IT SHOULD NEVER HAVE come as a shock that inside the ditzy blonde characters she played on-screen, Marilyn Monroe was a determined woman with intellectual ambitions. No one in the industry ever wondered if Bette Davis was really Margo Channing, or James Stewart was really George Bailey; it was merely accepted that they were actors playing a part. Yet when it came to Marilyn, the sight of her as Lorelei Lee in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, and Pola in How to Marry a Millionaire, seemed to greatly confuse not just cinemagoers but industry workers too.
While Marilyn’s characters were often larger than life—almost dreamlike in a way—there was no reason to assume that they were a reflection of who the woman really was, and yet that is exactly what happened. Unbelievably, this is still the case today, some fifty-five years after her death. Marilyn spoke about the problem herself in 1957: “People identify me personally with the parts I play. It isn’t so much that I mind, but it just isn’t so. But I’ve played so many different parts by now they must be confused.”
Nominated for three Academy Awards during the 1940s, including for Laura (1944) and The Razor’s Edge (1946), heavyweight actor Clifton Webb had no problem seeing through the persona. He shared his memories with reporter Ernie Player in 1955: “Marilyn is very sweet, very serious. She likes to talk about the theater and the kind of thing that makes people tick. She is intense and completely straightforward. She reads all the time. She is in complete earnest towards her career. Ambitious and anxious to know her job. This girl, when she was making very little money, spent practically every cent she made on various coaches. Now she will work all day, go to her little flat for a bit of dinner on a tray, and then work with her coach on the next day’s scenes. And often they will work until early morning.”
Webb was not the first person to see how earnest Marilyn was about her craft. Early boyfriend Bill Pursel remembers: “Back when we were close in 1946–1950, we wrote lots of notes to one another on napkins in restaurants; often scribbling a little poetry…. We both liked to dabble with simple poetry and I still do. Norma Jeane liked to read and seemed to always have a book with her. She mentioned that Carl Sandburg was her favorite, and I know she met him when she was in New York. I remember reading about it in the papers.”
In the early days of her career, Marilyn had attended the Actor’s Lab in Los Angeles, where she took part in many scenes and encouraged Pursel to do the same. He resisted her pleas, however, as he was already studying at Woodbury College, and to enroll at the Actor’s Lab would have meant leaving in his final year.
Marilyn had gone to other classes too, such as private ones with teachers Helena Sorell and Lotte Goslar, as well as those offered to starlets at the Fox studio. There, she met Jean Peters, Arlen Stuart, and Vanessa Brown. Brown went on to play The Girl in the Broadway version of The Seven Year Itch. Peters, meanwhile, acted with Marilyn in 1953’s Niagara. The women took the young actress under their wing and were surprised at how sweet, innocent, and childlike she was. Marilyn would arrive in class wearing a gray skirt, pink angora sweater, and high heels, and was continuously sincere about her training.
No matter what her employment status was, Marilyn would always—without exception—study. Friends expressed that she had few clothes of her own, because she would spend her money on books and records instead. In fact, her first charge account was not at a famous or fancy store; instead, it was at Marian Hunter’s bookshop.
Another popular hangout was Martindale’s bookstore. Marilyn would spend hours browsing the shelves, and she would almost always leave with an armful of new additions to her library. In 1954, shop manager Rachel Brand spoke to columnist Earl Wilson about her famous customer: “Marilyn’s a great reader,” she said. “Marilyn has been a great reader since way back, long before she was Marilyn Monroe. She reads Kafka, Thomas Mann, and authors like that—no cheap stuff.”
Just to show how thoughtful Marilyn was about her education, she enrolled in an arts and literature class at UCLA, during the early days of her stardom. Recognition by fellow students forced the actress to retire from her studies there, but this did not stop her learning. At various times, Marilyn could be seen walking around a film set with works of great literature in her hands, and she would read ferociously about acting teachers such as Konstantin Stanislavski.
Cofounder of the Moscow Art Theatre, Stanislavski devised what he described as the System: a way of acting that encouraged actors to draw on emotional experiences to get the best out of their own performance. The goal was for the actor to feel “himself in the role, and the role in himself.” Marilyn admired Stanislavski greatly, though by the time she had discovered him, he was long passed. It is perhaps just as well she met him through his literature and not actual classes, because the man was known to be extremely brutal in his approach. Actor Mikhail Yanshin studied with Stanislavski and wrote about him in an article for Theatre World. According to Yanshin, he and his fellow students “feared the rehearsals under [Stanislavski’s] direction as they would fear to touch a fire.” After watching a scene, the teacher would go over each aspect of the performance in minute detail and criticize anything he felt was wrong in the approach. However, despite the anxiety, Yanshin still felt that every student in the room had benefited from Stanislavski’s methods.
