01 novembre 2016

Marilyn Monroe Auction - 11/2016 - docs papiers 2

Documents papiers - MM Prod.
Papers documents - MM Prod.

 A check signed by Monroe in blue ink, with bank stamp dated November 16, 1959, paid to the "District Director of Internal Revenue" in the amount of $10,947.60. The check is drawn on her Marilyn Monroe Productions, Inc. account with Colonial Trust Company. Calculating for inflation, this amount would be in excess of $90,000 in 2016.
3 by 8 1/2 inches
 Estimate: $3,000 - $5,000

A Marilyn Monroe Productions canceled bank check dated August 22, 1958, in the amount of $42.88, written to Dave Bernstein, signed by Monroe, together with a statement from Dave Bernstein Catering and 10 receipts for food Monroe ordered ranging in date from August 19 through September 4, 1958. Monroe started filming Some Like It Hot on August 4, 1958. This lot is significant in that Monroe and then husband Arthur Miller discovered she was pregnant in October. These receipts possibly detail Monroe’s diet at the onset of what would be her final pregnancy. Sadly, she miscarried on December 16.
 Estimate: $2,000 - $3,000

A Marilyn Monroe Productions canceled bank check dated May 14, 1960, in the amount of $6.20, written to Century Messenger Service, signed by Monroe, together with two carbon copy invoices and an original month-end statement from Century Messenger Service. Both invoices are addressed to Marilyn Monroe Productions, 444 E. 57th Street, #13E, one of which is signed by May Reis, Monroe’s secretary.
 Estimate: $1,500 - $2,500

 An expense report for Marilyn Monroe Productions prepared by Hedda Rosten, with itemized listing of fan mail expenses for June 1962 totaling $66.46. The expenses show that they were reimbursed July 26, 1962.
9 by 6 inches
 Estimate: $200 - $300

 Two checks from Marilyn Monroe Productions Inc. to A.J. Bauer & Co Apothecaries for $8.15 and $17.25, both signed by Milton Greene and dated June 22, 1955, and June 20, 1955; and two related receipts from A.J. Bauer & Co Apothecaries showing the breakdown and balance due.
Checks, 3 by 8 1/2 inches
 Estimate: $800 - $1,200
246515_0 246516_0 246517_0 

 A Colonial Trust Company bank statement for Marilyn Monroe Productions Inc. for January 1957, showing a series of withdrawals throughout the month with a balance of $47,768.62 on January 1 and $27,671.40 on January 31. There are handwritten calculations are in pencil on verso in an unknown hand. Together with a credit receipt from the same bank dated February 1, 1957, that states that $54.64 was credited back to the account.
10 by 7 inches
 Estimate: $600 - $800
246518_0 246519_0 

 An invoice from Luria's Wine & Spirits in New York City billed to Marilyn Monroe Productions and sent to "Mr and Mrs Paula Lee Strasberg [sic]." The invoice is for 12 bottles of Piper-Heidsieck champagnes totaling $73.08. Together with a statement from Luria's showing $3.55 credit for Marilyn Monroe Productions. Dates unknown.
Larger, 9 by 5 3/4 inches
 Estimate: $400 - $600

 A Marilyn Monroe Productions Inc. bank statement from Bankers Trust Company of New York showing credits and debits for the month of March 1961.
11 by 9 inches
 Estimate: $400 - $600

 An envelope addressed to Marilyn Monroe Productions Inc. The envelope is postmarked January 5, 1961, and is from Magnum Photos Inc. Two “Fragile Handle with Care” stickers are affixed to the envelope. Many of Monroe’s most famous photographs were taken by Magnum photographers, including Eve Arnold, Philippe Halsman, and Inge Morath. This item came from the estate of May Reis, Monroe’s assistant and private secretary from 1958 to 1961.
12 by 15 1/2 inches
PROVENANCE Partial Lot 120, "Julien's Autumn Sale," Julien's, Las Vegas, October 29, 2005
 Estimate: $50 - $100
246626_0 246627_0 247314_0   

Documents papiers - Carrière
Papers documents - Career

 A program from the fundraising gala titled "Happy Birthday Mr. President" that took place at Madison Square Garden in New York City on May 19, 1962. The event featured Marilyn Monroe's now legendary performance of the song "Happy Birthday" to the president in her form-fitting Jean Louis gown. The program lists the other performers that night and is being sold together with Frieda Hull's ticket from the performance. The ticket cost $10, is numbered 827, and is listed as General Admission and additionally stamped "Standing Room" with right side of ticket torn off.
Program, 10 1/2 by 8 1/4 inches
PROVENANCE From the Estate of Frieda Hull
 Estimate: $1,000 - $2,000


 A series of letters including five unsigned file copies of Marilyn Monroe's letters to Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist Lester Markel of the New York Times together with five typed, signed letters from Markel on New York Times letterhead. The two had a friendship and an interesting series of communications dated between August 6, 1959, and June 30, 1960, including the now famous letter in which Monroe demonstrates her humor and comprehensive understanding of the politics of their time. On the subject of Fidel Castro, Monroe writes, "Now, Lester, on Castro. You see, Lester, I was brought up to believe in democracy, and when the Cubans finally threw out Battista [sic] with so much bloodshed, the United States doesn't stand behind them and give them help or support even to develop democracy." She also discusses possible presidential candidates and offers slogans for their campaigns in the post script: "Nix on Nixon" and "Back to Boston by Xmas - Kennedy." Two of the five pages of Monroe's file copies contain three drafts of the same letter that is left unfinished.
8 1/2 by 11 inches
PROVENANCE From the Estate of Lee Strasberg
 Estimate: $600 - $800
245197_0  245205_0 
245198_0 245199_0 245200_0 
245201_0 245202_0 
245203_0 245204_0 

 A pair of celebrity signed ceramic tile displays with inscriptions to event producer Clive David. Each framed display consists of 16 tiles. The top six decorative tiles of each frame combine to read “1962.” The remaining 10 tiles of each display are covered with signatures and inscriptions to David, including an inscription from Marilyn Monroe. Monroe’s inscription reads “To Clive Love & Kisses Marilyn Monroe” and was obtained by David at the Madison Square Garden birthday celebration of John F. Kennedy held on May 19, 1962. Other performers who signed the tiles at this event include Maria Callas, Jack Benny, Jimmy Durante, Henry Fonda, Bobby Darin, Ella Fitzgerald, Shirley MacLaine, Sally Ann Howes and Dick Adler. Other celebrity signatures include Gloria Swanson; Paulette Goddard; Ray Bolger; Tab Hunter; Hedda Hopper; Una Merkel; Audrey Meadows; Earl Wilson; Ginger Rogers; Olivia de Havilland; Anita Loos; Lucille Ball; Carol Bruce; and Tallulah Bankhead; among others.
Each, 39 by 14 1/2 inches, framed
 Estimate: $8,000 - $10,000
245206_0  245207_0 

 A ticket to the May 19, 1962 Birthday Party Gala held for President John F. Kennedy at Madison Square Garden. The ticket is marked for section 112, with a suggested contribution of $25.
3 3/4 by 8 inches
 Estimate: $3,000 - $5,000

 A single-page mimeographed letter dated June 11, 1947. The letter was drafted by Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation for Monroe to sign and reads in part, "Whereas, I did heretofore enter into a personal services contract with you, dated August 24, 1946, and, whereas at that time I was a minor, and whereas I did, on June 1, 1947, become twenty-one (21) years of age, please be advised that I do hereby ratify and confirm all of the terms." The letter is then signed by Monroe in blue ink, both "Marilyn Monroe" and "Norma Jeane Dougherty." Together with a plain associated envelope.
8 1/2 by 11 inches
 Estimate: $5,000 - $7,000

 A standard contract dated March 2, 1949, with the William Morris Agency Inc. for a period of six years with 10% terms. The contract is signed on verso in green ink "Marilyn Monroe." Accompanied by original letter from the agency that accompanied the contract dated March 10, 1949, addressed to Monroe at 1215 Lodi Place in Hollywood, California, reading "Dear Marilyn:/ Enclosed please find executed copies of your authorization with our office. Best regards" and signed Norman Brokaw.
8 1/2 by 11 inches
 Estimate: $3,000 - $5,000
245318_0  245319_0 

 Two menus dated March 26, 1952, featuring notes on verso in blue ink in Monroe's hand that appear to have been taken during a meeting with someone advising her about her career. The menus are dated just 10 days after Monroe's nude modeling shots were made public by the media. Monroe had recently appeared in a number of films in small parts and had received positive mentions from critics. Monroe had just started dating Joe DiMaggio, and she was to appear on the cover of LIFE magazine the following month. This was clearly an important and pivotal period in her career, and it appears as though she was meeting with someone in the industry who gave her counsel. One of the warnings appears to come from Johnny Arnez; Monroe put's his warning in quotations: "you'll have to protect yourself or your throat will be cut/ watch out for Jerry Webb." It continues, "you'll prepare the test & Webb shoots it and if something is wrong it will [be] your fault." A great deal of the notes reference Webb and things he has said behind her back. Berniece Miracle mentions seeing Webb, the test director, in the Fox commissary in the late 1940s when she snuck onto the lot with Monroe to spend the day with her half-sister. The notes also contain thoughts from Monroe reading in part, "I need a great deal of work - and will always/ its the right kind of work/ -the more I will be able to stand on my feet." and "think with your body/ let go physically to ick up emotionally" and "you want me to be a star/ and I can be one of your greatest stars/ when I'm doing the right/ work and know I'm doing." Just over two months after these notes were written, Monroe learned that she had gotten the part of Lorelei Lee in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.
10 1/2 by 5 inches
 Estimate: $4,000 - $6,000
245351_0  245352_0 

 A single sheet of hotel stationery from the Waldorf Astoria, New York, where Monroe stayed between April and September 1955, with the opening salutation and start of a letter "Dear Art" that has been scratched out. The page is covered on recto and verso with notes, recounting the goings-on in one of Monroe's acting classes with Lee Strasberg. The notes begin with Monroe quoting something said by Strasberg: "I want you all to know that this exercise went on for/ 1/2 hour and her concentration did not/ give way or slip once-and Marilyn there/ will be very few times ever on the/ stage where it will be/ necessary to keep/ such a concentration/ for one half hour/ straight." Monroe then asks herself, "Why did it/ mean so much to me." On the back she continues to ruminate about class, writing, "Strasberg/ it makes me (him he said) feel badly (and sadly) for you that you do/ things out of fear/ You must start to do things out of strength-/ (my question: where do I get the strength)-he said-by not looking for strength/ but only looking & seeking tecnical [sic] ways and means." This presents a fascinating demonstration of how seriously Monroe took her formal acting training in New York.
LITERATURE Monroe, Marilyn, and Bernard Comment. Fragments: Poems, Intimate Notes, Letters. Pages 78-81. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2010. 1-237. Print.
10 1/2 by 7 1/4 inches
 Estimate: $10,000 - $15,000
245376_0 245377_0 

 A single sheet of hotel stationery from the Waldorf Astoria, New York, where Monroe stayed between April and September 1955. The verso of page contains a long list of song titles in pencil with some numeric references to a song standard book. It is presumed these were possibly songs that Monroe wanted to perform.
LITERATURE Monroe, Marilyn, and Bernard Comment. Fragments: Poems, Intimate Notes, Letters. Pages 82-83. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2010. 1-237. Print.
10 1/2 by 7 1/4 inches
 Estimate: $3,000 - $5,000


 A single sheet of unlined paper with serrated left edge and faint coffee mug stain. The page contains pencil notations, including the numbers "262" and "263," which are believed to be references to a collection of song standards, [see Lot 256] and would correspond to "While We're Young" and "Wonderful Guy." The body of the text reads "Dec 11/ See in older journal-/ always admired men who had many women./ It must be that to a child of a dissatisfied woman/ the idea of monogamy is hollow."
LITERATURE Monroe, Marilyn, and Bernard Comment. Fragments: Poems, Intimate Notes, Letters. Pages 164-165. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2010. 1-237. Print.
8 by 4 7/8 inches
 Estimate: $4,000 - $6,000

 A single page torn from a lined spiral-bound notebook, stained in red ink. Presumably torn from the same notebook as the similarly stained pages also included in this sale that also date to 1956. The page contains dialogue from Monroe's film, Bus Stop as she portrays Cherie, who asks Elma for help: "Pardon me I'm sorry to wake you/ But I wonder if you could help/ me/ I'm being abducted/ you know-kidnapped-by-him/ I thought maybe as soon as/ we got some place I'd ask the/ driver to stop and let me off/ But we been driving for hours/ and we still don't seem to be/ nowhere at all-not only that/ but I'm freezing to death-I/ ain't got much on under/ my coat."
LITERATURE Monroe, Marilyn, and Bernard Comment. Fragments: Poems, Intimate Notes, Letters. Pages 166-167. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2010. 1-237. Print.
8 1/2 by 11 inches
 Estimate: $6,000 - $8,000

 Two pages torn from a lined spiral-bound notebook, both stained in red ink. The first page was published in the book Fragments and contains references to "The Sleeping Prince," an early production title for Monroe's film The Prince and the Showgirl, dating these writings to 1956. The notes show Monroe becoming her own task master, reminding herself "don’t stop myself," "learn - lines logically," "I can't do more than/ one thing at a time/ make map tonight," and "take my time to think." She instructs herself to make a list of tasks and work on exercises, which perhaps explains the cryptic writings on the second page that did not appear in Fragments, reading in full, "From Ridding partly/ T Nautiousness [sic]/ Place/ personalization (A)/ weariness/ (J)/ (Ar).""
LITERATURE Monroe, Marilyn, and Bernard Comment. Fragments: Poems, Intimate Notes, Letters. Pages 168-169. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2010. 1-237. Print.
8 1/2 by 11 inches
  Estimate: $3,000 - $5,000

 A single lined page torn from a Steno notebook with ragged spiral tab top edge. The note in pencil appears to be Monroe jotting down notes regarding the reasons Elia Kazan did not want to cast her In the title role of his 1956 film Baby Doll, written by Tennessee Williams. One of the notes reads "He said that I've become so deified as a sex symbol that public never except [sic] me as a virgin and as a nineteen/twenty year old."
LITERATURE Monroe, Marilyn, and Bernard Comment. Fragments: Poems, Intimate Notes, Letters. Pages 170-171. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2010. 1-237. Print.
8 3/4 by 6 inches
 Estimate: $3,000 - $5,000

 A single-page letter written in pencil outlining Monroe's thoughts regarding how the film should be shot to convey the presence of Clark Gable's character in the film The Misfits Gay Langland. The note reads in part, "I feel the camera has got/ to look through Gay's/ eyes whenever he is in a/ scene and even when he is/ not there still has to be a sense of/ him/ He is the center and the/ rest move around him."
LITERATURE Monroe, Marilyn, and Bernard Comment. Fragments: Poems, Intimate Notes, Letters. Pages 172-173. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2010. 1-237. Print.
8 by 5 inches
 Estimate: $4,000 - $6,000

 A single page of lined paper from a Steno notebook with doodles of faces in pencil below a quick note about punctuality references Monroe's role as the routinely tardy Miss Lois Laurel in her 1952 film Monkey Business. Below this note is a note in Lee Strasberg's hand reading "Don't be nervous Marilyn/ you are doing swell &/ you look wonderful."
LITERATURE Monroe, Marilyn, and Bernard Comment. Fragments: Poems, Intimate Notes, Letters. Pages 186-187. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2010. 1-237. Print.
8 3/4 by 6 inches
 Estimate: $4,000 - $6,000

 An undated handwritten note by Monroe to mentor Lee Strasberg, on a single sheet of lined notebook paper torn from a spiral-bound Steno book, reading “Dear Lee/ One of the most personally helpful things I’ve heard so far in my life was what you said in class Friday afternoon – it was helpful in that I feel as though I’m a little bit freer – also more – I can’t think of any I mean by that more relaxed 2 and 2 don’t necessarily make 4.
LITERATURE Monroe, Marilyn, and Bernard Comment. Fragments: Poems, Intimate Notes, Letters. Pages 188-189. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2010. 1-237. Print.
9 by 6 inches
 Estimate: $10,000 - $20,000

 A two-page typed letter, signed, to mentor Lee Strasberg, dated December 19, 1961, with original transmittal envelope addressed to Strasberg's Central Park West address, postmarked Beverly Hills Calif. December 21, 1961. The letter, addressed "Dear Lee," asks Strasberg’s wife Paula and children Susan and Johnny to consider relocating to California to be part of a new production company Monroe was developing in partnership with fellow Actors Studio alumnus Marlon Brando. The letter is signed in blue ink in Monroe's hand simply "Marilyn."
LITERATURE Monroe, Marilyn, and Bernard Comment. Fragments: Poems, Intimate Notes, Letters. Pages 196-197. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2010. 1-237. Print.
 Estimate: $7,000 - $9,000
245426_0  245427_0 

 A typed, signed letter from Darryl F. Zanuck dated December 10, 1953, addressed "Dear Bob:" for Robert Mitchum. The letter thanks Mitchum for his cooperation in connection with shooting retakes for the film River of No Return and in turn apologizes: "I am also very sorry about the delay with Marilyn. We could not possibly anticipate such action." Mitchum has written in quite large letters in blue ink "Dig!!!" above the note, and on verso he has written "Marilyn/ Your girl is my/ girl and my girl is/ you - Ever Bob." The note documents Mitchum's loyalty to Monroe, having first met her when she was married to Jim Dougherty, revealing Zanuck's speaking ill of her.
10 1/2 by 7 1/4 inches
 Estimate: $500 - $700
245438_0  245439_0 

 A typed letter signed by St . Petersburg Times photographer George Sweers dated March 23, 1961. The letter thanks Monroe for allowing him to ask a few questions and take a few pictures the previous day and goes on to reminisce about spending time with her when she entertained the troops in Korea. He writes, "This, as you probably remember, was the shot we had made on the Eastern Front after the last show." He included two copies of the photograph, requesting that Monroe sign one and send it back to him. Together with both copies of the photos that accompanied the letter.
8 1/2 by 11 inches
 Estimate: $400 - $600
245496_0  245497_0 

 A vintage Hallmark Christmas card, undated, wishing a "Merry Christmas To Someone Nice," signed in blue ink "Ella Fitzgerald." While it is often reported that Monroe helped to get Fitzgerald a booking at the Mocambo club in Hollywood, due in large part to Fitzgerald's own recollections, documentary evidence supports the fact that Monroe actually attended Fitzgerald's performances at The Tiffany Club in 1954.
7 by 6 inches
 Estimate: $500 - $700
245499_0  245500_0 

 A typed memo dated February 15, 1955, on the letterhead of business manager Inez Melson, titled "Memo of conversation with Jo Brooks." Brooks was the husband of Julies Fox, who handled publicity for Ella Fitzgerald, and the memo says that, "A few months back, Miss Monroe visited the Tiffany Club on West 8th Street where Ella Fitzgerald was playing. Miss Fitzgerald talked of a possible future date at the Mocambo and Miss Monroe said when this happened, she would like to give a party for Miss Fitzgerald./ Miss Fitzgerald will open at the Mocambo on March 15 and Miss Brooks wanted to know if Miss Monroe was serious about giving a party." This memo further explains the sequence of events and the fact that Monroe did not in fact play a part in getting Fitzgerald booked at the Mocambo as she stated to the press at one time.
6 1/4 by 7 1/4 inches
 Estimate: $100 - $150

