REPORTERS, STUDIO EXECUTIVES, AND the downright curious seemed to concentrate on finding that one issue that made Marilyn give up her Hollywood career. The truth, however, was that it really wasn’t just one particular event or person. Yes, Marilyn wanted to be able to choose her own projects and work with respected directors, but there were other problems that had made living in Hollywood quite unbearable.
First of all, the tide of fame that had come to Marilyn from 1952 onward gave rise to a host of people anxious to sell their stories to the press. Her ex-sister-in-law, Elyda Nelson, released her story in 1952; Marilyn’s first husband (Elyda’s brother), Jim Dougherty, went to the press in 1953; and then a former roommate at the Hollywood Studio Club sold her tale just as the DiMaggio marriage broke up.
All these issues played a part in Marilyn’s anger with Hollywood. However, while trying to understand the full reason for her decision to move east, it is imperative that we take into account the atmosphere of the entire industry not only at the point of her rebellion, but at its history. For all the glamour and sparkle that moviegoers believed there to be in the film capital, there were also wolves, gossip queens, and catty has-beens, all waiting to rip apart anyone they felt was beneath them in talent or stature. Some of the situations actresses were subjected to and witnessed were staggering. Knowing about them puts into perspective just how very tough it was to even attempt a career in show business during Hollywood’s so-called golden age.
During the early days of cinema there were various sex scandals to soil the snow-white image of Tinseltown. Clara Bow, Lottie Pickford, and a variety of other “naughty” actresses all gave their studio heads anxiety over what they would do next to sully Hollywood’s reputation. By the time the mid-1930s rolled around, however, the Motion Picture Production Code had been enforced, movie storylines were cleaned up, and studios were desperately trying to keep their actors and actresses on the straight and narrow. Even major stars such as Carole Lombard had behavior clauses added to their contracts, and rewards were often given to those who could keep their reputations unsullied. If a star or industry professional did misbehave, any mention of inappropriate behavior was strongly and absolutely denied. A perfect example of this is in an article published in the February 1941 issue of fan magazine Modern Screen, which sought to dispel the sordid rumors once and for all: “The day of the ‘Casting Couch’—when a girl had to exercise her libido instead of her talent for a job—is almost dead. The much-publicized and traditional Hollywood orgy died that evening when Fatty Arbuckle became involved in the community’s most colossal scandal which meant the end of Virginia Rapp[e]. Today Hollywood parties are pretty dull and business-like affairs.”
Whether or not Hollywood liked to admit it, there is absolutely no doubt that the industry Marilyn knew was a brutal and hostile place. Everything was geared toward the satisfaction of men, and the words “sexual harassment” were never muttered or even considered. Tragically, any form of abuse that actresses went through was merely accepted as an occupational hazard. Marilyn spoke of her own experience with harassment early on in her career. Her decision to speak out was not commonplace, and credit must be given for the guts it took to actively criticize men still working in the industry.
Marilyn’s first experience of assault was actually while she was just a child and living in foster care. Her foster mother took in boarders, and one was an older gentleman who called Norma Jeane into his room and proceeded to molest her. Afterward, her guardian refused to believe that he had done such a terrible deed, and the child was told never to speak of it again. But speak she did and in 1954—through interviews she gave to writer Ben Hecht—the world knew exactly what had happened and how much it had affected her life. Marilyn told Hecht that she had developed a stutter directly after the assault, and named the perpetrator as a Mr. Kimmel. It is now widely believed that the attacker could have been Murray Kinnell, an actor who had a prolific career during the 1930s and was professionally associated with Marilyn’s foster father.
Her next encounter with sexual harassment was during the mid- to late 1940s, when a “producer” told her she should be in the movies and invited her to his office for an audition. However, after he asked Marilyn to act out all manner of bizarre situations, she soon realized that the interview was not leading anywhere professionally, and she left the room. Later the actress discovered that the man was not a producer at all; instead, he was merely a predator who had rented a production office for his own inappropriate fantasies.