While Marilyn never met the teacher herself, she did have a chance to study with one of his students—Michael Chekhov. Chekhov had been friendly with Stanislavski for some years, but eventually questioned his system and branched off to create his own—less abrasive—version of it. Marilyn began classes with him in July 1952, and despite also studying with Natasha Lytess, continued until the end of 1954. “First of all, he’s a rare human being, and a great artist,” Marilyn explained. “I don’t know which to put first. He’s Anton Chekhov’s nephew, but on his own he is one of the greatest artists of our time…. There’s a very noble thing about him. Recently he wrote a book, and put in everything he’s learned about himself as an artist, a writer, a director.”
The relationship with Chekhov was intense. Marilyn held him in such high regard that she once gave him an engraving of Abraham Lincoln with a note that explained that until she met Chekhov, Lincoln had been the man she had admired most in her life. In his classes, she learned about history, psychology, art, and, of course, acting. Talking to author Ben Hecht in 1954, Marilyn described how Chekhov’s style of teaching had completely opened her eyes to the fact that acting was an art form, not just something one did on a movie set. Together they studied texts such as The Cherry Orchard, by Chekhov’s uncle Anton, and Shakespeare’s King Lear.
Chekhov introduced Marilyn to the writings of philosopher Rudolf Steiner and believed in her as a thoughtful, worthwhile actress. Not only that, his wife, Xenia, loved her too, often buying her nightclothes as she was worried by rumors that Marilyn slept in the nude. However, the relationship was also often troublesome, since the actress found it difficult to get to class on time. To keep their student/teacher relationship on track, she sent him a note, pleading with him not to give up on her. “I know (painfully so) that I try your patience,” she wrote.
Far from abandoning his student, Chekhov wanted her to go deeper into her studies. He was honest—a little too honest, perhaps—about why the studio thought of her in less than complimentary terms. According to the teacher, Marilyn gave off too many sexual vibrations, making it impossible for Fox to see her as anything but a sex symbol. He told her that if she just stood in front of a camera and did nothing at all, she could still make a fortune. It was this conversation, according to Marilyn, that gave her the confidence to begin her fight with the studio. Being a sex symbol had been fine at the beginning of her career, but now she wanted to be known as an actress of great standing, as well as a worthwhile human being.
Marilyn had expressed a wish to go in another direction when she’d reconnected with ex-boyfriend Bill Pursel just a few years before. “Marilyn said she was thinking about shedding the cheesecake, as I called it, and taking up more serious acting lessons. I had encouraged her to do this earlier; I thought she could become a great actress, especially in feminine comedy. Now she wanted drama. Had she lived, she would have turned acting heads.”
After the deep learning curve of 1954, Marilyn was finally ready to take the leap into her fight with the studio. While it all came very naturally to the actress, her decision on a larger scale was earth-shattering. It was brave enough to fight for roles she wanted, but it was something else entirely to drop her existing career to search for a new one. Throwing off any worries about the loss of her stardom, Marilyn launched into a new era. To do this, she enlisted the help of a young photographer named Milton Greene.
Greene had first met Marilyn in 1953, when he was sent to Los Angeles on an assignment for Look magazine. The actress saw some of his photos and insisted they work together—even through the night if they needed to. At the time, Milton was actually in the room but she did not realize it; she thought that he was just “this young fellow, standing around all the time.” When the two were introduced, Marilyn was amazed. “He’s thirty-two,” she later explained, “but I think he looks nineteen years old.”
They hit it off immediately, and Milton took photos of Marilyn that were completely different from the standard Hollywood portrait, showing her dressed down, relaxed, and with little makeup. Most remarkable about the pictures is that while Marilyn was now a Hollywood star, the essence of her real-life personality came shining through. She later wrote that while she’d met many top photographers during her life, Greene was so unique that she wished he could always be her photographer: “He’s not just a photographer, he’s an artist really…. One of the things that make him such an artist is he’s so sensitive and introspective. It was the first time I didn’t have to pose for pictures. He just let me think, but he always kept the camera going.”
When the two first met, Marilyn was at the beginning of what would become her first major rebellion against the studio. Greene, meanwhile, was making changes of his own. Firstly, he was about to get married to a beautiful, confident woman by the name of Amy, and second of all, he was looking to create a new career for himself. The photographer had long been known for his outstanding pictures in Life, Look, and Vogue, but now in his thirties, he wanted to branch into books and films. It was fate that the two should meet at such crossroads in their lives, and it wasn’t long before they began talking about how they could eventually work together.
