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I wish wholeheartedly that I had never seen this piece of unadulterated trash. Marilyn Monroe gave much pleasure to the world while getting so little back. Abused, mistreated, ignored and ridiculed her entire life, this monstrosity does the same AFTER her death - in triplicate. There was no reason to film the book, which was upsetting enough. But every bad thing that happened to her was amplified, as if degrading her further would make her more real.

True, there are treated film clips of her movies, but nothing suggests the sheer joy of them. Monroe was exquisitely talented, well-read, and intellectually curious, but there's not a whisper of this in Blonde. Everyone involved, from actors to production people should be thoroughly ashamed. Throughout, Marilyn was degraded, and by the end I, too, felt degraded and diminished.

Well, I finally satisfied my curiosity and saw Myra Breckinridge. This movie has the reputation of being the worst ever made. It's not; that dishonor probably belongs to Rabbit Test, by Joan Rivers. What sinks Myra Breckinridge like the Titanic is not the bad taste -- that can be salutary in small doses -- but its incoherence. At no time did I really catch a story line being laid out. Raquel Welch was never as bad as they said, but here she's an embarrassment. Her only function seems to be modeling new, outrageous outfits by Theodora van Runkle. When she does try to emote she implodes. But far more embarrassing is Mae West. I cringed watching this ancient crone simpering and batting three-inch long eyelashes at every man in sight, attempting to look like a siren. With this role she demolished her well-earned early reputation as a sexual joker. In fact, nobody comes out of this movie unbloodied. Certainly not Rex Reed, who while not unattractive, made my skin crawl. Even the film clips from the golden age of movies are defiled by their inclusion here. This movie should never have been made, as Gore Vidal, the original author, knew. I think people who claim to enjoy it are at bottom haters of film, of celebrities, of life.

Yes, this is the film that introduced the immortal Fred and Ginger, but there's so much more to it. Gene Raymond never became quite the star he should have, but he shines here. Delores Del Rio was never more gorgeous. Still, it's Astaire and Rogers we always remember. I especially love the terrific music by Vincent Youmans, especially the title song, which is probably my favorite song of all time -- it makes me happier every time I hear it. The fourth lead, Raul Rulien, is a capable enough actor, but his singing voice really should have been dubbed. Or perhaps his song "Orchids in the Moonlight" could have been transposed down half an octave so he could handle it. As it is, he sounds like a comic Spanish eunuch. Once I saw this movie in a revival house and when Rulein began to sing, the house erupted in raucous laughter. Still, in every other way the film is a success, thirties kitsch perhaps, but still glorious kitsch.