This kind of behavior wasn’t just reserved for would-be producers; there were also a great deal of genuine filmmakers who behaved in a similar fashion. Head of Columbia Pictures Harry Cohn was a notorious womanizer and disliked by a great many people in the industry. During Marilyn’s starlet years, she had been contracted to Columbia for just six months, but during that time Cohn saw an opportunity. Knowing that she was a friend of Twentieth Century Fox cofounder Joseph Schenck, the mogul presumed (wrongly) that Marilyn was sleeping with him. Cohn believed that he too should be allowed this privilege and called the young actress into his office. There, he invited her to spend the weekend with him on his yacht, but he hadn’t counted on Marilyn’s quick thinking and steely personality. She told him that she would come, but only because she looked forward to spending time with Cohn’s wife. This statement sent the lecherous man into a tailspin, and as Marilyn headed for the door, he shouted that she’d had her last chance in Hollywood. When it came time to renew her option, the actress found herself booted out.
In an era when it was uncommon to speak out against sexual harassment, Marilyn was one of a kind. She told the Harry Cohn story to writer Ben Hecht, though she sensibly changed his name to Mr. A. She also frequently spoke to other journalists about the wolves of Hollywood. “I didn’t have much trouble brushing them off,” she said. “I found out in those days if I looked sort of stupid and pretended I didn’t know what they were talking about, they soon gave up in disgust.”
Marilyn always insisted that she never slept with anyone for a part, and from 1952 onward she was far too big a star to have to fight off the advances of lecherous executives. However, even then she still encountered various opportunists who didn’t recognize who she was. One such wolf was actually a taxi driver, and when Marilyn got into his cab with no makeup on and wearing old clothes, he looked her up and down. Explaining that he was an amateur photographer in his spare time, he asked if she would pose nude. “I beg your pardon?” she asked, to which he replied that she shouldn’t be so quick to say no. “Look what it did for Marilyn Monroe,” he said.
This encounter was just one example of the kinds of occurrences that were still going on throughout the entertainment industry. The truth was that many of the men working (or pretending to work) in films showed little respect for women, no matter who they were. One actress interviewed for this book shared her experience of the sexual harassment that was rife in the acting industry during the 1950s and 1960s:
I never did sleep with anyone for a job, but it was often suggested and several times I was offered the role anyway. One notable situation arose just as I was to be flown to Hollywood for makeup, design, etc., for a big movie I had been cast in, and I discovered I was pregnant. My agent and I had a meeting with the producer (who had initially propositioned me at the Ivy restaurant) and I asked whether the schedule could be changed to accommodate my pregnancy. “No problem,” he said. “Have the abortion and we will start a little later.” I said I intended to have my baby, to which he responded, “Do you mean to say you would rather have a baby than star in a picture with William Holden? Come back and see me when you are serious about this business.”
WHEN THE ACTRESS DID later star in a film with William Holden and told him this story, he took her hand in both of his. “Good for you!” he said.
That, however, was not the end of the actress’s experience with the unscrupulous producer. Sometime later their paths crossed again when he promised to introduce her to various producers in Palm Springs, but made it clear that he needed to get to know her better first. “Your greatest asset in Hollywood,” he said, “is your social mobility.”
“Social mobility” was also expected when the same actress was on a film shoot in Malta. This time a director offered to work on the script in his hotel room. No sooner had they begun than the man pushed her down onto the bed. The actress’s response of bursting into laughter caused the director to become outraged, but he was cheered up when his mistress arrived the next day, and his wife shortly after. “Where would I have stood had I gone along with his assault?” she pondered. “Suppose I had been naïve enough to think he really liked me? There was a lot of wanting to have a good-looking actress for notches on their belt.”
This observation is astute, as Marilyn had found herself paraded at various parties during her early career because she was beautiful. Director Elia Kazan had even written her a letter at one point, warning her to keep away from those events and the kind of people who were known to use her. The sexual harassment and abuse of actresses was not reserved for Hollywood. Behind the scenes in England, there was an abundance of fake and real producers waiting to take advantage of naïve young women. One young photographer saw more than enough during his career in the 1950s and 1960s:
When I come to look back at the human race, it sometimes fills me with disgust, and I suppose I’ve drawn a blanket over a lot of what I saw or heard in my years with show business. I know from an audience’s point of view, we are all a happy lot; maybe that’s how it should be…. We don’t want to see the ugly side of things. There was one casting agent whose motto was “if they are in the business they will stag” or “hold this dear and the part is yours.” He had no scruples.