 A small note in pencil in Monroe's hand on the back of a piece of paper taken from a visitor's log. The note appears to be a draft written to accompany a book Monroe was giving to Lee Strasberg as a gift, reading in part, "For Lee/ I wanted to give you something for your library - you are giving me a way in which to work and the hope to be human -/ Love Marilyn." Multiple additions and strikethroughs with changing of wording.
6 by 3 1/4 inches
 Estimate: $1,500 - $2,000

 A small piece of plain white paper folded into a card reading "Dear Paula,/ I'm glad you were born because you are needed./ Your warmth is both astonishing and welcomed./ Love & Happy Birthday/ Marilyn."
6 by 4 inches
 Estimate: $3,000 - $4,000
245503_0  245504_0 

 Two sheets of paper from a small spiral-bound planner dated April 3 and 4 as well as a sheet dated April 7 and 8. The pages contain notes in pencil in Monroe's hand reading, for April 3, "Remember - the actors concentration is the only thing between him and suiside [sic]/ try not to come to the scene too late - (exploration - sensory process Home work - after on stage - carry it on (on stage)"; April 4, "Everybody want to be happy (to be good actors) to make money (in my case) and look how miserable we make one another"; April 7, "Nothing can get through tension - what ever you might want to do/ the effort is the only thing the human being (the actor) has between himself and God knows what!"; and April 8, "Just do tecnical [sic] exercises as fully as I can."
3 1/2 by 2 1/2 inches
 Estimate: $4,000 - $6,000
245505_0  245506_0 

 A black board notebook with red spine containing lined notebook paper with notes in Monroe's hand. A very large letter "M" is drawn inside the front and back covers. There are multiple notes written in another hand on the first page of the book, but the next page contains notes in Monroe's hand in pencil with ideas for a "Street Car Scene" reading in part, "begin with ? (1st grade happening Mexican boy accuses me of hurting him - having to stay after school it was nite [sic] outside - have place - concern because of Stan K. accusations plus - getting dress for Mitch trying to look nice especially since what Stan K. has said." The note also suggests she hum "Whispering while you hover near me," which is a song standard found in her notebook of standards in the following lot, only the lyric is "Whispering while you cuddle near me." The front and back of the last page of the book contain notes from acting class, including "during exercise - lee said let the body hang"; "2 exercises at one time/ cold & Touch/ one might not be enough for what's needed"; and "sense of oneself/ first thing a child (human being) is aware of (making a circle) touching ones foot knowing himself is separate from the rest of the world," among others.
8 by 6 1/4 inches
 Estimate: $4,000 - $6,000
245507_0 245508_0 
245509_0 245510_0 245511_0 
245512_0 245513_0

 A three-ring binder, in black laminated board, both front and back covers detached but present. The binder contains more than 369 indexed pages of song standards with front table of contents page dividing them into broad categories: "Standard Foxtrots and Show Tunes," "Latin American Tunes" and "Foreign Songs." One page has a pencil notation beneath the song "You Do Something To Me" by Cole Porter; the writing is quite small and difficult to identify the hand. It is from this book that certain three-digit numbers mentioned in some of Monroe's notebooks were thought to have originated, like the numbers 262 and 263 in Lot 192.
11 1/4 by 10 inches
 Estimate: $400 - $600
245514_0 245515_0 
245516_0  245517_0 
245518_0  245519_0 

 A single-page typed, signed letter dated November 7, 1955, on Edward R. Murrow's personal stationery addressed to Marilyn Monroe in care of Mr. Green in Weston, Connecticut. The letter was sent in advance of Monroe receiving a complimentary copy of Columbia Records album compilation excerpts from some of Sir Winston Churchill's speeches. The letter is signed "As ever yours, Ed/ Hope you like it!" Together with original transmittal envelope with CBS Radio stamp, postmarked November 7, 1955.
10 1/2 by 7 1/4 inches
 Estimate: $300 - $500

 Two lined notebook pages with block letter “MMM” printed to left margin. The pages contain most of the dialogue from Act I, Scene 4, delivered by the character Lorna in Clifford Odets’ 1937 play Golden Boy. The second page contains the same lines written out twice and traced over multiple times, likely part of Monroe’s process of trying to memorize the lines for a scene performed in one of her Actors Studio classes.
12 3/8 by 8 inches
 Estimate: $2,000 - $3,000


 A group of 16 pages containing some of Monroe's lines from the film Bus Stop. Five of these pages have the lead in to Monroe's lines added in red ink in another hand, likely Paula Strasberg. Together with a single half page entirely filled with notes in Monroe's hand in pencil and red ink. The notes read in part, "Waking up - scene/ Headache/ tiredness - headache / go to sleep/ I don't want to be here" and "first scene with Vera/ I tell it as a/ told as a fairy tale/ Once upon a time."
5 1/2 by 8 1/2 inches
Estimate: $10,000 - $20,000
245530_0  245531_0   

 A small bound group of 31 mimeographed half pages containing Monroe's dialogue for the film Bus Stop. Ten of the pages contain notes in Monroe's hand in pencil. Additional notes in the hand of Paula Strasberg and an administrative hand. A note in Monroe's hand on the first page next to lines about her character Cherie wanting to be respected and tired of being "pawed at and pinched at" reads "Fight with manager/ A.M. H. Cohn middle of dinner party" clearly references incidents Monroe wished to draw upon from her life in the scene. Another note in Monroe's hand written beneath the line "Oh - it's you!" reads "(Good God it's you)."
5 1/2 by 9 1/2 inches
 Estimate: $10,000 - $20,000
245532_0 245533_0 245534_0   

 A group of seven half sheets of paper, held together with a straight pin, containing some of Monroe's lines from the film Bus Stop. Six of the seven pages contain notes in Monroe's hand. This is the first film Monroe made after beginning to study at the Actors Studio in New York City with Lee Strasberg, and the notations in these script sides demonstrate her method. Some of the notes are sense memories, like the following notation written after the line "I can't look": "Effective memory (use Lester - hurt on lawn)," most likely referencing Monroe's childhood playmate Lester Bolender, who was in the same foster home with Monroe. Another note adds "(almost to myself)" before a line to inform her delivery or "Scarfe [sic] around my arms) Embarrassed."
5 1/2 by 8 1/2 inches
 Estimate: $10,000 - $20,000
245535_0 245536_0 245537_0 

 A single piece of hotel stationery paper from The Towers of the Waldorf Astoria in New York City containing a list of directors' names titled "OK List" in another hand with pencil notations in Monroe's hand throughout. Monroe's comments are simple, in some cases listing other works by the director, like "(Bus Stop)" next to Josh Logan's name and "(Musical)" next to "Vincent Minnelli." Jean Renoir is crossed out with a bubble reading "subject to material." A note at the bottom of the page reads "submit other names/ open for suggestions other than these."
10 1/2 by 7 1/4 inches
 Estimate: $3,000 - $5,000

 A Screen Actors Guild membership card for the period beginning May 1, 1959, and ending November 1, 1959. "Marilyn Monroe" is typed onto front of card as well as her membership number. Together with Monroe's carbon copy receipt for payment of $80 on May 11, 1959, listing her home address as 444 East 57th Street, New York City.
Card, 2 1/2 by 3 1/2 inches
 Estimate: $3,000 - $5,000

 An American Federation of Television and Radio Artists membership card for the period ending November 1, 1958, with typed "Marilyn Monroe" on front, unsigned on back. Together with the receipt dated May 23, 1958, for payment of the dues for period ending November 1, 1958, in the amount of $38, which included overdue payment and penalty. Monroe's address is listed as 444 East 57th St. New York on the receipt for payment.
Card, 2 1/2 by 3 1/2 inches
 Estimate: $2,500 - $3,500

 A single sheet of lined yellow paper with notes in blue ink, in Monroe's hand, reading in part, "keeping all of the changes of pantomime & grimaces etc inside, then it forces the eyes - it all comes through the eyes" and "Constantly practicing that letting go/ in which you don't do in life which isn't necessary or something/ feeling how it feels and practicing that/ your spirit speaks."
12 1/2 by 8 inches
Estimate: $3,000 - $5,000

 A series of letters, the first on Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences (AMPAS) letterhead signed by then president George Stevens, dated October 28, 1958, inviting Monroe to become a member of the Academy. The second letter is an unsigned file copy of Monroe's response dated January 12, 1959, reading in part, "I have been indisposed and away and did not see your letter until now." She asks for further details regarding the by-laws. The next letter on AMPAS letterhead is signed by then executive director Margaret Herrick, dated January 19, 1959, accompanied a copy of the Academy by-laws. The last letter, on AMPAS letterhead, signed by Stevens, dated March 5, 1959, welcomes Monroe to the Academy and is accompanied by Monroe's Academy membership card for the year 1959 on the original card, still in the holder in which it was sent.
Largest, 8 1/2 by 11 inches
 Estimate: $8,000 - $12,000

245628_0  245629_0  

 A seven-page autograph letter on four leaves of paper in the hand of Sir Laurence Olivier on blue stationery with Olivier's Lowndes Cottage address and original envelope addressed "For Miss Marilyn Monroe from L.O." in Olivier's hand. There are numbered notations throughout the letter in red wax pencil, underlining words that were difficult to make out. The letter is together with a three-page typed transcription of the letter with corresponding numbered blanks for each of the difficult words, which have been filled in by hand. The letter is dated simply June 9, and it accompanied the latest version of the script for The Prince and the Showgirl. Olivier discusses Monroe's dialogue and that he has "written some extra dialogue and a direction or two." He reports on where they are in the script writing process and that they have cut the script down from "well over 3 hours" to 2 1/2, to 2 hours 10 minutes. He continues about the scenes that were and were not cut, including "The Duke of Strelitz is, I think essential, as otherwise they will be saying 'what's the matter with them - why the heck can't they get married' particularly in view of Grace Kelly and all that, and our only answer to that question must be 'Yes but Look at the poor Windsors' do you see?"
On an amusing note, Olivier mentions, "By the way Lady Maidenhead has degenerated to Lady Swingdale because I am assured the Hayes Office will not believe there is also a place in England of that name." He closes "I just called up Vivien at the theatre ... and she said to be sure to give you her love. So here it is and mine too. Longing to welcome you here. Ever, Larry."
Largest, 8 1/2 by 11 inches
 Estimate: $1,800 - $2,200
245702_0 245703_0 
245704_0 245705_0 245706_0 

 A single piece of lined yellow paper, torn in half, with an autograph letter in Miller's hand addressed "Dear Poke." The letter outlines Miller's thoughts about the script for The Prince and the Showgirl as well as his feelings about Monroe taking on the project, reading in part, "Some of your dialogue is stiff. Also some expressions are too British. If you want me to, I can go through the script and make the changes - - in New York./ I think the part - on one reading, is really the Best one ... especially with you playing it. You are the one who makes everything change, you are the driving force ... The basic problem is to define for yourself the degree of the girl's naivete. (It could become too cute, or simply too designing.) It seems to me, at least, that they have not balanced things in Olivier's favor. ... It ought to be fun to do after Bus Stop. From your - (and my) - viewpoint, it will help in a small but important way to establish your ability to play characters of intelligence and cultivation. ... Your loving Papa - (who has to rush now to make the plane - see you soon! - free!) - Art." The back of the page has the name Sydney Guilaroff, famed MGM hairdresser, and his phone number written large in red wax pencil.
8 1/2 by 11 inches
 Estimate: $2,000 - $3,000
245707_0  245708_0 

 A single-page autograph letter on personal stationery, undated, from Laurence Olivier to Monroe reading in part, "Dear Marilyn/ It was so sweet of you to send the enchanting wires. … I am extremely excited at our prospects - You were so angelic in New York. Thank you for all your sweetness/ I think with great joy of our future meeting./ Ever, Larry."
6 7/8 by 5 1/8 inches
 Estimate: $800 - $1,200
245709_0 245710_0 

 A simple plain white card with autograph message to Monroe in the hand of Sir Laurence Olivier reading "Marilyn, It has been so lovely meeting you, knowing you and now knowing that such exciting things and such fun are ahead. Love and Thank You, Larry."
2 1/4 by 3 1/4 inches
 Estimate: $300 - $500 
245711_0  245712_0 

 A group of documents regarding Monroe's attendance to the Royal Film Performance at the Empire Theatre held October 29, 1956. This is where Monroe was formally presented to Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II. The first document, two pages, is dated October 2, 1956, and contains general information about the proceedings and rehearsals for the evening with time schedules. The second document is addressed to Monroe at Parkside House in Surrey, England, and advises Monroe that she is to be included in the presentation to Her Majesty, The Queen. This single-page letter has a small slip of paper stapled to the upper left reading "Dress/ Full Evening Dress/ No decorations/ No gloves for Gentlemen/ White gloves for Ladies." Together with Monroe's presentation card.
Largest, 8 1/2 by 11 inches
 Estimate: $400 - $600

245722_0 245723_0 245724_0 

 Two small unlined pages from a six-ring binder, with typed notes from a meeting held April 3, 1958, at 2:30 pm at Monroe's 444 East 57th Street apartment. The notes list attendees as Lew Wasserman, Mort Viner, Marilyn Monroe and Arthur Miller. Among the topics discussed were how to handle Monroe's stalling of Billy Wilder regarding accepting the assignment for Some Like It Hot, one note reading "MCA on the Coast has told Wilder that there are 'legal technicalities holding up her decision' so as not to offend Wilder. Actually, she is waiting for Sinatra to enter the picture. She still doesn't like Curtis but Wasserman doesn't know anybody else."
6 by 3 1/2 inches
 Estimate: $300 - $500

 Two half sheets of paper with green and black typed text containing some of Monroe's lines from the film with notations in Monroe's hand. One notation above the line mentioning the most wonderful dream reads "100 Cary Grants." Above the line of dialogue reading "He was the first nice guy I ever met in my life and the only one who ever gave me anything," Monroe has written simply "Jake."
5 1/2 by 8 1/2 inches
 Estimate: $3,500 - $4,500

 A red paperbound folio containing seven typed pages for Monroe's scene with Tony Curtis in Some Like It Hot on the yacht. The pages are clean with the exception of two pencil lines drawn next to two of Monroe's lines.
9 by 11 1/2 inches
 Estimate: $2,000 - $3,000
245765_0 245766_0  

 A group of production documents including a call sheet for the film Some like It Hot dated November 7, 1958, with additional "Last Day" written in red pencil indicating that it was the last day of shooting. Together with a two-page yellow staff sheet for the film and a three-page cast sheet listing contact information for the entire cast, including Marilyn Monroe's secretary May Reis.
8 1/2 by 11 inches
 Estimate: $400 - $600
245767_0  245768_0  

 A large group of 32 meal receipts from the MGM Studios cafe dated between September 5 November 10, 1958, with itemized listings of the food and beverages Monroe ordered while filming Some Like It Hot at the studio. Some receipts have delivery notations "to Stage 3" and "to dressing room." On one receipt dated September 25, 1958, the order includes two hamburger steaks, "1 well done/ 1 rare/ 2 cottage and fruit salads/ 1 ice coffee/ 1 milk/ well done lunch send on stage 3/ rare lunch send to dressing room." Some of the receipts indicate that meals were for others, including "Lunch for Miss Reis - Lunch for Maid." All but one receipt is dated, and frequently ordered items include ice cream, double sirloin, ham and cheese, pot of coffee, lox and cream cheese, donuts, pie a la mode, meatloaf, pastrami, Danish, and many other items.
Largest, 7 3/4 by 4 1/4 inches
 Estimate: $500 - $700
245770_0 245771_0 245772_0 

 A group of three press releases, five pages total, from United Artists Corp. dated March 24, April 6, and June 16, 1959, announcing record box office numbers as well as an extended run in theaters. Together with a five-page cast list and synopsis with cover page sent out for press purposes.
8 1/2 by 11 inches
 Estimate: $200 - $300

 A small piece of paper with note in pencil in Monroe's hand reading "There is only one way he could comment on my sexuality, and I'm afraid he has never had the opportunity!" This comment has been reported to be in response to the now famous glib remark made by Tony Curtis in a screening room during production of Some Like It Hot , where he famously said that kissing Monroe was "like kissing Hitler." Curtis said this in a private setting to crew and other people present during production, including Paula Strasberg. Despite the fact that he denied the comment when it got back to Monroe, later in his life he did reportedly admit to saying it.
5 by 8 inches
 Estimate: $2,000 - $3,000

 Two pages torn from the March 9, 1960, issues of The Hollywood Reporter and Variety featuring an appreciative "Love and Kisses/ Marilyn Monroe" message from Monroe in appreciation of winning the Best Actress in a Comedy or Musical Golden Globe award.
12 1/4 by 9 1/4 inches
 Estimate: $200 - $300

 An American Federation of Television and Radio Artists membership card for the period ending November 1, 1959, still attached to the larger receipt for payment card. The card is unsigned, and Monroe's address is listed as 444 East 57th St. New York. The receipt portion of the card is for a payment in the amount of $23 dated June 15, 1959. Together with a receipt dated December 1, 1958, for payment of dues in the amount of $16.
Largest, 4 by 9 inches
 Estimate: $3,000 - $5,000
245799_0  245800_0

 A shop receipt from Peter A. July & Son photographers of fine arts in New York City in the amount of $165.44. The receipt is dated January 19, 1960, and is written in the name of Mrs. Marilyn Monroe of The Beverly Hills Hotel for 24 matte copies of "Beaton Photos" plus United Parcel Air Service delivery. It has been widely reported that Cecil Beaton's portrait of Monroe was her favorite portrait of herself and that she kept copies on hand to sign for people.
8 1/2 by 5 3/4 inches
 Estimate: $200 - $300

 A "Copy Invoice" in the amount of 37.16 British pounds dated August 2, 1957, on a single sheet of Cecil Beaton's stationery. The receipt is written in the name of Marilyn Monroe Productions Inc. and is billing work that occurred in November 1956 listed as, "Photographs supplied for Miss Marilyn Monroe:- 12 prints No. 109 8" X 10" mounted." It has been widely reported that Beaton's portrait of Monroe was her favorite portrait of herself and that she kept copies on hand to give to people.
8 by 6 inches
 Estimate: $300 - $500

 Two letters and two telegrams from photographers with whom Monroe had famous collaborations: a single-page autograph letter on personalized stationery dated October 28, 1959, from Philippe Halsman commenting on the famous LIFE magazine cover, saying "It could have been printed better, you could have been better centered - but nevertheless it is the most charming and unusual cover LIFE has had in years. Everybody loves it."; a two-page typed, signed letter from Cecil Beaton dated May 9, 1956 regarding a shoot and other catching up; a telegram from Richard Avedon dated July 9, 1958, regarding the photos from one of their recent shoots needing to be re-shot; and a telegram from Avedon dated simply July 10 regarding working on a television show.
Largest, 10 by 8 inches
 Estimate: $400 - $600