Over the course of the next year, Marilyn became a close confidante to Milton and Amy Greene, sent dozens of roses on the day of their wedding, and spoke to Amy on the telephone two or three times a week. The women eventually met when Milton again traveled to Los Angeles, and they became firm friends. From then on, the idea of actress and photographer working together bubbled away in the background, and when Marilyn complained about her ongoing studio troubles, Milton suggested she walk out and start her own company. Marilyn was surprised but delighted. Nobody had ever proposed such a solution before, and she promised to give it some serious thought. Indeed, during the New York location shoot for Itch, Marilyn met with Greene and his lawyer, Frank Delaney, to secretly discuss the real possibility of reaching out for independence.
IN EARLY NOVEMBER 1954, Marilyn checked into Cedars of Lebanon hospital for minor gynecological surgery. Joe DiMaggio was at her side, and the media wondered if the two were about to reconcile. The reality, however, could not have been further from the truth. Shortly after their separation, Joe had hired a team of private detectives to find out if Marilyn was in a relationship with her voice coach, Hal Schaefer. This incident led to various scuffles and climaxed when DiMaggio and his friend Frank Sinatra kicked down the front door of an apartment, believing they would find Marilyn inside. Instead, the men discovered that they were in the wrong apartment, and while a middle-aged woman inside screamed at the sight of them, Marilyn and her voice coach made a run for it from next door.
The episode had been traumatic to everybody involved, but unbelievably, it did not stop Marilyn from remaining on amicable terms with her ex. Perhaps she felt it was easier at that time to be conversational, but if friends and reporters took her good nature to be one of reconciliation, they were very much mistaken.
One day while she was still in her hospital bed, Marilyn received a phone call from Amy Greene, asking if she would like to stay with her and Milton at their Connecticut home. With The Seven Year Itch finished, her divorce waiting to be finalized, and nothing on the horizon, the time was finally right to free the shackles of the Hollywood studio system and branch off on her own. She accepted Greene’s invitation. Milton flew to Los Angeles and the two decided that on their return to the East Coast, they would create their own film company—Marilyn Monroe Productions.
The philosophy for the film company was simple: to create films and other projects that were worthy of the public’s attention. Marilyn would provide the talent but was unable to put money into the venture, since she knew that walking out of her Fox contract would leave her without an income. Greene truly believed that the company would eventually be a resounding success and agreed to invest his own money into it, so that Marilyn could forget about cash problems and concentrate on the creative work.
During the next few weeks, there was a rush of activity. Despite having much to do, Marilyn was eager to watch Ella Fitzgerald perform at the Tiffany Club on November 18 and 19. Two days later, Marilyn was stopped and charged with driving without a license. Putting that behind her, she got on with the plans to move east, which included instructing her agent, Charles Feldman, of her intentions. Since he had been one of the producers of The Seven Year Itch, it put him in an unfortunate position. Because he was so closely associated with Fox, Marilyn believed him to be more inclined toward their interests than her own, and she still hadn’t forgotten that he had previously told her to tone down her demands. While she did not tell him at that point, Feldman’s days as her agent were numbered, and it wasn’t long before she quietly fired him in favor of MCA agent Jay Kanter.
From November until mid-December 1954, Marilyn and Greene set about making their plans reality. Her contract with Fox was carefully studied, and the actress wrote a stern letter to Fox, disclosing that she felt her old contract was no longer relevant because new negotiations had never been finalized or signed. As far as she was concerned, her last two films were made under a separate agreement and no formal written contract existed between herself and the studio. On that note, Milton booked flights to New York for them both.
In the middle of it all, There’s No Business Like Show Business was premiered to great fanfare. Darryl F. Zanuck announced that it would be released to 275 theaters over the Christmas season, making it one of the biggest Fox Cinemascope releases. The premiere would aid the Actors Fund of America, and it was reported that the publicity campaign would top one million dollars. In addition to the usual television, radio, and print media, the promotion would also include fashion shows and contests. The Natlynn Junior Originals dress company announced that they would be releasing women’s outfits inspired by the film, while Westbrooke Clothes took on the male element. The former featured day dresses with full skirts, petticoats, and a small V-neck complete with bow, while the latter was based on suits worn by Donald O’Connor in the film. The entire campaign was due to run for six months, with the main hope being that the film There’s No Business Like Show Business would become universally known overnight.
Motion Picture Daily described the movie as “most assuredly and unreservedly, worthy of its title and living proof of it.” It praised all the performances, including Marilyn’s, and declared that “it has so much to offer, so much to sell and be talked about, that this excellent show is certain to attract a huge crowd which can but go their way as salesman for it, after seeing it.”
