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Life
volume 52, numéro 25
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Pays: USA
Date: 22 juin 1962
Couverture: Marilyn Monroe - A skinny-dip You'll never see on the screen (-en français "Marilyn Monroe - Un bain de minuit que vous ne verrez jamais à l'écran"); photo de Lawrence Schiller & William Read Woodfield)
Article: publication d'un article de 5 pages intitulé "They Fired Marilyn: Her Dip Lives On" (-en français "Ils ont viré Marilyn : son style reste intact."), avec publication en exclusivité des photographies de Marilyn nue sur le tournage de son film "Something's Got To Give".
- Crédit photos de Marilyn: Lawrence Schiller & William Read Woodfield
- Information: C'est la dernière fois que Marilyn Monroe fait la couverture du magazine américain Life de son vivant. Il s'agit là d'un "coup publicitaire", orchestré par Marilyn, de faire publier ces photographies d'elle nue, afin d'attirer l'attention du public car elle venait d'être renvoyée par les studios de la Fox, et qu'au même moment, Elizabeth Taylor occupait la Une de la presse, sur le tournage du film "Cléôpatre" qui a traîné en longueur (2 ans de tournage) et a coûté 44 millions de dollars à la Fox. 
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Country: USA
Date: June, 22, 1962
Cover: Marilyn Monroe - A skinny-dip You'll never see on the screen (photo de Lawrence Schiller & William Read Woodfield)
Article: publication of a 5-page article entitled "They Fired Marilyn: Her Dip Lives On" (-in French "They fired Marilyn: her style remains intact."), with exclusive publication of photographs of Marilyn naked on the set of her film "Something's Got To Give".
- Photos credit of Marilyn: Lawrence Schiller & William Read Woodfield.
- Information: This is the last time Marilyn Monroe appeared on the cover of the American magazine Life during her lifetime. This was a "publicity stunt," orchestrated by Marilyn, to have these photographs of her nude published in order to attract public attention because she had just been fired by Fox studios, and at the same time, Elizabeth Taylor was making headlines, on the set of the film "Cleopatra," which dragged on (2 years of filming) and cost Fox $44 million.
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© All images are copyright and protected by their respective owners, assignees or others.
copyright text by Life; retranscription and translation by GinieLand.

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Life
volume 53, numéro 07
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Pays: USA
Date: 17 août 1962
Couverture: Marilyn Monroe (photo de Lawrence Schiller, extraite du film "Something's Got to Give")
Article: 11 pages consacrées à Marilyn:
d'abord, un article de 2 pages (p.32-33) intitulé "A Last Long Talk With a Lonely Girl" (-en français "Une dernière longue conversation avec une fille solitaire") rédigé par Richard Meryman, le dernier journaliste à l'avoir interviewée (l'interview avait été publiée dans le Life du 03 août 1962) où il relate les diverses entrevues chez Marilyn pour la préparation et l'entretien;
puis un portfolio hommage de 9 pages "Photographic Essay - Remember Marilyn" (p.63-71) avec la publication de photographies qui couvrent la vie de Marilyn.
- Crédit photos:  Lawrence Schiller & Don Cravens (p.32-33); André De Dienes (p.63-64); Philippe Halsman (p. 64); Bert Stern (p. 64 + p.70-71); agence U.P.I (p.66), Ken Heyman (p.67); Lee Lockwood (p.67); Richard Avedon (p.68-69).
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Country: USA
Date: August, 17, 1962
Cover: Marilyn Monroe (photo by Lawrence Schiller, from the film "Something's Got to Give")
Article: 11 pages dedicated to Marilyn:
First, a 2-page article (pp. 32-33) entitled "A Last Long Talk With a Lonely Girl" by Richard Meryman, the last journalist to interview her (the interview was published in Life magazine on August 3, 1962), in which he recounts the various meetings at Marilyn's home for the preparation and the interview itself;
Then, a 9-page tribute portfolio, "Photographic Essay - Remember Marilyn" (pp. 63-71), featuring photographs that span Marilyn's life.
- Photo credits: Lawrence Schiller & Don Cravens (pp. 32-33); André De Dienes (pp. 63 + 64); Philippe Halsman (p. 64); Bert Stern (p. 64 + pp 70 + 71); U.P.I. agency (p. 66); Ken Heyman (p. 67). Lee Lockwood (p.67); Richard Avedon (p.68-69). 
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- article p. 32-33 - 

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A LAST LONG TALK WITH A LONELY GIRL
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Only a few weeks before her death Marilyn monroe talked at length to LIFE Associate Editor Richard Meryman about the effects of fame on her life. Her story was published in the August 3 issue. Here he recalls what Marilyn was like as she talked to him. 
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by RICHARD MERYMAN
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If Marilyn Monroe was glad to see you, her "hello" will sound in your mind all of your life - the breathless warmth of the emphasis on the "lo," her weel-deep eyes turned up toward you and her face radiantly crinkled in a wonderfully girlish smile.
I first experienced this when, after two get-acquainted meetings in New York, I came in the late afternoon several weeks ago to her Brentwood, Calif. home to begin a series of conversations on fame. Expecting one of the famous waits for Marilyn, I sat on the soft wall-to-wall carpet of the living room and began struggling to set up my tape recorder. Suddenly I became aware of a pair of brilliant yellow slacks was Marilyn, silently watching me with a solicitous grin, very straight and slender with delicately narrow shoulders. She seemed shorter than I remebered and she looked spectacular in a loose-fitting blouse. I sttop up and we gretted and she said, "Do you want my tape recorder? I bought one to play the poems of a friend of mine."
Before starting what was to be no less than a six-hour talk, she wanted to show me her house which she had personally searched out and bought. Describing it earlier she exclaimed, "... and it has walls." She had refused LIFE any pictures of it, saying, "I don't want everybody to see exactly where I live, what my sofa or my fireplace looks like. Do you know the book "Everyman"? Well, I want to stay just in the fantasy of Everyman."
It was a small, three-bedroom house built in Mexican style, the first home entirely her own she had ever had. She exulted in it. On a special trip to Mexico she had carefully searched in roadside stands and shops and even factories to find just the right things to put in it. The large items had not arrived - nor was she ever to see then installed. As she led me through the rooms, bare and makeshift as though someone lived there only temporarily, she described with loving excitement each couch and table and dresser, wher it would go and what was special about it. The few small Mexican things - a tin candelabra, folding stools ingeniously carved from single pieces of wood, a leather-covered coffee table, tiles on the kitchen walls - revealed her impetuous, charming taste. Separate from the house, attached to her two-car garage, was a large room being converted to an apartment which would be, she explained, "a place for any friends of mine who are in some kind of trouble, you know, and maybe they'll want to live here where they won't be bothered till things are OK for them."