 Two typed and signed letters from artist Jon Whitcomb to Monroe regarding his original painting of Monroe used for the March of 1959, cover of Cosmopolitan magazine, the first dated June 22, 1959, reading in part, " Cosmopolitan has returned the painting of your cover which was on the March issue. I haven't forgotten that I promised it to you; so if you still want it, how do I make delivery?" The second dated October 6, 1959, proposes a plan to drop off the painting at Monroe's building. Together with a typed, unsigned file copy of a response from Monroe dated September 24, 1959, reading in part, "Please forgive the long delay in answering, but I have been up to my derriere in preparations for two movies for the near future; public-relations, home-relations -- please understand./ I would love to have the picture from you and I repeat 'at last to be a Whitcomb girl!"
8 1/2 by 11 inches
 Estimate: $300 - $500

 A single sheet of lined yellow paper with dialogue written out in pencil in Monroe's hand: "Where did he go? He told you I know he did/ If you'd only have given me a little longer - He was in love with me - we'd have been married you didn't want me to have him from the beginning/ you wouldn't let me wear those pretty things/ Even when I told you about the doll - you/ sent those people around/ He died! But he said/ he came back - Tell/ Me - tell me -." The front and back of the page is then covered with small performance notes, including "The thought focus on partner not on word then let go of word"; "don't do with words & voice"; "Let go everything elastic keep the pick up lay on the horse"; and "to be as relaxed let go of mouth speech thought," among many others.
12 1/2 by 8 inches
 Estimate: $6,000 - $8,000
245813_0 245814_0   

 A clean copy of the screenplay for Breakfast at Tiffany's written by George Axelrod and dated July 9, 1959. Monroe was considering the part, and she sought the opinions of her professional team including the Strasbergs, her husband, and management team. The script is accompanied by a single-page, typed "report" dated September 23, 1959, which also has the name "Parone" typed to the left of the date. Literary luminary Edward Parone was at the time running Monroe's production company and most likely is the one who wrote this single-page, scathing review of the script, leading with the simple sentence, "I think not." It goes on to criticize the screenplay, determining, "I can see Marilyn playing a part like Holly and even giving this present one all the elan it badly needs, but I don't feel she should play it: it lacks insight and warmth and reality and importance." It has been long reported that Monroe declined the part upon the advice of Lee Strasberg, but this document provides further evidence that other people in her inner circle advised her not to take the role. Together with a four-page shooting schedule for November 4, 1960, for the film.
Largest, 14 by 8 1/2 inches
 Estimate: $1,500 - $2,500
245815_0 245816_0   

 A small six-ring binder containing lined notebook pages in a black and red vinyl case by National. The small notebook contains 10 pages of notes in Monroe's hand, in pencil, on eight leaves of paper. The notes were taken during a class with Lee Strasberg and record bits and pieces of things that "Lee said," as is repeated on many pages, which include "For yourself not for us - or one doesn't use own sensitivity/ girl crying continuously Lee said - There should be a certain pleasure in This, in acting - we don't stop these things - she stoped [sic] crying only at those times"; "problems-all the more to be solved got to keep swimming/ criticism can be taken - to incite the will not self criticism"; "the actor has to do what the character has to do - let the author worry about his words"; "Life of - reality of champagne (you don't open every bottle the same) actor in scene took for granted (girl is going to be good (New). Boy - said lines no effort - like crossing street - Lee said he wants - Behavior - When someone is trying to make someone (love etc.) how does one go about it/ Lee said - girl simplicity good honesty, to begin (New) with - but..." The last notes are taken on two sides of one leaf of paper and read "My heart Belongs To Daddy Number/ Remember always left -" and "While tearing off/ caddy-move head a little/ Daddy R. shoulder up/ call dog in closer"; clearly, these notes are for Monroe's musical number in Let's Make Love (20th Century Fox, 1960). The notes correlate with the lyrics of the song, and indeed Monroe does move her head a little during the first verse that mentions the caddy, and she does raise her right shoulder up the first time she says "Daddy" in the chorus.
5 1/4 by 4 inches
 Estimate: $20,000 - $30,000

245818_0 245819_0 245820_0  

A receipt from Gill’s Old Fashioned Ice Cream, dated June 1, 1960, for 100 ice cream treats, together with a receipt from Paper Unlimited, Inc. for forks, spoons, napkins, plates and a tablecloth, dated May 24, 1960. Both receipts are addressed to Hazel Washington, Monroe’s studio maid at Twentieth Century Fox. Monroe celebrated her 34th birthday on the set during filming of Let’s Make Love .
 Estimate: $400 - $600

A receipt from the Yellow Cab Company dated February 4, 1960, in the amount of $1.50. The cab lists a trip from simply “904” to “20th Century,” presumably 20th Century Fox, where Monroe had already begun filming the 1960 release Let’s Make Love .
 Estimate: $150 - $250

 A group of five pages of documents concerning the deduction of money from one of Monroe's payments from Fox Studios for her work on Let's Make Love . The first letter, dated February 16, 1960, from Mort Viner at MCA is addressed to Monroe's secretary, May Reis, explaining that Sydney Guilaroff wanted more money than Fox was willing to pay him for his services in styling Monroe's hair in Let's Make Love and that "Marilyn had asked me to have Fox pay it by deducting it from her checks as she didn't want Sidney [sic] to know. " Accompanied by a two-page letter from Monroe's law firm concerning the deduction, a check stub, and an invoice explaining the payment and deductions.
Largest, 8 1/2 by 11 inches
 Estimate: $200 - $300

 An unpostmarked envelope addressed to Monroe at 2 Sutton Place South in New York City from the Radio and Television Executives Society Inc. The back of the envelope has a linear thought written in Monroe's hand in pencil reading "I somehow am seeing with my body also and when I am truly listening/ What is the matter with my voice - Maybe just let the voice come out of my body however it does under certain circumstances." The thought continues on the front of the envelope "… and in - what ever the given situation." The remainder of the notes are more frenetic, reading in part, "Strassberg [sic] says we remember with our senses - Not brain or mind (remember with Body" and "Tell Hohenberg about the period during when I stopped secreatly [sic] play acting so fully/ it was the time I got my first job acting at 20." The notes covering the envelope, overlapping and intertwining, were likely taken during an acting class and demonstrate the unbridled energy Monroe felt toward her study of acting.
4 by 9 1/2 inches
 Estimate: $4,000 - $6,000
245838_0  245839_0   

Two unsolicited letters from designers who wished to work with Monroe. The first, dated February 26, 1958, from Tony Savini, gives his background and qualifications and explains that he has completed a number of original gowns and dresses expressly for Monroe and would like to offer them to her free of charge. The letter is accompanied by an original watercolor and ink on paper design sketch. Together with a letter dated February 4, 1962, from Paul Zastupnevich, a designer who had credits to his name with Fox Studios. He expresses his interest in designing for Monroe and includes a clipping of Rhonda Fleming wearing one of his gowns.
Largest, 8 1/2 by 11 inches
 Estimate: $100 - $150

 Two half sheets of paper containing some of Monroe's lines from the film The Misfits with notations in pencil, in Monroe's hand. One of the half pages is dated October 6, 1960, and it has lines from the climax of the film when Rosalyn, played by Monroe, pleads with Gay, played by Clark Gable, not to kill the horses. The notes include "almost in wonder to myself/ you liar all of you liars/ to perce/ Christ/ whisper" in reference to parts of her line reading "You're only living when you can watch something die Kill everything that's all you want why don't you just kill yourselves and be happy (to Gay) you with your God's country freedom." Another notation has the word "shiver" inserted before the line "I pity you all." Another emotional line written in the script as "How much do you want for them I'll pay you I'll give you two hundred dollars Is that enough" has a number of alternatives written in Monroe's hand, including "I'll give you money" or I'll give "you anything anything" or "you want my blood I don't need it anymore take my blood." The pages are accompanied by eight additional full script pages featuring the dialogue that leads up to Rosalyn's pleading with Gay not to kill the horses, beginning with the close shot of the mare stepping into the noose with her forefeet. These notes are a window into Monroe's process in creating one of the most emotionally painful and poignant scenes of her career.
Half sheets, 5 1/2 by 8 1/2 inches
 Estimate: $6,000 - $8,000
245928_0 245929_0 245930_0   

 A piece of plain paper with holes punched along left edge with notes in red ink in Paula Strasberg's hand reading "searching and yearning/ standing alone/ mood - I'm free - but freedom leaves emptiness./ Rosylin [sic] - flower opens bees buzz around/ R is quiet - the others buzz around." This provides an insightful look at how Strasberg helped Monroe to build her character in The Misfits.
9 1/2 by 6 inches
 Estimate: $200 - $300

 A typed letter signed by costume designer Dorothy Jeakins dated May 3, 1960, and addressed, "Dear Marilyn," and reading in part, "Although I really feel I should be replaced--I will continue with your clothes for "The Misfits" because they are under way and nearly ready to fit./ If you like them, I will see them through to completion. If you are disappointed, someone else can then take over./ I am sorry I have displeased you. I feel quite defeated--like a misfit, in fact. But I must, above everything, continue to work (and live) in terms of my own honesty, pride and good taste." The letter is accompanied by an unsigned file copy of a letter from Jeakins to Mr. C.O. Erickson stating, " ... [C]ircumstances make it clear to me that I am unsuitable for this assignment and perhaps should be replaced. ... [U]nder these circumstances, I intend to accept no remuneration for my work and prefer to be omitted from the credits also. ... "
8 1/2 by 11 inches
 Estimate: $500 - $700

 A group of documents regarding Monroe's enrollment in the Famous Artists School of Westport, Connecticut, a distance learning program designed to further students’ fine art skills. The first letter, dated October 24, 1958, from the school's director, acknowledges Monroe's communication with "Jon Whitcomb who tells me you are quite interested in painting. He also tells me that you would like too [sic] take the Famous Artists Painting Course. At Jon's request we are making you a scholarship student but I am at a loss as to where to forward the textbooks since, as I understand it, you will be in Hollywood for sometime before returning to New York City." The next letter is an unsigned file copy of Monroe's response requesting the books be sent to 444 East 57th Street. Also included are a series of follow-up letters, six pages total, welcoming Monroe to the program, explaining the logistics of how the program works with critiques conducted via mail, and a full list of instructors. Also included are a blank Student Information Record and "Rate Yourself Progress Chart" forms with accompanying letters and a postage-paid envelope. The documents clearly demonstrate Monroe's interest in painting and the fact that she sought formal instruction.
Largest, 8 1/2 by 11 inches
 Estimate: $600 - $800
245946_0  245947_0 
245948_0 245949_0 245950_0 

 An American Federation of Television and Radio Artists membership card for the period ending November 1, 1962, with handwritten "Marilyn Monroe" on front, unsigned on back. Because the membership to AFTRA was renewed bi-annually this is Monroe's last membership card for the organization.
2 1/2 by 3 1/2 inches
 Estimate: $4,000 - $6,000

 A Screen Actors Guild membership card for the period beginning May 1, 1962, and ending November 1, 1962. “Marilyn Monroe” is typed onto front of card as well as her membership number. Together with Monroe’s carbon copy receipt for payment of $125 on May 22, 1962, listing her address as "P.O. Box 64721, Los Angeles 64, Calif."
Card, 2 1/2 by 3 1/2 inches
 Estimate: $4,000 - $6,000

 A Western Union telegram from Nunnally Johnson dated April 16, 1962, a week before production was to begin on Something’s Got To Give. Johnson was one of the screenwriters on that film and sent the telegram care of producer Henry Weinstein, misspelled "Wernstein." The telegram from Johnson reads "In Revised script you are child of nature so you can misbehave as much as you please love - Nunnally." Monroe has quickly written a note in pencil for reply reading "Where is that script - is the child of nature due on the set - Hurry Love & Kisses M.M." "Love and Kisses" is repeated, and additional illegible notations have been crossed out. The lighthearted response foreshadowed what was to come with Monroe frequently not reporting to the set as she was scheduled to appear, leading Fox Studios to fire her from the production.
5 1/2 by 8 inches
 Estimate: $1,500 - $2,500

 20th Century Fox, 1962, mimeographed screenplay by Nunnally Johnson, 149 pages, blue cover dated March 29, 1962 reading "Final Confidential For Planning Purposes Only." The script contains two paper-clipped inserts, memos from the production addressed "To All Secretaries," the first dated April 23 and the second dated April 27, 1962, each accompanying blue revised pages 91 and 92 for the script. The script, marked final, also dated March 29, 1962, contains notations in Monroe's hand throughout in pencil and green ink on 18 pages. Some of the notations are from Monroe's work with a Swedish dialect coach.
In addition to these notations, two typed pages of Monroe's dialogue are bound between pages 107 and 108 of the mimeographed script. These two pages contain Monroe's dialogue from one of the few scenes captured on film, with her extensive pencil notations. Raw footage of Monroe performing with Tippy the cocker spaniel and the children in this scene exists, and Monroe's notations are evident in the footage. The top of the page reads "Real Thought/ Mental Relaxation/ substitute children - B & J if necessary/ feeling - place the pain where it is not in the brow." B & J likely refers to Arthur Miller's children Bobby and Jane. Another notation next to one of Monroe's lines of dialogue reads simply "Mona Lisa," which does in fact mirror the expression she uses when delivering this line. Even the exaggerated "Ahhhhh---" that Monroe does at the beginning of each take in the raw footage is written on the page in her hand, reading in full, "Ahhh--Look for the light.”
The notations throughout the script also include notes in an unidentified hand criticizing certain points of the story, including "Too Harsh," "Naggy," "Dull" and many other comments. Overall, the notations in both the script and on the dialogue pages used by Monroe to film the scene with the children and Tippy the dog tell the story of a tedious script writing and editing process. Her dialogue notations are a revealing window into her process in performing some of the last scenes she ever recorded on film.
 Estimate: $15,000 - $20,000
246024_0 246025_0 
246027_0  246029_0 
246026_0 246028_0 
246030_0  246031_0 

 A Millers Falls EZERASE pad of typewriter paper with prepunched three-ring binder holes. The cover is detached but present, and the pad contains four pages of notes, two now detached, in Monroe's hand in pencil outlining her issues with the script for the film. The notes and criticisms include "logical drama but doesn't move on the screen/ leads him on than [sic] said not until"; "instead using the talents/ he's stuck/ imagine being married to MM and she comes back and he is stuck/ he'd dying to go Bed with her but can't because"; "more entertaining/ keep it on an edge/ if it isn't that kind of picture it won't go -/ only if script is acceptable." Then come Monroe's suggestions for a scene with check marks next to the ideas: "When Dean first see's Ellen -me- in nurses uniform - (as nurse) he could say - upon arrival - slouching ‘I don't feel so good nurse (weakening in the knees how could she do this to me/ I am telling her/ Beanka kind of stiffening up to hold him & the situation (the nite [sic] before) together he then pulls up but Dean will do this superbly/ He sings little song when drunk & frustrated." She also lists specific passages: "Page 73 (yes? - No? you understand Dean!)/ Page 76 children scene (in comparison to rewrite)." A small note on the last page of notes reads "Funny line writers Herb Gardner / Mel Brook [sic]."
These notes present a very astute Monroe who clearly had serious concerns with the quality of the script, demonstrating that her refusal to appear on set was grounded in these concerns and not simply the actions of a petulant star.
8 1/2 by 11 inches
 Estimate: $5,000 - $7,000 
246034_0 246035_0 
246036_0 246037_0 

 A 149-page screenplay for Something's Got To Give by Nunnally Johnson dated March 29, 1962, in blue paper wrappers, marked final. There are notations in Monroe's hand in pencil on approximately 42 pages in the script, some simple dialogue corrections and other more in-depth sense memory notes for her to remember when doing the scene to evoke the right emotional frame of mind. A simple note on the back of the last page of the script reads "Joke writers/ Mel Brooks/ Herb Gardner/ Need spice/ raisins/ Need some funny lines." In a notation next to the stage direction for her character's anticipation and excitement about calling home after she has been rescued, she writes of Arthur Miller's children, "Bobby M./ and early Janie/ except their [sic] mine." In the scene where she is kissing her husband again and excuses herself to "get fixed up a little," she writes, "[L]et me get into something more comfortable/ leading him on -" and "[I]n other room throwing out piece of clothing" and below she writes "[L]ike F.S. when ingaged [sic]." Over an entire passage of dialogue she makes a stage direction note to herself that reads "Ellen looking speculative champain [sic] glass/ finger going around rim." In another scene she writes, "Have the Mask - face relaxed" and "shaking head when he leaves room sly smile/ fat on the fire/ he's on the grittle [sic]." She continues with the fat sizzling on the griddle metaphor, later writing next to a line that jabs at Nick, "Nicely/ He frys on grittle [sic]/ butter melting/ then it sputter/ him."
Notes on the last page of the screenplay read "Act only in beginning/ Then tempting him/ then act when nurse/ on balcony at hotel/ speculative looks/ always tempting him/ always saying yes/ but N/ I've only been away 5 min./ her point of view." Together with a small card with call times and scenes to be shot and a small scrap of paper with quickly written note in Monroe's hand wondering why they are jumping to shoot indoors when they could shoot in sequence as well as notes about using Miss vs. Mrs.
11 1/2 by 9 1/2 inches
 Estimate: $15,000 - $20,000

246038_0 246039_0 246040_0 
246041_0  246042_0 

 A Marilyn Monroe Twentieth Century Fox Employee starting card dated May 11, 1950. The card rate line lists Monroe's weekly salary as $500 a week but notes that she was laid off after working 40 out of 52 weeks. This marked the end of Monroe's work on the film All About Eve (20th Century, 1950) and her return to stock pool for the studio.
4 by 6 inches
 Estimate: $600 - $800

 A Marilyn Monroe signed advertising release with Twentieth Century Fox and The House of Westmore for cosmetic advertising. The contract is dated July 3, 1952. Monroe was featured in a number of Westmore ads in the mid-1950s that also advertised her Twentieth Century Fox films.
13 1/2 by 8 1/2 inches
 Estimate: $4,000 - $6,000
246390_0 246391_0 

 A collection of Marilyn Monroe envelopes, messages and notes, including a florist's enclosure card with envelope addressed to Monroe and a message that reads "To make up for the ones you didn't recall receiving at the hospital. Please stay well so we won't go through this again" and signed by Arthur O'Connell - Virgil Blessing." Virgil Blessing is the name of O'Connell's character in the film Bus Stop (20th Century, 1956). Also included are five handwritten notes in an unknown hand that reference Clifton Webb, Lew Wasserman and "Paula"; two hotel phone messages for "Monroe"; four envelopes, two addressed to Monroe; and one blank Colonial Trust Company check.
Sizes vary
PROVENANCE Partial Lots 748, 794 and 968, "Icons & Idols: Hollywood," Julien's, Beverly Hills, December 6, 2014
From the lost archive of Marilyn Monroe
 Estimate: $400 - $600

 A script for Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (20th Century, 1953) used and annotated by Marilyn Monroe. The incomplete script totals 68 pages and has notations from Monroe on approximately 22 pages. The first page, dated November 26, 1952, reads “Gentlemen Prefer Blondes”/ (Revised Final Script……13 Nov. 1952)/ To all Secretaries:/ Please place these/ Additional Pages at the back of your script of the above date./ This Is Important!” Film production began on November 17, 1952. Monroe’s notations include revisions to the text, in pencil, "Oh he wasn't barking that was Swahili," and direction, in blue ink, "sense the feeling with the body." The name of Monroe's character, Lorelei, has been circled in pencil on a number of the pages. The script is contained in a black plastic folder.
9 1/2 by 11 1/2 inches
PROVENANCE Lot 160, "Film and Entertainment," Christie's New York, Sale number 1681, June 22, 2006
 Estimate: $50,000 - $60,000