The abuse of women in the industry was frankly appalling. Marilyn was steadfast in her determination to never be taken advantage of, but she was wise to the immoral behavior, especially in the early days of living with other young hopefuls at the Hollywood Studio Club. She was certainly aware of women who thought it necessary to do nude photo sessions to further their careers, because after the discovery of her own pictures in 1952, would-be actresses openly spoke to her about it.
Marilyn was no prude and completely owned up to the fact that she had posed nude, but she worried about the next generation of actresses. Despite her image of a sexy, glamorous star, Marilyn told reporter Earl Wilson that she never approved of nudity for nudity’s sake. One day she became aware of a hopeful who was obviously being taken advantage of and tried to warn her about what she was doing. The girl did not agree, and instead insisted, “But look at you!” The woman was referring to how Marilyn’s career was not harmed by posing for the famous nude calendar picture, but the star was appalled that anyone would think it was this alone that had made her famous.
Marilyn told Wilson: “She didn’t understand. I had to take care of bills…. It was to eat.” She hoped actresses eager to further their careers in such a fashion knew what they were letting themselves in for. “I just say that the girl who thinks this is going to make her a success will be disappointed and disillusioned. There isn’t any short cut. You may have to work harder to overcome it.”
The attitude that certain men could do precisely what they wanted to women continued throughout the 1950s and beyond. It didn’t exclusively apply to women in show business either. In the March 23, 1955, issue of the Australian Women’s Weekly magazine, the letter voted best of the week was written by a Mrs. S. Moses from New South Wales. In the note, she began by saying how appalled she was by the rising number of attacks against women. However, her sympathy did not last for long, as although she did not condone sexual assault, she did admit that “I think women collectively are much to blame.” According to Mrs. Moses, women just did not realize the power of their charms, and by being dressed provocatively, wearing perfume, and giving “come-hither” looks, the caveman instinct could be unleashed in even the most decent of men. These pervasive attitudes made getting ahead an uphill battle for Marilyn and other independent women.
In March 1954, columnist and friend Sidney Skolsky wrote an article entitled “Lowdown on Hollywood Women,” in which he spoke briefly about the incidents women went through in the industry: “[Marilyn] just never wants to get out of her dream world. And this place called Hollywood is a dream world for the girls who come here and for those who don’t. It will always be that way, in spite of the nightmares most of our Hollywood females go through, sooner or later, even though these nightmares are public gossip.”
Dreamworld or not, the revelations of ex-family members and old friends, combined with the general attitude toward women in Hollywood at that time, contributed to the longing Marilyn had to escape and start anew. By 1955, it was clear: now that the actress had settled into life on the East Coast, she had no intention of leaving, at least not until she had achieved her dreams. “Marilyn looked upon New York as a shrine of culture. If only she worshipped reverently, all her dreams would come true,” said one friend.
WHILE REPORTERS WERE OBSESSED by the nature of Marilyn’s move to Manhattan, they were even more interested in her relationship with photographer Milton Greene. He patiently answered their questions: “I met Marilyn about a year and a half ago,” he explained. “When I came out to Hollywood on my honeymoon a little while later, I introduced my wife Amy to Marilyn, and we all became good friends. I shot a lot of pictures of Marilyn—they’re going to be published in a book—and I invited her to spend Christmas with us in New York and Connecticut. I introduced her to my lawyer, Frank Delaney, and she told him what was on her mind. That’s how we started Marilyn Monroe Productions, her own corporation. Marilyn wants to be able to have some say in the roles she plays.”