Back in the house I remarked on the profusion of flowers outside. Her face grew bright and she said, "I don't know why, but I've always been able to make anything grow." She went on: "When I was married to Mr. Miller, we celebrated Hanukkah and I felt, well, we should have also a Christmas tree. But I couldn't stand the idea of going out and chopping off a Christmas tree."
In the living room, seated on a non-descript chair and sofa, we went on talking - after Marilyn poured herself a glass of champagne. At each question she paused thoughtfully. "I'm trying to find the nailhead, not just strike a blow," she said. Then a deep breath and out her throughts would tumble, breathless words falling over breathless words. Once she said, "One way basically to handle fame is with honesty and I mean it and the other way to handle it when something happens - as things have happened recently, and I've had other things happen to me, suddenly, my goodness, the things they try to do to you, it's hard to take - I handle with silence."
Her inflections came as surprising twists and every emotion was in full bravura, acted out with exuberant gestures. Across her face flashed anger, wistfulness, bravado, tenderness, ruefulness, high humor and deep sadness. And each idea usually ended in a startling turn of thought, with her laugh rising to a delighted squeak. "I think I have always had a little humor," said Marilyn. "I guess sometimes people just sort of questionned 'does she know what she's saying,' and sometimes you do all of a sudden think about something else and you didn't mean to say it exactly. I'm pointing at me. I don't digest things with my mind. If I did, the whole thing wouldn't work. Then I'd just be kind of an intellectual and that I'm not interested in." 
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At this point I began to see that Marilyn did nothing by halves. Of her millions of fans she said, "The least I can do is give them the best they can get from me. What's the good of drawing in the next breath if all you do is let it out and draw in another?" I could also soo how important it was to her to feel that the person she talked to "understood." 
Understanding apparently meant being very sympathetic, taking her side in everything, recognizing the nuances of her meanings and valuing all that she valued, especially small things. When I showed genuine enthusiasm for her house, she said, "Good, anybody who likes my house, I'm sure I'll get along with."
But I had the constant, uneasy feeling that my status with her was precarious, that if I grew the least bit careless she might suddenly decide that I, like many others she felt had let her down, did not understand. Once I slangily asked her how she "cranked up" to do a scene. I was instantly confronted by queenly outrage: "I don't crank anything. I'm not a Model T. I think that's kind of disrespectful to refer to it that way."
But I could not feel impatient with her impatience. It was all so understandable as she talked about the people who wrote columns and stories about her: "They go around and ask mostly your enemies. Friends always say, 'Let's check and see if this is all right with her.'" And then she added wistfully: "You know, most people really don't know me." There was grief in her eyes when she described how she had once found her stepson Bobby Miller hiding a magazine containing a lurid article about her, and how Joe DiMaggio Jr. used to be taunted at school because of her.
"You know, ha, ha, your stepmother is Marilyn Monroe, ha, ha, ha, ha. All that kind of stuff." And there was yearning in her voice as she returned over and over again to "kids, and older people and workingmen" as a source of warmth in her life, as the unthreatening people who treated her naturally, whom she could meet spontaneously. I felt a rush of protectiveness for her; a wish - perhaps the sort that was at the root of the public's tenderness for Marilyn - to keep her from anyhting ugly and hurtful.
Before I left late that night she asked to be sent a transcript of the interview, "I often wake up in the night," she explained, "and I like to have something to think about."
When I arrived the next afternoon for a second session she immediately asked to postpone our talk. She was tired out, she said, from negociations with 20th Century-Fox over resumption of "Something's Got to Give." But she hospitably offered me a drink and we chatted. She was obviously upset. But ther was no hint of morose despair. She was electric with indignation and began talking angrily about how studios treat their stars. Then she paused, said she needed something to help overcome her tiredness and got a glass of champagne. I asked if she had ever wished that she were tougher. She answered, "Yes - but I don't think it would be very feminine to be tough. Guess I'll settle for the way I am."
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We were interrupted when her doctor arrived. Marilyn bounded out to the kitchen, returned with a little ampule, and holding it up to me said, "No kidding, they're making me take liver shots. Here, I'll prove it to you." By then she was willing to talk on, and it was nearly midnight when Marilyn jumped up and announced she was going to throw a steak on the grill. She came back to say there was no steak and no food at all. Before I left one of the last things she said was, "With fame, you know, you can read about yourself, somebody else's ideas about you, but what's important is how you feel about yourself - for survival and living day to day with what comes up."
Over the weekend Marilyn was scheluded to pose for pictures so I suggested we eat breakfast before her noon appointment. She agreed and I arrived on Saturday at 10. I rang the doorbell repeatedly. No answer. Buth through the window I could see a man sitting in her little glassed-in porch, reading a magazine with the bored patience of somebody who had been there a long time. I waited and rang for 10 minutes, then went aay for an hour. At 11 my ring was answered by Marilyn's housekeeper, Mrs. Murray, who took me to wait in a guest room just off a tiny hall from Marilyn's bedroom. At noon Mrs. Murray took a tray of breakfast in to her. Shortly afterward Marilyn came out and said hello.
I then became a witness to the fabled process of Marilyn preparing for an appointment - and being four hours late for it. The patient gentleman was her hairdresser, Mr. Kenneth. While he worked on her and she sat under the dryer I could hear uproarious laughter. Then, in her curlers, she made little barefooted errands about the house and in and out of her room, phone calls, visits to me to ask if I was comfortable, all busy bustling, getting nothing done. There was none of the fearful moping and preening in front of mirrors I had heard so much about. She was entirely cheerful and utterly disorganized. I could not help feeling that what some people blamed on stagefright might partly be her endless debt to time. The necessary mechanics of daily living were beyond her grasp; she always started out behind and never caught up.
Finally she was almost ready and she came trippingly into the room where I sat. She wore high heels, orange slacks, a brassiere, and held an orange blouse carelessly across her bosom. "Do I look like a pumpkin in this outfit?" she asked. She looked wonderful. "You'll set the fashion industry ahead 10 years," I said. She was very pleased and answered, "You think so? Good!"