246405_0 246406_0 246407_0 

 A typed, signed letter written to Marilyn Monroe by Jesse Zousmer of the television program Person to Person (CBS, 1953-1961). The letter, dated June 25, 1959, is written on Person to Person stationery. In the letter, Zousmer thanks Monroe for her appearance on the television program and announces his departure from the show. A check mark has been written across the letter in an unknown hand. The letter is accompanied by a page from Variety. The headline of the page reads “Thank You from ‘Person to Person’ ” with a list of the program’s guests from 1953 to 1959.
10 1/2 by 7 1/2 inches
 Estimate: $300 - $500
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 A 32-page transcript of an interview with Marilyn Monroe by Georges Belmont. Accompanied by nine pages of thoughts about Marilyn Monroe written by Arthur Miller. The information was sent to Jack Hamilton at LOOK magazine by Lois Weber, with cover letter from Weber and an undated memo response from Hamilton returning the information to Weber. Accompanied by two newspaper clippings, one from 1956 and one from after Monroe's death in 1962.
11 by 8 1/2 inches
PROVENANCE From the Estate of Lois Weber
 Estimate: $800 - $1,200

 A prop program from There’s No Business Like Show Business (20th Century, 1954). The front of the blue, white and red program reads “Actors Benefit Fund/ Greatest Stars of Stage & Screen/ Hippodrome/ Sixth Avenue 43rd – 44th” in gold metallic ink. An extra holds the program in a scene backstage just before Ethel Merman and Marilyn Monroe have a heart to heart in their dressing room. The program contains repeating nonsense ads in black and white.
11 by 8 1/2 inches
 Estimate: $2,000 - $3,000
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 An original artwork given to Wilfrid Hyde-White on the set of Let's Make Love (20th Century, 1960) and signed by the film’s cast and crew including Marilyn Monroe, Yves Montand, Arthur Miller, George Cukor, Tony Randall, Allan “Whitey” Snyder, Marjorie Plecher, Paula Strasberg, David Bretherton, David Burns, and Ray Foster, among many others. The ink on paper artwork was created by the art department for the film and given to Hyde-White as a going-away present. The image shows Hyde-White waiting at a cab stand. A billboard in the background reads “Let’s Make Love/ Cukor Co.” and titled at the top “Happy Show/ From the Kids.” Housed in a frame; not examined outside of frame.
15 by 15 inches, framed
PROVENANCE From the Collection of Alex Hyde-White
 Estimate: $20,000 - $30,000
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 A typed, signed letter from producer Henry Weinstein on Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation letterhead, addressed to Marilyn Monroe and dated February 5, 1962. The letter discusses preparations before the shooting of Something's Gotta Give, a film that was never finished due to Monroe's illnesses and untimely death.
10 1/2 by 7 1/4 inches
 Estimate: $600 - $800

Documents papiers - Autographes / Fans
Papers documents - Autographs / Fans

 A single-page autograph letter on recto and verso dated October 14, 1954, addressed "Dear Jerry," possibly Joe DiMaggio's Yankee teammate Jerry Coleman. The letter reads in part, "Have been reading a lot about Marilyn, Joe and yourself, here in the east. Best of luck to you and your family, and send Marilyn's autograph along." Signed "Sincerely Jack Dempsey."
8 by 6 inches
 Estimate: $150 - $200
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 A secretarial typed and signed letter dated April 28, 1955, addressed to Monroe at the Waldorf Towers in New York. The letter is a charming and bashful request for an autograph, reading in part, "In my whole experience I have never known anyone to ask for an autograph for himself. It is always for a child or an ancient aunt, which gets very tiresome as you know better than I. It is therefore, with a certain nausea that I tell you that I have a nephew-in-law ... he has a foot in the door of puberty, but that is only one of his problems. You are the other. ... I know that you are not made of ether, but he doesn't. ... Would you send him, in my care, a picture of yourself, perhaps in pensive, girlish mood, inscribed to him by name and indicating that you are aware of his existence. He is already your slave. This would make him mine. If you will do this, I will send you a guest key to the ladies' entrance of Fort Knox."
8 1/2 by 11 inches
 Estimate: $300 - $500


 A menu from the Gladstone Hotel where Marilyn Monroe lived briefly during the 1950s. The menu is signed on the cover in pencil "Marilyn Monroe" and "Arthur Miller." The inside back cover of the menu also contains a fashion design sketch of a woman in a form-fitting gown with vermicelli beading, in pencil in an unknown hand.
13 by 10 inches
PROVENANCE From the Estate of Frieda Hull
 Estimate: $2,000 - $3,000
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 A typed letter signed by one of Marilyn Monroe's secretaries dated July 1, 1959, with original transmittal envelope. Both letter and envelope are Monroe's custom stationery. Transmittal envelope is addressed to Miss Edith Pitts of Richmond Hill, New York, and is postmarked July 2, 1959. The letter thanks Pitts and Frieda Hull for their card and good wishes during Monroe's illness.
Letter, 9 by 6 inches
PROVENANCE From the Estate of Frieda Hull
 Estimate: $200 - $300

 A Marilyn Monroe signed and inscribed index card that reads “To Emily/ Best Wishes/ Marilyn Monroe.” The message was written in green ballpoint ink, and a small magazine image of Monroe has been affixed to the index card. Housed in a frame with a black and white image of Monroe.
19 1/2 by 13 inches, framed
 Estimate: $2,000 - $3,000
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 A group of five envelopes, addressed to Marilyn Monroe, Jane Simmons, Cornel Wilde, Edmond O’Brien, and Jeffrey Hunter. Mailed to each actor, at their respective studio by fans in Africa, Argentina and the Philippines. The legible postmarks date from 1954.
Largest, 5 by 6 inches
 Estimate: $200 - $400

 A group of four envelopes, addressed to Marilyn Monroe, Audrey Hepburn, Donna Reed, and Pat Crowley. Mailed to each actress at her respective studio by fans in Argentina and the Philippines. The legible postmarks date from 1954.
Largest, 3 1/2 by 6 1/2 inches
 Estimate: $200 - $400

 An autograph album signed by Marilyn Monroe; Frank Sinatra; Bing Crosby; Ray Bolger; Maurice Chevalier; Hedda Hopper; Louella Parsons Herbert Hoover; Harry Truman; and Edward, Duke of Windsor, among others. The bound brown leather album belonged to Henry Tekkel, a maître d’ at the Waldorf Astoria New York. Monroe, who lived at the hotel in the mid-1950s, has inscribed the book “Warmest Regards, Marilyn Monroe.
5 by 6 1/2 inches
Estimate: $1,000 - $2,000
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 A copy of the Bement Centennial souvenir book titled "The Bement Story" and signed on the cover by Marilyn Monroe. Monroe visited Bement, Illinois, in August 1955 to celebrate the city's centennial.
11 by 8 1/2 inches
 Estimate: $2,000 - $3,000
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 A Marilyn Monroe signed Metropolitan Opera playbill from the 1958-1959 season. The 44-page playbill is signed on the cover in blue ink and is accompanied by a black and white image of Monroe signing a playbill. This is believed to have been signed on February 10, 1959, when Monroe and her husband Arthur Miller attended a performance of Macbeth.
6 1/2 by 9 inches
 Estimate: $4,000 - $6,000
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03 janvier 2016

VIDEO - Marilyn talks about Joe DiMaggio

Extrait de l'interview de Georges Belmont de 1960


Posté par ginieland à 00:46 - - Commentaires [3] - Permalien [#]
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15 mars 2014

Marilyn Monroe et les caméras / Marilyn Monroe and the camera

Marilyn Monroe et les caméras
Auteur: Collectif (Lothar Schirmer / Georges Belmont)

mm_et_les_camerasDate de sortie: 1991
Broché 248 pages
Langue: français

Éditeur: Schirmer Mosel / France-Loisirs
Prix éditeur: (en 1991: 196 francs),
d'occasion dès 15 Euros
ISBN 10: 3888145961
ISBN 13: 978-3888145964
Ou le commander ? sur amazon.fr 

Description: Ce livre est dédié à la mémoire de Marilyn Monroe. Bien que l'histoire de Marilyn remonte maintenant à une trentaine d'années, le rayonnement de sa beauté et l'extravagance de son allure sont plus captivants, plus époustouflants que jamais. les illustrations de ce livre en sont la preuve même et donnent raison à postériori à Arthur Miller qui disait: "Le soleil semblait terne à côté de Marilyn" ou "elle était le reproche vivant à toute l'indifférence." Cet album contient 152 photographies réalisées par presque quarante photographes dans les années 1945 à 1962 et l"interview que Marilyn accorda à Georges Belmont en 1960. 

Préface de Jane Russell
Les photographes
Interview de Marilyn Monroe avec Georges Belmont
Sources iconographiques

Marilyn Monroe and the Camera
Author: (Georges Belmont)

mm_and_cameraDate de sortie: 1991 (re-édité en 2001)
Relié 248 pages
Langue: anglais

Éditeur: Schirmer/Mosel Verlag GmbH
Prix éditeur: 46,55 Euros
ISBN-10: 3829603126
ISBN-13: 978-3829603126
Dimensions du produit: 33,2 x 23,9 x 2,9 cm  
Ou le commander ? sur amazon.com 

Description: This book contains 152 photographs of Marilyn Monroe taken during her career from 1945 to 1962; and an interview with french journalist Georges Belmont given in 1960. 

Mon Avis en Bref...  10/10
Je possède ce livre depuis que je suis enfant (je devais avoir 10 ans et il fut mon deuxième livre sur Marilyn) et honnêtement, il reste l'un de mes préférés, et sans doute l'un des livres de Marilyn que j'ai le plus consulté ! C'est avant tout un livre de photographies, reproduites dans une excellente qualité, beaucoup sont en pleine page (une photo par page, voir même en double page) et toutes sont légendées, apportant des informations sur le contexte photographique (
nom du photographe, date, lieu, événement, lien avec la carrière et/ou vie de Marilyn), et le plus important, il n'y a aucune erreur de dates ni de faits. Les photographies reproduites concernent uniquement la carrière de Marilyn: dès l'année 1945 où elle fit ses premières photos professionnelles en tant que mannequin, jusqu'en 1962, les photos de Bert Stern; vous ne trouverez donc aucun cliché de sa vie privée ni de son enfance, pas de photos intimes ni de paparazzis, mais des photos prises en studio, sur les tournages de films, en public comme lors de conférence de presse etc...
Les autres avantages de ce livre sont d'abord, la reproduction de l'interview complète de Marilyn donnée à G. Belmont où elle parle d'elle-même, de sa vision de la vie, de son enfance; c'est l'une des interviews les plus touchantes qu'elle ait donné dans sa carrière. Ensuite, la biographie en fin de livre revient sur les moments clés de la vie de Marilyn par dates et événements importants. Enfin, la préface de Jane Russell, très attendrissante envers Marilyn qu'elle a connu jeune, avant qu'elle ne devienne star.
Donc, en résumé, je conseille vivement ce livre qui reste un incontournable: d'un côté, si vous n'êtes pas fan de Marilyn mais que vous l'appréciez, vous apprendrez à la connaître davantage grâce à ce livre; et d'un autre côté, je pense que tout fan de Marilyn se doit d'avoir ce livre dans sa bibliothèque.

Vous avez le livre ? Do you have the book ?
Apportez votre critique, votre avis ou votre note (/10)   

Posté par ginieland à 16:37 - - Commentaires [3] - Permalien [#]
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01 mai 2013

Marie-Claire Octobre 1960

marieclairecovercot1960Le magazine Marie-Claire n°72, de octobre 1960, consacrait un article de 15 pages à Marilyn Monroe: "Marilyn et son mari confient à Marie-Claire ce qu'ils n'ont jamais dit", avec la publication de son interview par Georges Belmont, et de propos d'Arthur Miller, illustré par des photographies de John Bryson sur tournage de 'Let's make love'. 
(source scans: Chris)

marieclairepage1 marieclairepage2 marieclairepage3
marieclairepage4 marieclairepage5 marieclairepage6
marieclairepage7 marieclairepage8 marieclairepage9 
marieclairepage10 marieclairepage11 marieclairepage12
marieclairepage13 marieclairepage14 marieclairedernierepage

25 avril 2013

1960 - Interview de Marilyn par Georges Belmont

1960-10-Georges_Belmont-interview-Marie_Claire-1  C'est par l'intermédiaire de Ruppert Allan, chargé de la promotion de Marilyn, qu'eut lieu en 1960 la grande interview entre Marilyn Monroe et Georges Belmont. Ce dernier était alors rédacteur en chef de la revue Marie-Claire, qui publiera l'interview dans le numéro 72 du mois d' octobre 1960. L'interview se déroula pendant le tournage du film Let's Make Love (Le milliardaire) qui connut un succès particulier en France en raison de l'interprétation d'Yves Montand.
Georges Belmont réussit bientôt à gagner la confiance de Marilyn. Il faut dire qu'il lui avait promis de mettre à sa disposition une transcription de l'interview et en outre de s'en tenir rigoureusement dans le texte écrit à la formulation orale de ses propos. La base était donc bonne. Tous ceux qui, par la suite, prirent connaissance de cet entretien, durent reconnaître avec étonnement qu'ils n'avaient jamais entendu Marilyn parler d'elle-même avec tant de naturel.
Voilà comment Georges Belmont dépeint l'ambiance : "Je la laissais parler. La seule pression dont j'usais était le silence. Quand elle s'arrêtait de parler, je ne disais rien et, au bout du silence, quand elle n'en pouvait plus, ce qui venait alors était souvent capital et terriblement émouvant presque toujours."

Marilyn Monroe: J'aimerais mieux répondre à des questions. Je ne sais pas raconter, c'est terrible... par ou commencer? Comment? Il y a tant de ramifications...

Georges Belmont: Tout de même, il y a eu un commencement : votre enfance.

Marilyn Monroe: Même cela, personne n'en saurait rien, sans un pur hasard.
Longtemps, mon passé, ma vie sont restés totalement inconnus. Jamais je n'en parlais. Sans raison particulière. Simplement, je trouvais que c'etait mon affaire et pas celle des autres. Puis un jour, un M. Lester Cowan a voulu me mettre dans un film avec Groucho Marx, 'Love Happy'. J'avais déjà été sous contrat avec la Fox et la Columbia, à l'époque, mais saquée... C'était un petit rôle qu'il m'offrait, ce M. Cowan, mais il tenait à m'avoir sous contrat. Donc, il téléphone. J'etais encore très jeune et il me dit qu'il voulait parler à mon père et à ma mère. Je lui dis : "Impossible." - "Pourquoi?" insiste-t-il. Je lui ai expliqué alors brièvement la chose : "Je n'ai jamais vécu avec eux." C'était la vérité et je ne vois toujours pas ce que cela avait de sensationnel. Mais il téléphona à la chroniqueuse Louella Parsons et lui raconta toute l'histoire. Cela parut dans la "colonne" de Louella. C'est comme ça que tout a commencé. Depuis, on a débité tant de choses fausses que, mon Dieu, oui, pourquoi ne pas dire la vérité maintenant?

Georges Belmont: Quelles sont les premières images de vous, enfant, que vous gardiez?

Marilyn Monroe (long silence) : Mon premier souvenir?... C'est un souvenir de lutte pour la vie. J'etais toute petite... un bébé dans un petit lit, oui, et je luttais pour ma vie. Mais j'aimerais mieux ne pas en parler, si cela vous est égal : c'est une chose cruelle qui ne regarde que moi et personne d'autre, comme je disais. Ensuite, aussi loin que je remonte, je me revois dans une poussette, en longue robe blanche, sur le trottoir de la maison ou je vivais dans une famille qui n'était pas la mienne. C'est un fait que je suis une enfant naturelle. Mais tout ce que l'on a dit de mon père, ou de mes pères, est faux. Le premier mari de ma mère s'appellait Baker. Le second, Mortenson. Mais elle avait depuis longtemps divorcé d'avec les deux quand je suis née. On a raconté que mon père était norvégien, sans doute à cause du nom Mortenson, et qu'il était mort dans un accident de moto, peu après ma naissance. J'ignore si c'est vrai de Mortenson, n'ayant jamais eu de lien de parenté avec lui. Quant à l'indentité de mon vrai père, là encore, si vous le voulez bien, je vous prierai de ne pas m'interroger ; cela n'intéresse que moi. Cependant, il y a deux faits qui peuvent expliquer certaines... confusions. D'abord, on m'a toujours dit dans ma petite enfance que mon père s'était tué dans un accident d'automobile à New York, avant ma naissance. Ensuite, curieusement, mon bulletin de naissance porte, en réponse à une mention "Profession", le mot Baker, qui était le nom du premier mari de ma mère, mais qui veut dire aussi "boulanger". Quand je suis née, enfant naturelle ainsi que je l'ai dit, ma mère devait me donner un nom. Mon sentiment est que, forcée de penser vite, elle donna : "Baker". Pure coincidence, puis confusion de la part de l'officier d'état civil... C'est du moins ce que je pense.

Georges Belmont: Votre mère... J'ai lu quelque part que, pour vous, elle n'était que "la femme aux cheveux roux"?

