THE PRINCE AND THE SHOWGIRL: Blu-ray (Warner Bros./Marilyn Monroe Productions, 1957) Warner Archive

Debatably, a movie more infamous and absorbing for its backstory than what appears on the screen, The Prince and the Showgirl (1957), directed by – and to co-star, Sir Laurence Olivier, produced in Britain for co-star, Marilyn Monroe’s indie production company, was meant – ostensibly – to exalt the prominence of Monroe’s acting chops. In her time, Monroe had become established in the public’s estimation, as well as that of her employers at 2oth Century-Fox, as a flaxen-haired/bubble-headed blonde that all gentlemen preferred to remain naïve, sexy and fun-loving. That Monroe exhibited far more depth to her character – both off screen, and, in pictures like The Asphalt Jungle (1950), Don’t Bother to Knock (1952) and Niagara (1953) did little to convince the general public her public image was simply that – ‘image’ and not characteristic of the qualities inherent in the lady herself. Monroe pressed, even as she pressed on to coagulate and conserve that Teflon-coated template of the sexpot du jour. And thus, intermittently, she was permitted to appear in such quality fare as Bus Stop (1956) and The Misfits (1961).

To suggest Marilyn Monroe was an intensely intuitive, yet deeply troubled performer, haunted by the psychological demise of her mother, and her own inability to find love and security on her terms, is neither to discount her character or her talent. If anything, Monroe’s inner demons better informed her on-screen performances in the ‘serious’ pictures. And it must have required awe-inspiring discipline to keep these dark and terrifying anxieties magnificently veiled from the press and public as she ascended from Fox studio contract player to A-list superstar in such hits as Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, How To Marry a Millionaire (both in 1953) and The Seven Year Itch (1955).  Disgruntled by Fox’s inability to craft a more diverse spate of projects for her to appear it, at the height of her screen popularity, Monroe retreated to New York. Determined to become an actress instead of a movie star, she conspired with lifelong friend and photog, Milton Greene to cofound Marilyn Monroe Productions. To soften the impact of her gutsy decision, so easily to be misconstrued as biting the hand that had fed her thus far, Monroe granted journalist, Edward R. Murrow an audience in which she explained, “It's not that I object to doing musicals and comedies — in fact, I rather enjoy them — but I'd like to do dramatic parts, too.”

Nevertheless, Fox sued Monroe for breach of contract, eventually to be ironed out with a new non-exclusive agreement to include distribution of pictures made by her production company, a check for past earnings, and a raise in salary to $100,000 for four movies over the next seven years. The terms also included unprecedented creative control seceded to Monroe. Touted in the press as a personal triumph against the tyrannical will of the studio, Monroe emerged from the fight more determined than ever to make ‘good pictures.’ For the first time in Hollywood’s history, a star would be in total control of her on-screen destiny. Just prior to her legal victory, Monroe secured the rights to The Prince and the Showgirl (originally titled, The Sleeping Prince). But before this, Monroe’s indie company produced Bus Stop. Based on William Inge’s play, it redefined Monroe’s sex bomb image, infusing it with an edge of sadness. The irony, of course, is that with the establishment of her newfound autonomy, the beginning of the end to Monroe’s reign in Hollywood had already begun. Within a few short years, Monroe’s private life – her increasing addiction to pills and alcohol, and her notoriously public affairs with both the President and Robert Kennedy – would lead to her own psychological implosion and premature death from a drug overdose in 1962, the mystery, as yet, to remain an enigma wrapped inside of a questionable riddle – did Marilyn Monroe commit suicide, or was she murdered?

