Blonde

Blonde ★½

“Darling, where do you go when you disappear?”

Is it worse to make a bad film, or to make a bad film in which you can tell there’s a good one buried somewhere inside it? Somewhere deep, deep inside it.

Blonde by Andrew Dominik is supposed to be a critique that condemns how the world reduced Norma Jeane Baker to a beautiful, broken thing to be used and consequently discarded. And yet the movie treats her as a beautiful, broken thing to be used and consequently discarded.

What Dominik did is paint a painfully shallow and honestly insulting portrayal of the woman people thought Marilyn Monroe was, reducing her to nothing but the men she dated and the misery that plagued the last years of her life.

There are a couple of sequences so bizarre and tone-deaf that you can’t help but wonder why no one thought to say “hey, maybe this isn’t a good idea”, but evidently everyone was much more worried about making something aesthetically beautiful than actually saying something of value.

Talk about ironic.

Ana de Armas deserved better, but most importantly, Norma Jeane Baker deserved better.

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