Authors: Barbara Leaming
Olivier had spent weeks planning the production in anticipation of Marilyn’s arrival. He introduced her to the other cast members. He presented the Associate Director and some members of the production staff. He ran through the story. He distributed scripts and read selected scenes aloud. From first to last, it was very much Larry Olivier’s show.
On the second day of rehearsals Olivier castigated Marilyn for arriving three quarters of an hour late. The next day, she didn’t show up until noon. Her eyes suggested that she’d been popping pills. Was her extreme lateness an act of defiance, or had the scolding made her so upset that she couldn’t sleep? Was Marilyn angry at herself for having ceded psychological control to Olivier? The word from Parkside House was that Marilyn had spent the morning rather noisily in bed with her husband.
The Millers were no longer alone at Parkside. Hedda Rosten had arrived from New York with Paula, ostensibly to serve as Marilyn’s secretary. But Marilyn and Arthur, still not entirely at ease with each other, seemed eager to have a third party present, and in a way, Hedda was there for Arthur as much as she was for Marilyn. After all, Marilyn had
Paula Strasberg and Milton Greene to serve her various needs. When tensions ran high with Marilyn, Arthur talked to Hedda, an experienced psychiatric social worker. As his former wife’s close friend, Hedda provided a link to a world in which Arthur felt comfortable.
At the time Arthur and Marilyn were married, Truman Capote, who knew her well, had predicted that at length the episode might be titled “Death of a Playwright.”
The Sleeping Prince
was to be Arthur’s first experience of living with Marilyn—and trying to work himself—while she was making a picture. He had never really had to deal with Marilyn’s work-related anxieties and sleeplessness. He’d never had to endure the drinking and drug-taking with which she struggled to cope. On
Bus Stop
, he’d only been present at weekends during the last few weeks of filming. And, importantly, he hadn’t been under pressure to finish a play as he was now. As he told Kermit Bloomgarden, he wanted
A View from the Bridge
to be vindicated in London. Marilyn was scheduled to begin filming on August 7. Perhaps then, with his demanding new wife out of the house, Miller would have a chance to apply himself to his work.
That morning, Olivier arrived at Pinewood at ten minutes to seven. A great deal was on the line today. Joshua Logan had warned Olivier not to allow Paula on the set, and Milton Greene had guaranteed that Paula would not show her face outside Marilyn’s dressing room. By and large, they’d managed to keep Paula in the dressing room throughout
Bus Stop;
why not now? For the first time, Olivier would have an opportunity to deal with Marilyn without the shield provided by Arthur or Paula. If ever the director was to get through to his leading lady, it had better be today. What took place that first day would set the tone for all that was to follow.
Like Olivier, Marilyn was to have been at the studio before seven in order to be dressed and made up. She and Paula did not appear until 8:30. From the outset, it was evident that Paula did not intend to remain in Marilyn’s dressing room. Greene’s assurances had been hollow; in fact, he had been in no position to promise Olivier anything. Marilyn had stopped listening to him long ago. Yes, Joshua Logan had successfully barred Paula from the set, but
Bus Stop
had been a Twentieth Century–Fox picture.
The Sleeping Prince
was a Marilyn Monroe production, with Jack Warner’s participation limited to financing and distribution. In this instance at least, Marilyn used her authority: Paula was going
to be on the set and there wasn’t a damn thing Olivier could do about it. Of course he could always quit. But he already had too much time and money invested to consider doing that. Logan had warned Olivier to avoid having a temper tantrum with Marilyn; she was quite capable of walking out and not coming back.
It was no longer just a question of Paula’s being present to interpret Olivier’s instructions. On
Bus Stop
, Paula had been content to operate as a coach; on
The Sleeping Prince
, she appeared to see a larger role for herself. She set herself up as Marilyn’s private director. Lee Strasberg had done his best to undermine Olivier in Marilyn’s eyes. Before the cameras rolled, Paula’s emphatic presence on the set declared Olivier unfit to direct a Method actress. Once before, when he directed
A Streetcar Named Desire
, Olivier had struggled with the palpable off-stage presence of Elia Kazan, Marlon Brando, and all that they represented. Now it was the specter of Lee Strasberg with whom Olivier wrestled daily.
