Marilyn Monroe would have been 85 today. I spent quite a bit of time racking my brain, trying to figure out a way to recognize her birthday. I toyed with the idea of infographics, photoshop jobs, film reviews, and any other number of ways to honor the woman.
Unfortunately, the reality is that I’ve only seen four of her movies. They were The Seven Year Itch (1955); The Misfits (1961); Some Like It Hot (1959); and The Asphalt Jungle (1950). They were all damned good in just about every way. But I feel a bit remiss trying to do her justice. At most, there are bound to be holes in whatever I say about her. And yet, everyone knows who she is. I definitely know who she is. She’s an American icon. She’s every bit as much of a movie icon as the John Waynes, Charlie Chaplins, or Humphrey Bogarts of the world, if not more so. After all, none of those other icons dropped the jaws of presidents and paupers alike.
She’s practically the boilerplate for the blonde bombshell, in particular the American brand of bombshell. Others came before and since but none combined such fragility, raw sexuality, beauty, and clumsy-yet-sweet, innocent grace. And that’s about as poignant as I can be while still paying proper homage to her. Happy birthday, Marilyn.