Marilyn Monroe was born a hundred years ago today. She was famous enough in her lifetime to be one of those rare figures referred to by their first name alone. Such fame seldom lasts. Even Frank now needs to be called ‘Sinatra’. She is still ‘Marilyn’ partly because the name fell out of use; her fame survives partly because she died young – of a barbiturate overdose, presumed to be suicide – at the age of thirty-six. 

My favourite Monroe story is one told by Billy Wilder, who directed and co-wrote the film Some Like It Hot. Newly engaged to Arthur Miller, the actress was taken to meet Miller’s parents in a small New York apartment with thin walls. Nervous of being overheard while she was using the bathroom, Monroe turned on the taps to cover the noise. Miller phoned the next day to ask what impression his bride-to-be had made. ‘Sweet girl,’ his mother replied. ‘Wonderful girl. Pisses like a horse.’

The joke works because the whole scene ceases to be about fame and becomes about being human. Monroe’s afterlife has oscillated between those states: goddess and mammal, icon and woman caught short. Other stories do the same, but few make you immediately like everyone involved that little bit........

© The Spectator