By the time that Blonde (2022) premiered last week on Netflix, it had a notoriety that preceded it. Whether it’s the NC-17 rating or the ballyhooed abortion scenes, there was a sense that this was going to be an intense revision of the Marilyn Monroe mythos. Take away the glamor and leave behind three hours of psychological abuse, capturing a celebrity who hasn’t had the most favorable reputation cinematically over recent years. For many, it was a step too far, an exploitation of a legacy morphing into something grotesque. As someone who consistently claims that Monroe was one of the most underappreciated actresses of the 1950s, I knew in my heart that this was the perspective sure to ruffle my feathers. I never met her, and yet there is something personal about watching her act.
Is it offensive? Most definitely. I don’t believe that Monroe is given a chance to have more than two dimensions of character over the entire runtime. There are moments that are downright appalling, suggesting more that director Andrew Dominik has very specific fetishes that involve Monroe being topless or placed in very submissive positions. Even in the age of Me Too where films like Judy (2019) paint Judy Garland overcoming her own miserable addiction with incredible talent, Blonde’s lack of concern for celebrating her career has definitely bothered many. Even if this is and has always been an adaptation of speculative fiction by Joyce Carol Oates, the idea of it not being faithful is too much for some people. I understand if storylines surrounding abuse are triggering. The first hour is several rings of Dante’s “Inferno” at once. However, for as much as I think this is offensive and does a great disservice to an icon’s legacy, I actually really like it.
For better or worse, I love messy movies. There is something about seeing the flaws of the creator on display, missing what would be conventionally considered “good” or even “passable.” There is this sense that by watching I could fix the film, moving things in my mind to find the better film. Some of them are just out of sequence moments while others are invisible, not really existing yet providing an engagement with the filmmaking process few think to have.
The reason that I like Blonde comes from a simple reality. I am a creator. I have written two novels and several short stories. There are hundreds of articles online that I have spent hours crafting. Some are good, some are bad, but they all reflect something organic to my opinion. Having content readily available going back to 2008, I recognize the nervousness of being able to look at my early criticisms and think that they were flawless. More often than not, I recognize their faults even during my clearest of points. Maybe the grammar is just a little off. Maybe the connotation was too hostile. Whatever it may be, there is something that artists should recognize that maybe isn’t apparent to audiences. We try our best based on our resources (physical and mental) at that moment. Some can handle the pressure while others will invariably fail. Even then, I look back at my work and can appreciate what I was going for, even if what the world saw was an absolute mess.
There are many approaches to creating art, and I tend to favor the side of risk taking. I want something that I might disagree with, but presents a perspective that is provocative and presents something that feels honest to the creator. If I can notice their reasoning or ambition, then I stand a better chance of appreciating their effort. A messy film is rarely boring, only ever allowing you to engage with the texture with which art is made. Why are you responding so strongly to something? It can’t be done by a passive, calculated creator who is doing things for four quadrant audiences, allowing you to feel like they’re behind the camera checking off the boxes as each moment plays. While blockbuster filmmakers who do it well are admirable, there is a safeness that can’t be messy. It needs to be able to play worldwide in manners that avoid a personal touch.
I think one of the worst examples from recent months is the Baz Luhrmann epic Elvis (2022). While biopics in general have an assembly line nature that many make fun of, there is something frustrating about people still following those rules. Luhrmann, who willingly embraces artifice and excess, should’ve brought so much more to this work. Instead, it has his visual flourish without any of the charms because it’s concerned about celebrating Elvis Presley’s highlight reel without any greater commentary. Unless one goes in with personal affection for The King, there is little chance of getting anything out of this. It isn’t a film that’s taking risks but glances at everything that’s noteworthy without any commentary. It’s manic, exhausting, and nowhere near as campy as it needs to compensate. You may question why Luhrmann did certain artistic choices, but nothing ultimately feels essential to making Elvis feel relevant to a 21st century audience.
Blonde maybe doesn’t have a lot of great commentary for 21st century audiences either, but there is a stronger sense of identity when watching the film. Whereas Elvis leaves one with indifference, Blonde exists solely to provoke. This could be because at times what Dominik has done is not craft a tribute to Monroe, but something more akin to Joker (2019). While you need a protagonist to sell a film, neither is necessarily about them. They are studies of psychological abuse as presented through means that are more abstract. A film can play with visuals, allowing the internal anguish to be reflected in the symbolism of cinematic technique. There is a blurring of reality and fiction that is more of a commentary on mental illness (itself a thorny subject), which is why I’m less likely to think of Blonde as a tribute to Monroe instead of an expressionistic depiction of loneliness. It’s less glitzy madness like Elvis and more beguiling like Fire Walk With Me (1992) or Dancer in the Dark (2000).
