It was never on my very biopic-unfriendly list, but after having surrendered to Spencer and Elvis, it only seemed fair that I watched this too. And that will be it for a while. Blonde is so patchy to have left me unsure of what I’ve seen or, if anything, with a series of thoughts that are equally dichotomised. Alternating notable glimpses of creativity with jarring uninspired moments, its aesthetics are messy to say the least. The image gets often overly manipulated by pointless visual effects of all sorts. Too much trying, and perhaps too cinephile a director. The freaking talking photo à la Harry Potter of Norma’s dad put me off. I resisted the temptation to give up purely because it was too early in the film to be so resolute. The elaborate use of different aspect ratios combined with the random back and forth between colour and b/w also felt a bit crafty, overthought, only bearable because of the superbly photographed shots coming through at regular intervals to save the day.
Ana de Armas is a marvel as an actor even when the script, despite appreciable efforts, doesn’t allow her to dare beyond the received notion of the icon. The interesting thing about a film on such a mythical figure is that it inevitably has to deal with the consequences of that very idea, with the established gossip, with the popular knowledge whether false or true, and with whatever publicity fed us with over the years. Where Blonde fails is in finding a voice that doesn’t necessarily say anything more or different, but does it independently enough to really intrigue. Although with a certain style, Blonde essentially joins the chorus at the likely risk of being soon forgotten.
Adrien Brody and Bobby Cannavale brilliantly portray what I guess are to be considered particularly fictionalised versions of Joe di Maggio and Arthur Miller. Shame they didn’t get more screen time. But the silent heroes in the cast are Julianne Nicholson and David Warshovsky, who turn Norma Jeane’s mum and Marilyn’s trusted make-up man into unexpectedly seductive characters.
‘I just wanna begin again from zero,’ is a line that resonates with me, but what she says immediately after, is the piece of dialogue that I shall remember. ‘In the movies they chop you all to bits. Cut, cut, cut. It’s a jigsaw puzzle. But you are not the one to put the pieces together. Oh, but to live in a part. To just be in it till the closing curtain every night.’ Which is not just Dominik’s way to bluntly state what he doesn’t seem to like of cinema—Blonde being full of highly enjoyable long takes and monologues—but also one to note how brutal the world can be in dissecting people, and how endemic their desire to escape from their own lives has worryingly become. Echoing this, the uncomfortably long shot on Norma’s feet as she lies motionless on her bed is eerie and touching at once. It should have lasted even longer.
