While I was standing in line at Target trying to convince Cohen that playing with his crackle book would be just as much fun as chewing on the economy size bag of cat food I noticed this among all the smut rags. For those of you who don't know, I am a HUGE fan of classic films and their players. I collect biographies on Marilyn Monroe, Clark Gable, Jean Harlow, Betty Grable, Sidney Poitier, just to name a few. I have yet to come across someone who shares this passion, or at least someone who doesn't also remember the Great Depression or the signing of the Declaration of Independence. While most kids my age had a crush on Jesse from Full House or Devon Sawa I preferred Cary Grant and Gene Kelly who seemed much more sophisticated albeit dead.
I purchased this Vanity Fair without hesitation.
I love how over 45 years after her death Marilyn can grace the cover of a coveted fashion periodical and still hold her own among the new, younger, and more current faces of today. Even in her films Marilyn had a way of inadvertently drawing the audience to her, even when other actresses, equally dazzling on their own shared a scene with her, they always seemed less graceful, less vibrant, almost dowdy. I have over a dozen books on Ms. Monroe and her story, all varieties of it, never ceases to fascinate me. Although I have a tendency to lean more toward the idea that she was less of a selfish, drug-addled, mental case and more of an innocent, dreamy, individual who struggled to leave a painful and abusive past behind her. This article is based on the release of a new book, Fragments by Stanley Buchthal and Bernard Comment, which includes exerts from Marilyn's personal diaries and journals.
This book currently tops my Christmas Wish List.