Hollywood – Page 2 – Bitch Flicks

Reflections on a Feminist Icon

Possessing mass and cult appeal, the bilingual, Yale-educated Foster has, moreover, been popular with both mainstream and indie audiences. Although the adult Foster fulfills conventional ideals of female beauty, she has never been a traditional Hollywood sex symbol. She has been both a figure of identification and desire. In many of her roles, she personifies female independence, heroism and resistance. As an actress, she brings a naturalism, intensity, and integrity to her performances. She engages audiences both intellectually and emotionally.

Written by Rachael Johnson as part of our theme week on The Great Actresses.

Jodie Foster occupies a unique place in modern American cinema. She is an exceptional, award-winning actress, charismatic movie star, pop culture heroine and feminist icon. Fêted for her memorable, ground-breaking roles in films like The Silence of the Lambs (1991) and The Accused (1988), Foster has dramaticized American femininity for decades. She was, of course, a gifted child actress–often playing precocious, self-possessed, street-smart girls–before making a highly successful transition to adult performing, and winning two Best Actress Academy Awards in her 20s. Very few actresses have, in fact, enjoyed Foster‘s international, inter-generational and cross-gender esteem and popularity. Possessing mass and cult appeal, the bilingual, Yale-educated Foster has, moreover, been popular with both mainstream and indie audiences. Although the adult Foster fulfills conventional ideals of female beauty, she has never been a traditional Hollywood sex symbol. She has been both a figure of identification and desire. In many of her roles, she personifies female independence, heroism and resistance. As an actress, she brings a naturalism, intensity, and integrity to her performances. She engages audiences both intellectually and emotionally.

There have been bad and mediocre movies, of course, like Stealing Home (1988), but Foster has starred in a string of good and great films. The Silence of The Lambs (1991) and Taxi Driver (1976) are, simply, masterpieces. Foster has worked with the likes of Martin Scorsese, Spike Lee, David Fincher, Jonathan Demme, and Neil Jordan. But although she has chosen American auteurs, she has not, interestingly enough, shown great interest in avant-garde and experimental cinema. The California native is, it seems, a populist. A child of the movies. In her autobiography, My Life So Far, Jane Fonda explains that she adheres to David Hare’s belief that “the best place to be a radical is at the center.” Foster has, of course, never been as politically engaged as Fonda in her public life, but perhaps she feels that cultural representations of femininity can be transformed from the center. Although there have been historical films, such as Sommersby (1993) and Anna and the King (1999), most of her films are set in modern America. Foster has always been of her time. Dramas, crime films, psychological and action thrillers appear to dominate her filmography (at least as an adult) although she has performed effectively in more comic roles. She is amusing and engaging in both Maverick (1994) and Nim’s Island (2008).

Foster has a distinctive screen persona. In films such as The Silence of the Lambs (1991) and Contact (1997), she has memorably personified female heroism and self-determination. Her characters destabilise old-fashioned ideals of girlhood and womanhood, and contest reactionary cultural attitudes. Audiences are accustomed to seeing Foster’s characters occupy professions traditionally dominated by men. She plays a scientist in Contact (1997), an aircraft engineer in Flightplan (2005), and a power broker in Inside Man (2006).

Foster, of course, plays an FBI agent in The Silence of the Lambs, Jonathan Demme’s masterful adaptation of Thomas Harris’s novel about a young woman’s hunt for a serial killer. Clarice Starling is a pioneering character in mainstream American cinema. Female protagonists have been traditionally rare in the thriller and horror genres and Clarice challenges masculinist power and privilege as well as traditional expectations of gender. Uncommon for a female character in the thriller and horror genres, she is an intelligent, resourceful, independent woman graced with self-will and self-control. Clarice is unusual in other ways. A woman of physical and moral courage, she makes goodness interesting. This is remarkably rare in cinema. Silence also deals with myths and sexuality in Gothic fashion and Clarice encounters two powerful charismatic father-figures on her quest. Clarice’s boss acts as a kind of paternal figure as well as mentor, and the man who helps her catch the killer, Buffalo Bill, is a seductive, patrician psychiatrist and cannibal serial-killer called Hannibal Lecter. Foster’s Clarice has an appealing sincerity and humanity, and her more naturalistic interpretation of the character contrasts beautifully with Anthony Hopkins’s theatrical incarnation of Lecter. We know, as Lecter knows, that Clarice will never give in and never sell out. The strongest and most moral character in the film, she treats everyone she meets with compassion and respect. Most of all, she represents the female victims of Buffalo Bill while embodying the aspirations of her fellow working-class women. For the orphaned Clarice’s origins are modest and her history is also marked by tragedy.

