I watched a Marilyn Monroe movie last night. One of her earlier films. Bus Stop. She played the part of an uneducated saloon hall showgirl. So beautiful. I feasted on her beauty. The pale, luminous skin and perfect features. Aristotle’s Golden Mean. The body of a Greek goddess, but better. I’ve seen many beautiful movie stars, but there was always a little something off. Not Marilyn. If she had any flaws, the camera was blind to them.
I read somewhere about a young actor who worshipped Marilyn. She was his fantasy woman. Obsessed with her perfection. His biggest, yearningest dream was to meet her one day.
He got his wish. She came self-consciously to an Actor’s Studio to learn how to be a serious actress, and he was there. He said she was wearing a babushka and rain coat, had a cold and her nose was red and complexion splotchy. She was not his Marilyn.
He hated her after that.