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Two days later I called Marilyn for another appointment to talk over the final draft of her story. She said, "Come anytime, like, you know, for beakfast." There was in her voice a note wich I had come to recognize - an appealing eagerness to please. I came again at 10 and once again she slept till noon. Finally we sat down together on a tiny sofa. She was barefooted, wearing a robe, and had not yet washed off last night's mascara. Her delicate hair was in a sleep-tumbled whirl. But she had made me feel this was a compliment. "Friends," she had said, "accept you the way you are." As was usual, her face was very pale. She held the manuscript high in front of her eyes and carefully read it aloud, listening to every phrase to be sure it sounded exactly like her.
She kept the manuscript and I returned for it late that afternoon. On the steps of the house she showed me changes she had penciled in, all of them small. She asked me to take out a remark about quietly giving money to needy individuals. And then we said goodby. As I walked away she suddenly called after me, "Hey, thanks." I turned to look back and there she stood, very still and strangely forlorn. I thought then of her reaction earlier when I had asked if many friends had called up to rally round when she was fired by Fox. There was silence, and sitting very straight, eyes wide and hurt, she had answered with a tiny "No."
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photo caption:
THE QUIET ONES. In stony gried Joe DiMaggio and his 21 year-old Marine son Joe Jr. leave her funeral in Westwood. Her second husband and a beloved star in his own right, DiMaggio seized command of all arrangements, and all Hollywood celebrities were barred to keep the last rites private. At the end, Joe was reported to have bent over Marilyn and gently kissed her goodby.
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Traduction

Le magazine Historia n°429, de août 1982, consacrait un article de 9 pages sur Marilyn Monroe; intitulé "Il y a vingt ans. Le dernier maquillage de Marilyn Monroe: Crime ou Suicide ?".

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Dans le magazine Voici, n°1218, paru le 12 mars 2011, un article est consarée à la sortie du livre de Marilyn par le photographe André De Dienes au éditions Taschen. Prix: 1,50 Euros.

Le magazine français Le Dauphiné, de la semaine du 31 juillet 1989, consacrait sa couverture à Marilyn Monroe, avec un article de deux pages "Le jour où Marilyn nous a quitté".
> source scan: blog marilynnousvous

Le magazine français Elle du 16 juillet 1956 consacrait sa couverture à Marilyn Monroe et un article intérieur de 3 pages, intitulé "La nouvelle Marilyn".

Le magazine Paris Match n°1272, du 22 septembre 1973, consacrait un article de six pages - "Exclusif: le président Kennedy fut le dernier amour de Marilyn Monroe" - intitulé "Marilyn dans la légende des Kennedy". 

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Le magazine Paris Match n°1605, du 29 février 1980, consacrait un article de dix pages sur le récit de Hans Jorgen Lembourn, qui déclare avoir vécu une idylle de 40 jours avec Marilyn Monroe.

Dans le magazine Point de vue, n°3268, paru le 9 mars 2011, un article de trois pages est consarée à Jane Russell. Prix: 2,20 Euros.

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Life
volume 56, numéro 06
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Pays: USA
Date: 07 février 1964
Couverture: Mutineries du Tanganyika
Article: article de 6 pages sur la pièce de théâtre écrite par Arthur Miller "Après la chute" dont le personnage principal Maggie est fortement inspirée de Marilyn Monroe, et mis en scène par Elia Kazan.
- Crédit photo Marilyn: Inge Morath (agence Magnum)
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Country: USA
Date: February, 07, 1964
Cover: Tanganyikan Mutinies
Article: a 6-page article on the play written by Arthur Miller "After the Fall" whose main character Maggie is heavily inspired by Marilyn Monroe, and directed by Elia Kazan.
- Photo credit: Inge Morath (from Magnum)
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Arthur Miller's startling play - is it good taste?
MARILYN'S GHOST TAKES THE STAGE
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Most of the audience already knew. Before they took their seats at the New York opening of Arthur Miller's new play, After the Fall, they had heard that a major character named Maggie bore a more than casual resemblance to Miller's second wife, the late Marilyn Monroe.
  But even forewarned, they were not prepared for what they saw. When at gifted new star, Barbara Loden, put on a blond wig and appeared in a succession of diaphanous costumes, she was not merely disporting herself in the Monroe manner. It was frequently a Monroe impersonation and the effect was uncanny, as if a ghost had been conjured up. On top of that, Miller had written scenes dealing with Maggie's addiction to sleeping pills, her promiscuity, her desperate need for love and reassurance.
  Since Miller is a major U.S. playwright, and since his play was sponsored by New York's august new Lincoln Center, it would be wrong to dismiss his work as sensationalism. Miller was writing, with all the honesty he could muster, about a lawyer named Quentin obviously a Miller spokesman and how he came to terms with his life, and himself. But charges of bad taste have been thrown at Miller by many who admired him. On page 66 Playwright Miller explains eloquently why he has written this play.
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captions pictures: In the play, Barbara Loden, wearing pajama top, evokes Marilyn Monroe. Above, in life, Marilyn embraces Author Miller after their 1956 marriage.
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Traduction
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La pièce surprenante d'Arthur Miller : est-elle de bon goût ?
LE FANTÔME DE MARILYN PREND LA SCÈNE
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La plupart des spectateurs étaient déjà au courant. Avant de prendre place à la première new-yorkaise de la nouvelle pièce d'Arthur Miller, Après la chute, ils avaient entendu dire qu'un personnage important, Maggie, ressemblait étrangement à la seconde épouse de Miller, la regrettée Marilyn Monroe.
   Mais même prévenus, ils n'étaient pas préparés à ce qu'ils allaient voir. Lorsque la jeune et talentueuse Barbara Loden enfilait une perruque blonde et apparaissait dans une succession de costumes diaphanes, elle ne se contentait pas d'imiter Monroe. Il s'agissait souvent d'une véritable imitation, et l'effet était saisissant, comme si un fantôme avait été invoqué. De plus, Miller avait écrit des scènes traitant de la dépendance de Maggie aux somnifères, de sa promiscuité, de son besoin désespéré d'amour et de réconfort.
   Étant donné que Miller est un dramaturge américain majeur, et que sa pièce était présentée par le prestigieux Lincoln Center de New York, il serait erroné de qualifier son œuvre de sensationnalisme. Miller écrivait, avec toute la sincérité dont il était capable, sur un avocat nommé Quentin – manifestement son porte-parole – et sur la façon dont il avait fait la paix avec sa vie et avec lui-même. Cependant, nombre de ses admirateurs l'ont accusé de mauvais goût. À la page 66, le dramaturge Miller explique avec éloquence les raisons qui l'ont poussé à écrire cette pièce.