Foster‘s choices and performances reveal an awareness of outcasts and outsiders as well as an empathy with victims. She has played privileged women in films like Panic Room (2003), The Beaver (2011), Inside Man (2006) and Carnage (2011) but she has, I feel, secured her greatest performances playing women with disadvantaged backgrounds. Although they are often victims of patriarchy, male sexual exploitation and violence, they are not devoid of hope and strength. In Taxi Driver (1976), Foster plays a child prostitute and gives her character, Iris, both spirit and vulnerability. It is a performance that both impresses and disturbs. The actress was in her early teens at the time. The young woman of The Accused (1988), Sarah Tobias, is even less advantaged than Clarice and enjoys none of her esteem and authority. In The Accused, Foster personalizes working-class female pain. Based on a true story, Jonathan Kaplan’s drama is about a waitress who is gang-raped in a bar. The harrowing film chronicles Sarah’s fight for justice. It is one of Foster’s most socially-aware roles and fully-realised performances. Although a victim, Sarah is committed to bringing the men who witnessed and were complicit in the rape to trial. The film itself formally resembles a television drama but the characterization of the female protagonist is strong. Sarah is simultaneously vulnerable, child-like, spirited, all-too-human, tough and moral. Foster interprets her with understanding and humanity. It is an extraordinarily sensitive and multi-layered performance.

In the first decade of the Millenium, Foster’s iconic reputation as a figure of female independence and defiance was further consolidated. Panic Room (2002), Flightplan (2006) and The Brave One (2008) are all about women fighting back. In Panic Room, Foster’s privileged yet vulnerable character suffers a home invasion. Intruders, in fact, break into the Manhattan brownstone of the newly-divorced Meg Altman (her husband has left her for another woman) and her child the night they move in. The mother and daughter retreat to a panic room. Directed by David Fincher, Panic Room is a better, more stylish film than Flightplan and The Brave One. It is thrilling, and satisfying, watching Foster’s character outwit and defend herself, and her child, against the men. For the majority of the film, she is alone with them and when her ex-husband finally arrives to check in after being contacted, he is injured and disempowered by the intruders. It is, therefore, Altman who plays the dominant parental and conventionally heroic role. Flightplan is about a widowed aircraft engineer whose child disappears on a flight to the United States. The film replays Hollywood clichés- Foster is entirely alone and no one believes that she even has a child- and the plot, unfortunately, disintegrates. The role is, also, a somewhat reheated, more narcissistic, version of the part she plays in Panic Room. The Brave One is the tale of a talk show host who turns into a vigilante after her fiancé is killed in a street attack. Neil Jordan’s New York set film is politically suspect and lacks credibility, to say the least, and Foster’s character’s fate is highly unlikely. The actor is, of course, watchable in both Flightplan and The Brave One. She also exhibits a credible screen athleticism in the three films. But it is Foster’s turn as a fixer in Spike Lee’s Inside Man that is, arguably, her most interesting role of the last decade. Sleek, elegantly-attired, bare-legged, playful and ruthless, Madeleine White is, perhaps, the actor’s most seductive performance.

Foster is a beautiful woman but the cinematic display of her sexuality has never been conspicuous- not in the traditional Hollywood sense, at least. Regarding her screen and star personae, Foster is feminine, boyish, androgynous, athletic, cerebral, articulate, rational, charismatic and engaging. The fact that Foster is a gay woman who has only recently disclosed her recently–I shall come to this later–adds an interesting complexity and mystique to the gender representation and sexuality of her roles.

Foster has never been an average female movie star. She has, for the most part, successfully evaded the standard, misogynist discourse surrounding other Hollywood actresses. She has not been a regular target of tabloid-concocted crap about failed relationships, lovelessness and inner emptiness. Equally, we don’t associate the actor with Oprahesque confessional narratives. Nor does she seem to suffer what many stars have suffered from over the ages: culturally-constructed psychological and physical female self-hatred. Foster has never played a highly visible public role and has always fiercely guarded her privacy. Personally, I am not greatly interested in the private lives of Hollywood stars and have always admired her refusal to indulge in daily self-exhibitionism. Her devotion to privacy only enhances her mystique and coolness, of course. It also means that we do not know that much about her.