The Motion Picture Herald, however, showed a different side. They printed a regular feature that asked theater managers to report on business and the opinions of their customers. One manager, Mr. F. P. Gloriod from Rodgers Theater, Poplar Bluff, Missouri, was steadfast in his opinion of Show Business: “Leave Monroe out of this and give it to someone else and this would have been an excellent show. Most comments were ‘Monroe sure was terrible.’ Business was good first day, off other three.”
The opinion that Marilyn gave a “terrible” performance was harsh, to say the least. However, when she was later asked what her worst role was, she replied, “The one in There’s No Business Like Show Business. I was miscast. I had to be continually taking off my shoes because of the difference in statures between Donald O’Connor and me. I admired Donald very much. He can be serious and I can be serious but we can’t be serious together.”
Joe DiMaggio had hated the “Heat Wave” dance number and he was not the only one. Columnist Ed Sullivan shocked readers by complaining that the film would have been far better if two of Monroe’s songs had been cut out. “‘Heat Wave’ frankly is dirty,” he griped.
Things were not helped when O’Connor did his best to disassociate himself with Marilyn’s involvement in the film. He told acidic columnist Hedda Hopper that Marilyn might as well act on another soundstage, as far as interacting with her costars went. He observed that it was hard to have any kind of rapport with her, and then swiped that she had, after all, been up against incredibly experienced people.
MARILYN FLEW TO NEW York with Milton Greene. To avoid publicity, she used a false name: Zelda Zonk. Amy met them at the airport, and the three drove to the Greenes’ Connecticut farmhouse, which was to be Marilyn’s base for the foreseeable future. There, she met Milton and Amy’s baby son, Joshua, and their maid, Kitty, both of whom would become firm friends with Marilyn in the weeks and months ahead.
In December 1954, Clifton Webb hosted a New York party for playwright Noël Coward. The actor had invited Coward’s favorite stars, including Barbara Stanwyck, Rosemary Clooney, and Judy Garland. He then asked who else the writer would like to meet, and was somewhat surprised by the answer. “I would adore to meet Marilyn Monroe,” Coward said. On the night of the party, Webb noticed that the playwright and actress sat together and talked intensely about their life and work. “She talks very seriously,” he remembered.
After babysitting Joshua on Christmas Eve, Marilyn awoke in Connecticut to find presents under the tree. Milton photographed her unwrapping gifts while chaos ensued all around her. It was a happy day spent as part of her new family. Just minutes away from the Greenes’ house, there was another stranger to the East Coast. Bertha Spafford Vester was an American philanthropist who had lived and worked in Jerusalem for most of her life. In 1925, she created a children’s center and from then on ceaselessly helped that and other causes she felt passionate about. By December 1954, Bertha was almost seventy-six years old, but still spent much of her time fund-raising and sharing awareness of her charitable enterprises related to the American Colony in Jerusalem. In that regard, she traveled to New York City to give talks and hopefully persuade fellow philanthropists to come on board with her mission.
Journalist and editor Fleur Cowles—married to Gardner “Mike” Cowles, founder of Look magazine—knew a great many wealthy people who could be called upon to give their support. So it was that Bertha found herself spending Christmas 1954 with the Cowles family at their home in Weston, Connecticut. Although the couple was “cordial and pleasant,” she still felt out of place. “I am in Connecticut and alone,” she wrote on the evening of December 25. “The first time I remember spending Christmas without one of my family being present. A stranger in a strange place.”
On December 26, Bertha woke to breakfast in bed, but her room was so cold she spent the rest of the morning in the library and sun parlor. During this period of relaxation, Fleur caught up with her and disclosed some startling news. Bertha wrote in her diary about what followed next: “Fleur cautioned us all not to disclose it, but Marilyn Monroe was coming to lunch. She had run away from Hollywood (where she had spent her whole life) I suppose from a husband or a lover and was living with a neighbor, a Mr. and Mrs. Green [sic], a photographer. Fleur made me promise that I would ask Marilyn to help me collect money for my work. So I did, after, I am sure, Fleur made the introduction, and got her all excited about me being a wonderful woman. Marilyn is a pretty girl without any background—is a coming movie star—bleached hair, limpid blue eyes—straight, small nose, lovely mouth. The day passed listening to modern crooners and jazz and watching [a] football game. About 5 o’clock all guests and children departed. At 6 Fleur and Mr. Cowles and I had tea and sandwiches, and the Cowles left for New York by car to take a plane tomorrow for California to meet the Shah and Empress.”