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Légendes photos: Dans la pièce, Barbara Loden, vêtue d'un haut de pyjama, évoque Marilyn Monroe. Ci-dessus, une photo prise dans la vie de Marilyn Monroe dans les bras de Miller après leur mariage en 1956.
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The Plot
Quentin, the hero of After the Fall, is a successful New York lawyer racked by a self-doubt. After two unhappy marriages he wonders what right he has to take on the responsibilities of a third with an intelligent European girl.
   Trying to assess himself, Quentin recalls to an old friend how he grew up in a loving home, and was made to believe he was something special. In a parade of memories Quentin becomes involved with family, friends, women and since he was once a Communist some bristly political problems. His first marriage turns sour: his wife says he treats her as if she didn't exist. Then comes his fateful marriage to Maggie, the role which suggests Marilyn Monroe. Fearful that her sudden fame as a singer may go as quickly as it came, Maggie turns shrewish and self-destructive. In the scene on this page, played by Jason Robards and Barbara Loden, Maggie clings to Quen-tin for solace even as she goes on clawing at him. Quentin ends his od-yssey of self-discovery by finding out what he really is and truly believes.
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A desperate search by a troubled hero
by Tom Prideaux
Photographed for LIFE by Inge Morath
"I just wanted to say hello," says Quentin as he steps toward the audience at the start of After the Fall and begins unfolding his thoughts as he might to an old friend. It's a three-hour hello.
   As Quentin talks on, the inhabitants of his mind come and go on the stage. They act out crucial episodes in his life: quarrels with his first wife, a meeting with Maggie on a park bench, a visit to the site of a German concentration camp. Time and space melt away. The dead come back to life and die once more. Old hurts hurt again. For there are no traffic rules for memories, as everybody knows who has lain awake nights wishing he could control his thoughts with a stop-and-go light.
  This, then, is the way the new Miller play looks and the way it feels. Under the firm but fluid direction of Elia Kazan, it moves like mist over the platforms and parapets of the big, open acting area of the new ANTA Theater, just off Washington Square. There is no picture-frame stage, no curtain, no scenery, no teasers to hide lights. It is a theater of revealment for a drama of revealment.
  But is too much revealed? Or is it truly revealed?
  Quentin is patently Miller's proxy. He speaks thoughts that are closest to Miller's heart, and he reflects Miller's almost messianic desire to confess his self-doubts and draw from them a lesson for the good of mankind.
For the first half of After the Fall, Quentin performs a kind of moral strip tease. Being moral, to Quentin, means "you must tell the truth even when it is against yourself." And so he proceeds to admit that he was spoiled by his mother, and likes being praised and adored by women. He admits that he feels a separateness from the rest of humanity that often keeps him from loving, crying, even from grieving. He admits, as in his mind he recalls a visit to Belsen where thousands of Jews were exterminated, that in some way he is an accomplice in the slaughter. He admits that when a beloved friend, whom he was prepared to defend against charges of Communism, kills himself by jumping before a subway train that he is secretly relieved. He even tears from himself a confession that when Maggie, with whom married life had become unbearable, was on the brink of death from an overdose of sleeping pills he felt a wave of gratitude that his ordeal with her was ending.
  Yet for all this honesty, the cards in the play are stacked in favor of Quentin. Perhaps this impres- sion comes through only because in all voluntary public penitents there is a touch of ham. Self-castigation begins to give off an embarrassing hint of self-infatuation, especially when it is practiced stage-center. Quentin calls himself...
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Traduction
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L'Intrigue
Quentin, le héros d'Après la Chute, est un avocat new-yorkais brillant, rongé par le doute. Après deux mariages malheureux, il s'interroge sur sa légitimité à assumer les responsabilités d'un troisième mariage avec une jeune femme européenne intelligente.
   Tentant de faire le point, Quentin confie à un vieil ami son enfance aimante, où l'on lui a fait croire qu'il était quelqu'un d'exceptionnel. Dans un flot de souvenirs, Quentin se retrouve mêlé à sa famille, ses amis, les femmes et, ayant été communiste, à quelques problèmes politiques épineux. Son premier mariage tourne au vinaigre: sa femme affirme qu'il l'ignore. Vient ensuite son mariage fatidique avec Maggie, un rôle qui évoque Marilyn Monroe. Craignant que sa gloire soudaine de chanteuse ne s'évapore aussi vite qu'elle est apparue, Maggie devient acariâtre et autodestructrice. Dans la scène reproduite ici, interprétée par Jason Robards et Barbara Loden, Maggie s'accroche à Quentin pour trouver du réconfort, tout en continuant de le tourmenter. Quentin achève son odyssée de découverte de soi en découvrant ce qu'il est vraiment et ce en quoi il croit véritablement.
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Une quête désespérée menée par un héros tourmenté
par Tom Prideaux
Photographies d'Inge Morath pour LIFE
« Je voulais juste vous dire bonjour », lance Quentin en s'avançant vers le public au début d'Après la chute et en commençant à lui confier ses pensées comme à un vieil ami. Un bonjour qui dure trois heures.
   Tandis que Quentin parle, les habitants de son esprit vont et viennent sur scène. Ils rejouent des épisodes cruciaux de sa vie: des disputes avec sa première femme, une rencontre avec Maggie sur un banc public, une visite sur le site d'un camp de concentration allemand. Le temps et l'espace s'estompent. Les morts reviennent à la vie et meurent à nouveau. Les vieilles blessures se rouvrent. Car il n'y a pas de code de la route pour les souvenirs, comme le sait quiconque a passé des nuits blanches à souhaiter pouvoir contrôler ses pensées d'un simple feu rouge.
   Voilà donc à quoi ressemble et ce que l'on ressent dans la nouvelle pièce de Miller. Sous la direction à la fois ferme et fluide d'Elia Kazan, elle se déploie comme une brume sur les estrades et les parapets du vaste espace scénique ouvert du nouveau théâtre ANTA, à deux pas de Washington Square. Pas de scène figée, pas de rideau, pas de décor, pas de cache-cache avec la lumière. C'est un théâtre de la révélation pour un drame de la révélation.
   Mais trop de révélations sont-elles faites ? Ou sont-elles véritablement révélées ?