The notion of Marilyn releasing a book was another source of excitement, and Milton shared a few details about the project: “This book will show the new Marilyn Monroe,” he said. “We have talked about her writing the text in the first person, but we haven’t decided on that yet.” In the end, the book was never written or published, though many years after her death a new edition of Marilyn’s autobiography, My Story (based on a series of interviews with reporter Ben Hecht), would appear alongside some of Milton Greene’s most beautiful photographs. Sadly, this was the closest anyone ever got to the actual book the star and photographer were planning in 1955.
Perhaps the volume did not become a reality because, at that point, the success of Marilyn Monroe Productions was paramount. “Please let me tell you why I formed my own company, seemingly so quickly,” she told columnist Louella Parsons. “I am not angry with Twentieth Century Fox. I believe The Seven Year Itch is the best picture of my career. But I have such a deep fear of not managing my business properly and of being alone—and broke—when I am older. I’ve known too much insecurity in my life not to want above all else, real security against the day when they don’t want me anymore.”
Marilyn explained more to reporter Alice Finletter: “Technically, I’m not under contract to Twentieth Century Fox anymore. But I like the studio, and I want to make more pictures here. And I think we can work it out. I’ve been quoted as saying that I don’t like the pictures I’ve been put in. I never said that. A couple of the pictures might have been better. I suggested that a very good role might be the female lead in The Brothers Karamazov and right away it was taken for granted that I was getting arty and wanted to play the part.” Milton Greene declared The Brothers Karamazov rumors “a bunch of bunk. She was misquoted. A line of what she said was taken out of context.”
Out of context or not, the subject was a great topic of conversation for many in Hollywood and New York City. Author of Gentlemen Prefer Blondes Anita Loos gave the dream her full backing. Discussing the project with actor Clifton Webb, she exclaimed that Marilyn would be “absolutely wonderful in the role of Grushenka.” Webb agreed and told reporter Ernie Player that it was just the idea that was startling, not the reality. Another influential person who believed Marilyn could do it was movie mogul Samuel Goldwyn. He declared her to be perfect for the role, and Marilyn was so pleased that she cut out the clipping and carried it around in her handbag.
Marilyn actually did quietly dream of one day acting in The Brothers Karamazov, but for now she needed to study. Taking everything she had learned from the recent past, the twenty-eight-year-old actress gathered herself together and set about finding people who could help on her journey. It had only been a year since Marilyn fought the studio over The Girl in Pink Tights, and now she had walked out on her film contract and created her own production company. With eleven months of 1955 remaining, Marilyn was confident that whatever happened next, it would be completely in her control.
THE ANNOUNCEMENT OF MARILYN MONROE PRODUCTIONS seemed to anger more than just Twentieth Century Fox. Some reporters could not get their head around the fact that Marilyn Monroe—she of the wiggly walk and breathless voice—would desire to be anything other than the image they wanted her to be. Some were outwardly hostile toward her. One columnist by the name of Leonard Coulter made his feelings clear in an open letter in his “Coulter Column” for Film Bulletin. In it, he berated Marilyn for everything from her cooking skills to her declaration of independence and everything in between:
Considering the architecture with which the good Lord blessed you, I am astonished to discover that you have not learned very much about homo sapiens (no, honey; it’s not something you eat. It means MAN). Thanks to Twentieth-Century-Fox, you have become a hot commercial property, and though it would be rather misleading to say you are a bone of contention, the fact remains that your own hard work and the company’s exploitation genius have made a lot of people envious.
Some of them have kidded you into believing you could become a great dramatic actress. Only the other day you said yourself that you’d like to appear in a film based on Dostoevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov. Have you ever read the book? Why not choose some pleasant trifle like the balcony scene in Romeo and Juliet? That would be fun…
One must ask if columnists such as Coulter ever chastised the male species for wanting to better their lives. It is doubtful. The fact remains that for a woman with ambition in the 1950s, life was filled with sexism and disbelief. During Marilyn’s last interview, in 1962 with Richard Meryman, one of her requests was that the reporter not make her look like a joke. After being mocked during her entire career, it is easy to see why such a wish was made.