Many years after the event, Fleur Cowles wrote about her friendship with Marilyn, as well as the meeting with Bertha Spafford Vester. With the passage of time, her story became disfigured somewhat: she wrote that Bertha was over ninety years old (a good fourteen years older than she actually was) and implied that Marilyn was actually staying at her house during the meeting. Nevertheless, it is a joyous little story, with Bertha being delighted but terrified of spending time with such a glamorous woman, and Marilyn winning her over immediately with her dressed-down clothes and casual manner. Photographs show the two women deep in conversation and at ease in each other’s company. According to Cowles, Marilyn listened intently to Bertha’s fund-raising stories and told the older woman that she was determined to do good for the world and would not waste her life away.
MARILYN ADORED HER TIME in Connecticut, and for the first time in many years, she was able to just be herself, as well as recover from a recent bout of anemia and exhaustion. Not used to experiencing real seasons, she loved the winter trees and thought it was a miracle that they’d soon wake up and sprout leaves. Nobody bothered her during her long walks alone, and the peace gave the actress a chance to think about her future and plan the next step.
When she wasn’t walking, Marilyn passed the time quietly in the Greenes’ farmhouse and made sure nobody had to fuss over her. She read many books, enjoyed scented bubble baths (her favorite was jasmine and gardenia), and entertained the Greenes’ toddler, Joshua. His earliest memories would be of Marilyn playing games and reading stories. The home became her safe place—an environment where she and Milton could build their business together. She also spent a lot of time chatting with Amy Greene: “We’d discuss everything from clothes to housekeeping to babies to headlines,” recalled the photographer’s wife. “Sometimes we’d giggle like a couple of school kids. Others, we’d come up with some sure-fire formula for saving the world. You know, the way women do.”
Milton and Marilyn’s conversations centered on organizing the running of their film company. Marilyn would be the president, as well as the majority shareholder with 51 percent of the stock. Milton was the vice president and owned 49 percent. Directors were appointed, lawyers hired, and paperwork completed. At the end of it all, the two partners had what looked—on paper, at least—to be the basis for a productive, creative, and worthwhile organization.
Milton was ecstatic. Starting the company had been a huge risk both financially and creatively, but he was confident that everything would work out, especially since Marilyn proved herself to have a fantastic business head. Reporter Earl Wilson thought the same way: “I think Marilyn knows exactly where she’s going—and that it’s forward. It’s just possible that she’ll turn out to be not only the sexiest but the smartest blonde of our time.”
On January 7, 1955, it was time to present the “New Marilyn” to the world. This was done by way of a press conference held at the home of attorney Frank Delaney. Unbelievably, while Marilyn was readying herself for her first public appearance in months, Fox put out a statement to say that as far as the executives were concerned, the actress was still living in Hollywood and nowhere near the East Coast. Marilyn’s arrival at the conference would, of course, prove Fox wrong, but as reporters waited for that moment, rumors swirled as to what exactly this new Marilyn would look like. Would she still be blonde? Still be glamorous? They didn’t have to wait long to find that the answer to both questions was yes. As the actress waltzed into the room, several journalists noted that the fresh Monroe looked rather like the old one. “Tell us about your new look,” demanded one reporter. The actress blinked, pretended to be confused, and declared that this was the first time she’d heard of it.
Marilyn looked particularly beautiful, dressed in a white ermine coat, satin cocktail dress, and heels. She was keen to show that the move to New York had little to do with dress style and everything to do with control. Announcing that she had just formed her own production company with Greene, Marilyn explained that the purpose was to expand her career into producing films, as well as television and other projects. When Marilyn added that she now believed herself to be a free agent, lawyer Frank Delaney nodded and confirmed that she no longer had a contract with Fox. As far as he was concerned, the agreement negotiated in 1951 had been abandoned by both parties, and The Seven Year Itch was filmed under a single-picture contract.
This answer seemed to buoy Marilyn’s confidence to no end, and when asked why she had walked out of the studio, the actress replied that her two most recent movies—River of No Return and There’s No Business Like Show Business—were not to her taste. She did not like herself in them, she explained, and in the future she wanted nothing more than to be able to choose her own roles. The actress then cited The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoyevsky (aka Dostoevsky) as an example of the kind of part she’d like to be considered for in the years ahead.
The press reaction to the conference was mixed. Hedda Hopper wondered if Marilyn had ambitions above her limits and told readers that she seemed to be carried along by her new advisors. She reported that some attendees at the press conference were heard to query what they were even doing there. “There has been a change in her public relations,” said another journalist, “and even the most charitable of her admirers can’t think this change is for the better.”
Reporter Jim Henaghan had a long friendship with Marilyn, but even he was worried. “Milton Greene has been a disturbing influence on Marilyn’s life,” he said. “He has brought about changes that might very well end her career.” He described the press conference as “one of the most bizarre in entertainment history.”