   Quentin est manifestement le porte-parole de Miller. Il exprime les pensées les plus intimes de Miller et reflète son désir quasi messianique de confesser ses doutes et d'en tirer une leçon pour le bien de l'humanité.
   Dans la première moitié d'Après la chute, Quentin se livre à une sorte de strip-tease moral. Être moral, pour lui, signifie « dire la vérité même si elle nous déplaît ». Il commence donc par admettre avoir été gâté par sa mère et apprécier les louanges et l'adoration des femmes. Il confie se sentir à part du reste de l'humanité, ce qui l'empêche souvent d'aimer, de pleurer, voire même de faire son deuil. Il admet, tandis qu'il se remémore sa visite à Bergen-Belsen, où des milliers de Juifs furent exterminés, être, d'une certaine manière, complice de ce massacre. Il avoue éprouver un soulagement secret lorsque son ami, qu'il était prêt à défendre contre les accusations de communisme, se suicide en se jetant sous un métro. Il s'arrache même à une confession: lorsque Maggie, avec qui la vie conjugale était devenue insupportable, était au bord de la mort suite à une overdose de somnifères, il a ressenti une immense gratitude à l'idée que son calvaire prenne fin. Malgré toute cette honnêteté, la pièce semble jouer en faveur de Quentin. Cette impression est peut-être due à une certaine théâtralité chez tous les pénitents publics volontaires. L'autoflagellation finit par révéler une forme embarrassante d'égocentrisme, surtout lorsqu'elle est étalée sur scène. Quentin se qualifie lui-même…

- p. 64D/65 -

...a fraud, worries about betraying truth, carries on about his responsibility for the death of love, and announces, "I can't find myself." It's a common complaint with modern man, and a truly serious one. But Quentin protests too much.
   The second half of After the Fall takes fire as it focuses sharply on Maggie after her marriage to Quentin. Compared to Quentin's faults, which are big and wicked and common to mankind, Maggie's faults are petty and childish. Maggie is inconsistent. She claims to love the humble people who work for her, and yet she abuses them. She welches on business contracts. As the pressure of her fame increases, she turns vain and petulant.
   Quentin acknowledges that Maggie's basic flaws stem from her wretched childhood. He is genuinely distressed by her deeply embedded impulse for self-destruction. But for all his concern and fair-mindedness, Quentin sells Maggie short. We see little of those sudden flashes of intuitive intelligence that one expects of her, or hardly any evidence of the girl's undisciplined but lovely talent. Mr. Miller can keep on repeating that he was not writing about the real Marilyn Monroe, and that the comparison is being carried much too far. But the play itself invites the comparison not invites, insists on, really. Miller has given Maggie almost no camouflage, even going so far as to describe a sad little pilgrimage Marilyn herself actually made to find her father in rural California.
   It would be an injustice, however, if the popular focus on Mon- roe drew too much attention from the Miller play and the circumstances of its production. It is the opening gun of the Lincoln Center's new repertory theater, now in a temporary home in downtown Manhattan. With it, New York for the first time is getting a permanent, top-grade acting group that will rotate a succession of old and new plays. Miller's play, despite or even because of its controversial aspects, is a good choice to begin with. It talks on a large theme- personal salvation and talks directly to its audience. It invites back-talk and debate. Already criti- cal opinion is widely divided.
   At their wedding Maggie and Quentin are radiant. He describes his bride as "a victory in lace."
   The play's chief talker is mas- terfully acted by Jason Robards Jr. It is an arduous part: Quentin never once leaves the stage during the play. Reliving his past, Quentin jumps into his own memories and re-enacts them scene by scene. Also, playing bystander to himself, he keeps up a sideline commentary on his own complicated motives. Robards holds this schizoid role together by remarkable strength and concentration -and serves as an eloquent interpreter of Mr. Miller's sermon.
"The wish to kill is never killed." Quentin concludes, after he has come to terms with himself and decided he is fit to undertake a third marriage. "But with some gift of courage one may look into its face when it appears, and with a stroke of love as to an idiot in the house. - forgive it; again and again...forever."
   Mr. Miller would like to have his play judged strictly on its own, without benefit of Marilyn. But I feel it is ingenuous of him to hope this. For many years, whoever sees After the Fall will be haunted by Marilyn's golden image. It comes with the territory.
   That Marilyn should turn up so soon after her death in so conspicu- ous a drama seems part of her des- tiny. Through most of her life her face, her body, her name were constantly on display. Exposure was her nemesis. Cameras followed her into the morgue. But now, at last, her exposure is integrated into a thoughtful play where she keeps company with some serious philosophical ideas.
I do not find Mr. Miller guilty of serious bad taste, although he has been widely accused of it. He has called on many personal experiences to create After the Fall, including his marriage to Marilyn Monroe. But his motives are not suspect. Quite clearly he believes the memory of Marilyn can better be honored if her tragic example can serve to better the human condition.
   Mr. Miller has risked a great deal in writing this play of self-revela- tions, and if he has revealed himself even more than he knows, hasn't he succeeded exactly as he wished? Even his detractors must admit his courage; he has told the truth, as he saw it, against himself.
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captions pictures:
- Quentin, in a reverie, sees five women in his life: from left, an adoring dancer (Zohra Lampart); first wife (Mariclare Costello); Maggie; his wife-to-be (Salome Jens); mother (Virginia Kaye).
- Tormented (left) by a vision of a lookout tower in a concetration camp, Quentin feels that he, as a member of the human race, is an accomplice in Nazi brutality. Above, when Maggie lirs near death in a drug-induced coma, Quentin again feels like an accomplice in adding to her suffering.
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Traduction
…un imposteur, craignant de trahir la vérité, s'attardant sur sa responsabilité dans la mort de l'amour et déclarant : « Je ne me trouve plus. » C'est une plainte courante chez l'homme moderne, et une plainte vraiment grave. Mais Quentin proteste trop.
   La seconde partie d'Après la chute prend de l'ampleur en se concentrant sur Maggie après son mariage avec Quentin. Comparés aux défauts de Quentin, grands, graves et communs à l'humanité, ceux de Maggie sont mesquins et puérils. Maggie est incohérente. Elle prétend aimer les humbles personnes qui travaillent pour elle, et pourtant elle les maltraite. Elle ne respecte pas ses contrats. À mesure que la pression de sa célébrité grandit, elle devient vaniteuse et capricieuse.
