Simon Curtis may only have TV movies in his body of work, but My Week with Marilyn deserves to be on the silver screen. This is a great film that made me think a lot about Linklater’s Me and Orson Welles and wish it could have been more like this was. Curtis directs with a warmth and love for his subjects that’s immediately noticeable. He himself may have very well been the character of Colin Clark, the young man of which the titular week with Marilyn is spent.
Comparable to the way The Artist plays with the professionalism and theory of acting as a classic art form, My Week with Marilyn tenderly reflects the unseen qualities of Marilyn Monroe’s ability as an important actress as opposed to a movie star. She is plagued by self-image issues, many of which were never alleviated (or even mediated) by any of her handlers or suitors, until Colin. It’s a perfect pairing in that he is so utterly without self-importance when around her that he is able to focus all importance on her, lifting her to the place she wants to be for the moment.
Too much of a good thing is quickly had though by both parties involved, and inevitably their relationship, as fleeting as it was, will come to a bitter end. This will do much to sober Colin up, but he will remain without ever realizing or finding what he truly wants, in order to make him happy. It’s not obvious at the beginning, but Colin and Marilyn are very much alike on the inside; very much opposite on the outside.
Colin will effectively lose what he wants most and will have to rebuild, just as Marilyn would have to do if she’d the will to stomach the loss and unpredictability of the future. Michelle Williams plays an eerily pitch-perfect Marilyn who is lit so gorgeously by Ben Smithard and made up so perfectly by the makeup department, that it’s simple to slip right into the story and feel like Monroe is alive again. Biopics are notoriously long, overwrought and hard to fall in love with, but My Week with Marilyn is a welcomed vacation despite its inevitable sad ending.