Although Foster is, it seems, liberal, we know very little about her ideological beliefs. She is not politically engaged like Susan Sarandon, George Clooney, Sean Penn, and Maggie Gyllenhaal. Regarding gender representation and politics, her feminist reputation has issued, for the most part, from her roles. She has, of course, never been a gay role model in a public, politically engaged sense. In fact, this has been deeply problematic for some. Indeed, Foster has been criticized for not coming out earlier in her career. America was, of course, a less liberal place in the 80s and 90s, in terms of gay visibility and rights, and perhaps she thought such a move would jeopardize her career. Did her reluctance to come out publicly reflect pure self-interest and moral cowardice? Was it simply judicious or fundamentally a reflection of a long-cherished commitment to keep her private life private? This fierce regard for privacy is understandable in the light of John Hinckley’s attempted assassination of President Reagan in 1981. A mentally unbalanced man, Hinckley shot Reagan to make an impression on the young actress. Foster has become more open over the last decade, and she does not seem to mind relating fun things about her family life (she has two sons) in talk shows. She came out publicly at the Golden Globes in 2013 (she won the Cecil B. DeMille award last year) but even her coming out was executed in a somewhat idiosyncratic fashion. The speech is an interesting one. A little nutty and cryptic, it is also a quite powerful plea for privacy and understanding. Relating how she came out in private when she was younger to people close to her, she referred movingly to her very public childhood. Foster also seemed to quit acting in the speech but I am somewhat skeptical about entertainers’ public pronouncements about retiring.

Her public image, of late, has, in fact, been somewhat tarnished. Her professional relationship with Roman Polanski–he directed Foster in Carnage (2011) (as well as her friendship with Mel Gibson)–has considerably undermined her status as a feminist icon. Her decision to work with Polanski was all the more disappointing because she is a well-regarded, beloved feminist icon, of course. Discussions about the morality of the artist are thorny, and I am not generally a fan of boycotts of artists and censorship, for art is ultimately about knowledge, but I found the actor’s decision to work with Roman Polanski not only deeply troubling but also perplexing. Sarah Tobias is, after all, the most iconic rape victim in mainstream US cinema and The Accused, as Foster knows, was not just a movie. It sought to educate and change attitudes about rape. Sarah represents victims of sexual violence and she embodies all women. In this way, Foster’s choice constitutes a betrayal. I don’t think any entertainment journalist asked her any searching, intelligent questions regarding her decision. What does it all mean? What were her motivations? We can only hope that she will make wiser, saner choices in the future and console ourselves with the thought that her iconic feminist roles still belong to us.

Foster’s odyssey has been unique. Her immense cultural significance in modern Hollywood history cannot be overstated. Some of the most unforgettable representative roles of popular feminism have been played by Foster and her great, prized performances constitute invaluable contributions to cinema. A pioneer as a child and as a woman, she will always be a part of America’s social and cultural history. Foster has represented girls and women in America and around the world- for over forty years. She will always be Clarice, and she will always be ours.

The Global Feminist: Acknowledging Nicole Kidman’s UN Role

Written by Rachael Johnson

Nicole Kidman is one of the most accomplished actors working today and one of Hollywood’s most fashionable stars. Since 2006, she has also been a Goodwill Ambassador for UN Women. Formerly known as UNIFEM (the United Nations Development Fund for Women), UN Women promotes gender equality and female self-empowerment around the world. It advocates both economic and political advancement and works to end violence against women. Kidman has also been involved in the United Nations’ anti-violence initiative as the spokesperson for Say NO- UNiTE to End Violence Against Women. The statistics cited by Say NO are deplorable: a staggering one in three of the world’s women and girls is a victim of violence. We are, in fact, currently in the middle of Say NO’s Orange campaign, a social media initiative that aims to increase awareness of VAW. From November 25 to December 10, individuals and communities around the world are encouraged to wear orange, the color of consciousness, organize actions and draw attention to positive initiatives that are presently tackling the issue. Check out the site and spread the word!

The widespread, systematic rape of women in war zones is another issue that UN Women addresses and challenges. This appalling phenomenon has, historically speaking, only recently begun being addressed. It is astonishing to note that rape was only recognized as a crime against humanity in 2001 (Rape: A Crime Against Humanity, BBC, 22^nd Feb, 2001). Kidman has visited Kosovo, a land scarred by sexual violence, on behalf of UN Women. There she heard testimony from rape survivors and highlighted its physical and psycho-social wounds. The actor has also underlined that “rape in conflict zones must be punished as a war crime.”