Marilyn Monroe: Je n'ai jamais vécu avec ma mère. On a dit le contraire, mais cela seul est vrai. Aussi loin que je remonte dans mes souvenirs, j'ai toujours vécu en pension chez des gens. Ma mère avait des... troubles mentaux. Elle est morte maintenant. Mes grands-parents maternels sont morts tous les deux fous, enfermés. Ma mère, aussi, il fallut l'interner. Elle sortait parfois, et puis elle... rechutait. Alors, vous savez comme c'est... toute petite, je disais en montrant la première femme venue : "Oh! une maman!", et le premier homme : "Oh! un papa!". Mais un matin, je devais avoir trois ans, pas plus, on me baignait et je dis "maman" à la femme qui s'occupait de moi à l'époque. Elle me répondit : "Je ne suis pas ta maman. Appelle-moi 'tante'." - "Mais lui est mon papa?" dis-je ne montrant son mari. - "Non", me dit-elle. "Nous ne sommes pas tes parents. Celle qui vient te voir de temps en temps, la femme aux cheveux roux, celle-là est ta maman." Ce fut un choc d'apprendre cela, mais comme elle venait très rarement, c'est vrai que, pour moi, elle resta surtout "la femme aux cheveux roux". Tout de même, j'essayais qu'elle existait. Seulement, plus tard, quand on me mit dans un orphelinat, j'ai eu un autre choc. Je savais lire, alors. Quand j'ai lu "orphelinat" en lettres d'or sur fond noir, il a fallu me traîner, je hurlais : "Je ne suis pas une orpheline! J'ai une maman!" Mais par la suite, j'ai fini par penser : "Il faut croire qu'elle est morte..." Et, plus tard encore, des gens me disaient : "Ta mère, mieux vaut que tu l'oublies." - "Mais ou est-elle?" demandais-je. - "N'y pense plus, elle est morte." Après quoi, tout à coup, j'avais de ses nouvelles... Et il en fut ainsi pendant des annèes. Je la croyais morte et je le disais. Et elle vivait. Ce qui fait qu'on a prétendu que j'avais inventé qu'elle était morte, parce que je ne voulais pas avouer où elle était. Idiot!
En tout cas, j'ai eu... attendez que je compte... dix, non onze "familles". La première vivait dans une petite ville du comté de Los Angeles ; je suis née à Los Angeles. Il y avait avec moi un petit garçon que ces gens adoptèrent ensuite. Je suis restée avec eux jusqu'à l'âge de sept ans environ. Ils étaient affreusement sévères. Sans méchanceté. C'était leur religion. Ils m'élevèrent à leur manière, durement, en me corrigeant souvent comme on ne devrait jamais le faire, à mon avis: à coup de ceinturon de cuir. Finalement, cela se sut ; on me retira pour me confier à un couple anglais, à Hollywood. Ceux-là étaient des acteurs, des figurants plutôt, avec une fille de vingt et un ans qui était la doublure de Madeleine Carroll. Chez eux, c'était la vie sans souci, et assez tumultueuse. Cela me changeait de la première famille ou on ne pouvait même pas parler de cinéma ou d'acteurs, ni de danser ou de chanter, sauf des psaumes. Mes "nouveaux parents" travaillaient dur, quand ils travaillaient et jouissaient de la vie le reste du temps. Ils aimaient danser, chanter, boire, jouer aux cartes et avoir beaucoup d'amis. Avec l'éducation religieuse que j'avais reçue, j'étais terrifiée : je les voyais tous en enfer! Je passais des heures à prier pour eux. Je me rappelle une chose... au bout de quelques mois, je crois, ma mère acheta une petite maison où tout le monde alla vivre. Pas pour longtemps ; trois mois au plus. Cette fois encore, ma mère dut être... emmenée. Et même pendant ces trois mois, je la vis à peine. Bref, ce fut un grand changement. Après son départ, nous regagnâmes Hollywood. Ces anglais me gardèrent tant qu'il y eut de l'argent... l'argent de ma mère, de ses biens et d'une assurance qu'elle avait souscrite. C'est avec eux que j'ai fait la connaissance du cinéma. Je n'avais pas huit ans. Ils me déposaient devant une des grandes salles d'Hollywood, L'Egyptien ou le Grauman's Chinese tôt le matin. Toute seule, je regardais les singes en cage devant l'Egyptien, ou j'essayais de placer mes pieds dans les moulages de ceux des stars, à l'entrèe du Grauman's: mais je n'y arrivais jamais, j'avais de trop grands souliers... C'est drôle de penser que mes empreintes y sont, et que maintenant, d'autres petites filles font peut-être comme moi autrefois.
Ils me conduisaient donc là chaque samedi et dimanche. C'était repos pour eux et j'imagine qu'ils ne voulaient pas s'encombrer d'un enfant à la maison. D'ailleurs, cela valait probablement mieux pour moi.
J'attendais l'ouverture, je donnais mes dix cents et m'installais au premier rang. J'ai vu toutes sortes de films comme cela. Je me souviens de 'Cléôpatre', avec Claudette Colbert.
Je restais là, tard, séance après séance. J'étais censée rentrer avant la nuit. Mais comment pouvais-je savoir quand c'était la nuit?! Et puis, on était bien; et même si je ne pouvais rien acheter quand j'avais faim, je savais qu'on me garderait de quoi manger. Alors, je restais. J'avais mes stars préférées. Jean Harlow!... Mes cheveux étaient platines ;on m'appelait "Tête d'étoupe". Je détestais ça, je rêvais de cheveux blond doré... jusqu'à ce que je l'ai vue : si belle, et platine, comme moi!... Et Clark Gable! J'éspère qu'il ne m'en voudra pas si je dis que je voyais en lui mon père, je n'étais qu'une gamine, et, d'après Freud, il n'y a pas mal à cela, au contraire! Je rêvais que mon père lui ressemblait, ou même qu'il était mon père... ce qui me rappelle que c'est curieux, mais je n'ai jamais rêvé que personne fût ma mère... Ou en étais-je?!

Georges Belmont: Le couple anglais. Quand il n'y a plus eu d'argent...

Marilyn Monroe: Oui. On m'a mise à l'orphelinat. Oh! mais, attendez! Oh!... non! Quand ces anglais n'ont plus pu me garder, je suis allée vivre chez des gens à Hollywood. Des gens de la Nouvelle-Orléans. Je m'en souviens parce qu'ils prononçaient "New Orlinns".
Mais je n'y suis pas restée longtemps. Trois, quatre mois. Je me rappelle seulement que le mari était opérateur de cinéma et que, tout à coup, on m'a conduite à l'orphelinat. Je sais, certains prétendent que ce n'était pas un endroit si affreux. Mais je sais aussi que la maison a beaucoup changé ; peut-être est-ce moins sinistre à présent... bien que l'orphelinat le plus moderne du monde demeure un orphelinat, si l'on voit ce que je veux dire.
La nuit, quand les autres dormaient, je restais à la fenêtre du dortoir et je pleurais parce que, loin et haut par-dessus les toits, je voyais briller les lettres des studios R.K.O. et que ma mère y avait travaillé come monteuse. Des annèes après, en 1951, quand je tournais 'Clash by night' pour R.K.O., je suis montée là-haut pour essayer de voir l'orphelinat; mais il y avait de trop grands buildings. J'ai lu, je ne sais où, que nous n'étions pas plus que trois ou quatre par chambre dans cet orphelinat. C'est faux. J'étais dans un dortoir de vingt-cinq lits, dont on pouvait faire le tour si on le méritait, en remontant du lit n°1 au lit n°27, qu'on appelait le "lit d'honneur". Et du 27, si l'on était très sage, on pouvait espérer passer dans un autre dortoir avec moins de lits. J'y ai réussi une fois. Mais un matin, où j'étais en retard, je pense, et où je laçais mes chaussures, la surveillante me dit : "Descendez!" Je tentai de lui expliquer: "Mais il faut que j'attache mes souliers!" Elle me foudroya : "retour au lit n°27!".
Le lever était à 6 heures et nous devions faire certaines corvées avant d'aller à l'école. Nous avions chacune un lit, une chaise et une armoire. Tout cela devait être très propre, astiqué, à cause des inspections à l'improviste. J'ai nettoyé le dortoir pendant un temps. Tous les jours, bouger les lits, balayer, épousseter. Les salles de bain, c'était plus facile: moins de poussière, à cause du sol en ciment. J'ai travaillé également aux cuisines. Je lavais la vaisselle. Nous étions cent: je lavais donc cent assiettes et autant de cuillères et de fourchettes... pas de couteaux ni de verres; nous buvions dans les quarts. Seulement, à la cuisine, on gagnait des sous: cinq cents par mois et à cela, après qu'on vous retenait un cent pour l'école du dimanche. Bref, on se retrouvait avec un cent au bout du mois, s'il n'y avait que quatre dimanches; de quoi acheter peut-être un petit cadeau pour sa meilleure amie, à Noël, en économisant. Je ne peux pas dire que j'étais très heureuse. Je n'étais pas bien avec les surveillantes. Mais la directrice était très gentille. Je me souviens, qu'un jour, elle me fait appeller dans son bureau et me dit: "Vous avez une très jolie peau, mais un peu luisante. Nous allons y mettre un soupçon de poudre, pour voir." Je me sentais honorée d'être là. Elle avait un petit pékinois qu'on empêchait d'aller avec les enfants parce qu'il les mordrait, mais qui me fit des tas d'amitiés. Comme j'adorais déjà les chiens, imaginez!... J'étais si honorée, vraiment, que je marchais dans les airs.
Un peu plus tard, j'ai voulu m'évader avec d'autres camarades. Pour aller où ? Nous n'en avions pas la moindre idée. Le temps de traverser une grande pelouse, nous étions déjà rattrapées. Quand on me ramena, je suppliais: "Ne le dites pas à la directrice!" - parce que je la voyais encore me sourire en me tapotant le nez avec sa houpette, et parce qu'elle m'avait laissé caresser son petit chien.
Même maintenant, cela revient parfois, quand je suis trop nerveuse ou surexcitée. Une fois, j'avais un petit rôle, avec une scène où je devais gravir un escalier; j'ai oublié ce qui arriva, mais le metteur en scéne assistant se précipita vers moi en me criant des mots et j'en fus si bouleversée que, au moment de la reprise, impossible de dire la réplique! Rien qu'un affreux bafouillis. Sur quoi, le metteur en scène, furieux, se précipite à son tour et crie : "Tout de même, vous ne bégayez pas?" - "V-v-vous croyez ça?" lui ai-je dit. C'était horrible! Et ça l'est encore, quand je parle trop vite ou quand je dois faire un discours. Pénible!...
(Silence) Je voudrais qu'on en ait fini avec cette partie de ma vie...
Je suis restée environ un an et demi dans cet orphelinat. Nous allions à l'école. C'est très mauvais pour les enfants d'une institution comme celle là, d'aller à l'école publique. Les autres nous montraient du doigt et serinaient : "Oh, v'là les orphelins!" Nous avions honte.

