The Marilyn Tapes

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Excuse the mess. Not the sort of room you expect to see a goddess living in, is it?

And yet, over the past four or five years, she’s taken to her bedroom as if it were the last bastion of safety in the world.

Look at her now.

Hard to believe that this very pale, fleshy, middle-aged woman had just a few years ago been the leading box-office draw in the world. And had been called by no less a connoisseur than Pablo Picasso, “The most erotic girl of her generation.”

If you listen closely, you can hear it all in the silence of this room: the shouts, the applause, the whistles, the excited laughter of the GIs when she toured with the USO during the Korean War... the screaming semi-hysterical fans when The Seven Year Itch opened in New York... and the nervous whispers of the locals when she would appear with Clark Gable on the Nevada set of The Misfits.

All the tumult; all the fuss; all the splendor... echoing here in the stillness of this room as the goddess lies unmoving on her mussed and sweaty bed, a small empty bottle that once contained twenty-five Nembutal tablets near her dangling, unmoving hand...

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