Joshua Logan, Lee Strasberg, John Ford, and for musicals Vincente Minnelli. Cinematographers, important to a woman’s physical conception of herself, would be narrowed to Harry Stradling, Jr., Hal Rossen, James Wong Howe, and Milton Krasner. Marilyn Monroe wrote her own ticket more precisely than had anyone before her. Empowered by her new self-image, she was projecting more autonomy and strength than ever before.