A l'école, j'aimais bien le chant et l'anglais. Je détestais le calcul ; je n'avais pas l'esprit à ça ; pendant les leçons, mes rêves s'envolaient par la fenêtre. Mais j'étais bonne en gymnastique et en sport. J'étais très grande. A l'orphelinat, le premier jour, on n'a pas voulu me croire quand j'ai dit mon âge: neuf ans. On m'en donnait quatorze. Je mesurais presque ma taille actuelle: 1m63. Mais j'étais très maigre jusqu'à onze ans, où les choses ont changé. Je n'étais plus à l'orphelinat, à cet âge. Je m'étais tellement plainte à ma tutrice qu'elle me sortit de là. C'était une vieille amie de ma mère. Grace McKee. Elle est morte il y a onze ans. A l'époque où elle était devenue ma tutrice, elle était chef monteuse chez Columbia. Puis on la renvoya et elle a épousé alors un homme de dix ans plus jeune qu'elle et père de trois enfants. Ils étaient très pauvres et, pour cela, ne pouvaient s'occuper de moi. En outre, je pense qu'elle estimait que son premier devoir allait à son mari et aux enfants de celui-ci, ce qui est normal. Néanmoins, elle était merveilleuse pour moi, à bien des égards. Sans elle, j'aurais pu me retrouver Dieu sait où, à l'Assistance Publique jusqu'à 18 ans.
A mon orphelinat, qui était privé, elle venait me voir et me sortait. Pas souvent, mais tout de même... cela me donnait du courage. Je n'avais que neuf ou dix ans, et elle me laissait jouer avec son rouge à lèvres ou me menait chez le coiffeur pour une ondulation... chose inouïe, d'abord parce que c'était interdit, et puis parce que j'avais les cheveux raides: alors vous imaginez ce que cela représentait! De plus, c'est elle qui me retira de l'orphelinat, après mes plaintes, ainsi que je l'ai dit. Naturellement, cela signifia d'autres "familles". Je me souviens d'une où je restais trois ou quatre semaines. Je m'en souviens à cause de la femme qui allait livrer des choses que son mari fabriquait. Elle m'emmenait avec elle, et oh! la voiture me rendait si malade!...
J'ignore si on les payait pour me garder. Je sais seulement que, après eux, j'ai tout le temps changé de maison. Certaines familles me prenaient à la fin d'un trimestre scolaire et en avaient assez, après les vacances; ou peut-être étais-ce l'arrangement. Par la suite, le comté de Los Angeles m'a prise en charge. C'était pire: je détestais ça. Même à l'orphelinat, quand j'allais à l'école, j'essayais toujours de ne pas avoir l'air d'une orpheline. Mais maintenant, une femme arrivait et disait: "Voyons, voyons... lève les pieds" et elle marquait: "Paire de chaussures". Puis: "A-t-elle un chandail ?" Ou encore: "Je crois que la pauvre fille aurait bien besoin de deux robes, une pour l'école, une pour le dimanche." Et les chandails étaient en coton et laids, les robes semblaient taillées dans de la toile de sac... Terrible! Et les chaussures! Je disais: "Je n'en veux pas!" Je m'arrangeais toujours pour me faire donner des robes, des robes de grandes personnes, qu'on recoupait à ma taille. Et la plupart du temps, j'avais des souliers de tennis: on en trouvait pour moins d'un dollar. Je devais être une drôle de fille, à cette époque. Très grande, comme je l'ai dit. Pas grimacière pour la nourriture. Mangeant de tout. Je le sais parce que, dans presque toute les familles, on disait que jamais on avait vu une enfant aussi peu difficile. Je sais aussi que j'étais très tranquille, avec les grandes personnes en tout cas. On m'appelait "la souris". Je parlais peu, sauf quand j'étais avec d'autres gosses. Alors je n'étais plus la même. Ils aimaient jouer avec moi. J'avais de l'invention; je disais: "On joue au divorce, au crime!" et eux me regardaient: "Mais où vas-tu prendre ça?".
J'étais probablement très différente des autres. Alors que les enfants refusent en général d'aller se coucher, jamais je ne rechignais. Au contraire, de moi-même je disais: "Je crois que je vais aller me coucher." J'aimais la solitude de ma chambre, et mon lit. J'aimais surtout me jouer le dernier film que j'avais vu. Debout sur mon lit, plus grande que jamais, je jouais tous les rôles, y compris ceux des hommes, et j'ajoutais des inventions de mon cru. J'adorais cela, tout comme jouer la comédie dans les fêtes scolaires.
Là, toujours à cause de ma taille, j'ai joué le roi une fois, et une autre fois le prince. J'ai eu une période heureuse, dans cette partie de ma jeunesse: celle où j'ai vécu chez "tante" Anna. C'était une vielle femme de soixante ou soixante-cinq ans, parente de Grace McKee. Elle m'aimait beaucoup et j'y étais très sensible. Elle me comprenait. Elle n'oubliait jamais qu'elle avait été jeune et ses merveilleuses histoires, tristes ou gaies, de ce temps passé, me fascinaient. Le soir, quand je faisais la vaisselle, j'étais si heureuse que je chantais ou sifflais par la fenêtre de la cuisine, et qu'elle disait: "Quel pinson! Je n'ai jamais rien entendu de pareil!". C'est vers la fin de cette période qu'on m'a mariée. Il y a peu de choses à dire de ce mariage. Grace McKee et son mari devaient partir pour la Virginie. A Los Angeles, ils touchaient vingt dollars du comté pour moi; si je partais avec eux, nous perdions cet argent. Comme ils n'étaient pas assez riches pour me faire vivre mais qu'ils m'aimaient bien, il fallait trouver un moyen de me "caser". En Californie, une jeune fille peut se marier à seize ans. On m'a donc donné le choix: ou entrer dans un Orphelinat d'Etat jusqu'à dix-huit ans ou me marier. J'avais presque seize ans; j'ai choisi le mariage.
Il s'appelait Dougherty, il avait vingt et un ans et travaillait dans une usine. Peu de temps après, ce fut la guerre. D'abord mobilisé comme moniteur d'éducation physique, il fut versé ensuite dans l'armée active, mais échoua finalement dans la marine marchande. Peu avant la fin de la guerre, j'allais à Las Vegas et obtins le divorce. J'avais vingt ans. Aujourd'hui, il est agent de police. J'ai travaillé en usine pendant la guerre. J'ai commencé par vérifier des parachutes, pour avions-cibles, pas pour hommes. Puis, je suis passée au "collage", comme on appelait ça... un enduit qu'on étalait sur ce qui servait à fabriquer les avions-cibles. C'était fastidieux et il y avait une mauvaise ambiance humaine. Les femmes parlaient surtout de l'emploi de leurs soirées et du prochain week-end. Je travaillais tout près de l'atelier de peinture au pistolet... rien que des hommes. Ils m'écrivaient des mots et s'arrêtaient de peindre, etc.
C'était si monotone que je travaillais vite, pour me débarrasser. Le résultat fut inattendu. On a dû trouver que j'abattais un travail formidable. Il y a eu une assemblée générale du personnel et le directeur m'a citée pour "bonne volonté exemplaire" et m'a remis une insigne en or et un bon du Trésor de vingt-cinq dollars. Les autres filles ont été folles de jalousie et m'ont mené la vie dure, après cela. Elles ricanaient et faisaient exprès de me bousculer quand j'allais remplir mon pot d'enduit; pour le renverser sur moi. Oh, j'ai souffert! Et puis, un jour, l'Armée de l'Air a voulu des photos de notre usine. Je revenais d'un congé, on m'appelle au bureau: "Où vous cachiez-vous?" Morte de peur, je réponds: "J'étais en permission régulière!"- ce qui était vrai. On me dit: "Là n'est pas la question. Voulez-vous poser pour des photos?" Bref, les photographes arrivèrent et prirent des photos. Ils en réclamèrent d'autres, hors de l'atelier. Moi, j'avais peur de m'attirer des ennuis si je quittais mon travail. J'ai refusé, j'ai dit: "Demandez la permission." Ils l'ont obtenue et j'ai passée plusieurs journées à poser ici, là, et à tenir des trucs, pousser des trucs, tirer des trucs...
Les photos étaient développées dans les laboratoires Eastman-Kodak. Et là, les gens ont demandé qui était le modèle et en ont parlé aux photographes; si bien que l'un d'eux - David Conover - est revenu me dire: "Vous devriez faire le modèle. Vous gagneriez facilement cinq dollars de l'heure." Cinq dollars de l'heure, alors que j'en gagnais vingt par semaine, pour dix heures de travail par jour, les pieds sur le ciment! Il y avait de quoi tenter la moins folle des filles.
Je m'y suis mise peu à peu. C'était la fin de la guerre. J'ai quitté l'usine. Je me suis présentée à une agence. J'ai eu du travail. Photos publicitaires. Calendriers... Pas celui qui a fait tant de bruit; nous y viendrons. D'autres, où j'étais brune, rousse, blonde. Et je gagnais vraiment cinq dollars de l'heure! De temps à autres, je pouvais réaliser un de mes rêves: me payer des leçons d'art dramatique... quand j'avais assez d'argent, car ça coûtait cher, dix dollars de l'heure! Je faisais la connaissance de gens très différents de ce que j'avais connus jusqu'alors. Des bons et des mauvais. Souvent, quand j'attendais un bus à un coin de rue, une voiture s'arrêtait et l'homme au volant me débitait une histoire: "Qu'est-ce que vous fabriquez là? Vous devriez être dans les films." Ensuite, il proposait de me ramener. Moi, je répondais toujours: "Non merci. J'aime mieux le bus." Mais tout de même, l'idée du cinéma cheminait dans ma tête. Une fois, je me souviens, j'ai accepté un rendez-vous dans un studio avec un homme rencontré de cette façon. Il devait être très persuasif. J'y suis allée. C'était un samedi et il n'y avait pas un chat dans ces studios. J'aurais dû me méfier, mais j'étais naïve à bien des points de vue. Bref, je trouve mon homme qui me conduit dans un bureau. Nous étions seuls. Il me tend un scénario en disant que je devrais faire l'affaire pour un rôle, mais qu'il faut voir. Sur quoi, il me demande de lire le rôle, tout en insistant pour que je relève ma robe et que je la garde comme ça. C'était en été et j'avais un maillot de bain sous ma robe. Mais comme il répétait: "Plus haut!" j'ai pris peur et, toute rouge, je me suis entêtée de mon côté: "Seulement si je garde mon chapeau!" C'était idiot, mais j'avais vraiment peur et j'étais déséspérée. Je devais être ridicule, assise là et cramponnée à mon chapeau. A la fin, il s'est mis en fureur, ce qui a achevé de me terrifier, je me suis sauvée et j'ai signalé l'affaire à l'agence. On a téléphoné aux studios, et ailleurs, pour essayer de le retrouver. Impossible. Il devait avoir un ami dans la place qui lui avait permis d'utiliser son bureau. L'incident me bouleversa à tel point que, pendant assez longtemps, je résolus de ne jamais être actrice. C'est une dure époque de ma vie. Je déménageais tout le temps, d'un meublé à l'autre. L'hôtel était trop cher.
Et puis le hasard a fait qu'on m'a vue sur la couverture de cinq magasines différents le même mois et la Fox a téléphoné. Je me suis retrouvée sur un banc de bois avec des gens de tout âge et de toutes dimensions qui attendaient comme moi. On a attendu lontemps avant que Ben Lyon, qui dirigeait le recrutement, sorte de son bureau. A peine sorti, il a dit en me montrant du doigt : "Qui est-ce?" Je portais une petite robe blanche en piqué que "Tante" Anna - j'étais revenue vivre chez elle quelque temps - avait lavée et repassée à toute vitesse; tout cela était arrivé si rapidement que je n'aurais jamais pu préparer la robe et me préparer en même temps; "Tante" Anna m'avait dit: "Je m'occupe de la robe. Occupe-toi de tes cheveux et de ton maquillage."
Je me sentais plutôt défaite aprés cette longue attente. Mais Lyon fut très gentil. Il me dit qu'il me trouvait si fraîche, si jeune, etc... Il dit même : "vous êtes la première que je découvre depuis Jean Harlow." Jean Harlow, entre nous, est ma préférée d'autrefois!
Le lendemain, bien qu'il eût fallu normalement le consentement du Président directeur général ou de je ne sais qui, Lyon me glissa dans une série de bouts d'essais en technicolor et, presque aussitôt, la Fox me signa un contrat. Un contrat de star, pour un an!
En pure perte d'ailleurs. Je n'ai jamais su pourquoi, jamais compris. Ils engageaient des tas de filles et de garçons et les laissaient tomber sans leur accorder une seule chance. Ce fut mon cas. Mise à la porte, j'essayai de voir M. Zanuck. Impossible. Chaque fois, on me répondait qu'il était à Sun Valley. Semaine après semaine je revins à l'assaut : "Navré", me disait-on. "Il est occupé, il est à Sun Valley." J'imagine, il y est encore... bien que je l'ai revu, quand la Fox me reprit sous contrat, après 'Asphalt Jungle'. Il me dit: "Vous avez déjà été ici apparemment ?" - "C'est vrai." - "Que voulez vous, la roue tourne!" et il enchaîna en déclarant que j'avais "quelque-chose", une qualité à trois dimensions qui lui rappelait Jean Harlow; ce qui fut très intéressant puisque ça avait été l'avis de Ben Lyon. Je dois beaucoup à Ben Lyon, il fut le premier à me donner confiance. Je lui doit aussi mon nom actuel. Un jour où nous cherchions pour moi un nom de cinéma, car je ne voulais pas garder celui d'un homme qui n'était pas mon père, j'insistai pour prendre celui du nom de jeune fille de ma mère: Monroe. Je tenais à conserver du moins une forme de lien avec mes parents. Il accepta Monroe, mais ce fut lui qui trouva Marilyn, parce que, dit-il, après Jean Harlow, l'actrice à laquelle je ressemblais le plus était Marilyn Miller, la fameuse vedette des comédies musicales de Broadway. Etrange, quand on y pense que me voilà devenue Marilyn Miller pour l'état civil!
Mais enfin, pour en revenir à notre histoire, j'étais donc sans rien. Saquée par la Fox, saquée par la Columbia un peu plus tard, quoique différemment. La Columbia m'avait du moins donné un rôle dans 'Ladies of the Chorus'. Un film affreux! Je jouais une danseuse de burlesque dont un type de Boston tombe amoureux. Horrible! Mais ce n'était pas la raison de mon départ. Le vrai motif tient à des circonstances plutôt étranges et, mettons, déplaisantes. Je n'en dirai pas plus, si ce n'est que... la vie est pleine de leçons. Je ne voyais pas d'issue. J'étais revenue aux jours les plus durs. J'habitais au Hollywood Studio Club. J'y étais très malheureuse: cela me rappelait l'orphelinat. J'avais des dettes et j'étais très en retard pour mon loyer. Au Club, on vous accorde une semaine de retard et, après, vous recevez un petit mot: "Vous êtes la seule à ne pas apporter votre soutien à notre merveilleuse institution.", etc. Et vous comprenez! Tant que vous vivez là, vous mangez deux fois par jour, petit déjeuner et dîner. Ce n'est pas toujours très bon, mais cela nourrit. Et vous avez un toit et un lit. Sans cela, où aller? Pas de famille. Rien. Personne. Et j'avais faim. Je sais, des gens me disaient: "Pourquoi ne pas chercher un job de vendeuse, quelque part ?" Oui, pourquoi pas ? Une fois j'ai essayé, dans un drugstore: on n'a pas voulu de moi parce que je n'avais pas terminé mes etudes de lycée. Et puis, comment dire ?... ce n'était pas la même chose. J'avais été modèle et surtout je voulais devenir une actrice et il me semblait que, si je retombais, ce serait sans retour. On a raconté beaucoup de fables à propos du fameux calendrier. A l'époque où l'on a découvert la chose, j'avais déjà fait 'Asphalt Jungle' et j'étais de nouveau sous contrat avec la Fox, pour sept ans cette fois. J'entends encore la voix de celui qui m'appela au téléphone, des bureaux de la Publicité: "C'est vrai que vous avez posé pour un calendrier?" - "Bien sûr", dis-je. "Cela vous ennuie?" puis j'ai compris à quel point ils étaient bouleversés, car la voix reprit : "Eh bien, même si c'est vrai, dites que non." - "Mais j'ai signé l'autorisation de vente! Comment voulez-vous que je mente?" Et, si contrariés qu'ils fussent, je dis la vérité. Mais quand les journalistes me demandèrent pourquoi et que je repondi: "J'avais faim", on crut à un bon mot.
Ceux qui me connaissent bien savent que j'ai beaucoup de mal à mentir. Cela m'a coûté assez cher dans la vie. Il m'arrive de passer délibérement des choses sous silence, pour me protéger ou protéger les autres - qui n'a pas envie ou besoin de se protéger? - mais je ne mens jamais. J'avais faim et j'avais quatre semaines de loyer en retard; je cherchais déséspérémment de l'argent. Telle est la vérité. Je me suis rappelée que j'avais posé pour les publicités de bière avec le photographe Tom Kelley, et que sa femme, Nathalie, avait suggéré que je devrais poser sans vêtements, en ajoutant qu'il n'y avait rien de mal à cela et que c'était bien payé: cinquante dollars, la somme dont j'avais besoin. Alors, comme ils avaient toujours été très gentils pour moi, j'ai téléphoné. J'ai commencé par dire à Tom: "Etes-vous sûr qu'on ne me reconnaîtra pas ?" Il l'a promis. Puis j'ai demandé si Nathalie serait là. "Oui." - Mais ça devra être de nuit", ai-je insisté. "Après que vos assistants seront partis. Vous devrez vous debrouillez tout seul avec Nathalie pour les éclairages." Il a dit oui. Je suis venue. Ils se montrèrent d'une compréhension extrêmes; ils me sentaient suffisamment bouleversée. Ils ont étalé un velour rouge. Ce fut vite fait, très simple, et plein de courants d'air. Mais je pus payer le loyer et manger.
Les gens sont drôles. Ils vous posent de ces questions ! Et si vous êtes franches, ils sont choqués ! On me demande: "Qu'est-ce que vous mettez pour vous coucher ? Un haut de pijama ? Le bas ? Une chemise de nuit ?" Je reponds: "Une goutte de Chanel n°5", et l'on croit que c'est encore un bon mot, alors que j'essaie de répondre avec tact à une question grossière et indiscrète. Et puis, c'est vrai ! Mais on ne le croit pas !
Il fut un moment où je commençais à être... reconnue, disons, et où les gens n'arrivaient pas à imaginer ce que je faisais quand je n'étais pas sur le plateau, parce qu'on ne me voyait à aucune première, aucune représentation de presse, aucune réception. C'est simple: j'allais à l'école ! Je n'avais jamais pu finir mes études, alors j'allais à l'Université de Los Angeles. Le soir. Dans la journée, je gagnais ma vie avec des petits rôles dans les films. Je suivais des cours d'histoire de littérature et d'histoire de ce pays; je lisais beaucoup, de grands écrivains. C'était dur d'être à l'heure pour les cours. Je devais me dépêcher. Je quittais le studio à 6h30 et j'avais dû me lever très tôt pour être sur le plateau, prête, à 9 heures du matin. Souvent j'étais morte de fatigue; il m'arrivait même de m'endormir en classe. Mais je me forçais à rester droite et à écouter. J'avais pour voisin un jeune noir, studieux et brillant: il me donnait l'exemple et cela m'aidait à rester éveillée. Entre parenthéses, c'était un humble postier à l'époque; il est aujourd'hui directeur des postes à Los Angeles. Le professeur, Mme Seay, ne savait pas qui j'étais, bien qu'elle trouvât bizzare que des garçons des autres classes passaient parfois la tête à la porte, pendant les cours, pour me regarder en chuchotant. Un jour, elle se décida à interroger mes camarades, qui dirent: "Elle joue dans les films". Surprise, elle déclara: "Et moi qui la prenais pour une jeune fille fraîche émoulue du couvent!" C'est l'un des plus grands compliments qu'on m'ait jamais faits.
Mais les gens dont je parlais tout à l'heure, eux, préféraient voir en moi une starlette frivole, "sexy" et stupide. C'est comme ma réputation d'être toujours en retard. D'abord, tout le temps, non ! On se rappele seulement quand je le suis. Cela dit, je crois en effet que je ne peux pas aller aussi vite que les autres. Ils sautent en voiture, se rentrent dedans, sans répit... Je ne crois pas que nous soyons faits pour vivre comme des machines. D'ailleurs, c'est tellement inutile ! On travaille tellement mieux avec un peu plus de bon sens et de loisirs ! Au studio, si je dois me presser pour répéter ou pour me faire coiffer, maquiller, habiller, j'arrive épuisée sur le plateau. Pendant que nous tournions 'Let's make love', George Cukor, le metteur en scéne, a trouvé plus intelligent de me laisser un peu en retard mais plus fraîche. En tout ce que je fais, j'aime prendre mon temps. On se bouscule trop, de nos jours. C'est pourquoi les gens sont si nerveux et si malheureux en face de la vie et d'eux-mêmes. Comment peut-on faire parfaitement quoi que ce soit, dans ces conditions ? La perfection demande du temps.
J'aimerais devenir une grande actrice, une vraie, et être heureuse aussi parfaitement que possible. Mais qui est heureux ? Le bonheur ! Vouloir devenir une vraie actrice, tout cela demande beaucoup d'effort et de temps.

Georges Belmont: J'imagine que ce portrait de la Duse, au mur, n'est pas ici pour rien ?

Marilyn Monroe: Non. J'ai une grande tendresse pour elle. A cause de sa vie, comme femme et comme actrice. Comment dire ?... Elle n'a jamais fait de concession, dans un cas comme dans l'autre.
Personnellement, quand il m'arrive de réussir quelque chose dans mon métier, j'ai le sentiment de toucher à ce qu'on appelle le sommet du bonheur. Mais ce ne sont que des moments ! Je ne suis pas heureuse, comme ça, en général. Si je suis quelque chose, en général, ce serait plutôt misérable comme un chien ! Mes deux vies, professionelle et privée, me sont si personnelles, sont si étroitement liées, que je ne peux les séparer: l'une réagit constamment sur l'autre.
L'ennui dans mon cas, je pense, c'est que je voudrais tant être merveilleuse ! Je sais que cela fera rire certains, mais c'est vrai. Une fois, à New York, mon avocat me parlait d'histoires d'argent, en déployant une patience d'ange pour m'expliquer ça. A la fin je lui ai dit: "Je n'y comprend rien et je m'en moque. Je sais seulement que je voudrais être merveilleuse!". Dites cela à un homme de loi, il vous croira folle.
Il y a un livre du poète Rainer Maria Rilke qui m'a beaucoup aidée: 'Lettres à un jeune poète'. Sans lui, peut-être croirais-je par moments que je suis folle. Quand un artiste... je m'excuse, mais je considère que je suis presque une artiste, et là encore, on rira sans doute; c'est pourquoi je m'excuse... quand un artiste recherche à tout prix la vérité, il a parfois la sensation de frôler la folie. Mais ce n'est pas vraiment la folie. C'est seulement qu'on s'efforce de faire sortir ce qu'on a de plus vrai en soi-même; et croyez-moi, c'est dur. Il y a des jours où l'on se dit: "Sois vraie, c'est tout !", et ça ne sort pas. Et d'autres jours, c'est si simple !
J'ai toujours eu le sentiment secret de ne pas être absolument sincère. Tout le monde sent cela, de temps à autre, je suppose. Mais dans mon cas, cela va loin parfois... jusqu'à penser que, foncièrement, je ne suis qu'un monstre de fabrication. Lee Strasberg, le directeur de l'Actors Studio me répète souvent: "...Pourquoi es-tu si mécontente de toi-même ?" Et il ajoute: "Après tout, tu es un être humain !" Et moi je lui réponds: "Oui, mais j'ai l'impression que je dois être plus que cela." - "Non!" me dit-il alors. "C'est cela que tu essaies de faire en ce moment ?" - "Il faut bien que j'entre dans la peau du personnage, non ?!" Et il répète encore : "Non ! Tu es un être humain. Pars de toi-même !" La première fois qu'il m'a sorti cela, j'ai crié : "De MOI?" Et il a répondu : "Oui! De TOI !!".
Après Arthur, Lee est probablement celui qui a le plus changé ma vie. C'est pourquoi j'aime tant aller à l'Actors Studio. A New York, j'y vais régulièrement. Je n'ai qu'une envie: faire de mon mieux, toujours, à tout instant. Sur le plateau, dès que la caméra se déclenche, je veux être parfaite, aussi parfaite que possible, jusqu'au bout. Quand j'étais à l'usine, le samedi soir, j'allais au cinéma. C'était le seul moment où je pouvais me distraire, rire, être moi-même. Alors, si le film était mauvais, quelle déception ! Toute la semaine, j'avais attendu et travaillé dur pour me payer cela. Si les acteurs me paraissaient jouer par-dessous la jambe, je sortais déçue comme si l'on m'avait trahie. Que me resterait-il pendant toute une semaine ? C'est pourquoi, aujourd'hui, quand je travaille, je songe toujours à ceux qui travaillent aussi pour pouvoir aligner leur argent au guichet dans l'espoir de s'amuser. Ce que pensent les producteurs et le metteur en scéne, cela m'est assez égal: mais pas ce que penseront les gens en voyant le film. Un jour, j'ai essayé d'expliquer ça à M. Zanuck...
L'amour et le travail sont les seules choses vraies qui nous arrivent dans la vie. Ils font la paire; sinon, c'est boiteux. D'ailleurs, le travail même est une forme d'amour. A l'usine j'ai dit que je me dépêchais d'expédier mon travail parce que c'était fastidieux; mais je me rappelle que, malgré tout, je mettais un point d'honneur à le faire exactement, aussi parfaitement que possible. Et si je rêvais de l'amour, c'était aussi comme d'une chose qui doit être la plus parfaite possible. Quand j'ai épousé Joe DiMaggio, en 1954, il ne jouait déjà plus au base-ball, mais c'était un merveilleux athlète et un être d'une grande sensiblité. Fils d'immigrants italiens, il avait eu une jeunesse difficile. Nous nous comprenions donc assez bien. Ce fut la base de notre mariage. Mais je dis assez bien. Et pour cela ce fut un échec. C'était fini au bout de neuf mois, malheureusement. Je mets le même point d'honneur à mes sentiments qu'à mon travail. Peut-être est-ce pourquoi je suis impétueuse et exclusive. J'aime bien les gens. Et quand j'aime, je pousse l'exclusivité jusqu'à ne plus avoir qu'une seule idée en tête ! Surtout, j'ai envi d'être traitée humainement.
La première fois que j'ai vu Arthur Miller, c'était sur un plateau et je pleurais. Je jouais dans un film 'As young as you feel', et il passait dans les studios avec Elia Kazan. Je pleurais à cause d'une amie dont je venais d'apprendre la mort. On nous présenta. Je voyais tout dans un brouillard. C'était en 1951. Je restai quatre ans sans le revoir, après cela. Nous nous écrivions et il m'envoya une liste de livres à lire. Mais je me rappelle que, constamment, je songeais qu'il me verrait peut-être dans un film... on passerait deux films, ce soir là, et peut-être serais-je dans un et me verrait-il. Alors, quand je travaillais, je faisais encore plus de mon mieux... Je ne sais comment décrire cela. Je l'aimais, depuis le premier jour. Voilà, c'est tout. Jamais je n'oublierai qu'il dit, ce jour là, qu'à son avis, je devrais faire du théâtre et que les gens autour de nous, sur le plateau, rirent en l'entendant. Mais il répéta: "Non, non, c'est très sérieux." Et le ton, son attitude, les circonstances, firent que je sentis en lui un être profondément humain et sensible, et qui m'avait traitée comme une personne humaine et sensible, moi aussi. C'est le mieux que je puisse dire. Mais c'est le plus important. Depuis notre mariage, quand je ne tourne pas, nous menons une vie tranquille et heureuse à New York, et plus encore dans notre maison du Connecticut pendant les week-ends. Mon mari aime travailler tôt le matin. Il se lève en général à 6 heures. Il se repose ensuite dans la journée en faisant la sieste. Comme l'appartement n'est pas grand, j'ai fait insonoriser son bureau. Il a besoin de solitude totale quand il travaille. Moi, je me lève à 8h30 et quelques. Nous avons une excellente cuisinière. Parfois, en attendant mon petit-déjeuner, je vais promener mon chien Hugo. mais quand la cuisinière est de sortie, je me lève plus tôt et je prépare le petit déjeuner pour mon mari; car je trouve qu'un homme ne doit pas s'occuper de ses repas. Je suis très vieux jeu à bien des égards. Je trouve aussi qu'un homme ne doit jamais porter à la main ce qui appartient en propre à la femme, souliers à hauts talons, sac, etc. Il m'arrive de cacher un peigne dans la poche de mon mari, mais c'est tout.
Après le petit déjeuner, je prends un bain, pour changer des jours de travail où je me lève si tôt, parfois à 6h ou 5h du matin, que je dois prendre deux douches, une chaude et une froide pour me secouer. A New York, j'aime à me tremper dans mon bain en lisant les journaux et écoutant des disques. Après, j'enfile une jupe, une blouse, des souliers plats et une veste de polo et, le mardi et le vendredi, je vais à l'Actors Studios, à 11h, ou les autres jours aux cours privés de Lee Strasberg. Je rentre pour le déjeuner, que nous prenons d'habitude ensemble, comme le dîner. Nous écoutons des disques en mangeant. Mon mari aime comme moi la musique classique. Ou le jazz s'il est excellent, bien que nous réservions plutôt cela aux soirées où nous avons des amis qui aiment danser. Souvent, Arthur se remet au travail après sa sieste. Je trouve toujours à m'occuper pendant ce temps. Il a deux enfants de son premier mariage et je m'efforce d'être une bonne belle-mère. Et il y a à faire dans l'appartement. J'aime faire la cuisine, pas tellement à la ville où l'on est trop bousculé, mais à la campagne pour le week-end. Je fais du très bon pain, et les nouilles aussi très bien. Rouler, sécher, la cuisson et la sauce. Ce sont mes deux spécialités. Mais j'aime également inventer... J'adore les assaisonnements ! L'ail ! Souvent, j'en mets de trop pour le goût des autres.
Il arrive que les acteurs avec qui j'étudie une scène pour les cours de Strasberg viennent à la maison, le matin ou l'après-midi et je leur prépare un petit-déjeuner ou le thé... Bref, les journées sont assez remplies. Mais toujours, j'ai soin d'être libre avant le dîner, pour mon mari. Aprés le dîner, parfois nous allons au théâtre ou au cinéma, ou des amis viennent, ou nous allons chez des amis. Mais très souvent, nous restons tout simplement à la maison, tous les deux, à écouter de la musique, parler ou lire. Ou encore, nous marchons dans les rues ou dans Central Park. Nous adorons marcher. Il n'y a pas de routine fixe dans notre vie. Il y a bien des moments où j'aimerai être plus organisée, faire certaines choses à certaines heures etc. Mais mon mari dit que comme ça, au moins, on ne s'ennuie pas ! Alors, tout va bien. Et puis, personellement, les choses ne m'ennuient jamais. Ce qui m'ennuient, ce sont les gens qui s'ennuient. J'aime beaucoup les gens; pourtant, parfois, je me demande si je suis vraiment sociable. La solitude ne me pèse pas. Cela m'est égal d'être seule. Même, j'aime cela. C'est un repos. Cela permet de prendre plus possession de soi-même, de se rafraîchir. Je crois qu'il y a deux aspects dans tout être humain; du moins, c'est ce que je sens dans mon cas. On a envie d'être seul, et en même temps, envie d'être ensemble. C'est un vrai conflit. J'y suis sensible à un point suraigu. C'est pourquoi, j'aime tant mon travail. Quand j'en suis contente, naturellement je me sens plus gaie, plus sociable. Quand ça ne va pas, j'ai envie d'être seule. Et c'est la même chose dans ma vie...

