Olivier had prepared to work with Monroe by speaking to Joshua Logan at length and attending Lee Strasberg’s classes in New York City. Logan warned Olivier never to yell at the actress, which might cause her to completely withdraw from the set for weeks out of fear and humiliation. When Olivier witnessed a Strasberg class, he saw an inexperienced, shallow teacher purportedly employing Stanislavsky’s techniques in a clichéd fashion, with no awareness of the intrinsic problems of using the technique on a movie set. A short time later, while on location with Marilyn, Olivier would charge that her acting coach had actually repressed her natural talent. Strasberg, in turn, had encouraged Marilyn to allow Olivier to direct the comedy, in part to mask the designs he had on directing Marilyn himself in future films.
Not long into the shooting, Marilyn recognized that Olivier was menacingly competing with her on the set. And then her own erratic behavior usurped his confidence in directing her. He may have been intimidated by her natural acting abilities, especially in comedy, something he had little experience or flair for. His timing was stilted and his performance unnatural and thwarted. As great an actor as he was, his comedic talent couldn’t hold a candle to hers, and he found himself upstaged. In retaliation, he called her transference from sweetness and vulnerability to a spiteful and spikey woman deplorable. He blamed everyone but himself for his inability to handle the actress. An extraordinarily gifted actor in the classical theater, Olivier still had much to learn about film acting. His pedagogue, director William Wyler, had orchestrated Olivier’s classical performance for Wuthering Heights. Unsure of his Prince role, Olivier made wrong choices when trying to analyze his character. Through it all, Marilyn carried off her role with an unsuitable leading man to play off of. Embarrassed and frustrated over his inability to compete with and control Monroe, Olivier only become more intimidated with each passing day, both on the set and in the rushes. Monroe in turn sensed his incompetence and insecurity, and quickly lost respect for him. Arthur Miller did not help matters, refusing to believe his wife’s perceptions and instead siding with “the greatest actor alive” against her every point. Miller often seemed to have ulterior motives. Was he less perceptive and intuitive than his wife or was he perhaps trying to flatter Olivier into resurrecting his play A View from the Bridge?
Using Paula Strasberg as a front, Marilyn had begun self-directing on the set. Paula served as go-between for Olivier and Monroe. Then Miller would complicate the already strained atmosphere by attempting to act like a second director. Though he viewed himself as more valuable to Marilyn than Paula was, Monroe did not trust Miller’s input. After all, he had no actor’s training whatever.
Paula made herself conspicuous by wearing black “funeral clothes” and endlessly boasting about her husband’s major contribution to the acting world, insisting that the greatest actors would be lost without his guidance. For all this, Marilyn treated Paula only as Lee’s temporary stand-in, making continual calls to New York to consult with the master himself.
Expecting his costar to be late, Olivier would start pacing early in the morning, growing angrier as the day progressed. While waiting, he would sometimes share his breakfast with Whitey Snyder, carrying on long chats about American life. As much as he detested her chronic tardiness, Olivier still recognized her talent. He confessed to Snyder how unusual an actress she was and said he was impressed by her sheer energy and stamina, which outlasted even his own.
As Marilyn increasingly doubted her director’s capability and became more annoyed with her husband’s lack of support, her entrance on the set got later each day, as if to punish them both. Olivier would react with biting humor to put the actress in her place, which only created more tension. Miller silently stood around looking clumsy, not daring to come to his wife’s defense.
Battle lines were being drawn. Marilyn’s only allies on the set were Whitey Snyder, Paula Strasberg, and Norman Rosten’s wife, Hedda, who had been hired as Monroe’s secretary. Conflict came to a head over Paula and Hedda’s daily presence on the set. Despising her entourage, including her bodyguard, Olivier demanded that Paula and Hedda leave. Upon hearing of the order, Marilyn suffered a convenient breakdown. It was either Paula and Hedda or no Marilyn! Milton Greene interceded and Olivier conceded.
