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A review by labunnywtf
My Week with Marilyn by Colin Clark
1.0
How do I put this delicately.
I think Colin Clark is a big fat liar.
I believe this about as much as I believe that there are sparkly vampires mentally abusing idiotic teenagers. I believe it as much as I believe that fairies come out at night to sprinkle magic dust on gardens to make flowers grow. I believe this as much as I believe that saying, "Happy Holidays" is a direct attack on Christmas.
Here's what I do believe. I believe Colin Clark worked on The Prince and the Showgirl. I believe he met Marilyn Monroe. I believe he was alive.
That about sums it up.
Really? Marilyn Monroe fixated on you, and you became her Knight in Shining Armour? You gave her the ol' "chuck under the chin, stiff upper lip, atta girl life will get better" speech, and she was oh so grateful to you? "Oh, Colin, you really think so? Oh, Colin, you're so wonderful. Oh, Colin, don't leave me."
Really?
"No, no, little lady, you don't need pills. Don't take them." "Oh, yes, Colin, you're so smart and brilliant and oh so handsome."
Give me a fucking break.
I think he was there on set, saw everything that happened, and in the 50ish years that passed between his writing The Prince, The Showgirl, and Me, he fantasized about "What if". Since, oh so conveniently, no one was around to witness it, and the other main character in the story is dead, who's going to stop him or fact check him?
And he tells you straight up front he's full of shit. How? He names the book "My week with Marilyn". As opposed to, "My three or four days with Marilyn".
Big. fat. liar.
I think Colin Clark is a big fat liar.
I believe this about as much as I believe that there are sparkly vampires mentally abusing idiotic teenagers. I believe it as much as I believe that fairies come out at night to sprinkle magic dust on gardens to make flowers grow. I believe this as much as I believe that saying, "Happy Holidays" is a direct attack on Christmas.
Here's what I do believe. I believe Colin Clark worked on The Prince and the Showgirl. I believe he met Marilyn Monroe. I believe he was alive.
That about sums it up.
Really? Marilyn Monroe fixated on you, and you became her Knight in Shining Armour? You gave her the ol' "chuck under the chin, stiff upper lip, atta girl life will get better" speech, and she was oh so grateful to you? "Oh, Colin, you really think so? Oh, Colin, you're so wonderful. Oh, Colin, don't leave me."
Really?
"No, no, little lady, you don't need pills. Don't take them." "Oh, yes, Colin, you're so smart and brilliant and oh so handsome."
Give me a fucking break.
I think he was there on set, saw everything that happened, and in the 50ish years that passed between his writing The Prince, The Showgirl, and Me, he fantasized about "What if". Since, oh so conveniently, no one was around to witness it, and the other main character in the story is dead, who's going to stop him or fact check him?
And he tells you straight up front he's full of shit. How? He names the book "My week with Marilyn". As opposed to, "My three or four days with Marilyn".
Big. fat. liar.