Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (1953)
Director: Howard Hawks
Stars: Marilyn Monroe, Jane Russell, Charles Coburn
Short Review, no spoilers
It’s easy to see why Marilyn Monroe’s performance as show
girl Lorelei Lee catapulted her to super stardom (‘spoiler’ - there’s more to
it than a stunning pink dress) and it remains the most perfect and complete showpiece
of an early brilliance before her life and career were tragically cut short just
9 years later. As a film, Gentlemen Prefer Blondes is a sparklingly witty
musical comedy the likes of which have never been bettered. A rare example of
girls to the front and celebration of sisterhood, the blissful escapism of
gold-standard Hollywood entertainment where all the stops are pulled out also delivers
joyful female empowerment with plenty to think about as well as the pure
gorgeousness on display.
Full Review (spoilers)
The studio may have thought it was getting some cheap bang
for its buck when they cast the young, up and coming but ‘potent’ Marilyn
Monroe in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, but boy did she show ‘em what they didn’t
know they had. As show girl Lorelei, Marilyn raised the bar to unforeseen
heights, but her perfect teaming with ballsy beauty Jane Russell as bestie
Dorothy ensured a sure-fire hit. The smart script and top tunes secured
universal and long-standing appeal that even musical cynics will find
irresistible.
In a movie full of subversions, the opposites attract
formula is applied as well if not better to loyal friends Lorelei and Dorothy.
Blonde and brunette is the visual signifier of two opposites – the latter is a
rapacious lover of handsome men with disdain for bragging rich playboys, while
the former is hyper-focused on just the one man with all that she’ll ever need
in the most innocent if practical way of securing a life of riches and
diamonds. Outrageously, gold-digging is unashamedly seen as the sensible way
forward, with Lorelei striving to fulfil her friend’s destiny as successfully
as she foresees her own. Equally protective is Dorothy however, as she tries to
prevent Lorelei from disgracing herself in the eyes of a systematically
patriarchal defence of property and inheritance.
The film opens as it means to go on, with Lorelei and
Dorothy bursting on to a screen awash with colour and performing the catchy
tune that will bookend the film, ‘Two Little Girls From Little Rock’. When the
camera drags itself away however we see the firm line between the dazzling
vitality of the showgirls and the grey functional world of their audience (with
a close-up of that good old male gaze of course, Lorelei’s goofy rich beau, Gus).
As well as emphasising our girls as show-starters as well as stoppers, it can
also be interpreted as a feminist flip on a very 1950s contrast between
masculine pragmatism and feminine consumerism. Representing architecture on the
one hand – grey, straight and Brutalist function – and advertising on the other
– ideal fantasy figures showing women how to be beautiful and perfect
housewives (fine ironic fodder for years to come) – Lorelei and Dorothy bring
the beauty but not the submissive housewifery. From the off and throughout is
the disconcerting notion of women actively prospecting in a world established
by men, taking the reins in a way that might be seen as too traditionally
hetero for this day and age, but rousingly subversive all the same.
The contradictions run rampage throughout, including a
reversal of said male gaze in hilarious style when a frustrated Dorothy
infiltrates the training of an entire Olympic team of fine male specimens. As a
group of ladies look on, a saucy routine ensues in which men wearing nothing
but nude-coloured shorts parade in a cheeky riot of male spectacle. The
powerful image of a gladiator features on the gymnasium wall but it is
playfully sent up by the focus on male beauty rather than violent prowess.
The two women are a force to be reckoned with and they draw
their own battle lines – as Dorothy says: “Let’s get our warpaint on and go to
work” when they need to retrieve compromising photographs from a spy sent to
check on Lorelei’s behaviour. Showing that just one more of you can make a
difference, the male gaze seems less oppressive when the two women make their
entrances together as opposed to later Marilyn pictures when she has to endure
the oglers on her own. Lorelei’s wing-woman even pretends to be her to
help clear up a major misunderstanding, tormenting a courtroom with her own
bombastic interpretation of ‘Diamonds Are A Girl’s Best Friend’. Interestingly,
it is in this phony get-up that Dorothy finally admits her love for Malone the
spy and he drops the investigation against Lorelei – collective female honesty is
proven to be the best policy and upturns self-interested male duplicity.
As a whole, the film pops and fizzles throughout but ‘Diamonds
Are A Girl’s Best Friend’ is the knockout number for so many reasons. A
sensationally bombastic and playful feminine statement of defiance, Lorelei
embraces the solid rock of a diamond as more dependable than a lover’s trust.
It’s arguably Marilyn’s best ever moment on screen but worthy of mention is
Jack Cole, a legendary choreographer who worked with Rita Hayworth amongst
many, hence the similarities with Hayworth’s likewise iconic routine in Gilda. Rampant
technicolour in your face and movement that makes jazz sing from the body of
Marilyn, it’s a team effort achieved by the best at their best.
Also of note however is the subtler number that precedes it
– ‘Diamond’s’ vision of rebellion develops from a state of defeat. ‘When Love
Goes Wrong’ begins with Lorelei and Dorothy in the dumps but shows their
transition to happiness even when the chips are down, in classic musical
fashion Depression era onwards. There’s something very immediately-post-war
about the scene – the lighting and colour is low key, with even the girls’
dresses a dark, austere wool that blends in to the backdrop. From melancholy though
it builds slowly to smiles and popping moves and interactions with a French
crowd which interestingly includes two little North African boys and men in
military uniform – very prescient for a time of growing tensions in Paris but
somewhat provocative in a light-hearted musical? The French authorities
apparently thought so because the scene was removed when the film was first released.
Stardom of the day was often built through a merging of real
life and roles and this was no different for Marilyn, sometimes even uncannily
so. As it happened, the studio was severely disconcerted during the making of
Gentlemen… when some old topless pictures Marilyn posed for emerged in to the
wider public domain. Much like her character however, Marilyn was unapologetic,
but what an interesting coincidence that Lorelei faces the same threat of
scandal and with that, suspicion about her quality of character as a woman.
Rather than plead false demureness however, both Lorelei and Marilyn squared up
to the hypocrisy of patriarchal demands and told it as it is. In the end,
Lorelei has the final word in a priceless conversation with her future
father-in-law where she puts things straight once and for all. As with Monroe,
Lorelei’s dumbness is eventually found to be as surface level as her beauty, presented
so honestly and with such throwaway conviction that it remains as disarmingly provocative
now as in 1953.
Important to remember however, is that not just anyone can
deliver this ethos like Marilyn could. Her iconic status has been worked
through the ages, sometimes wittily and sometimes akin to a weird kind of grave-digging.
Something that is universal in her films is a fascinatingly rogue
element, a unique screen presence whose untameable vibrancy shone through the
costumes and make-up that may have elevated her, but most certainly didn’t
define her. No dress, man or money made her; for good and bad, she made herself.
She was undoubtedly beautiful but it was hard work from a place of nothing rather
than nepotism that got her there, making her as relevant an icon today as ever.