Again, I understand if the subject matter is offensive to some. However, the larger focus on it being awful solely because it’s a speculative fiction take on Monroe’s life feels a bit disingenuous. If this was actually about a fictional actress who is an amalgamation of Monroe (which I believe the reality to be), I’m sure it would be better received. It’s an opaque story that reflects the awfulness of humanity and the sense of searching for comfort in such a dark, uncomfortable landscape. The opening scene features an overwhelming presence of fire consuming everything Monroe held dear, leaving behind an emptiness that she spends the rest of the film trying to fill. It’s the first of many miserable plot points, but one that speaks to the artfulness of Dominik’s intent.
Still, the major reason that I like Blonde more than Elvis isn’t that one is a much crueler deconstruction of its subject but because of its power to surprise. Every 10 minute stretch does feel at times disconnected from the next, mostly establishing these small character moments that range from black box breakdowns to these gorgeously obtuse visions of bliss. Even then, there is something to Dominik’s intent that isn’t there in Elvis. We know where Presley’s career is going. There is never a chance to contradict it. With Blonde, all bets are off. The ending is more an abstract metaphor than the culmination of a career. For some, it’s a relief that it’s over while others may find it to be this perverse spiritual experience with a somewhat acceptable conclusion. Whatever the case may be, there’s enough there that leaves you connected because it’s not a biopic but a case study.
For instance, there is a moment early in the film where Monroe is holding a razor to her throat and a voice off camera yells “Cut!” as if to suggest self-harm. In these moments of breaking reality, it creates one of the best understandings of intrusive thoughts that I have ever seen on film. When trauma enters Monroe’s frame, there is this regression, a search for greater meaning. Every piece feels deliberately connected as this coping mechanism for mental illness. While it may not be as perfectly designed as the similar subject matter of Spencer (2021), its messiness is necessary. Not only does it give you a sense of what mental instability would feel like as a cinematic experience, but it gives a sense that Dominik is trying to make something unique. This is his vision of looking behind the art as escapism and trying to understand the toll of suppressing harmful impulses.
Most of all, I love how much I have to question the director’s true feelings on his subject matter. There is sympathy there, but it comes with Lars von Trier levels of conflict to get through. Even then, there is something beautiful buried about 80 minutes into the film when Monroe meets Arthur Miller and discusses his plays. The revelation of a character pretending to read to impress others is a perfect metaphor for Blonde. It’s a tragic revelation that says so much about Monroe as someone with agency and more to offer than her hollow image would suggest. When she’s with Miller, there is a joy that she never feels elsewhere. It’s beautiful and one of my favorite moments of the year. However, I don’t know that this moment would work if Blonde was closer to Elvis, where the hostility had a much lighter tone. Because the audience experiences the pain and inescapable hopelessness, Miller’s ability to unlock something in her subconscious is profound, reflective of the love that she’s been searching for this entire time.
Again, I don’t know that this is saying anything substantial about Monroe and Miller’s relationship. Given that there are many downward spirals to follow, it’s not like the pessimism fades a’la Her Smell (2018), but it does show how small wins can make a significant difference in a mentally ill person’s life. There is a need for that someone who understands and looks beyond artifice. While some can argue that stories of miscarriages and various controversies that arise in the film are steps too far, the lack of preciousness until the final minute allows for more provocative thought. There’s no relief. Sure it sucks that Dominik had to use Monroe to sell it, but then again in an era of intellectual property it was always going to be someone you had a passing familiarity with (for example, Joker wouldn’t have scored a quarter of its box office if it wasn’t a Batman movie). Why not choose from the best?
Why do I like messy films? It’s not because they are inherently better than artists who have a higher success rate. Art comes in all forms and subjectivity means that no work is truly flawless. However, art that seeks to raise conversation and succeeds is deserving of some praise. Blonde is definitely the work of Dominik and nobody else. There are moments where De Armas is downright breathtaking. With that said, I can’t call this film awful because, unlike Elvis, I felt something. I may disagree with a lot of it, but as someone who creates art, I appreciate not feeling like the filmmaker is checking boxes. He’s telling a story that requires some of your effort to understand just what is being said. If you think it’s boring, that’s fine. For me, I come away remembering moments that are profoundly complicated, suggesting a struggle rarely depicted on film. Again, this isn’t about Monroe but about mental health. It’s opaque and tedious at points, but I much prefer being taken in the wrong direction of Blonde than the audience-friendly path of Elvis. At least with Dominik, I notice the risk taking involved. It may repulse you, but it sticks with you. Personally, all art should’ve tried to do that all along if just for the sake of respecting your audience’s integrity.
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