[youtube_sc url=”http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iapSSL0w1KE”]

Kidman’s UN role should perhaps be more widely known and acknowledged but in October of this year, Variety magazine paid tribute to her commitment to women’s rights. In her acceptance speech at Variety’s 5^th Power of Women lunch, she remarked, “No matter how long I devote my time to this, I will never be able to comprehend and I will never accept that one in three women and girls will be raped, beaten or abused in their lifetime.” Kidman does not, of course, have a radical political persona but her words here express a certain passion. Violence against women is, for the actor, ‘the greatest injustice and outrage of all.’ We actually need nothing less than rage from women in the public eye about gender-based violence but Kidman’s words should, nevertheless, be appreciated. We should also, perhaps, remind ourselves that the job of a Goodwill Ambassador is to draw attention to UN initiatives. It is an essentially ‘diplomatic’ role and this, no doubt, is reflected in the discourse of its celebrity advocates.

Role model Kidman at Variety Awards, 2013

Kidman’s commitment to women’s rights was fostered in childhood. Her mother, Janelle Ann Kidman- a former nursing instructor- was a primary model of influence. Kidman honored her mother in her Variety acceptance speech: “I became involved because I was raised by a feminist mother who planted the seed early in me to speak out against the fact that women are so often treated differently than men. She was very clear with me: she said stand tall, do not settle for less than what is fair.” As she further explained in an interview with Variety, it was, in fact, Janelle Kidman who told her about the work of UN Women (then UNIFEM). Kidman explained how she was inspired by a story her mother related about trafficked women in Cambodia who benefited from UNIFEM-sponsored training and education. When Kidman won her Best Actress Oscar for her role as Virginia Woolf in The Hours (2002), she celebrated both her mother and daughter in her acceptance speech: ‘I am standing here in front of my mother and my daughter, and my whole life, I’ve wanted to make my mother proud and now I want to make my daughter proud.’ This is, actually, no small thing. Specifically embracing your matrilineal line is still quite uncommon in mainstream public life.

We should, of course, maintain a generous degree of skepticism regarding the public roles of Western celebrities. Their presence often reinforces patronizing- even culturally imperialist- attitudes towards non-Western societies and poorer nations. Gender inequality is, however, a global fact, and gender-based violence is a reality for women from Lagos to Los Angeles. Supporting an international entity dedicated to eliminating discrimination against women is a positive, essential endeavor. Nicole Kidman is a household name around the world and her support is all the more meaningful when you consider the irrational- or frankly spineless- refusal of certain female role models to identify as feminists. Cultivating an internationalist feminist consciousness is equally vital. As Virginia Woolf herself once wrote: “As a woman, I have no country. As a woman, I want no country. As a woman, my country is the whole world.” We should always try to embody those words.

Sex Symbol and Trail-Blazer: A Review of ‘Love, Marilyn’

Monroe, in fact, enjoyed expressing herself sexually. To see her as an eternal victim is to rob her of her own sexuality. Monroe embraced her sexual subjectivity; she did not want to be a sexual object. In fact, she told Meryman, “I just hate to be a thing.” Of course, female sexuality is simultaneously denied, contained, controlled and exploited in a misogynistic society. The star was, at once, punished for her sexuality and reduced to being a sexual object. I think, with Monroe, we should not reproduce those objectifying, effectively dehumanizing tendencies in our understanding of her sexuality.

Written by Rachael Johnson

Directed by Liz Garbus, Love, Marilyn is a 2012 documentary about the most iconic female American star of the twentieth century, Marilyn Monroe. The film mixes archival footage, photographs and movie clips with contemporary commentary by biographers and historians as well as old interviews with those who knew the actress. It also features dramatic readings by present-day actors of Monroe’s own words and quotes by deceased writers and directors. In her opening, Garbus anticipates the accusation of over-saturation by acknowledging that the star has, in truth, been one of the most scrutinized figures in pop culture. We are told that there have been over a thousand books written about her. Love, Marilyn, though, hopes to be fresh and different as one of its sources is a trove of recently discovered writing by the star herself. Garbus promises, “Marilyn’s own voice adds new layers to the mystery.”

