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studio,” I pointed out. “You’ve formed your own production company and studied at the most famous dramatic school in the country. You’ve associated with top theatrical personalities and literary intellectuals. And you’re getting one of the world’s top actors, Sir Laurence Olivier, to direct and star opposite you in ‘The Sleeping Prince.’ You’ve fought for what you believed in against great odds, and we’re proud of you.”
“Well,” she hesitated, “maybe you can say I’ve matured a little, psychologically. In a sense, everybody undergoes change all the time — or they’re dead. Some people have been unkind. If I say I want to grow as an actress, they look at my figure. If I say I want to develop, to learn my craft, they laugh. Somehow they don’t expect me to be serious about my work. I’m more serious about that than anything. But people persist in thinking that I’ve pretensions of turning into a Bernhardt or a Duse — that I want to play Lady Macbeth. And what they’ll say when I work with Sir Laurence, I don’t know.”
In the air was the feeling that Marilyn was again troubled, shrinking back into the shadows, anxious, still unsure of herself and a little afraid. Thoughtfully, pensively, she went on to say, “It’s been said that I received $100,000 a picture before the new contract went into effect. But that’s not so. The, main consideration with me was never money — it was the right to approve directors, to do only those roles I could believe in, to make outside films and eventually, when I’m ready, to appear in Broadway plays. I just couldn’t continue as a near-parody of sex. There has always been a part of me that nobody really knows about.
“When I was modeling, a long time ago, I wanted more than anything in the world for my picture to be on the cover of the Ladies’ Home Journal. Instead, I was always on magazine covers with names like Whiz Bang and Peek. Those were the kind of movies I made, too. You see what I mean?”
Then she said, a note of weariness creeping into her voice, “I’m still not over a virus infection I caught a long time ago. I don’t know why I catch every virus, flu and cold germ that’s around. Doctors have tried all kinds of tests and shots and can’t find the answer.”
Marilyn appeared wan, tired and tense. She wasn’t the same girl who, a little earlier, had presided over a gay, press cocktail party. Now she was a strange, bewildering girl, one whose defenselessness caught at your heart. Was she being hounded again by the old fears, sparked by the need of another of those decisions
'IT
she hates to make? Was she again seein.l the ghost of the legend looming up oul of the shadows of the future to menacf her happiness?
It is rumored that Marilyn personaimill
itiwn
paid for her coaching instruction witiW Paula Strasberg, wife of Lee Strasbergli and mother of Susan Strasberg. (■
Mrs. Strasberg is a practical, hard (4 f headed woman, a wit and an intellectuai’d ' with no illusions about anything. “Somei:i times I wonder what I’m doing here,” shj*. said, when I asked her opinion of Mari p lyn’s acting talents. “I have a son a“i home, a husband and my daughter, whijw needs me. Yet I can’t go back to Nev|l York and leave Marilyn when she say 4 she needs me. If I didn’t believe tha|f Marilyn had real talent, I wouldn’t bijli here. There’s nothing sadder in th world than people with big ambitions anc little talent. She has extraordinary rangi — nothing she does seems beyond her. Shi can give a great deal, if she’s allowed to.’. On the set of “Bus Stop,” there appearet to be a mutual admiration society be-i tween Marilyn and director Josh Logan one of the giants of the modern theatre. ^ “Before I met Marilyn,” Logan ex-1 plained, “I was impressed with the Mon-i roe legend, the personality. Now I’n
[IJl
IID£
more impressed by the person than thi' legend. She’s very exciting to work with She grows as you watch her — not jus! playing a part, but actually living it.” ' Now, Marilyn is in England, combining a honeymoon with Arthur Miller witl making “The Sleeping Prince,” co-star ring Sir Laurence Olivier. Now, too, thi questions are beginning to be asked, questions that only Marilyn can answer: Hov long will this marriage to an intellectua such as Arthur Miller last? Will Marilyi, again find herself posing for publicity pic-' tures that reveal her as that legendar]| symbol of sex — the kind of publicity against which Jo DiMaggio rebelled, anc against which, perhaps, Arthur Mille: will also rebel? And, if she has to make ® a final choice— a clear-cut decision to bi through forever with the legend— will shi finally have enough confidence in her-^ self as an actress and in Arthur Miller a: her husband to be able to turn her bad. on the kind of role and the kind of posei which first made her famous?
Going into the home stretch, the legem and the woman are still pretty mucl; neck-and-neck. But the people who knov her best, believe that Marilyn’s newfound confidence in herself as an actres: and her new-found love, will probabb, combine to give her the courage to hi herself — and just herself — at last. ,
And that, I might add, is somethin!
rather wonderful. The EniB"'
lot
ARTHUR GODFREY
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