The making of The Prince and the Showgirl was something of a tender nightmare for all concerned as Laurence Olivier quickly realized he had agreed to costar and direct a woman whose inner tumult was fast unraveling her concentration into rank insecurity. Despite her valiant strides towards autonomy from Fox, and her recent marriage to Arthur Miller – considered the foremost playwright and intellectual of his generation - Monroe’s sense of self-worth was at a very low ebb as production on The Prince and the Showgirl began. Worse, Olivier was experiencing a downward spiral in his marriage to Vivien Leigh and secretly worried that, at age 49, his reputation as a great thespian had morphed into that of a beloved fossil. Ever the pro, Olivier pressed on, enduring clashes of temperament from his co-star while desperately trying to reconcile their misaligned acting styles. Olivier had hoped some of Monroe’s youthful vigor would rejuvenate his reputation in the picture biz as a viable leading man. Monroe desired more directly to align her star persona with an irrefutably ‘great actor’ whose expertise, she entrusted, would rub off on her. In the end, neither star was satisfied with this arrangement. Monroe, believed Olivier was needlessly browbeating her. In reply, she stayed away from the set – sometimes for days at a time, incurring Olivier’s frustration. And then, there was the formidable Paula Strasberg – as Monroe’s ever-present, and some would suggest, perpetually destructive influence.

To get to Marilyn, Olivier had to go through Strasberg, who frequently impeded the shoot by attempting to apply her husband’s heavy-handed ‘method’ approach to this featherweight comedy. Olivier’s own theater-based acting style was decidedly at odds with the Strasberg method of investigating a character’s interior psychology. Moreover, Olivier felt the source material did not warrant such a deep and profound understanding of their characters’ motives and past history.  At some point, Olivier’s exacerbation with Monroe turned to venomous contempt and thereafter, his direction devolved into repeated public humiliation her, meant, I suspect, to force Monroe through the interminable stalemates in her performance, merely to get the damn thing done. At one point, Olivier had Strasberg forcibly escorted from the set, leaving an entrenched Monroe to refuse to work until Strasberg was brought back. Reportedly, the stress levels were so high, costar, Richard Wattis took to drink between takes to medicate his anxiety, while usually congenial cinematographer, Jack Cardiff’s patience expired after being tested on too many times by Monroe’s repeated tardiness. At one point, Olivier openly began referring to Monroe as ‘that bitch’ and thereafter made it something of his life’s ambition to dismantle her credibility with her other costars. As the years passed, Olivier would reassess both his reaction to Monroe and Monroe’s appeal – concurring that, while as a sex symbol there was no actress alive then to touch her, in his estimation she remained a thoroughly silly and insecure girl.

The resultant release of The Prince and the Showgirl proved a terrific flop in America, if a modest success in Britain. The critics were ruthless in their poisoned-pen savagery divided against Olivier – branded a stuffed shirt, and Monroe, misperceived as even sillier and more naïve than ever before. Mercifully, each star would salvage their reputations: Monroe with Billy Wilder’s Some Like It Hot (1959), and Olivier, the following year, earning an Oscar nod for The Entertainer (1960). Upon reflection,  The Prince and the Showgirl is a rather sad-eyed epitaph twice removed from its source material; first, as the beginning of the end of Marilyn Monroe’s momentary ebb from the autocratic rule of 2oth Century-Fox, and second, as a dewy-eyed farewell to all those Ruritanian-cliché-riddled romances, Hollywood’s bread and butter throughout the fanciful thirties, briefly, resurrected mid-way through the 1950’s. Shooting in England, at Pinewood Studios, The Prince and the Showgirl has that distinguished air of a dated Brit-based aristocratic contrivance that occasionally creaks, despite the gallant attempts by Olivier and Monroe to breathe new life into the proceedings. Interestingly, Olivier – who oft appears stiff and out of sorts here, had played the same role in Terence Rattigan's London production, costarring his wife, Vivien Leigh. That Leigh was not even considered to reprise her part herein speaks more to the strain in the couple’s marriage than any slight on Leigh’s abilities as an actress.