Monroe confided to Hedda that her role as originally written was shallow and that she hoped to deepen it, but Olivier and Miller balked at her every attempt to create a more complex character. Still another Marilyn supporter was actress Dame Sybil Thorndyke, who affirmed Monroe’s perceptions of what was really going on. Thorndyke complimented Monroe on her ability to work so well before the camera. Marilyn was able to hone in on a particular emotion, clearly conveyed by close-ups of her eyes. Then Dame Sybil added that she admired Marilyn’s efforts to intensify the depth of her character, making sure everyone on the set heard, including Olivier. Marilyn was grateful. Of all the players in the production, Monroe had the only proven record in comedy, yet the insecure, easily threatened males on the set continually attempted to undermine her.
Behind the scenes, Marilyn and Greene were fighting over screen credits. Greene had purchased a black Jaguar sedan and spent his afternoons driving around London antique shopping and charging expensive purchases to Marilyn Monroe Productions. Incensed, Marilyn accused him of being delinquent in his duties. Since the film was being produced under the Edie Plan, only two Americans could be employed in England. Aside from herself, Marilyn would list only one other American connected with the project. Greene insisted that he be given credit as the film’s associate producer. Instead, Marilyn chose to give Whitey credit as her personal makeup artist. Thus, another “him or me” showdown erupted when Greene gave the ultimatum that Whitey Snyder had to go. In spite of Whitey’s attempt to persuade Marilyn not to risk a lawsuit on his account, as always, Marilyn stood by her loyal friend. She retaliated by threatening not to release the film should Greene get his way, adding that he had to accept Whitey or be replaced himself. And in the end, she flatly refused to include Greene’s name in the screen credits.
To thicken the plot, animosity was building between Miller and Greene. Miller was sending messages through the film community that Greene’s “interference” with Marilyn’s career was ruining it for good. He would later categorically deny such accusations.
More trouble was brewing when Paula Strasberg suddenly decided to leave for New York for a week’s hiatus. Her daughter Susan had been cast in a television production back in the states, so Paula had to be there for her. Upon her return she was not cleared by Immigration to reenter England. Monroe sensed subterfuge. Olivier, Greene, and Miller all detested Paula Strasberg for both her salary and control on the set. Perhaps they conspired against her. Refusing to show up in the morning, Marilyn demanded Paula’s return. Olivier swiftly set out to resolve the dilemma, pledging to go to the top man in government to overturn the Immigration stance if need be. Meanwhile, Monroe’s own husband impishly remained in the background.
Not only had the set turned against Marilyn, but the British press had, too. More disaster struck at the formal press conference arranged by Greene in the ballroom of the Savoy Hotel. Reporters asked snide questions about her acting career and her choices in material. Her stock efforts to seduce the British press with sexual overtones went flat. Failing to answer correctly specific questions regarding Beethoven’s works, she appeared ignorant of the classics while attempting to show her appreciation for the composer. They attacked her recent marriage as though she were no different from her film characters. Miller also flunked their test as they found him as charming and appealing as an undertaker. Marilyn came off neither witty nor intelligent, just beautiful. But was that sufficient for her to costar opposite England’s beloved knight of the theater? To the British press, hardly so.
The one highlight of the nightmarish trip was Marilyn’s presentation to the Queen of England. She had learned a proper curtsy during filming. Wanting everything perfect, she practiced frequently. By nine in th
e morning, Whitey was in her bedroom trying to wake her up to get her bathed and scented before the endless hours of applying her makeup. Her English hairdresser Gordon changed her hairstyle almost a dozen times before the lounging Marilyn was satisfied. Finally, two minutes before six and only moments before the Queen’s arrival, Marilyn made her grand entrance in an extremely low-cut red velvet dress. Always worried prior to appearances, Monroe was especially panic-stricken about meeting Queen Elizabeth II. Not until the Queen was noticeably impressed with her did the actress’s anxieties subside. Elizabeth’s fond recognition enabled Marilyn to gain self-confidence during the remaining days at Pinewood Studios, enough to laugh and kid around with the cast.
