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Authors: Adela Gregory

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Some Like It Hot
was an instant hit with critics and the public alike. It turned out to be Billy Wilder's most successful film. His previous hits had included
Sunset Boulevard, Sabrina, Lost Weekend,
and, of course,
Seven Year Itch.
By spring 1959,
Variety
called
Hot
the biggest hit of the year and the most popular movie in the United States. After twenty-three films, Monroe was finally making a fortune. Paid a guarantee against her eventual payment of 10 percent of the film's gross earnings (the film earned ten million not including worldwide distribution), she would end up with her most profitable venture.
11
The Fantasy Diversion
T
he endless hours of psychoanalysis still seemed fruitless for Marilyn. Though she religiously attended her daily sessions with Dr. Marianne Kris, Marilyn gained little understanding of her marital morass. Miller was still barricaded in his study, and she had virtually no friends in New York but the Strasbergs and the Rostens.
Through domestic and foreign revenues from
Some Like It Hot
were soaring, its bittersweet success failed to gratify its star. Her personal life was empty again, even as the press and the public clamored for more of her. Though America loved the dumb-blonde stereotype, she was still unhappy that her acting ability was never appreciated or taken seriously. Even acquiring a serious writer for a husband had not gained her any public respect.
Now Miller could launch his screenwriting career. With Monroe footing the bills, he had given up personal satisfaction for another chance to hear the critics' praise. Marilyn, in turn, dreamed of starring in Miller's next Pulitzer Prize-winner; maybe then she would be respected as a consummate actress. Maybe that could save their marriage. Ironically, what they craved professionally from each other left them personally stifled and miserable.
Their sexual encounters nearly ceased as Miller grew more distant and more obsessed with his
Misfits
screenplay. In response, Marilyn's anger grew, driving Miller still further into retreat. Her wrath was especially pronounced after another visit to her analyst's office. She would return from the long sessions enraged at her husband for not even trying to satisfy her sexually. She had cherished his former tenderness in bed; at first his absence had only compelled her to desire him more, as she went out of her way to seduce him, walking around the house stark naked. In anticipation, she would take long relaxing baths, then scent and cream her freshly scrubbed skin. Still damp, she would wrap her body in a white terry-cloth robe and put a towel around her damp hair; she was ready and waiting for her husband to love her.
But Miller was always too busy with his work. Whether he resented his wife for failing to inspire him or to help him resurrect his floundering career, the distance between them grew wider. The hurt of being rejected sent Marilyn spiraling downward, and her analyst would hear all about it the next morning. Unable to understand how to solve her problems, all she could do was pour them out to her therapist.
Her psychiatrist suggested that Miller's indifference might be his way of coping with the pain he suffered from her miscarriages and that he was unable to openly express his hurt and anger. But that wasn't enough to placate the narcissist in Marilyn, who could only cry, pout, and numb her own pain with more champagne, even as she continued at other times to praise Miller's writing “genius.”
Marilyn would beg her husband to go out and catch a movie. Neither promising nor refusing, Miller would purposely keep his wife's hopes up during the evening. Monroe's excitement would permeate the household. But Arthur again would have little to show for another long day in front of his typewriter. Then, after Marilyn had dressed, applied makeup, and combed her hair, Miller would emerge from his study to dash his wife's hopes one more time. Disappointment quickly turned to anger as the actress would curse him. “Shit, my life is shit. I can't go anywhere. I'm a prisoner in my own house! ”
Almost overwhelmed by Miller's rejection, Monroe's thoughts sometimes turned to better times. Thinking of Joe DiMaggio was the perfect diversion. Marilyn missed him and wondered if her life would be better with him. But Joe's position remained clear: no remarriage unless she gave up her career to become a full-time housewife and mother. She kept his photo hidden deep in her closet behind the wardrobe Lena was constantly reorganizing. On lonely nights she would take out the picture, put on a Sinatra record, and stare teary-eyed at the Yankee Clipper while she sang “All of You” along with Frank. Occasionally her ex-husband would call. Without Miller's knowledge, Marilyn would stay on the phone with him for hours, laughing and giggling. Joe's voice soothed her ailing soul, but he wasn't the way out of her predicament.