   Quentin reconnaît que les défauts fondamentaux de Maggie proviennent de son enfance malheureuse. Il est sincèrement bouleversé par sa tendance profondément ancrée à l'autodestruction. Mais malgré toute sa sollicitude et son impartialité, Quentin sous-estime Maggie. On ne perçoit guère chez elle ces éclairs d'intelligence intuitive qu'on attendrait d'elle, ni presque aucune trace de son talent indiscipliné mais charmant. M. Miller a beau répéter qu'il n'écrivait pas sur la véritable Marilyn Monroe et que la comparaison est poussée à l'extrême, la pièce elle-même l'invite, non pas l'invite, mais l'impose. Miller n'a quasiment rien laissé au hasard pour Maggie, allant jusqu'à décrire un triste petit pèlerinage que Marilyn a elle-même entrepris pour retrouver son père dans la Californie rurale.
   Ce serait toutefois une injustice si l'engouement populaire pour Monroe détournait l'attention de la pièce de Miller et des circonstances de sa production. Elle inaugure le nouveau théâtre de répertoire du Lincoln Center, actuellement installé temporairement dans le centre de Manhattan. Grâce à elle, New York se dote pour la première fois d'une troupe permanente d'acteurs de haut niveau qui jouera en alternance des pièces anciennes et nouvelles. La pièce de Miller, malgré, voire grâce à, ses aspects controversés, est un excellent choix pour commencer. Elle aborde un thème majeur – le salut personnel – et s'adresse directement au public. Elle suscite le débat et la discussion. Déjà, les avis des critiques sont très partagés.
   À leur mariage, Maggie et Quentin rayonnent. Il décrit sa femme comme « une victoire en dentelle ».
   Le rôle principal, interprété avec brio par Jason Robards Jr., est exigeant: Quentin ne quitte jamais la scène. Revivant son passé, il plonge dans ses souvenirs et les rejoue scène par scène. De plus, se faisant simple spectateur de lui-même, il commente en filigrane ses propres motivations complexes. Robards incarne ce rôle schizophrénique avec une force et une concentration remarquables, et se révèle un interprète éloquent du sermon de M. Miller.
   « Le désir de tuer ne meurt jamais », conclut Quentin, après avoir fait la paix avec lui-même et décidé qu'il est prêt à se remarier. « Mais avec un peu de courage, on peut le regarder en face lorsqu'il se manifeste, et avec un élan d'amour, comme pour un imbécile dans la maison, lui pardonner; encore et encore… pour toujours.»
   M. Miller souhaiterait que sa pièce soit jugée pour elle-même, sans l'influence de Marilyn. Mais je trouve naïf de sa part d'espérer cela. Pendant de nombreuses années, quiconque verra Après la chute sera hanté par l'image mythique de Marilyn. C'est inévitable.
   Que Marilyn réapparaisse si peu de temps après sa mort dans une pièce aussi marquante semble faire partie de son destin. Durant la plus grande partie de sa vie, son visage, son corps, son nom furent constamment exposés. L'exposition était son ennemie jurée. Les caméras la suivirent jusque dans la morgue. Mais aujourd'hui, enfin, cette exposition trouve sa place dans une pièce profonde où elle côtoie de sérieuses réflexions philosophiques.
   Je ne considère pas M. Miller coupable de mauvais goût, malgré les nombreuses accusations portées contre lui. Il s'est inspiré de nombreuses expériences personnelles pour créer Après la chute, notamment son mariage avec Marilyn Monroe. Mais ses motivations ne sont pas suspectes. Il est clair qu'il croit que la mémoire de Marilyn sera mieux honorée si son exemple tragique contribue à améliorer la condition humaine.
   M. Miller a pris de grands risques en écrivant cette pièce introspective, et s'il s'est révélé davantage qu'il ne le pensait, n'a-t-il pas atteint son but ? Même ses détracteurs doivent reconnaître son courage ; il a dit la vérité, telle qu'il la percevait, même contre lui-même.
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Légendes des photos :
- Quentin, plongé dans une rêverie, voit cinq femmes de sa vie : de gauche à droite, une danseuse qui l’adore (Zohra Lampart) ; sa première épouse (Mariclare Costello) ; Maggie ; sa future épouse (Salome Jens) ; sa mère (Virginia Kaye).
- Tourmenté (à gauche) par la vision d’une tour de guet dans un camp de concentration, Quentin se sent, en tant qu’être humain, complice des atrocités nazies. Ci-dessus, lorsque Maggie, entre la vie et la mort dans un coma provoqué par les médicaments, Quentin se sent à nouveau complice de ses souffrances.
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- p. 66 -

By Arthur Miller
'With respect for her agony -but with love'
I am not naive enough to have imagined that After the Fall would be received as merely another play and evaluated as such, but it is surprising how overwhelmed some otherwise knowledgeable people permit themselves to become by the obvious fact that elements of the author's life are part of the play he writes.
    The character of Maggie, which in great part seems to underlie the fuss, is not in fact Marilyn Monroe. Maggie is a character in a play about the human animal's unwillingness or inability to discover in himself the seeds of his own destruction. Maggie is in this play because she most perfectly exemplifies the self-destructiveness which finally comes when one views oneself as pure victim. And she most perfectly exemplifies this view because she comes so close to being a pure victim of parents, of a Puritanical sexual code and of her exploitation as an entertainer.
   The character of Maggie is quite obviously treated not only with respect for her agony but with love. Is it to be imagined that people commit suicide without immense forces of self-destruction let loose in them; that they do it neatly, winsomely, and without the horror which that dreadful act entails?
   More immediately to the point, and I dare say this only because I have been charged with cruelty toward the memory of Marilyn Monroe, it is in many cases precisely those who scoffed at her ambitions and in some cases those who were overtly vicious to her both personally and in print who now cry in outrage that Maggie's suffering should be connected with Marilyn's. The hypocrisy which bewil - dered and finally enraged her in life indeed seems to be following her in death.
   Certainly one of the more diverting, if minor, pastimes of literary life is the game of Find the Author: Tolstoy, barely concealed behind Pierre in War and Peace; Fitzgerald, behind Dick Diver; Heming-way, behind all his heroes; Goethe, behind Dr. Faustus. Once the author's identity is "discovered" a certain counterfeit of knowingness spreads through the reader's soul, quite as though he had managed to see through an attempt to trick him into believing that the work at hand was art rather than a disguised biography.