Even Marilyn’s friends and colleagues wondered if she had made the right decision by fleeing Hollywood. Natasha Lytess—who was fretting about the possible loss of her job—declared that nobody was indispensable and Marilyn may be forgotten if she didn’t return. Director Jean Negulesco said, “She is one of the most talented actresses I’ve ever worked with, but I don’t think the public would accept her in different roles. She’s stubborn.” He made clear his belief that she should have stayed working for Fox instead of branching out with Milton Greene.
The truth was, Marilyn wanted to show the world that a woman could be glamorous and blonde but still be an intelligent human being. In her mind, it did not have to be one or the other, but because this was such a revolutionary idea for a woman in her position, she was ridiculed for it. “I realized that just as I had once fought to get into the movies and become an actress, I would now have to fight to become myself and to be able to use my talents. If I didn’t fight I would become a piece of merchandise to be sold off the movie pushcart.”
Struggling to be treated as a serious human being was not a new experience. Marilyn had been laughed at in the past and just carried on striving toward her goal. It was all she could do. “I was born under the sign of Gemini,” she said in 1952. “That stands for intellect. I don’t care if people think I’m dumb. Just as long as I’m not!”
One person who did enjoy the press conference was reporter and high-society hostess Elsa Maxwell. While she was as perplexed as everyone else about the true nature of the event, it had given her the opportunity to meet Marilyn, which she had wanted to do for quite some time. Afterward, she wrote that an unnamed Fox employee had reprimanded her for being sympathetic toward the actress in her articles. “You don’t seem to get the idea that she’s on her way out,” he said. “A year off the screen and she’ll be washed up! We can find a dozen like her!” Maxwell laughed the incident off and insisted that if executives thought they could find another Marilyn, they were wrong.
After the press conference, the two women met again many times. Describing her as the most exciting girl in the world, Maxwell told Marilyn that it must have taken a great deal of courage to walk away from Hollywood. “No Elsa,” she replied. “It didn’t take any courage at all. To have stayed took more courage than I had…. All any of us have is what we carry with us; the satisfaction we get from what we’re doing and the way we’re doing it. I had no sense of satisfaction at all. And I was scared.”
Several days after the MMP press conference, Marilyn quietly flew back to Hollywood with Milton Greene to reshoot the skirt-blowing scene for The Seven Year Itch. When friends caught up with her in the studio commissary, she told them that she was still intent on running her own company and had no intention of speaking to studio lawyer Frank Ferguson or any other Fox executive. When she returned to the studio on January 13, it became clear that they wanted her there to do publicity photos and tests for a film called How to Be Very, Very Popular. Instead, Marilyn locked herself in her dressing room and refused all communication. The studio was incensed and demanded that she report to Lew Schreiber’s offices on January 15 to discuss the new film. Instead, Marilyn hopped onto the next available plane and was back in Manhattan before many realized she was gone.
Dented by the realization that Marilyn was still determined to live on the East Coast, Twentieth Century Fox announced that no matter what the actress might say, she was still signed with the corporation until August 1958. They added that everyone was incredibly happy with the dividends earned from her latest movies and there was no intention of ever putting her into The Brothers Karamazov. The spokesperson then took a pointed swipe toward her acting talents. As far as he was concerned, while Marilyn had tried her luck at other studios as a starlet, no one but Fox had chosen to sign her to a long-term deal. “That, brother, was criticism,” wrote columnist Thomas M. Pryor.
Still sure that Marilyn would run back when she came to her senses, Fox continued preproduction on How to Be Very, Very Popular. They then made the unprecedented decision to release full details of Marilyn’s salary, and said that her current financial grievances were of her own making. According to the studio, she had actually been offered a supplemental contract in 1954, which would have seen her earn no less than $100,000 per picture. Since she hadn’t signed it, however, her previous contract was still in force. Ironically, it was this same issue that convinced Marilyn and her representatives that she no longer had any ties to the studio, since the introduction of a new contract must surely mean that the old one had been dropped.
Zanuck was not convinced and a statement was prepared by the legal department. “The studio will use every legal means to see that she lives up to every provision of [the contract],” it said. It was then added that during her time at Fox, every effort had been made to give Marilyn the greatest worldwide publicity possible, and to surround her with the best artistic talents available. As far as the Fox top brass were concerned, nothing was wrong at their end, and all blame was to be placed at Marilyn’s door.
Back in New York, the undeterred actress waved their comments off. She still did not consider herself under contract, and would most certainly not appear in the next inferior picture they had planned for her. In the end, Fox had to admit defeat in this particular battle. On January 18, the studio announced that Marilyn was suspended, and that Sheree North would star in How to Be Very, Very Popular. The studio went all out in trying to frighten Marilyn with the thought that North could replace her not only in movies, but in the public’s heart too. To that end, they enrolled the help of Life magazine, which gave North a full-color cover and five pages depicting how she was being groomed for stardom.