Overall, the trip to England was a disaster. Once again she was tormented by self-doubt. She had been disillusioned by the press, Olivier, Greene, and Miller and forced to reckon with their shortcomings. She had allowed their influence to sabotage her personal growth. Due to her respect for her husband’s intellect, Marilyn couldn’t see his pervasive inadequacies or lack of artistic judgment. For his part, Miller discounted all his wife’s observations and opinions as those of a highly irrational, unstable person. Whatever Miller’s motives, walls rapidly went up in England between himself and his famous wife.
10
The Fruitless Marriage
The 1957 Pulitzer Prize for nonfiction went to a young senator from Massachusetts, John F Kennedy. Profiles in Courage had purportedly been written by JFK during his convalescence from recent back surgery. Later it was rumored that JFK aide Ted Sorensen actually wrote the bestselling book, and that John’s father, the illustrious Joseph P. Kennedy, had instantly turned it into a bestseller by virtually buying up all the copies at the bookstores.
John’s wife, Jackie, confided to Bobby Kennedy that she was about to walk out on her husband. Already tired of his obsessive womanizing, her basic needs were not being met, especially since she was pregnant with their first child.
Frank Sinatra and Senator Kennedy’s brother-in-law Peter Lawford were discussing the possibility of JFK running for President in 1960, and Joseph Kennedy had calculatingly manipulated the antagonism between his son Robert and the underworld. If and when his political plans for his boys worked out, Joe could play powerbroking mastermind, cutting deals with the Mafia by conveniently ordering his zealous son to back off from time to time. With Robert Kennedy already in place as the chief majority counsel of the Senate’s McClellan Committee, the stage was ingeniously set by the patriarch for investigations into the corrupt practices and alleged Mafia ties of the Teamsters Union, led by President Dave Beck and Detroit’s local boss Jimmy Hoffa. Chicago’s underworld kingpin, Sam Giancana, initially feared that the federal inquiry might interfere and hamper the mob’s business activities, but his fears were quickly assuaged when Joe Kennedy himself promised that “Chicago’s rackets would be left sacrosanct.”
The 1957 Academy Award for best screenplay was awarded to Robert Rich for The Brave One. As a blacklisted member of the Hollywood Ten, Rich refused the Oscar in protest at being investigated by the Un-American Activities Committee. Elvis Presley starred in the runaway hit Jailhouse Rock, revolutionizing the film and music business.
Meanwhile, Marilyn remained in Ascot hopelessly pacing through the drafty old home in the middle of the night, unable to overcome her increasingly frequent bouts of insomnia. The ornate rooms filled with dusty throw rugs and hand-carved oak antiques made her feel gloomy. The British press had lambasted her, saying she was a “rich commoner buying aristocracy.” Sleepless, she worried about her rapidly deteriorating marriage and the fiasco of working with Olivier. Marilyn had replaced Larry’s wife Vivien Leigh, who had performed opposite her husband in the same role on the British stage. Leigh, who had won an Oscar for her portrayal of Scarlett O’Hara in Gone With the Wind, boasted far superior accomplishments than could Marilyn, and the embittered star made Monroe guiltridden for stealing her original role. Whitey Snyder was the only one Marilyn now trusted. She saw Paula Strasberg as Lee’s spy sent to check up on her. Why wasn’t there a comforting mother to kiss her fears away in the middle of the night? While husband Arthur slept comfortably, Marilyn would fidget in search of the sleeping pill that would do the trick. Sleeping blinders served as little compensation for her tired eyes, and her worried mind repeatedly flashed on the day’s events.
Marilyn had become increasingly agitated when fans continually climbed over the walls onto the grounds of their English home to photograph her day and night. Normally she enjoyed the attention, or at least was able to tolerate it, but the British fans and press were relentless in their onslaught. The hired private detectives were hardly equipped to keep the public at bay. The complete lack of privacy was getting to both Millers as the constant stream of fans and paparazzi supplied the international gossip columns with the latest.