   It is as though fiction, whether in play or novel form, ought to be derived from the thinnest air or it loses its right to some esthetic category. The fact is that the identification of the artist in his work, while sometimes interesting as gossip, has nothing at all to do with the value of the work -which depends, or ought to, on its general application to other men besides himself. Despite the romantic image of the artist creating strange worlds unrelated to his life, an artwork's human value lies precisely in its unique ability to share experience which otherwise must remain in darkness. Art is witness or it begins the descent to artifice and momentarily fashionable entertainment. This game of identification, in my opinion, is always played by those who will not, or cannot, grapple with the objective meaning of the work at hand. It is a way of reducing a book or play to a species of publicity.
   When I speak of art as witness it is simply to give back to art its original function as a vision of life rather than as a spurious comfort. I believe After the Fall to be a dramatic statement of a hidden process which underlies the destructiveness hanging over this age. That elements of my life have been publicized to the point where, in some minds, fiction and design seem to have given way to reportage cannot have prevented me from using my own evidence, any more than if my life were unknown. The time may be close or far away, I do not know, but it will come as it has for certain other of my plays when the extradramatic identification of themes and persons in them will no longer matter.
   I would only say now that de- spite appearances, this play is no more and no less autobiographical than All My Sons, Death of a Salesman, The Crucible or A View from the Bridge. I have never known, for example, anyone who committed suicide as a result of action by a Congressional committee, but such disasters have been part of my time; and such a suicide is in this play, not because I appeared before an investigation committee but because, in the thematic structure of this play, such a suicide throws light upon the inability of a man to live with the mixture of good and evil in his own nature. Equally, the other characters in After the Fall are drawn, not reported; for this theme creates its characters and their fate quite as much as they create the theme.
   Finally, what has been called the exculpation of Quentin is not to be found in this work. Indeed, it is one of the play's major points that there is not, and cannot truly be, a divestment of guilt. But there can be -and if life is to be lived, there must be a recognition of the individual's part in the evil he sees and abhors. To make this point was far more important than even I imagined; instead of taking it to heart, there are those who prefer to turn it on its head and interpret Quentin as somehow seeking to justify himself, when actually he is in search of his responsibility - and discovers it. Evidently this is so unfamiliar an idea to many people that they take the play as an apology. The play is neither an apology nor the arraignment of others; quite simply, overtly and clearly, it is a statement of commitment to one's own actions. Indeed, Quentin's impulse to feel in some concrete way his own author- ship of his life and his person extends to his taking on guilt even for what he did not do.
   The whole business reminds me of the righteous indignation which greeted Hannah Arendt's controversial book, Eichmann in Jerusalem. It seemed to me, reading it, that she was trying to make a spectacularly simple and quite evident point. Namely, that the significant truth about Eichmann was not that he was a monster but that, in order to exercise his monstrousness -to be in a position to murder- he had to have the moral permission of others. In trying to prove her thesis, the author extended that permissiveness even to Jews and to well-meaning Gentiles who, despite all, were less than total in their active opposition to barbarity. But the suggestion that "we" could, in even a remote way, bear responsibility for what. "we" abhor was turned upside down by some people so that Miss Arendt was made to seem an apologist for Eichmann.
   It is, always and forever, the same struggle: to perceive somehow our own complicity with evil is a horror not to be borne. Much more reassuring to see the world in terms of totally innocent victims and totally evil instigators of the monstrous violence we see all about us. At all costs, never disturb our innocence.
But what is the most innocent place in any country? Is it not the insane asylum? There people drift through life truly innocent, unable to see into themselves at all. The perfection of innocence, indeed, is madness. What Quentin in this play tries desperately to do is to open Maggie's eyes to her own complicity with her destruction; it is an act of love, for it requires that he open himself to his own complicity if his imprecations are to carry any weight; he must, in short, give up his own claim to innocence in order to win her back from self-destruction.
  It is, therefore, not that the play is personal which offends some people; it is, in my opinion, that the pain it delivers up is nonliterary; it is too actual; it is not sentimentalized enough. So, all those who in real life laugh at the Maggies of the world, who mock their hopes and take advantage of their ignorance, their vulnerability, their ter- rible loneliness and need all those cannot, with a tear or two, "decently" pay their "respects" to the victims of their own hypocrisy. All this the play, thank God, prohibits.
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Traduction
Par Arthur Miller
« Avec respect pour sa souffrance, mais avec amour »
Je ne suis pas assez naïf pour avoir imaginé qu'Après la chute serait perçue comme une simple pièce de théâtre et évaluée comme telle, mais il est surprenant de constater à quel point certaines personnes, pourtant bien informées, se laissent submerger par le simple fait que des éléments de la vie de l'auteur font partie intégrante de la pièce qu'il écrit.
   Le personnage de Maggie, qui semble être à l'origine de toute cette agitation, n'est en réalité pas Marilyn Monroe. Maggie est un personnage d'une pièce qui traite de l'incapacité, voire du refus, de l'être humain de reconnaître en lui les germes de sa propre destruction. Maggie figure dans cette pièce car elle incarne à la perfection l'autodestruction qui survient lorsqu'on se perçoit comme une pure victime. Et elle incarne cette vision à la perfection car elle frôle le statut de victime de ses parents, d'un code sexuel puritain et de son exploitation en tant qu'artiste.
   Il est évident que le personnage de Maggie est traité non seulement avec respect pour sa souffrance, mais aussi avec amour. Peut-on imaginer que l'on se suicide sans que d'immenses forces d'autodestruction ne se déchaînent en soi ? Qu'on le fait avec élégance, sans artifice, sans l'horreur que recèle cet acte terrible ?
   Plus concrètement, et je n'ose le dire que parce qu'on m'accuse de cruauté envers la mémoire de Marilyn Monroe, ce sont souvent précisément ceux qui se moquaient de ses ambitions, et parfois même ceux qui lui ont été ouvertement hostiles, tant personnellement que par écrit, qui s'indignent aujourd'hui que la souffrance de Maggie soit liée à celle de Marilyn. L'hypocrisie qui l'a déconcertée et finalement exaspérée de son vivant semble bien la poursuivre après sa mort.
   L'un des passe-temps les plus divertissants, quoique mineurs, de la vie littéraire est sans doute celui de démasquer l'auteur: Tolstoï, à peine dissimulé derrière Pierre dans Guerre et Paix; Fitzgerald, derrière Dick Diver; Hemingway, derrière tous ses héros; Goethe, derrière Docteur Faustus. Une fois l'identité de l'auteur « découverte », une certaine fausse impression de connaissance s'empare du lecteur, comme s'il avait percé à jour une tentative de le tromper en lui faisant croire que l'œuvre en question était de l'art plutôt qu'une biographie déguisée.
