The Fredösphere

The time was many years ago, after graduate school, but before I was married.  The place was the room I shared with another single guy.  For some reason, I woke up in the middle of the night.  From the bunk above, I suddenly heard my dreaming roommate (who will remain nameless) utter three words with a tone of relish and profound satisfaction:  Miss Marilyn Monroe.  He was another Norma Jeane worshiper.

Number me not among them.  The wifeösphere and I are working our way through Some Like It Hot, with Jack Lemon, Tony Curtis, and Miss Marilyn herself.  We were told we would find it hilarious, but come on.  Two men, on the run from the Chicago mob, head to Florida and hide out in an all-girl band, fooling everyone, improbably.  Marilyn Monroe is the band's singer and mandolinist.

The whole first half of the movie is a trackless desert of predictable cross-dressing gags.  Suddenly, things turn interesting when the two men adopt different strategies to woo Marilyn; one becomes her bosom (female) buddy, the other adopts the persona of a (male) millionaire.  The first strategy allows for a certain immediate intimacy, but is inherently self-limiting, while the other is complicated by the need for very rapid costume changes.  Bizarrely, the movie abandons this very fruitful plot direction after only about 10 minutes.  Lemon and Curtis are great, but better seen in other vehicles; I especially recommend Curtis with Burt Lancaster in The Sweet Smell of Success.

What is Marilyn's appeal?  She has feminine softness and vulnerability in spades, yes, but I suspect part of the charm is the dumb act.  Thus, many men find her existence flattering:  she is both the grateful recipient of one's masculine protection, and the easy prey of one's seduction.  You get the Madonna and the whore, in one convenient package!  This is not an edifying thing to contemplate.

On the other hand, I was dazzled by another of the film's ravishing beauties:  the Hotel del Coronado.