All biopics take creative artistic liberty – when they stretch the truth as far as it can go. But make no mistake, Andrew Dominik’s Blonde is not a biopic; it’s a fictionalized account of Marilyn Monroe’s life, based on Blonde, a fictional novel by Joyce Carol Oates. And in this case, “creative artistic liberty” means a big-budget black-and-white exploitation film featuring scene after scene of abuse, violence, sadness, and desperation that add up to nothing. Blonde wants you to see Marilyn, the singer, the actress, the pin-up, the icon, the human being, as a victim. It wants you to think that this was her life, that this is every woman’s life. “Do you feel bad yet?” Blonde asks. “Well, you should.”
