Few movies are as terrifying, terrible, and magnificent as Blonde, the newest picture from Andrew Dominik. Darren Aronofsky’s Mother is the closest comparison I can make! as well as Requiem For A Dream. Both are contentious, magnificent, and utterly infeasible to see more than once. Marilyn Monroe is the subject of the fictional biography Blonde, a reworked version of the real-life story. Dominik raises Marilyn from the dead and grants her the worst existence imaginable. The movie is far from an enjoyable viewing of a Hollywood superstar since it contains several scenes of rape, harassment, child abuse, sexual assault, domestic abuse, miscarriages, forced abortions, drug addiction, mental diseases, and suicide. Dominik, however, also makes sure that Norma Jean always commands attention beneath her mask of Marilyn. Ana de Armas also excels in her dual roles as the gorgeous star and the tormented individual that she genuinely was.
Blonde was able to hypnotize and impact me with ease, but others could view it as incredibly predatory. Of then, why did Marilyn Monroe’s alternate existence have to be the worst scenario if you had to envision it?
She attempted to kill her as a kid, accuses her of her father abandoning the family, and eventually checks herself into a mental institution, forcing Norma Jean to live in an orphanage. We then moved to her eventually getting her big break in the movies thanks to several terrible, extramarital affairs with strong guys. If one is unfamiliar with Don’t Bother To Knock, Niagara, and her early works, it could be harder to follow the progression from one movie to the next.
The picture also has a fever dream-like feel to it thanks to the zany transitions and editing. When all the different males start showing up in her life, things feel more grounded. The guys play a significant role in every aspect of her journey, from being a member of the most wholesome threesome ever to finding herself a wife abuser to eventually (nearly) finding herself an idyllic existence. These also include the people who sexually assaulted her, the millions of people who fucked her in her flying skirt, and, most importantly, her father, who abandoned her before the narrative ever began. After she becomes famous, her “daddy” writes her letters, and they aren’t always written in the nicest terms.
Her absentee father (and unborn children) became Norma Jean’s sole motivation for being and, ultimately, dying. Sometimes they would express their sympathy for her, other times they would stop short of labeling her a slut. She submits to these men as if she were their biggest disciple, seldom objecting in what I have come to refer to as “abhagan chic” style. It sounds like a song by Lana Del Rey.
Even though the plot is linear, it still requires some mental effort to follow. Dominik uses a variety of filming techniques, unique frames, and color palettes, seemingly at random. The identical scene would be captured on black-and-white film before switching abruptly to the hazy golden hue aesthetic I typically associate with Joe Wright’s breathtaking historical plays. Beyond perplexing the spectators, I’m still unclear as to its goal. The goal of persuading Ana de Armas to remove her clothing in every other scene also serves this aim. After a while, it becomes really hard to explain why we were made to spend what felt like an eternity watching the camera focus on her underpants in the flowing skirt sequence.