Overeating again became a consolation. Lena Pepitone spent countless hours conjuring up her favorite Italian dishes. Miller would sometimes dine with Monroe, never speaking at the dinner table. The scene was always the same—Miller sipped his wine, Marilyn her champagne, until Miller would excuse himself, not having spoken a single word. Most often Marilyn would eat alone, indulging himself in plentiful second helpings.
On occasional evenings Marilyn took calls from Frank Sinatra. Gossiping with him for hours, she longed to return to work. Hollywood seemed especially tantalizing while she remained cooped up in her New York apartment with few social contacts other than with her maids. Marilyn made it a point to mention to Frank that she had recently spoken to DiMaggio, hoping to goad Sinatra, but he had the good sense to leave the bait alone. And when she spoke to Joe, she casually mentioned that she had spoken to Frank, inspiring a flash of the famous DiMaggio temper.
Ever since they had first met, Sinatra had always paid special attention to Monroe. After her separation from DiMaggio he had immediately offered her one of his homes in the Hollywood Hills. But Marilyn politely refused; the strings attached to the very generous offer were visible and Marilyn cherished her privacy.
With much effort, Marilyn's psychiatrist had finally convinced her that getting back to work would be the best thing for her. She would make another try at what she did best, good comedy. Her excess weight began to disappear magically as she imagined herself in front of the camera again.
Word quickly spread throughout the film industry that Marilyn had recovered, and scripts began arriving. This time she would read each one herself; no one would pressure her into a project she did not believe in. She fancied the screenplay
Let's Make Love,
a pet project of George Cukor's, with a script by Norman Krasna. She demanded that her husband tailor the necessary script changes to her liking, barking, “This time we'll do it my way.”
The male character, formerly a billionaire, was changed to a multimillionaire who anonymously joins the cast of a Broadway show and falls in love with a girl who does not like millionaires. Cary Grant, Rock Hudson, and Gregory Peck were originally interested in the lead, but reconsidered when Miller's script changes were submitted to them. Marilyn's soaring confidence plummeted as the stars' disappearances led the actress to believe she again had become undesirable.
Miller soon got another chance to influence Marilyn's career. Two practicing Communists, Yves Montand and his wife, actress Simone Signoret, were in town. The central government of the Soviet Union was so proud of Montand's Communist stand that it commissioned a lyrical song to be written in his honor. And the Soviets sang it with glee. (Not until some years later did Montand denounce Communism, and his songs disappeared under Soviet censorship.) The song-and-dance man was to star in a one-man Broadway show, and repeated attempts had failed to gain the couple admittance into the United States. While Monroe was filming
Prince and the Showgirl
in London, Arthur had traveled to Paris to view the production of his play
The Crucible,
centered around the Salem, Massachusetts, witch trials during colonial times. As the Montands were starring in the play, Arthur had befriended them.
The Montands were invited to dine privately at the Millers'. In view of Miller's label as a communist sympathizer perhaps he did not want to risk the adverse publicity that might result if he were seen dining publicly with two professed Communists. Marilyn's maid, Lena, was to prepare dinner for the foursome. As Yves walked through their front-door apartment, Marilyn broke into a large smile that never left her face the entire evening. Montand bore some resemblance to her favorite man, Joe DiMaggio. Yves was tall, had a large head, mouth, and protruding nose. Born October 13, 1921, in Monsummano Alto, Italy, of peasants who claimed to be antifascist, he had fled Italy as Mussolini came to power and was raised in poverty in Marseilles, France. As a youngster Montand hustled as a busboy, barber, bartender, and factory laborer before his local singing debut at eighteen. While working his way through the Parisian music halls, he had met internationally renowned Edith Piaf and gone on to stardom as one of France's leading entertainers. Piaf supported his singing career straight into films as she negotiated his first film role in
Etoile sans Lumière (Star Without Light),
but he continued to be known first as a singer.