Full-page ads also appeared in other magazines, telling fans to look out for the new face, and similar press continued to be printed during 1955. When How to Be Very, Very Popular was eventually released, the studio pulled out all the stops in their Marilyn/Sheree comparisons. A photo of North and her costar, Betty Grable (who had also acted with Marilyn), appeared in many ads for the film, accompanied by the following Marilyn-themed declaration: “Remember Gentlemen Prefer Blondes? Want another one like How to Marry a Millionaire? Wasn’t it great with There’s No Business Like Show Business?” An arrow then pointed to Sheree, with the words “Sheree North! All the fireworks you’ll need in July!”
The ads continued in the same fashion in 1956 when another North film—The Lieutenant Wore Skirts—was released. Alongside a photo of Marilyn standing over the subway grate, one such poster asked, “Remember the skirts that blew up all over America? Now there’s something new in skirts,” with an arrow pointing toward Sheree North, who just happened to be starring with Marilyn’s Seven Year Itch costar, Tom Ewell.
But in early 1955, Marilyn remained unworried. They had tried to threaten her with Sheree North in 1954 when she rejected The Girl in Pink Tights. On that occasion, columnist Dorothy Kilgallen even announced that North would soon be working on a biopic of Jean Harlow, knowing full well that Marilyn was an enormous fan of the 1930s star. Nothing came of the movie at that point, however, and shortly afterward Marilyn was actually offered the role herself. She did not like or accept the script, but it surely must have felt good to know that despite the veiled threats, no actress could ever replace her and the studio knew it.
At the end of January 1955, Zanuck sent a memo to Fox president Spyros Skouras to inform him that the studio had shown a rough cut of The Seven Year Itch at the Fox Theater in Oakland, California. There had been great excitement from the audience, and at the end of the show, 253 people said it was excellent and 153 described it as good. Only one person out of the more than 400 who watched thought it was terrible. Zanuck was extremely pleased by the results of the test screening.
Shortly afterward, an anonymous but disgruntled Fox stockholder complained about Marilyn to none other than columnist Hedda Hopper. He insisted that Marilyn brought nothing good to the organization and should be fired permanently. This statement infuriated the manager of the Oakland theater where the recent preview had taken place. He wrote to Hopper himself and said that while the stockholders might not want Marilyn, the exhibitors most certainly did. “I thought the audience would tear the house down,” he said about the preview.
CRITICS WONDERED ALOUD IF Marilyn’s rebellious streak was just for show. Modern Screen even printed an article entitled “Don’t Call Me a Dumb Blonde,” which argued that “there is a small shrewd group that insists that the curvaceous blonde is mixed up… is suffering from delusions of grandeur… will never make any man a happy wife… has been following poor advice and has more luck than talent.”
Not so, said an unnamed but charitable friend. “More than anything else, Marilyn craves recognition as an artist, as an actress—not as a lucky, fatuous personality. She would like to cremate the dumb blonde reputation she never deserved.”
Journalists were intrigued by the whole situation, especially when it was revealed that she had been reading classical literature and visiting theatrical actors backstage. Marilyn herself showed no patience with their curiosity. When asked if her attitude toward life had changed, she merely replied, “I don’t think so.” She was speaking the truth. For many years, Marilyn had harbored a great love of classical literature and took part in various acting classes and courses. When asked in 1951 what she was currently reading, the starlet revealed she was engrossed in a biography of German philosopher Albert Schweitzer and the entire works of French novelist Antoine de Saint-Exupéry.
Nineteen fifty-one had been a pivotal time for Marilyn, in terms of putting down roots in serious acting, books, and music. Notes made by early biographer Maurice Zolotow reveal that her favorite authors that year included Thomas Wolfe and Arthur Miller, while the role she most wanted to play was Gretchen in Faust. An interview that also appeared in 1951 disclosed that Marilyn loved to discuss author Walt Whitman and composers Mozart and Beethoven.
Actor Jack Paar witnessed Marilyn’s literary tastes during the making of the 1951 movie Love Nest. When asked about the experience in 1958, he had the following to say: “Please get this straight. Some published quotes attributed to me have given the impression that I disliked Marilyn while I was working with her in Love Nest. This is not true. She was a nice, big, little girl, one who was constantly carrying books of poetry with the title visible, so you could see what she was reading. It seemed to me she always wanted to be an intellectual, but she thought it was something you had to join. This naturally bored me, and I was also annoyed because she was always late.”