The idea of any actress—not just Marilyn—owning a production company, caused a furor in the male-dominated industry. However, a look at some statistics shows exactly why it came as a surprise. Firstly, the only mega-famous female movie mogul had been Mary Pickford, and her producing days were over by the 1950s. (Her last film was Love Happy [1949], which included Marilyn in a walk-on role.) A search of the phrase “female producer” in the hundreds of film magazines scanned on the Media History Digital Library brings up only nine results. None of those articles were written later than 1947. The same search in the Los Angeles Times and New York Times shows just one entry during the entire 1950s: a report entitled “Story of a Determined Lady,” about theater producer Terese Hayden. Within the columns of the story, the ambitious woman is described as a “girl producer.”
The phrase “woman film producer” fares hardly any better. Twelve articles appear in film magazines, with only two of those being after 1943. The same search in newspapers brings up only two results for the 1950s. While Marilyn is proof that some women were striving to be successful in the production side of filmmaking, as far as the industry was concerned, the concept was rarely spoken about and certainly not nurtured or encouraged. It was fine to look pretty in front of the camera, but to be powerful and successful behind it was a joke of magnificent proportions.
One reporter asked if Marilyn would like to be a director too and she shook her head, saying that she simply did not have enough experience. She was being a tad unfair to herself, because history has shown that she was actually something of a genius when it came to still and moving cameras. She knew instinctively how to pose to create the perfect photograph, and saw even publicity shoots as important work. Photographer Richard Avedon later said that Marilyn was always completely involved with her photo shoots and shared many ideas and thoughts, even working throughout the night if she thought the occasion required it.
Reporter Sidney Skolsky once watched as she posed for the March 1954 cover of Modern Screen magazine. He wrote that she began work at 12:30 p.m. and did not finish until 4 p.m. “I act when I’m posing,” she explained. “Just as hard as I do when I’m playing a role in front of a movie camera. I think of something for each pose so I’ll have the right expression.”
A list made in her notebook shows that she made plans to attend directorial lectures by Harold Clurman and Lee Strasberg, so she might have quietly hoped to one day become a director—although after the furor caused by the revelation of her producing ambitions, she was highly unlikely to admit it to the press. Years later, during the making of The Misfits, Marilyn jotted down ideas on how certain scenes should be shot; she was clearly intrigued by the process.
Should she have gone down that road eventually, Marilyn would likely have been taken even less seriously than she was already. All searches for “female director” and “woman film director” in film magazines and newspapers come up with only a handful of results, and all were printed before 1943. Trailblazer Dorothy Arzner was the exception in the otherwise male-dominated industry. She started as a typist at the Famous Players-Lasky Corporation (later Paramount), but through hard work and determination had managed to become a director. By 1932, she was working independently, and in 1936 was said to be the only female director in Hollywood. In 1937, Arzner told the Los Angeles Times that as a lone female director, she must never raise her voice on set or act in what some might consider an unreasonable way. According to her, society still expected her to be feminine, and swearing was totally out of the question. By 1938, the Motion Picture Herald told readers that not one female director was under contract to any of the top fifteen producers, and by 1943, Arzner had directed her last movie.
In Great Britain, the situation was no better. The British Newspaper Archive shows no results for “female film producer” and only two listings for “female film director.” Both articles are from the 1940s. Those women who dared to try their luck in the industry were met with sarcasm or disdain by the British press. An article in the Dundee Evening Telegraph in 1940 bore the headline “They’re Doing a Man’s Job” and announced that Mrs. Culley Forde was the only woman associate producer in the entire British movie industry. She could not enjoy her success alone, of course. Instead, the newspaper made sure to mention that she was the wife of director Walter Forde.
A piece in the Sketch from 1946 is even worse. Entitled “We Take Our Hat to Miss Jill Craigie,” the newspaper celebrated Craigie’s status as the only female film director in England. However, they chose to do so not with a list of her most important work, but with two pages of photographs showing her admiring her face in the mirror, laying the table for dinner, walking up the stairs, doing her hair, and reading. Of course, they also mentioned that she happened to be the wife of film director Jeffrey Dell. “Jill Craigie rightly pays as much attention to her personal appearance as she does to production details,” it said.