Georges Belmont: En sorte que, pour résumer, si je vous demande quelle impression cela fait d'être Marilyn Monroe, à ce stade de votre vie, que direz-vous?

Marilyn Monroe: Quelle impression cela vous fait-il d'être vous?

Georges Belmont: Parfois je suis content du monde et de moi-même. Parfois, non.

Marilyn Monroe: Et vous êtes heureux comme ça?

Georges Belmont: Ma foi, oui.

Marilyn Monroe: Eh bien, moi aussi. Et comme j'ai trente quatre ans et encore quelques années devant moi, j'éspère, cela me laisse le temps de travailler à devenir meilleure et plus heureuse dans mon métier comme dans ma vie privée. C'est ma seule ambition. Peut-être y mettrais-je le temps, car je suis lente; et je ne veux pas dire par là que ce soit le plus sûr moyen. Mais c'est le seul que je connaisse et qui me donne le sentiment que la vie, après tout, n'est pas sans espoir. 

- enregistrement audio -

1960-10-Georges_Belmont-interview-1  It was through Ruppert Allan, in charge of Marilyn's promotion, that the big interview between Marilyn Monroe and Georges Belmont took place in 1960. The latter was then editor of the french magazine Marie-Claire, which will publish the interview in number 72 of October 1960. The interview took place during the filming of the movie Let's Make Love which was a particular success in France because of Yves Montand's interpretation.
Georges Belmont soon succeeds in gaining Marilyn's trust. He had promised to provide her with a transcription of the interview and, moreover, to stick strictly in the written text to the oral formulation of her remarks. The basis was therefore good. All those who, afterward, read this interview, had to admit with astonishment that they had never heard Marilyn talk about herself so naturally.
This is how Georges Belmont depicts the atmosphere: "I just let her go ahead and speak. The only pressure I exerted was silence. When she was silent, I didn 't say anything either, and when she couldn 't stand it any longer and then continued talking she usually said something very important, something very moving."

MM: I'd much rather answer questions. I simply can't tell the whole story, that's terrible.... Where to begin? How? There are so many twists and turns.

GB: Still, it began somewhere. Your childhood?

MM: Well, that ... no one knew anything about it, except through pure coincidence.
For a long
time my past, my life, remained completely unknown. I never spoke about it. No particular reason, but simply because I felt it was my affair and not something for other people. Then one day a Mr. Lester Cowan wanted to put me in a film with Groucho Marx, called Love Happy. At that time I was under contract to Fox and Columbia, although they wanted to drop me....  He offered me a small part, this Mr. Cowan; but he was interested in putting me under contract. So he called. I was still very young, and he said he wanted to speak to my father and mother. I told him, "Impossible. ""Why?" he insisted. So I briefly explained the situation: "I
never lived with them." That was the truth, and I still don't see what was so unusual about it. But then he called Louella Parsons and told her the whole story, and it all appeared in Louella's column. That's the way it all began. Since then so many lies have been spread around. . . . My goodness, why shouldn't I simply tell the truth now?

GB: What are your earliest childhood memories?

MM: [long silence] My earliest memories? ... It's the memory of a struggle for survival. I was still very small - a baby in a little bed, yes, and I was struggling for life. But I'd rather not talk about it, if it's all the same to you. It's a cruel story, and it's no one's business but my own, as I said. 
Anyway, as far back as I can remember, I can see myself in a baby carriage, in a long white dress, on the sidewalk of a house where I lived with a family that wasn't my own.  It's true that I was illegitimate. But everything that's been said about my father - or my fathers - is wrong. My mother's first husband was named Baker. Her second was Mortensen. But she'd been divorced from both of them by the time I was born. Some people say my father was Norwegian, probably because of the name Mortensen, and that he was killed in a motorcycle accident right after my birth. I don't know if that's true, because he wasn't related to me. As far as my real father is concerned, I wish you wouldn't ask ... but there are a couple of things that could clear up some of the confusion. When I was very young, I was always told that my father was killed in a car crash in New York before I was born. Strangely enough, on my birth certificate under father's profession there's the word "baker," which was the name of my mother's first husband. When I was born - illegitimate, as I said - my mother had to give me a name. She was just trying to think quickly, I guess, and said "Baker." Pure coincidence, and then the official's confusion.... At least, I think that's the way it was.
Anyway, my name was Norma Jeane Baker. It was in all my school records. Everything else that's been said is crazy.

GB: Your mother. I read somewhere that to you she was just "the woman with the red hair"?

MM: I never lived with my mother. That's the truth, no matter what some people have said. As far back as I can remember I always lived with other people. My mother was mentally ill. She's dead now. And both of her parents died in mental institutions. My mother was also committed. Sometimes she got out, but she always had to go back. Well, you know how it is.... When I was real little, I'd say to every woman I'd see, "Oh, there's a mommy !" And if I saw a man, I'd say, "Oh, there's a daddy." But one morning - I was only about three -I was taking a bath and I said, "Mommy" to the woman who was taking care of me. And she said, "I'm not your mommy. Call me 'Aunt.'"" But he's my daddy !" I said and I pointed to her husband. "No," she
said, "we're not your parents. The one who comes here with the red hair, she's your mother." It was quite a shock to hear that. But since she didn't come very much, it's true that to me she was always "the woman with the red hair." Anyway, I knew that she existed. Then later on, when I was in an orphanage, I had another shock. I could read then, and when I saw the word "orphanage" in gold letters on a black background, they had to drag me in. I screamed, "I'm not an orphan! I have a mother!" But then I thought, "I'd better believe she's dead." And later people said, "It is better that you forget about your mother." "But where is she?" I asked. "Don't think about it," they said. "She's dead." And then a little bit later I suddenly heard
from her.... And that's the way it went for years. I thought she was dead, and I said so, too. But she was alive. So some people accused me of making it up that she was dead because I didn't want to admit where she was. It's crazy.
Anyway, I had - let's see - ten, no, eleven families. The first one lived in a small town near Los Angeles - I was born in Los Angeles. Along with me they had a little boy they later adopted. I stayed with them until I was around seven. They were terribly strict. They didn't mean any harm - it was their religion. They brought me up harshly, and correctedme in a way I think they never should have - with a leather strap. That finally came out, and so I was taken away and given to an English couple in Hollywood. They were actors, or I guess I should say extras, with a twenty-year-old daughter who was the spitting image of Madeleine Carroll. Life with them was pretty casual and tumultuous. That was quite a change from the first family, where we weren't allowed to talk about movies and actors or dance or sing, except maybe for psalms. My new "parents" worked hard, when they
worked, and they enjoyed life the rest of the time. They liked to dance and sing, they drank and played cards, and they had a lot of friends. Because of that religious upbringing I'd had, I was kind of shocked - I thought they were all going to hell. I spent hours praying for them. I remember something . . . after a few months my mother bought a small house where we were supposed to live. Not for very long - maybe three months. Then my mother had to be committed again. And that was a big change. After she left, we moved back to Hollywood. The English family kept me as long as there
was money - my mother's money from her savings and from an insurance policy she had. Through them I learned a lot about the movies. I wasn't even eight. They used to take me to one of the big movie theaters in Hollywood, the Egyptian or Grauman's Chinese. I used to watch the monkeys in the cages outside the Egyptian, all alone, and I tried to fit my feet into the footprints in front of Grau-man's, and I could never get my feet in because my shoes were too big.... It's funny to think that my footprints are there now, and that other little girls are trying to do the same thing I did.
They took me there every Saturday and Sunday. That was a break for them, I think; they worked very hard and they didn't want to be bothered with this child around the house all the time. It was probably better for me, too. I'd wait till the movie opened and then for ten cents I'd get in and sit in the front row. I watched all kinds of movies there - like Cleopatra with Claudette Colbert; I remember that so well. I'd sit there and watch the movie over and over. I had to be home before it got dark, hut how was I supposed to know when it was dark? The folks were good to me: even if I didn't get anything to eat when I was hungry I knew they'd save something for me at home. So I stayed at the movies. I had favorite stars. Jean Harlow ! I had
platinum blonde hair and people used to call me "tow-head." I hated that and I dreamed of having golden hair .. • until I saw her, so beautiful and with platinum blonde hair like mine. And Clark Gable. I'm sure he wouldn't mind if I say it, because in a Freudian sense it's supposed to be very good ... I used to think of him as my father. I'd pretend he was my father - I never pretended anyone was my mother, I don't know why- but I always pretended he was my father.... Where was I?

GB: The English couple. And when the money ran out.. .

