Behind the artifice of more than half a century of pop culture pixie dust is strong. The tactile qualities of iconography are impotent; it is starlight dancing between your fingers.
Still, the legacy of the same character for a truly timeless history is undeniable. It's the collective memory we all share of Elvis Presley shaking his hips on national TV for the first time
Marilyn Monroe standing on top of a New York City subway station, waiting for another explosion. This year, we've seen both characters recontextualized by star-studded Hollywood biopics that, like much of the Dream Factory output
seem eager to admire show business legends. But this flattery can also be a facade. While the male symbol of 1950s sexuality received a glorious hagiography thanks to Baz Luhrmann this summer
Andrew Dominik's Blonde seeks to remove the illusion of popular fantasy (and everything else) until what we left is a weak, fearful girl who.
It's bad then that Blonde is not interested in being good, or not necessarily self-aware, than a pack of wolves and ogle Marilyn for almost three hours in the image.
Dominik's film may recognize the seriousness of his vision, but it seems that it is difficult to find sympathy or regret over the film's process of exploiting a young woman named Norma Jeane by putting her on the grid. a underground and in the first grave.