People might have seen Marilyn purely as a young, sexy starlet, but in 1951—at just twenty-five years old—the actress made every effort to further her education. “A girl can get along for quite a while just because her contours are in the right pattern,” she said. “It isn’t enough, though, for a long-term program, especially if you want to pick up a thing or two about emoting.” While making Let’s Make It Legal (1951), Marilyn spoke to journalist Michael Ruddy: “I’d like to be smart and chic and sorta—sorta assured like Miss [Claudette] Colbert. But I guess first I want to be an actress—a good actress.”
In 1953, reporter Logan Gourlay met up with Marilyn in her small apartment. There, he spotted books by Shakespeare, Somerset Maugham, and Ibsen. “I’m beginning to understand Shakespeare,” she said. “Michael Chekhov has helped me a lot. I don’t like Somerset Maugham. He’s too cynical, but I like Oscar Wilde.” During the interview, she told the journalist that she was learning lines from The Ballad of Reading Gaol by Wilde. When they met up again, she recited the last verse perfectly and told him not to be so surprised that she enjoyed poetry. To another reporter she declared, “I’ve just discovered Tolstoy. He’s wonderful. I’m blonde but neither dumb nor dizzy.”
Marilyn disclosed to reporter Aline Mosby that she read the classics because she felt comfort from learning that like her, the characters often felt alone inside. “I’m trying to find myself now,” she said, “to be a good actress and a good person. Sometimes I feel strong inside but I have to reach in and pull it up. You have to be strong inside of you. It isn’t easy. Nothing’s easy, as long as you go on living.” Marilyn surprised photographer Philippe Halsman when he took a glance at her bookshelves and spotted works by Russian authors and other highbrow volumes. He recognized straightaway that despite her public image, she was trying desperately to improve herself.
Someone else who saw Marilyn walking around with great works of literature was David Wayne, her male costar in How to Marry a Millionaire (1953). He later told columnist Earl Wilson that she carried books by Kafka. “I don’t know whether she knew what she was reading,” he said, “but she was making a hell of a try. She was out to get somewhere.”
Photographer Earl Leaf confirmed how smart she was in December 1954. Talking of her early days in Hollywood, he stressed, “Marilyn thought of herself as a serious-minded, sober-sided dramatic actress. True, producer Lester Cowan’s praise department tried to pin the ‘Mmmm Girl’ label on her for the benefit of those wolves who can’t whistle, but sex had not raised its pretty head very high in her own dreams of the future.”
For anyone who thought they were original by laughing at Marilyn’s ambitions during 1955, they were mistaken. Four years earlier, she had spoken about the mentality she had come up against from a young age. “I was afraid to talk about what I wanted,” she said, “because I’d been laughed at and scorned when I’d seemed ambitious. You can’t develop necessary self-confidence unless you express yourself, and even after I got to Hollywood, I was afraid that if I did, I’d be conspicuous.”
By 1955, she didn’t care about being conspicuous, but this was met with a hostile reaction in certain quarters. Stories began to leak to the press from generally unnamed men who saw Marilyn’s strength as a threat to their manhood. An old friend of agent Johnny Hyde contacted columnist Steve Cronin to complain about the newfound independence. “I once thought that this girl had a good head on her shoulders; the kind of steady head success would never turn. Now I’m not so sure. I can’t understand why Marilyn fought with her studio. What made her turn down a new contract at $100,000 a picture? A few years ago the girl was starving. That’s why she had to pose for those calendar pictures. Now, she’s ready to start her own company. What does she know about producing pictures? I can’t help feeling that she has been the victim of bad advice.”
Another anonymous individual was said to have worked as a crew member with her on many movies, including There’s No Business Like Show Business and most recently The Seven Year Itch. His opinion was not positive: “I’ve been on a lot of pictures with her, and I must say I was surprised when she ordered a closed set [on Itch]. Didn’t want any visitors, didn’t want any reporters. That was the tip-off, at least to me. She was getting a little big in the head. I’ve seen a lot of players in my time. Tell ’em they’re getting conceited, and they call you a liar. But gradually success has a way of swelling the head. It certainly has swelled Marilyn’s, or she wouldn’t have gone off half-cocked.”
The way some reporters spoke about Marilyn made it look as though she had been coerced into taking her career in another direction by her new colleagues: chiefly Milton Greene and his lawyer and agent. While she did value the advice of Greene and respected his position in her company, she never forgot that she was the majority shareholder. “I would listen to his advice about a film script,” she said, “but I wouldn’t necessarily take it. I make up my own mind about everything.”
Reporter Milton Schulman could see clearly who was in charge. To him, Greene admitted that he was not a trained businessman and was willing to ask for advice. “I have no doubt as to who is the real Svengali of this relationship,” wrote Schulman, “and it is not Greene. Undoubtedly the partnership has already achieved considerable success. But the big decisions come from Marilyn.”