MM: Oh, yes. They put me in an orphanage. No, wait a minute. When the English couple couldn't keep me anymore, I went to stay with some people in North Hollywood, people from New Orleans.
I remember that because they always called it "New Orleeens." I didn't stay there long, two or three months. I only remember that he was a cameraman and that one day he suddenly took me to the orphanage. I know a lot of people say that the orphanage wasn't so bad. But I do know that it's changed in the meantime. Perhaps it's not as gloomy.... But of course even the most modern orphanage is still an orphanage - if you know what I mean. At night, when the others were sleeping, I'd sit up in the window and cry because I'd look over and see the RKO studio sign above the roofs in the distance, where my mother had worked as a cutter. When I went there to work, years later, in 1951, doing Clash by Night, I went up to see if I could see the orphanage. But there were too many tall buildings in the way. I once read, I don't know where, that there were only three or four of us in a room in the orphanage. That's not true. I slept in a room with twenty-seven beds, where you could work your way to the "honor" bed, if you behaved. And then you could work your- self into the other dormitory, which had only a few beds. I got to the honor bed once. But one morning I was late and was putting on my shoes when the matron said, "Come downstairs!" I tried to tell her I was tying my shoes, but she said, "Back to the twenty- seventh bed."
We'd get up at six in the morning, and we did our work before we went to the public school. We each had a bed, a chair, and a locker. Everything had to be very clean, perfect, because of inspection. For a while I cleaned the dormitory where I slept. Every day you moved the beds and you swept and then you dusted. The bathrooms were easier; there was less dust because of the cement floors. And I worked in the kitchen, washing dishes. There were a hundred of us, so I washed a hundred plates and all those spoons and forks.... We didn't have knives or glasses and we drank out of mugs. But in the kitchen you could earn money. We made five cents a month. They took apenny out for Sunday school, so that you had one penny left at the end of the month if there were four Sundays. We'd save that to buy a friend a little thing for Christmas. I can't say I was very happy there. I didn't get along very well with the matrons. But the superintendent was very nice. I remember one day she called me into her office and said, "You have
very fine skin, but it's always so shiny. Let me put a little powder on to see if it helps." I felt honored. She had a little dog, a Pekinese, who wasn't allowed to be around the children because he would bite them. But the dog was very friendly to me and I really loved dogs.... I was really very honored; I mean, I was walking on air. Later, I tried to run away with some of the other girls. But where to? We couldn't decide, we hadn't the slightest idea. We only got as far as the bump in the front lawn when we were caught. The only thing I said was, "Please don't tell the superintendent! "- because she'd made me smile and put powder on my nose and let me pet her dog. In the orphanage I began to stutter. The day they brought me there, after they pulled me in, crying and screaming, suddenly there I was in the large dining room with a hundred kids sitting there eating, at five o'clock, and they were all staring at me. So I stopped crying right away. Maybe that's a reason along with the rest: my mother and the idea of being an orphan. Anjway, I stuttered. That was the first time. Later on, in my teens, when I was at Van Knight High School, they elected me secretary of the English class, and every time I had to read the minutes I'd say, "Minutes of the last m-m-m- meeting." It was terrible. That went on for two years, I guess, until I was fifteen. Sometimes it even happens to me today if I'm very nervous or excited. Once when I had a small part in a movie, in a scene where I was supposed to go up the stairs, I forgot what was happening and the assistant director came and yelled at me, and I was so confused that when I got into the scene I stuttered. Then the director himself came up to me and said, "You don't stutter." And I said, "That's what you think." It was painful. And it still is if I speak very fast or have to make a speech. Terrible ...
[ silence ].
I stayed about a year and a half in the orphanage. We went to the public school. It's very had to have children from an institution like that go to a public school because the other kids point their fingers: "Oh, they're from the home, they're from the home." We were all ashamed to be from the orphans' home. In school I liked singing and English. I hated arithmetic. I never had my mind on it, you know? I was always dreaming in a window.
But I was good at sports. I was pretty tall. At the orphanage, the first day, they didn't believe me when I said I was nine years old. They thought I was fourteen. I was almost as tall as I am now - five feet six inches. But I was very, very thin until I was eleven. Then things changed. Suddenly, I wasn't in the orphanage anymore. I complained so bitterly to my guardian that she got me out. My guardian - Grace McKee. She'd been my mother's best
friend. She died eleven years ago. While she was my legal guardian she worked as a film editor at Columbia. But she was fired, and she married a man ten years younger than herself and he had three children. They were very poor, so they couldn't care for me. And I think she felt that her responsibility was to her husband, naturally, and to his kids. But she was always wonderful to me. Without her, who knows where I would have landed! I could have been put in a state orphanage and kept there till I was eighteen.
My orphanage was private, and Grace used to visit me and take me out. Not as often as they say, but she used to come and take me out sometimes and I could put on her lipstick. I was only nine then. She'd take me someplace to get my hair curled, which was unheard of because it wasn't allowed and because I had straight hair. Things like that meant a great deal to me. Besides, she was the one who got me out of that orphanage after I complained so much, as I said. Of course that meant a new "family." I remember one where I stayed for just three or four weeks. I remember them because the woman delivered things her husband made. She'd take me along and I'd get so carsick!
I don't know if they were paid for taking me in. I only know that after them I kept changing families. Some took me at the end of the school year and then they had enough after the vacation. But maybe that's what had been arranged. Then Los Angeles County took over my support. It was awful. I hated it. Even in the orphanage when I went to school, I tried not to look like an orphan. But now this woman would come around and say, "Now let's see, I think you need some shoes." And she would write it down: one pair of shoes. Then, "And does she have a sweater?" Or, "I think the poor girl needs two dresses, one for school and one for Sunday." Well, the sweaters were ugly, they were made of cotton, and the clothes all looked like they
were made of flour sacks ... terrible. And the shoes! I'd say,"I don't want them." I always tried to get clothes from grown-ups that would be altered for me. And I wore tennis shoes a lot. You could get them for ninety-eight cents. I must have looked pretty funny then - I was so tall, as I said, and I ate everything. I know because the families I lived with said they'd never seen a child who ate everything. I'd eat anything. I also know that I was very quiet, at least in front of adults. They used to call me "the mouse." I didn't say very much except to other children, and I had a lot of imagination. The
other kids liked to play with me because I could think of things. I'd say, "Now we're going to play murder ... or divorce." And they'd say, "How do you think of things like that?"
I was probably a lot different than the others. Kids usually refuse to go to bed, but I never did. Instead, I'd say,"I think 111 go to bed now." I loved the privacy of my room, my bed. I especially loved to act out every part of the last movie I'd seen. You know, standing on my bed, being even taller, I'd act out all the parts, the men as well as the women, and I'd work out what happened before or after. It was wonderful.... So was acting in school plays.
Once I played the part of a king and once the part of a prince- that's because I was so tall. I had a real happy time while I was growing up when I went to live with a woman I called "Aunt Anna." She was Grace McKee's mother. She was a lot older, she was sixty, I guess, or somewhere around there, but she always talked about when she was a girl of twenty. There was real contact between us because she understood me somehow. She knew what it
was like to be young. And I loved her dearly. I used to do the dishes in the evening and I'd always be singing and whistling, and she'd say, "I never heard a child sing so much." So I did it during that time. Aunt Anna ... I adored her. When I was fifteen, turning sixteen, Grace McKee arranged a marriage for me. There's not much to say about it. She and her husband wanted to move to West Virginia. In Los Angeles the county paid them twenty dollars a month for me. If I'd gone with them to West Virginia, they wouldn't have gotten that money, and since they couldn't support me they had to
work out something. In the state of California a girl can marry at sixteen. So I had the choice: go to a home till I was eighteen or get married. And so I got married.
His name was Dougherty. He was twenty-one at that time and worked in a factory. Then the war came and he was going to be drafted, but he went into the Merchant Marine, and I stayed with him for a while at Catalina, where he was a physical training instructor. Around the end of the war I went to Las Vegas to divorce him. I was twenty. He's a policeman now. During the war I worked in a factory. I was in what they called the "dope room"- I had to paint "dope" on the fabric used in making target planes. The work was very boring and life was pretty awful there. The other girls would talk about what they'd done the night before and what they were going to do the next weekend. I worked near where the paint sprayers were - nothing but men. They used to stop their work to write me notes. The work was so boring I worked very fast just to get it over with. They thought was doing
something wonderful. There was an assembly for the whole plant and the president of the plant called my name and gave me a gold medal and a twenty-five-dollar war bond for" exemplary willingness," as he put it. The other girls were furious when I got it and they'd bump into me and make me spill my can of dope when I'd go for a refill. Oh my goodness, they made life miserable. And then one day the Air Force wanted to take pictures of our factory. I'd just come back from my vacation when the office called me in. "Where have you been?" I nearly died and I said, "But I had permission for a vacation !"- which was true. They said, "It's not that. Do you want to pose for some pictures?" Well, the photographers came and took the pictures. They wanted to take more, outside the factory, but I didn't want to get in trouble - because I would have missed work - so I said, "Youll have to get permission." Which they got, so I worked as a model here and there for several days, holding things in my hand, pushing things around, pulling them ...
The pictures were developed at Eastman Kodak and the people there asked who the model was and one of the photographers - David Conover - came back and said to me, "You should become a model. You'd easily earn five dollars an hour." Five dollars an hour ! I was earning twenty dollars a week for ten hours a day and I had to stand all day on a concrete floor. Reason enough to give it a try. I started off slowly. The war was over, so I left
the factory and went to an agency. They took me on, for ads and calenders - not the one that caused so much trouble; well come to that - but others, where I was a brunette, then a redhead, then a blonde. And I really did earn five dollars an hour! And I was able to pursue one of my dreams. From time to time I took drama lessons, when I had enough money. They were expensive; I paid ten dollars an hour. I got to know a lot of people, people different from those I'd known, both good and bad. Sometimes when I was waiting for a bus a car would stop and the man at the wheel would roll down the window and say, "What are you doing here? You should be in pictures. "Then he'd ask me to drive home with him. I'd always say, "No, thank you. I'd rather take the bus." But all the same, the idea of the movies kept going through my mind. Once, I remember, I did accept an offer from a man I met like that - an offer to audition in a moviestudio. He must have been pretty persuasive. Anyhow, I went. It was on a Saturday and the place was deserted. I should have been suspicious, but I was still awfully naive. Well, the man led me into an office. We were alone. He held up a script and said there was a part in it, but he'd have to see. Then he told me to read the part and to pull up my dress. It was summer and I was wearing a bathing suit under my dress. But when he said, "Higher," I got scared and turned red and blurted out, "Only if I can keep my hat on!" That was stupid, of course, but I was really scared and desperate. I must have looked ridiculous, standing there holding on to my hat. Finally he got very mad. I was terribly frightened and ran away. I told the agency about this and they called the studio and other places to try to find this guy, but they didn't.
He must have had a friend or somebody who let him use his office. This incident frightened me so much that for a long time I was determined never to become an actress, after all. It was a difficult time in my life. I was living in rooms here and there - not in hotels, because they cost too much.
And then, as luck would have it, I was on the covers of five magazines in one month, and Fox called me up. And so I was waiting on those hard benches with lots of other people, all ages and sizes and everything. There was a long wait until Ben Lyon, the head of casting, came out of his office. He was hardly out when he pointed at me and said, "Who's this girl?" I was wearing a white cotton dress that Aunt Anna-I was living with her then for a little while - had washed and ironed for me. Everything had come up so suddenly that I couldn't do both - iron the dress and get myself ready- so she said, "111 do the dress, you just put on your makeup."
After that long wait, I felt beat, but Lyon was so nice. He said I looked so fresh and young and I don't know what all. He even said, "I've only discovered one other person - and that was Jean Harlow." Imagine that, my favorite actress!
They made a Technicolor test the next day, which was unusual because they should have had the director's permission. And then Fox put me under contract - a stock contract for a year.
But nothing came of it, and I never understood why. They hired a lot of girls and some boys, but they dropped them without ever giving them any chances. After they dropped me, I tried to see Mr. Zanuck, but that was impossible. They always told me he was in Sun Valley. I'd come back a week later and they'd say, "He's in Sun Valley, we're very sorry, he's very busy." After a while you just give up. And then, when I was hired back, after Asphalt Jungle, he said to me, "I understand you used to be here?" I said,"That's right." Well, things are a lot different now. And he said I had a three-dimensional quality, reminiscent of Harlow, which was interesting since Ben Lyon had been saying that. I owe a lot to Ben Lyon. He was the first to believe in me. He even gave me my name. One day we were looking for a stage name for me. I couldn't very well take my father's name, but I wanted at least some- thing that was related, so I said, "I want the name 'Monroe,'" which was my mother's maiden name. And so, since he always said I reminded him of Jean Harlow and Marilyn Miller, the great Broadway musical star, he said, "Well, Marilyn goes better with Monroe, so - Marilyn Monroe." And now I end up being Mariljai Monroe even on my marriage license!
But to get back to where I was ... I was pretty desperate. Fox dropped me and the same thing happened later at Columbia, even though it was a little different. They at least put me in a movie called Ladies of the Chorus. It was really dreadful. I was supposed to be the daughter of a burlesque dancer some guy from Boston falls in love with. It was a terrible story and terribly badly photographed - everything was awful about it. So they dropped me. But you learn from everything. saw no way out. It was the worst time for me. I lived in the Hollywood Studio Club and I couldn't stand it there. It reminded me of the orphanage. I was broke and behind in the rent. In the Studio Club they'd let you get about a week behind in the rent and then they'd write you, "You're the only one who doesn't support this wonderful institution." When you lived there, you'd get two meals a day-breakfast and dinner- and you had a roof over your head. Where else could I have gone? I had no family and I was really hungry. Of course, a lot of people said, "Why don't you go and get a job in a dimestore?" But I don't know; once I tried to get a job at Thrifty's and because I didn't have a high school education they wouldn't hire me. And it was different, really- being a model, trying to become an actress, and I should go into a dimestore? There are a lot of stories told about those calendar pictures. When the story came out, I'd already done Asphalt Jungle and was rehired at Fox with a seven-year contract. I still remember the publicity department calling me on the set and asking, "Did you pose for a calendar?" And I said, "Yes, anything wrong?" Well, they were real anxious and they said, "Don't say you did, say you didn't." I said, "But I did, and I signed the release, so I feel I should say so." They were very unhappy about that. And then the cameraman who was working on the film then got hold of one of the calendars and asked me if I'd sign it, and so I said yes, I would. I signed it and wrote " To ..."and then his name, and I said, "This isn't my best angle, you know." And of course the studio got even madder. Anyone who knows me knows that I can't lie. Sometimes I leave things out or I don't elaborate, to protect myself or other people - who probably don't even want to be protected - but I can never tell a lie. I was very hungry, four weeks behind in my rent, and needed money desperately. I remembered that I'd done some beer ads for Tom Kelley and his wife, Natalie, and that they had asked me to pose nude. They told me there was nothing to it and that I would earn a lot - fifty dollars, the amount I needed. Because they were both very nice to me I called them up and
asked Tom, "Are you sure they won't recognize me?" He said, "I promise." Then I said, "Well, if it's at night and you don't have any helpers ... you know how to put up the lights ... I don't want to expose myself to all the people you have." He said, "All right, just Natalie and me." So we did it. I felt shy about it, but they were real delicate, you know, about the whole situation. They just spread out some red velvet and had me lie down on it. And it was all very simple - and drafty! - and I was able to pay the rent and buy myself something to eat.
People are funny. They ask you a question and when you're honest, they're shocked. Someone once asked me, "What do you wear in bed? Pajama tops? Bottoms? Or a nightgown?" So I said, "Chanel Number Five." Because it's the truth. You know, I don't want to say"nude," but ... it's the truth.
There came the time when I began to - let's say, be known, and nobody could imagine what I did when I wasn't shooting, because they didn't see me at previews or premieres or parties. It's simple. I was going to school. I'd never finished high school, so I started going to UCLA at night, because during the day I had small parts in pictures. I took courses in the history of literature and the history of this country, and I started to read a lot, stories by wonderful writers. It was hard to get to the classes on time because I worked in the studio till six-thirty. And since I had to get up early to be ready for
shooting at nine o'clock, I was tired in the evening and sometimes I would fall asleep in the classroom. But I forced myself to sit up and listen. And I was really lucky to sit next to a Negro boy who was absolutely brilliant. He worked for the post office - now he's head of the Los Angeles Post Office. The professor, Mrs. Seay, didn't know who I was and found it odd that the boys from other classes often looked through the window during our class and whispered to one another. One day she asked about me and they said, "She's a movie actress." And she said, "Well, I'm very surprised. I thought she was a young girl just out of a convent." That was one of the nicest compliments I ever got.
But the people I just talked about- you know, they liked to see me as a starlet: sexy, frivolous, and dumb. I have a reputation of always being late. Well,
I don't think I'm late all the time. People just remember the times I come too late. Besides, I really don't think I can go as fast as other people. They get in their cars, they run into each other, they never stop. I don't think mankind was intended to be like machines. Besides, it's a great waste of time - you get more done doing it more sensibly, more leisurely. If I have to get to the studio to rush through the hairdo and the makeup and the clothes, I'm all worn out by the time I have to do a scene. When we did Let's Make Love, George Cukor thought it would be better to let me come in an hour late, so I'd
be fresher at the end of the day. I think actors in movies work too long hours anyway. I like to have time for the things I do. I think that we're rushing too much nowadays. That's why people are nervous and unhappy- with their lives and with themselves. How can you do anything perfect under such conditions? Perfection takes time.
I'd like very much to be a fine actress, a true actress. And I'd like to be happy, but who's happy? I think trying to be happy is almost as difficult as trying to be a good actress. You have to work at both of them.

GB: I suppose the portrait of Eleonora Duse on the wall is therefor some reason.

MM: Yes. I feel a lot for her because of her life and also because of her work. How shall I put it? She never settled for less, in either.
Personally, if I can realize certain things in my work, I come the closest to being happy. But it only happens in moments. I'm not just generally happy. If I'm generally anything, I guess I'm generally miserable. I don't separate my personal life from my professional one. I find that in working, the more personally I work the better I am professionally. My problem is that I drive myself, but I do want to be wonderful, you know? I know some people may laugh about that, but it's true. Once in New York my lawyer was telling me about my tax deductions and stuff and having the patience of an angel with me. I said to him, "I don't want to know about all this. I only want to be wonderful." But if you say that sort of thing to a lawyer, he thinks you're crazy.
There's a book by Rainer Maria Rilke that's helped me a lot: Letters to a Young Poet. Without it I'd probably think I was crazy sometimes. I think that when an artist - forgive me, but I do think I'm becoming an artist, even though some people willlaugh; that's why I apologize - when an artist tries to be true, you sometimes feel you're on the verge of some kind of craziness. But it isn't really craziness. You're just trying to get the truest part of your-
self out, and it's very hard, you know. There are times when you think, "All I have to be is true." But sometimes it doesn't come so easily. And sometimes it's very easy.
I always have this secret feeling that I'm really a fake or something, a phony. Everyone feels that way now and then, I guess. My teacher, Lee Strasberg, at the Actors Studio, often asks me, "Why do you feel that way about yourself? You're a human being." I answer, "Yes, I am, but I feel like I have to be more." "No," he says, "you have to start with yourself. What are you doing?" I said, "Well, I have to get into the part." He says, "No, you're
a human being so you start with yourself." "With me?" I shouted the first time he said that. "Yes, with you!"
I think Lee probably changed my life more than any other human being. That's why I love to go to the Actors Studio whenever I'm in New York. My one desire is to do my best, the best that I can from the moment the camera starts until it stops. That moment I want to be perfect, as perfect as I can make it. When I worked at the factory, I used to go to the movies on Saturday nights. That was the only time I could really enjoy myself, really relax, laugh, be myself. If the movie was bad, what a disappoiment ! The whole week I waited to go to the movies and I worked hard for the money it cost. If I thought that the people in the movie didn't do their best or were sloppy, I was really angry when I left because I didn't have much money to go on for the next week. So I always feel that I work for those people who work hard, who go to the box office and put down their money and want to be en-
tertained. I always feel I do it for them. I don't care so much about what the director thinks. I used to try to explain this to Mr. Zanuck... .
Love and work are the only things that really happen to us. Everything else doesn't really matter. I think that one without the other isn't so good - you need both. In the factory, though I worked so fast because it was boring, I used to take pride in doing my work really perfectly, as perfectly as I could.
And when I dreamed of love, then that was also something that had to be as perfect as possible. When I married Joe DiMaggio in 1954, he had already retired from baseball, but he was a wonderful athlete and had a very sensitive nature in many respects. His family were immigrants and he'd had a very difficult time when he was young. So he understood something about me, and I understood something about him, and we based our marriage on this. But jusf'something" isn't enough. Our marriage wasn't very happy, and it ended in nine months. My feelings are as important to me as my work. Probably that's why I'm so impetuous and exclusive. I like people, but when it comes to friends, I only like a few. And when I love, I'm so exclusive that I really have only one idea in my mind. Above all, I want to be treated as a human being.
When I met Arthur Miller the first time, it was on a set, and I was crying. I was playing in a picture called As Young As You Feel, and he and Elia Kazan came over to me. I was crying because a friend of mine had died. I was introduced to Arthur. That was in 1951. Everything was pretty bleary for me at that time. Then I didn't see him for about four years. We would correspond, and he sent me a list of books to read. I used to think that maybe he might see me in a movie - there often used to be two pictures playing at a time, and I thought I might be in the other movie and he'd see me. So I wanted to do my best. I don't know how to say it, but I was in love with him from the first moment. I'll never forget that one day he said I should act on the stage and how the people standing around laughed. But he said, "No, I'm very serious." And the way he said that, I could see he was a sensitive human being and treated me as a sensitive person, too. It's difficult to describe, but it's the most important thing. Since we've been married we lead - when I'm
not in Hollywood - a quiet and happy life in New York, and even more so on the weekends in our country house in Connecticut. My husband likes to start work very early in the morning. Usually he gets up at six o'clock. Then he stops and takes a nap later on in the day. Our apartment isn't very large, so I had his study soundproofed. He has to have complete quiet when he works. I get up about eight-thirty or so, and sometimes when I'm waiting for our breakfast to be ready- we have an excellent cook - I take my dog, Hugo, for a walk. But when the cook is out, I get up early and fix Arthur's breakfast because I think a man should never have to fix his own meals. I'm very old-fashioned that way. I also don't think a man should carry a woman's belongings, like her high-heeled shoes or her purse or whatever. I might hide something in his pocket, like a comb, but I don't think anything should be visible.
After breakfast. 111 take a bath, to make my days off different from my working days, when I get up at five or six in the morning and take a cold shower to wake me up. In New York I like to soak in the tub, read the New York Times, and listen to music. Then 111 get dressed in a skirt and a shirt and flat shoes and apolo coat and go to the Actors Studio - on Tuesdays and Fridays at eleven o'clock. On other days I go to Lee Strasberg's private
classes. Sometimes I come home for lunch, and I'm always free just before and during dinner for my husband. There's always music during dinner. We both like classical music. Or jazz, if it's good, but mostly we put it on when we have a party in the evening, and we dance. Arthur often goes back to work after his nap, and I always find things to do. He has two children from his first marriage, and I try to be a good stepmother. And there's a lot to do in the apartment. I like to cook - not in the city, where it's too busy, but in the country. I can make bread and noodles - you know, roll them up and dry them, and prepare a sauce. Those are my specialties. Sometimes I invent recipes. I love lots of seasonings. I love garlic, but sometimes it's too much for other people. Now and then the actors from the studio will come over and 111 give them breakfast or tea, and well study while we eat. So my days are pretty full. But the evenings are always free for my husband. After dinner we often go to the theater or to a movie, or we have friends in, or we visit friends. Often we just stay home, listen to music, talk, read. Or we go for a walk after dinner in Central Park, sometimes; we love to walk. We
don't have a set way of doing things. There are times when I would like to be more organized than I am, to do certain things at certain times. But my husband says at least it never gets dull. So it's all right. I'm not bored by things; I'm just bored by people who are bored. I like people, but sometimes I wonder how sociable I am. I can easily be alone and it doesn't bother me. I don't mind it - it's like a rest, it kind of refreshes my self. I think there are two things about human beings - at least, I think there are about me: they want to be alone and they also want to be together. I have a gay side to me and also a sad side. That's a real problem. I'm very sensitive to that. That's why I love my work. When I'm happy with it, I feel more sociable. If not, I like to be alone. And in my private life, it's the same way.

GB: If I asked you what does it feel like being Marilyn Monroe, at this stage in your life, what would you answer?

MM: Well, how does it feel being yourself?

GB: Sometimes I'm content with myself, at other times I'm dissatisfied.

MM: That's exactly how I feel. And are you happy?

GB: I think so.

MM: Well, I am too, and since I'm only thirty-four and have a few years to go yet, I hope to have time to become better and happier, professionally and in my personal life. That's my one ambition. Maybe I'll need a long time, because I'm slow. I don't want to say that it's the best method, but it's the only one I know and it gives me the feeling that in spite of everything life is not without hope.

 © All images are copyright and protected by their respective owners, assignees or others.
copyright text by GinieLand.

02 janvier 2011

Cahiers du Cinéma Juillet/Août 1987

mag_Cahiers_du_cin_ma_398_1987_juillet_aout_coverDans le magazine Cahiers du Cinéma, n°398, de juillet-août 1987, Marilyn Monroe faisait la couverture. En pages intérieures, un article de deux pages, hommage du journaliste Georges Belmont.

mag_Cahiers_du_cin_ma_398_1987_juillet_aout_p12_13 mag_Cahiers_du_cin_ma_398_1987_juillet_aout_p13

Posté par ginieland à 12:37 - - Commentaires [0] - Permalien [#]
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14 mai 2010

Docu TV - Marilyn on Marilyn

Marilyn on Marilyn


Année: décembre 2001
Pays: Angleterre
Réalisateur: Paul Kerr

Production: BBC
Durée: 60 minutes
Langue: anglais

Documentaire diffusé sur les écrans britanniques en décembre 2001, retraçant la vie de Marilyn Monroe à travers de nombreuses images d'archives, sur la voix de Marilyn qui racontait sa vie aux journalistes Georges Belmont (français, il avait été envoyé par le magazine Marie-Claire en 1960 sur le tournage de Let's Make Love pour interviewer la star) et Richard Meryman (envoyé par le magazine Life pour ce qui restera la dernière interview accodée par Marilyn le 4 juillet 1962). Ce sont les deux derniers journalistes à avoir interviewé longuement Marilyn et surtut, d'avoir pris le soin d'enregistrer les interviews sur cassettes audios.
>> Fiche du docu sur imdb 

> partie 1

> partie 2

> partie 3

> partie 4 (malheureusement, le son a été desactivé!)

> partie 5

> partie 6


Posté par ginieland à 18:43 - - Commentaires [0] - Permalien [#]
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