During the final weeks of filming, Monroe was demanding at least twenty-five retakes on every shot. Everyone of the set felt that the takes were all alike and that Marilyn was overdoing it with her obsessive need for perfection. But this was her history—while the rest of the crew were showing signs of fatigue, Marilyn was just warming up. For hours on end during the rushes, she would sit patiently and meticulously decipher which cut best depicted the precise mood or feeling she was looking for like her film-editing mother. Then, also part of her pattern, she would work herself into exhaustion and illness. When she caught a bad cold, production had to shut down for nearly two weeks. Her own workaholic behavior, insomnia and resultant sickness, the incessant on-the-set bickering, and her growing alienation from her husband, business partner, director, and the British press were collectively taking their toll.
The Millers had been thrust head-first into the whirlwind career of Marilyn Monroe. Enough daily strife surfaces for any recently married couple without the endless demands made upon a bride with an acting and producing career and a groom with a stagnant writing career. Even at the outset, there wasn’t enough glue to hold this marriage together. Arthur didn’t understand his wife’s perceptions about her life and what was unfolding on the set, and he couldn’t provide the support and tenderness she so desperately needed. Gone was the doting wife who oversaw his creative interests. Absent was the partner who had cultivated his writing abilities by subordinating her talents to those of the “man of the house.” Ex-wife Mary had pumped her husband’s “genius,” pushing him to be the sole support of their family. How much was his career the result of his wife’s input? How much did his Pulitzer owe to her editorial gifts?
With his new wife beginning to doubt both his human and creative judgments, how could Miller really believe he had the skills to spawn another theater success? His quest to find the perfect director in England consumed him, leaving him little time to console his wife. Her solace came instead from the sleeping pills prescribed by a local physician. Miller’s impatience with Marilyn was only heightened by her increasing dependence on the pills.
After the Prince shooting disaster, the Millers returned to New York. Relieved to have a breather, they rented an expansive yet inexpensive apartment on East 57th Street, off Sutton Place in Manhattan. The doormen hardly recognized the actress, who again resorted to wearing disguises in an effort to savor a few private moments with her husband.
Marilyn moved her treasured white lacquer piano into the living room as a constant reminder of her mother’s love. She furnished the rest of the flat with bits and pieces. Floor-to-ceiling mirrors adorned the apartment and provided four-way reflections of Marilyn Monroe’s beauty. The wall-to-wall images were comforting. But however gratifying and self-affirming these externals, they were not nearly enough to fill the black hole inside the orphan girl. Separate “his” and “her” wings allowed Miller to write in his private study, while Marilyn’s wing was equipped with an alterations room. The Millers’ bedroom was plain and nearly empty: a king-size bed minus the headboard, more mirrors for displaying sexual activity, a small night stand with a nondescript lamp, and
a phonograph with blues and jazz music.
After the initial excitement of coming home, the Millers reverted to their simple domestic life. They hired gray-haired May Reis as secretary. Highly efficient and disciplined, she reminded Marilyn of her own methodical mother. The apartment was Marilyn’s retreat from her acting classes with Lee Strasberg and her therapy sessions with Marianne Kris. For the most part, Marilyn insisted on changing her clothes between appointments. She sometimes traveled in New York City by hired limousine but disliked having to keep her driver waiting in the street at such exorbitant hourly wages. Instead she preferred to take taxis—the drivers never recognized her, disguised in dull outfits with her uncombed hair hidden under a scarf.
Marilyn held low expectations regarding Prince. She was right to do so. The film premiered at the Radio City Music Hall in June 1957. The New York reviews were not positive, through Marilyn managed to eke out a few kind words regarding her performance. Justin Gilbert of the New York Mirror wrote, “The film emerges as the season’s sparkling comedy surprise.” Archer Winsten was not a fan of hers, but he wrote for the New York Post that “Marilyn Monroe... has never seemed more in command of herself as a person and as a comedienne. She manages to make her laughs without sacrificing the real Marilyn to play-acting. This of course, is something one can expect from great, talented, practiced performers. It comes as a most pleasant surprise from Marilyn Monroe, who has been half-actress, half-sensation.” Neither funny nor charming, Olivier’s half-baked portrayal of the Balkan regent missed the mark. The film was tedious and dull. Olivier used the camera as if he were shooting a theater play. The film was a royal bomb.
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