Bill Gibron is a veteran film critic from Tampa, Florida.There is a great performance buried in the basic biopic melodramatics of My Week with Marilyn. No, it's not Kenneth Branaugh bringing a delightful spoiled brat spark to his turn as Sir Laurence Olivier circa The Prince and the Showgirl. Nor is it Dame Judi Dench doing the devious old diva shtick as Dame Sybil Thorndyke or Julia Ormond as an aging (and bitter) Vivian Leigh. Indeed, without the Oscar-worthy work of Michelle Williams as the iconic sex symbol Marilyn Monroe, this all would be nothing more than a slight cinematic piffle. Instead, both the humor and heartbreak of this notoriously tortured superstar come across in a performance that won't be forgotten come time to announce this year's Best-ofs.
Eager to make his way in the world and crawl out from under his wealthy and prestigious parents' domineering manner, young Colin Clarke (a rather bland Eddie Redmayne) gets a letter of introduction to Laurence Olivier's (Branagh) production company. Taking any job he can get, he becomes Third Assistant Director (read: gopher) for the venerable stage actor's latest cinematic turn -- an adaptation of his West End hit The Sleeping Prince. Even more exciting is the news that Hollywood beauty Marilyn Monroe (Williams) will be arriving in London to begin filming.
Colin can't wait to meet his dream girl, and initially, he's not disappointed. But as he interacts with her meddling minders, including acting coach Paula Strasberg (Zoë Wanamaker), publicist Arthur Jacobs (Toby Jones) and producer/pal Milton Greene (Dominic West), he realizes just how sad her life in the limelight is. Marilyn takes a shine to this shy, soft spoken lad and soon they are inseparable. Naturally, their 'friendship' sparks rumors onset, interfering with Colin's job and his budding romance with common costume girl Lucy (Emma Watson).Had the story not been so slight, had the richness of the roles been bolstered by a narrative worthy of their weight, My Week with Marilyn would be something very special indeed. Between Branagh's outbursts of snark and Shakespeare, Ormond's fading beauty on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and the old goat givens of Dench, there is enough here to spawn a dozen definitive films. But then director Simon Curtis (a TV type making the move to motion pictures) appears to have hired a literal cipher in the central audience identification role, and he lards the edges with the typical fame game twaddle. We get the pill popping, the longing for love, the insularity, the "can't go out in public" problems...the standard Monroe mythology. In fact, without a strong Monroe, much of this would be frightfully dull.
Thankfully, Williams walks in and absolutely owns the film's fragile soul. It's not an imitation so much as an exacting embodiment. She has the look, the mannerisms, and the voice down pat. What's more stunning is the way in which the actress slowly loses herself completely in the performance. At first, we recognize Williams and admire her obvious chutzpah. Within minutes, we are watching Marilyn Monroe make her way through the stuffy British cinema scene. One of the best moments has the icon meeting the servants of a stately manner. "Shall I put HER on?" she whispers before going into full blown superstar mode.
With some quality laughs and effective insights into what makes actors tick (and tragic), the results are decent. The overall experience gives us the basics and then bedazzles us with Williams just to make sure we are sold. While the rest of the movie doesn't matter, the lead role legitimizes the journey. Just like the minor movie being made, My Week With Marilyn is not an artistic smash. Williams is.