Like a medium at a séance, Paula was constantly communicating mystical messages from the other side. When she told Marilyn, “Honey, just think of Coca-Cola and Frankie Sinatra,” presumably it was Lee speaking through her. If Paula’s suggestions didn’t work, she could always say she had misinterpreted Lee. In this manner, Paula preserved her husband’s reputation for infallibility.
That first day, Paula proved adept at keeping Olivier from his leading lady. Though physically awkward, Paula was a master of body language. The moment the camera stopped, she hurtled forward, determined to take possession of Marilyn before the director could. Once there, she stuck close. The conspiratorial whispering seemed never to cease, making it hard for anyone else to approach. Olivier found the situation humiliating. Before long, he felt the urge to kill Paula. Marilyn appeared determined utterly to ignore Olivier. She stared at him blankly, if at all. When the first shot had been completed after eight takes, Marilyn and Paula withdrew to a portable dressing room. They slammed the door for all to hear. Olivier followed.
Even in that limited space, Paula tried to block Olivier’s access to Marilyn. This time, however, Olivier was intent on having a chat. But whatever he said behind closed doors evidently had no effect. At the end of the day, lest Olivier try to talk to Marilyn again, Paula ushered her out of the studio before her makeup had been removed.
For all that, Olivier still had reason to hope. He had witnessed Marilyn’s breathtaking transformation in the makeup tests. He had seen for himself what she was capable of. Despite all the nonsense on the set so far, he knew she had the capacity to be magical on camera. He knew it was in her power to turn into the luminous “Marilyn” character he had adored in
The Seven Year Itch.
But how on earth was a director to persuade her to do what she did so well?
Later in the week, Olivier tried a new tack with his leading lady. In full costume as a Carpathian Grand Duke, he stared at her through a monocle as they prepared to shoot a scene.
“All right, Marilyn,” said Olivier. “Be sexy.”
The remark misfired badly. Marilyn, indignant, ran off the set. Paula accompanied her to the dressing room. Olivier’s words may have been ill-chosen, but all he had been asking her to do was to perform the miracle he’d witnessed previously. He wanted her to become “Marilyn.” Olivier’s remark had been nothing less than his acknowledgment that as an actress, she knew exactly what she was doing.
Marilyn interpreted the incident very differently. She took the words to mean that Olivier had never thought of her as an actress and never would. Suddenly, she was convinced that even on her own production, she was doomed to the same sort of disrespectful treatment she’d once received at Twentieth.
Marilyn called Lee Strasberg in New York. She poured out her anger and upset. Strasberg has to have known that Marilyn would be unable to work effectively in this condition. It was essential that her first independent production be a success; making the film work had to be her priority. At that moment, anyone who sincerely cared about her would have done his best to calm her down. But the incident played into Strasberg’s hands, and he turned it to his advantage. Soon, he was as indignant as Marilyn. He was very angry at Olivier. And he would not let the matter drop—not then or later. Strasberg had found a wedge with which to drive Marilyn and her director permanently apart. Even if he guessed what Olivier had really been trying to say, he could never have admitted that to Marilyn; he did not want her to know that some people regarded her best Hollywood performances as acting of a very high order.
Olivier seems not to have realized quite what had happened, but the incident doomed his working relationship with Marilyn. From then
on, she abandoned all belief in the transforming power of a role she had worked hard to make her own. It was as though Olivier’s remark had torn the veil from Marilyn’s eyes. As far as she was concerned, the dream was dead. Whatever she might have hoped, it was now clear that her association with “the greatest actor alive” was not going to change her life. Humiliated, she felt like a fool for ever having imagined that Olivier could take her seriously. Her anger at herself turned outward; after this, Marilyn not only distrusted Olivier, she actively hated him.
More than ever, Marilyn looked forward to Arthur’s visits to the set. Her eyes would brighten when she spotted her husband. No matter what she was doing, she would rush into his arms and excitedly wrap herself around him. He was her protector. He was there to get her through all this. She clung to him as if for dear life. Olivier might have been about to film a scene, but he would look on helplessly as the lovebirds disappeared to Marilyn’s dressing room, usually for about ten minutes. After that, it was said, Marilyn would return to the set visibly refreshed.