True to its tagline–“One Icon, Many Voices”–Love, Marilyn employs a number of actresses of all ages to read Monroe’s reflections. They include the likes of Glenn Close, Uma Thurman, Lili Taylor, Lindsay Lohan, Marisa Tomei, Evan Rachel Wood and Viola Davis. I understand the point. While attempting to shine a light on the many parts of Monroe, the director is, also, it seems, trying to suggest a kind of ancestral kinship between the women. This is quite a moving idea when you think about it. Unfortunately, what is a potentially interesting, affecting device rapidly becomes a really irritating gimmick. Far too many actresses seem to hover across the screen to give readings and I am very sorry to say that the vast majority of the performances are just too self-conscious and overstated. Of course, the actors who give voice to Monroe’s deceased male biographers and the men who knew her fare no better with this approach. The dramatic readings are simply distracting. Only Viola Davis and Adrien Brody (as Truman Capote) give half-decent deliveries. It is a shame because there are some fine talents involved.

It is even more disappointing because the artificial readings quite often obscure the absorbing and constructive elements of the documentary. Love, Marilyn features interesting commentary by Monroe biographers and film historians in addition to fascinating footage of old television interviews with the actress. Most importantly, it acknowledges her heartbreaking victimization while also recognizing her achievements and great cultural significance. Monroe should not be dismissed as a passive sex object or “bimbo.” When she was focused and healthy, she was a dynamic, engaged subject as both an actor and woman. Although it naturally addresses the darkness–the exploitation, pills, mental illness and fatal overdose–the documentary crucially highlights her creativity and ambitious, competitive nature. From the very start, it makes it clear that the young Marilyn was extremely industrious and entirely dedicated to improving her acting skills. She also looked after her interests and demonstrated uncommon initiative. Tired of being underappreciated and underpaid by the studio, and fed up with lack of creative control and worn-out roles, she walked out of her contract at Twentieth Century Fox in 1954 and escaped to New York.

The documentary underscores that Monroe’s break for independence was exceptional for a Hollywood star. Her personal revolt paid off when the studio eventually asked her to return. She got what she wanted–director approval included. Love, Marilyn also relates that Monroe launched her own production company with photographer Milton Greene, Marilyn Monroe Productions, when she went out on her own. This is an invaluable reminder for audiences. There are still too many film lovers who are unaware of this extraordinary, inspiring fact.

In New York, Monroe also began to concentrate on her craft. She took classes at the Actors Studio and befriended the legendary Lee Strasberg. In an old interview with the acting teacher, he praises Marilyn’s gifts: “She was one of the two or three most sensitive and talented people I’ve seen in my life.” Love, Marilyn points out her professional insecurities but also exhibits her gifts. There is a great clip shown of Monroe and Laurence Olivier in The Prince and the Showgirl (1957). As biographer Donald Spotto remarks, the actress simply out-performs her illustrious co-star on the big screen.

A Philippe Halsman 1952 shot of Monroe featured in the documentary

Love, Marilyn also, importantly, demolishes long-held beliefs that the sex symbol Monroe was solely manufactured by the studio. Ellen Burstyn, a former Actors Studio member, observes, “Marilyn created that wonderful character, Marilyn Monroe.” Vividly illustrating how she invented her own walk, she argues that it was the actress herself who fashioned her very own star persona. Love, Marilyn also acknowledges Monroe’s love of literature as well as her respect for ideas and intellectuals. It was during this period that she met her future husband, playwright Arthur Miller. The documentary also importantly points out that Monroe was ahead of her time regarding the question of marriage and career. Fascinating interviews with the actress shortly after her marriage to Miller reveal that she had absolutely no intention of giving up her career or slowing down. It is said that this was, in fact, one of the main reasons her marriage to the patriarchal ex-baseball player, Joe DiMaggio broke down. Monroe’s attitudes are all the more unusual in what is generally acknowledged as a backward decade for American women.

Uma Thurman performing Monroe's words — Uma Thurman performing Monroe’s words

Although it recognizes her enlightened attitudes and interest in ideas, Love, Marilyn does not, unfortunately, address Monroe’s specific ideological beliefs. The actress was, it seems, to the left of the political spectrum and impressively forward-thinking. It shows that she supported Arthur Miller when he was forced to testify before the chillingly repressive McCarthy hearings that he had no Communist affiliations but it does not explore her remarkable connections with left-wing activists, respect for working people and progressive sympathies. She actively championed the career of Ella Fitzgerald and advocated interracial harmony. As the great singer herself said, “She was an unusual woman, a little ahead of her times. And she didn’t know it.” This is a missed opportunity by the filmmaker. Monroe’s principles constitute a powerful rebuke to those who seek to simplify her as a sex object. Her support for Fitzgerald also shows that this so-called “man’s woman” was capable of sisterly solidarity.