Terence Rattigan’s screenplay sticks close to its source material. It’s 1911, and George V is fit to be crowned King of England. To mark the coronation, many distinguished dignitaries pay homage, including 16-year-old Carpathian King Nicholas VIII (Jeremy Spenser), his widowed father, the rigidly monocled prince regent, Charles (Olivier) and his maternal grandmother, the queen dowager (Sybil Thorndike). As the British Government wishes to favor an alliance with Carpathia in the Triple Entente, they appoint a civil servant, Northbrook (Richard Wattis) to cater to their needs. On their first night’s arrival, Northbrook escorts Charles to the theater. During the intermission, Charles becomes smitten with one of the performers, Elsie Marina (Monroe) whom he invites to dinner at the Carpathian embassy. Believing the affair to be a grand party, Elsie accepts, but is quickly dismayed when she realizes Charles intentions are merely to engage her in a disposable tryst for the evening. Resisting his advances, Elsie nevertheless succumbs to strong drink, forcing Charles to put her up for the night in an adjacent room.

Sometime later, Elsie overhears Nicholas plotting with the German embassy to overthrow his father. Agreeing not to expose the plot, Elsie is next invited by the dowager queen to attend the coronation as her guest. A reluctant Elsie contemplates if she should expose Nicholas, but repeatedly delays in her deliberations while being courted by Charles. At a lavish ball, Elsie persuades Nicholas to reconsider the plot against his father, suggesting she might be able to get Charles to agree to a general election instead. Impressed by her candor, Charles realizes he has fallen madly for Elsie. The morning after the ball, she orchestrates a truce between father and son. Charles sheepishly concurs he has badly bungled their relationship and vows to love his son in the future. At visit’s end, Charles explains to Elsie he would have wished for her to return with them to Carpathia. Alas, his regency will expire in a mere 18 months, thus leaving him a free citizen to choose as he pleases thereafter. Elsie points out that her theater contract will also expire in approximately the same length of time. Each acknowledges much can happen in 18 months. Bittersweetly, Elsie and Charles bid one another farewell, making no promises about the future.

The Prince and the Showgirl has a marvelous underscore by Richard Addinsell, some wonderful production design by Roger K. Furse and complimentary art direction from Carmen Dillon. With Jack Cardiff’s magnificent eye for detail, it remains a very handsome movie to look at, even when the plot and characters fail to rise to such an eye-popping level of brilliance.  Marilyn positively glows in Beatrice Dawson’s period costumes, able to exude a rare, lithe charm beneath the bodices and gowns of another time and place. Olivier is distinctly regal in his princely rags. Were that the chemistry between the costars had clicked a little better. However, given the hellish circumstances under which the picture was made, it is also prudent to note not a hint of this warring animosity manifests itself on the big screen.  Although The Prince and the Showgirl went on to earn $4.3 million at the box office, it was not considered a hit. At 115-mins. it’s a queerly drawn out and tedious affair at time, only intermittently rescued by Monroe and Olivier’s ‘odd couple’ pairing. Perhaps the real/reel tragedy of the piece is not its disconcerting finale, which seems to suggest love – easily conquerable, can just as easily wither in an absent heart – but Olivier’s rather pedestrian direction. Fair enough, The Prince and the Showgirl is not high art. Yet, given its pedigree both in front of and behind the camera, it remains a genuine shame nothing more or better ever came of it.

After a long overdue absence from public view, and never to be fully appreciated on home video in its proper aspect ratio, The Prince and the Showgirl arrives in hi-def Blu-ray via the Warner Archive (WAC). Of late, WAC has been on a roll, resurrecting movies thought to be impossible to restore to their original level of artistic quality. The Prince and the Showgirl is yet the latest benefactor of these concerted efforts to do better. It looks positively gorgeous in 1080p, easily blowing the tired old DVD release out of the water. Colors are richly saturated. Color fidelity is exquisite. Previously, the powered flesh always looked pasty, piggy pink. Herein, one can appreciate the softness, texture and nuances of the make-up and hair applications. Cardiff’s keen visual sense is on full display here. Contrast is uniformly excellent. A light smattering of film grain looks indigenous to its source. The original 2.0 mono has been lovingly preserved and sounds solid. Bottom line: The Prince and the Showgirl was never considered a treasure among the ruins of Marilyn Monroe’s later career. But WAC’s Blu-ray release gives us pause to reconsider the film on its own merits, and also, the one we sincerely wish he had become. This one’s another keeper from WAC. Judge and buy accordingly.

FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the best)

3

VIDEO/AUDIO

5+

EXTRAS

0