Montand had his own special brand of charm. He mesmerized his hostess with his dazzling smile, acting as if there were no other woman in the world. But Marilyn was distracted by Montand's wife. Signoret was not a glamour girl. She had a mature intelligence and sensitivity as an actress that won her international fame and acclaim. What galled Marilyn the most about her was not that she was unexpectedly married to such a charming man, but that the Frenchwoman enticed the ordinarily docile Arthur Miller to speak at length about politics. Because Montand did not speak much English and his wife spent the better part of the evening translating for her husband, Marilyn was relegated to the background. That night Marilyn wanted more than anything to be able to converse in French. She and Montand shared many stolen glances while Marilyn began fantasizing about luring him away from his “grandmother” wife.
Once the Montands had left, Marilyn began a thorough investigation of the Montands by making phone calls across the continent to whoever might have the goods on the couple. Driven by curiosity to probe their relationship, she discovered that Montand had gotten his big break as a singer through his relationship with the great Edith Piaf, then had married the respected actress Simone Signoret. Marilyn recognized his type, the charmer who works his way to the top with the help of older, more powerful, successful women. The stage was set for Marilyn's big play.
Following the preview of his Broadway show, Marilyn found ways to spend more time with her new love interest, and she began dreaming they could play opposite each other in a film. But his English was impossible. Marilyn talked a blue streak about Montand to anyone willing to listen, Miller's children and parents being first. She bragged that Montand was actually Jewish and had successfully dodged the Nazis.
She suggested that Yves be cast in
Let's Make Love.
Neither Miller nor executives at Twentieth agreed, on the grounds that his English was virtually nonexistent. The actress insisted that he would learn, implying that she would “teach him.”
Because both had successfully emerged from obscurity, Marilyn thought Montand a sort of kindred spirit. She loved the facility with which he could croon the popular songs of the incomparable Maurice Chevalier and then, in the same breath, resort to doing imitations of Donald Duck.
Miller fanned the liaison between Marilyn and Yves by acting as their translator. He was pleased that his wife had regained her zest for life, even if it was for another man! While Miller wrote in solitude in his study, Marilyn and Yves sat comfortably holding hands and sipping champagne on the living-room sofa. They would suddenly separate every time Miller opened the door.
Marilyn began pushing her “star.” Since his Broadway act was held over for almost two weeks in New York, pitching him was easy. Then the show was taken to Los Angeles, and after another string of excellent reviews, Marilyn sold her new star. Hollywood agreed with Marilyn, but the Strasbergs didn't. Lee and Paula warned that he was not a believable millionaire, and that his broken English, even with Marilyn's help, could not possibly allow him to understand the character if he did not know what he was saying. They advised that a mature, sophisticated actor like Cary Grant would be far better and more convincing in the role. Already committed to Yves, a stubborn Marilyn would not listen to even her acting genius. Just the thought of doing a movie with Montand as her love interest made her feel buoyant.
Once Montand had secured the part, Marilyn wanted her performance to equal his. So she hired a private dance instructor named Mara Lynn to give her lessons in her apartment, turning their living room into a Broadway stage and thereby further antagonizing her husband. Dressed in black leotards and black net tights, Monroe slinked around the apartment dancing and singing up a storm. She wanted more than ever before to be perfect for her new “love.”
In the middle of rehearsing, the Twentieth publicity department contacted Marilyn to request that she appear before Russia's premier, Nikita Khrushchev, who would be visiting the studio. America's best-known products in the Soviet Union were Coca-Cola's trademark and Marilyn Monroe. After trying to convince her, to no avail, they enticed Frank Sinatra, who was the master of ceremonies, to do his part in persuading the actress. Frank mentioned that such Hollywood notables as Elizabeth Taylor, Eddie Fisher, Bob Hope, Gregory Peck, Richard Burton, June Allyson, and Rita Hayworth would be attending. Monroe already harbored animosity toward Elizabeth Taylor for her youth and beauty, but especially because she was paid more per film than was Marilyn. Sinatra manipulated Monroe into showing up only by promising that the actress would get to sit at Khrushchev's table, the highest honor bestowed on America's greatest star. Because of his purported Communist sympathies, it was decided not to invite Marilyn's husband. The studio demanded that Monroe appear in her tightest, most revealing gown for the premier.

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