Nonetheless, when it became evident that Greene was virtually powerless to influence Marilyn or to do anything about the Paula situation, Olivier, overcoming his initial irritation, turned to Miller. Marilyn trusted Arthur and hung on his every word. Perhaps he could help to get her to the studio on time. Olivier calculated that it was certainly in Miller’s interest to do so. Marilyn’s own company lost money every time she was late or held up the production in some other way. The money came out of Marilyn’s pocket—not Warner Bros.’, as Miller seemed to think until Greene enlightened him. And her latenesses meant less time and solitude for Miller to work. It was no secret that Arthur was under intense pressure to get those revisions to Binkie Beaumont, a close friend of the Oliviers.
After the first week of filming, Vivien was due to join her husband at Notley Abbey after finishing her commitment to
South Sea Bubble.
She was five months pregnant. Following her farewell performance, she went to a cast party in her honor, then drove out to the country late on Saturday night. On Sunday mornings, the village church bells in Chearsley, Haddenham, and Long Crendon could be heard throughout the house. Vivien invited a group of friends for tea that day, including the dancer Robert Helpmann, the costume designer Bumble Dawson, and Terence Rattigan. There was talk of a party which Rattigan planned to
give at Little Court on August 18, before he left for America. Vivien, who’d missed his last party, was eager to attend. In a naughty mood, Vivien asked Colin Clark how things were going with Marilyn. She was pleased when Clark rolled his eyes. Aware of what Larry’s feelings for Marilyn had been, she took malicious pleasure in all the trouble Marilyn gave him now. In high spirits, Vivien could not bear to see the party break up. She kept her guests late. After they all left, she felt unwell. While Vivien was waiting for the doctor, she miscarried. The baby, it turned out, had been a boy.
After the miscarriage, Binkie Beaumont visited Vivien at Notley Abbey. He found her state of mind to be precarious. Once again, she was perilously unable to sleep. Her husband, who believed that her madness had started after she miscarried the first time, had reason to fear that history was about to repeat itself. He released a statement to the press. “We are bitterly disappointed and terribly upset. The main concern now is Vivien. The important thing is that she should make a complete recovery.” On the morning of Monday, August 13, Olivier was made up, costumed, and at work on the set long before Marilyn appeared.
Filming went no more smoothly than it had the previous week. Yet again, Marilyn appeared to panic whenever it was time to leave the cocoon of her dressing room. Utterly distraught, she would clutch at any excuse to linger. Instead of getting better as the years passed, her fear of going in front of the camera had intensified. Yet again, on the set Marilyn forgot her lines and huddled with Paula. She repeatedly disappeared to confer by telephone with Lee Strasberg in New York.
By the second week, it was evident that each side, Olivier and Monroe, misperceived the other. Olivier entirely misread Marilyn’s anxiety. As far as he was concerned, anyone who dared to behave as Marilyn did with Paula could hardly be afraid. Without insight into the terrors that drove her, he assumed she was merely being rude and disruptive. Marilyn, for her part, mistook Olivier for a man who was serenely in control of his world, when in fact he had a mad wife and a tormented personal life. Marilyn had no idea of what Paula represented to Olivier. She knew nothing of his psychological battle with Kazan and the Actors Studio, and she remained blind to the extent to which she was being manipulated by Lee and Paula. It was in the Strasbergs’ interest for Marilyn to believe that Olivier was patronizing her.
Night after night, Marilyn vented her fury at home. She was constantly screaming about Olivier. Her long telephone conversations with Lee only made her angrier. A woman in crisis, she kept Arthur awake much of the night. The only way Marilyn could finally get to sleep was to drug herself into oblivion. Miller, accustomed to working in calm isolation, suddenly found himself in the middle of a great storm. It was as though the Tom Ewell character in
The Seven Year Itch
had married “the girl” only to discover that sex was perilous, after all. In fact, Marilyn was tormented and intensely needy. She had a violent temper and expected Arthur to share her indignation, as Joe had done. She interpreted any disagreement as a betrayal. Aware that Arthur had never seen her quite like this before, Marilyn was constantly on guard for the moment when he would pull back in disappointment and disgust. Conscious that she was no longer playing an innocent, she wanted him to love her for who she really was. That meant Arthur would have to accept, even love, what Marilyn described as the monster in her.