Lili Taylor performing Monroe's words — Lili Taylor performing Monroe’s words

There is, of course, a darker side to Monroe’s life. Tragically, there is little doubt that she suffered sexual exploitation in Hollywood. She was also objectified on the screen. Love, Marilyn explains that this was particularly the case in the early part of her career. Head of Twentieth Century Fox, Darryl Zanuck, it is said, hated Monroe and gave her a string of offensive, one-dimensional sex object roles. This was, of course, the main reason why she quit Fox. The documentary also suggests that Monroe was both a victim of the casting couch and a cog in the Hollywood machine. Monroe was a casualty of the deeply conservative patriarchal time and place that was America in the ’50s.

This understanding should not, nevertheless, obscure the fact that there was another Marilyn who somehow survived her hellish youth to love and desire others. As a 1962 Life Magazine interview with Richard Meryman reveals, Monroe was not ashamed of her sexuality: “We are all sexual creatures, thank God, but it’s a pity so many people despise and crush this natural gift” (Life Magazine, Aug. 17, 1962). Monroe, in fact, enjoyed expressing herself sexually. To see her as an eternal victim is to rob her of her own sexuality. Monroe embraced her sexual subjectivity; she did not want to be a sexual object. In fact, she told Meryman, “I just hate to be a thing.” Of course, female sexuality is simultaneously denied, contained, controlled and exploited in a misogynistic society. The star was, at once, punished for her sexuality and reduced to being a sexual object. I think, with Monroe, we should not reproduce those objectifying, effectively dehumanizing tendencies in our understanding of her sexuality.

Love, Marilyn rightly shows that the actress was not frightened of expressing–and displaying–herself sexually. When it was discovered in 1952 that Monroe did a nude calendar a few years earlier, the scandal threatened to destroy her career. But the star was defiant: “I will not be punished for it, or not be loved, or be afraid of my genitals being exposed, known and seen. So what?” Thankfully for the star, the scandal catapulted her to fame. Film historian Thomas Schatz boldly proposes that Monroe was a sexual pioneer: “The world was ready for that. Obviously, the sexual mores are changing and she is at the vanguard of that. She’s anticipating a sexual revolution that many people associate with Betty Friedan, etc, a decade later, that would not have happened without Marilyn Monroe.” There is an amusing anecdote related by Amy Greene, Monroe’s friend and wife of Milton Greene, that reveals the sex symbol as a sexual subject. When questioned about the unlikely pairing between the actress and DiMaggio, Monroe simply responded, “He’s terrific in bed.” The sexual politics surrounding the star could, nevertheless, have been explored in greater depth. It would be have been interesting to examine both male and female attitudes towards Monroe as well as her attitudes towards her own sex.

A 1962 Arnold Newman photo of Monroe with the poet Carl Sandburg featured in the documentary

Love, Marilyn does not shy away from the depressing aspects of Monroe’s life and rightly recognizes that she was victimized personally and professionally. It examines her ultimately troubled marriages to Joe DiMaggio and Arthur Miller, addiction to pills, miscarriages and ill health, as well as her final disputes with the studio. It contends that both husbands ill-treated her: DiMaggio was violently possessive while Miller belittled her intelligence and career in his writing. Towards the end of her life, Monroe also suffered ruinous problems in her work. Love, Marilyn, it must be said, is a sympathetic rather than sychophantic portrait. It does give voice to directors like George Cukor who accused Monroe of a gross lack of professionalism. But it also suggests that the actress was used as a scapegoat for the sins of others.

All in all, Love, Marilyn is formally flawed but certainly interesting and significant. Drawing on a variety of sources, it presents important arguments. As Garbus highlights Monroe’s achievements and cultural contribution, it cannot be said to just be another miserabilist take on the icon. All the same, a more focused, unhurried approach would have been more helpful and the arguments could have been developed further. I would personally like to have spent more time with the biographers and film historians interviewed. Hopefully, however, Love, Marilyn, will encourage viewers to review, or discover, the star’s performances and read more about her life and career. The more you learn about Monroe, the more fascinating she becomes. There is the sadness–the abuse, exploitation, and deep psychological suffering–but there is also the originality, self-invention, ambition, intellectual curiosity, empathy and sexuality. I also hope that Love, Marilyn will inspire documentarians out there–particularly feminist filmmakers–to explore the complexities of this most enduring, ground-breaking star.