   C'est comme si la fiction, qu'elle soit théâtrale ou romanesque, devait surgir de nulle part, sous peine de perdre toute légitimité esthétique. En réalité, l'identification de l'artiste à son œuvre, bien que parfois intéressante comme anecdote, n'a rien à voir avec la valeur de l'œuvre elle-même – laquelle dépend, ou devrait dépendre, de sa portée universelle. Malgré l'image romantique de l'artiste créant des mondes étranges, étrangers à sa propre vie, la valeur humaine d'une œuvre d'art réside précisément dans sa capacité unique à partager une expérience qui, autrement, resterait dans l'ombre. L'art est témoin, sans quoi il amorce la descente aux enfers de l'artifice et du divertissement éphémère. Ce jeu d'identification, à mon sens, est toujours l'apanage de ceux qui refusent, ou sont incapables, de saisir le sens objectif de l'œuvre. C'est une manière de réduire un livre ou une pièce de théâtre à une simple forme de publicité.
   Lorsque je parle de l'art comme témoin, c'est simplement pour lui rendre sa fonction première de vision de la vie, et non celle d'un réconfort illusoire. Je crois qu'Après la chute est une expression dramatique d'un processus caché qui sous-tend la destructivité qui plane sur notre époque. Le fait que des éléments de ma vie aient été rendus publics au point que, pour certains, la fiction et la mise en scène semblent avoir cédé la place au reportage ne m'a pas empêché d'utiliser mes propres preuves, pas plus que si ma vie était restée inconnue. Ce moment est peut-être proche ou lointain, je l'ignore, mais il viendra, comme pour certaines de mes autres pièces, où l'identification extradramatique des thèmes et des personnages n'aura plus d'importance.
   Je dirai seulement pour l'instant que, malgré les apparences, cette pièce n'est ni plus ni moins autobiographique que Ils étaient tous mes fils, Mort d'un commis voyageur, Les Sorcières de Salem ou Vue du pont. Je n'ai jamais connu, par exemple, personne qui se soit suicidé à la suite d'une action menée par une commission du Congrès, mais de tels drames ont fait partie de mon existence. Et ce suicide figure dans cette pièce, non pas parce que j'ai comparu devant une commission d'enquête, mais parce que, dans la structure thématique de la pièce, il met en lumière l'incapacité d'un homme à vivre avec le mélange de bien et de mal qui réside en lui. De même, les autres personnages d'Après la chute sont dépeints, non décrits; car ce thème façonne ses personnages et leur destin autant qu'ils façonnent le thème.
   Enfin, ce que l'on a qualifié d'exonération de Quentin est absent de cette œuvre. En effet, l'un des points essentiels de la pièce est qu'il n'y a pas, et qu'il ne peut y avoir véritablement, d'exonération de culpabilité. Mais il peut y en avoir une – et pour vivre pleinement, il faut reconnaître la part de responsabilité de chacun dans le mal qu'il voit et abhorre. Faire passer ce message était bien plus important que je ne l'imaginais; au lieu de le comprendre, certains préfèrent le renverser et interpréter Quentin comme cherchant à se justifier, alors qu'en réalité, il est en quête de sa responsabilité – et la découvre. De toute évidence, cette idée est si étrangère à beaucoup qu'ils perçoivent la pièce comme des excuses. La pièce n'est ni des excuses ni une mise en accusation d'autrui; tout simplement, ouvertement et clairement, c'est une affirmation de la responsabilité de ses propres actes. En effet, le besoin de Quentin de ressentir concrètement sa responsabilité dans sa vie et sa personne le pousse à s'attribuer la culpabilité même pour des actes qu'il n'a pas commis.
   Toute cette affaire me rappelle l'indignation vertueuse qui a accueilli le livre controversé d'Hannah Arendt, Eichmann à Jérusalem. À sa lecture, il me semblait qu'elle cherchait à démontrer une évidence pourtant simple: la vérité essentielle concernant Eichmann n'était pas qu'il était un monstre, mais que, pour exercer sa monstruosité – pour être en mesure de tuer –, il avait besoin de la permission morale d'autrui. Pour étayer sa thèse, l'auteure a étendu cette permissivité jusqu'aux Juifs et aux Gentils bien intentionnés qui, malgré tout, n'étaient pas totalement opposés à la barbarie. Mais l'idée que « nous » puissions, même de façon indirecte, porter une responsabilité… Le sens de ce que nous abhorrons a été complètement déformé par certains, au point que Miss Arendt a été présentée comme une apologiste d'Eichmann.
   C'est, toujours et à jamais, le même combat: percevoir notre propre complicité avec le mal est une horreur insupportable. Il est bien plus rassurant de voir le monde en termes de victimes totalement innocentes et d'instigateurs totalement maléfiques de la violence monstrueuse qui nous entoure. À tout prix, ne jamais troubler notre innocence.
   Mais quel est l'endroit le plus innocent dans un pays ? N'est-ce pas l'asile d'aliénés ? Là, les gens errent dans la vie, véritablement innocents, incapables de se voir tels qu'ils sont. La perfection de l'innocence, en vérité, est folie. Ce que Quentin tente désespérément de faire dans cette pièce, c'est d'ouvrir les yeux de Maggie sur sa propre complicité dans sa destruction; c'est un acte d'amour, car cela exige qu'il reconnaisse sa propre complicité pour que ses imprécations aient un quelconque poids; il doit, en somme, renoncer à sa propre prétention à l'innocence pour la sauver de l'autodestruction.
   Ce n'est donc pas le caractère personnel de la pièce qui offense certaines personnes; À mon avis, la douleur qu'elle suscite n'est pas littéraire; elle est trop réelle; elle n'est pas assez sentimentale. Ainsi, tous ceux qui, dans la vraie vie, se moquent des Maggie de ce monde, qui raillent leurs espoirs et profitent de leur ignorance, de leur vulnérabilité, de leur terrible solitude et de leur besoin, ne peuvent, avec une larme ou deux, « décemment » présenter leurs « hommages » aux victimes de leur propre hypocrisie. Heureusement, la pièce interdit tout cela.
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copyright text by Life; retranscription and translation by GinieLand.