The ghosts of Hollywood past descended on Leicester Square this morning. Not literally, of course. But a hundred Marilyn Monroe lookalikes, white dresses and platinum curls catching the grey London light. The occasion: 100 years since Norma Jeane Mortenson became a cipher for an era she never truly controlled.
The British Film Institute, orchestrating the event, knows the game. Monroe is box office. Even in death. Especially in death. The archives they've unearthed for this centenary are the real story. Candid footage. Outtakes. Notes from directors who tried to capture lightning in a bottle. It's a reminder that the political machinery of fame works just like ours. Leaks, spin, and a carefully curated public image.
But here's the whisper doing the rounds in the Soho clubs and the BBC green rooms. The Monroe estate, it seems, is playing hardball with a new documentary. Demanding editorial control. Sources say the BFI is caught between a rock and a hard place. They want the access, but they don't want to become a propaganda arm. Sound familiar? It's the same dance Number 10 does with friendly journalists.
Look at the polling data. Monroe's brand is still strong among women under 35. The 'feminist icon' rebrand has worked, despite decades of male critics dismissing her as a dumb blonde. New biographies paint her as a strategist, a survivor of a brutal system. The parallels to modern politics are uncomfortable. How many female MPs have had their voices dismissed as 'shrill' while their policy wins are ignored?
The screening tonight? A restored version of 'Some Like It Hot'. A comedy about cross-dressing, identity, and survival. The Conservative Party could learn a thing or two from its plot twist. But I digress.
The real action is in the fringes. Backbench MPs, mostly female, have tabled a motion to mark the centenary. A symbolic gesture. But watch for the names. Corbyn loyalists. One Nation Tories. The motion is a Trojan horse for a broader debate about how we treat women in the public eye. Monroe's story, after all, is one of exploitation by powerful men. Sound familiar?
A cabinet source tells me there's unease in Downing Street about this. They see it as a distraction from the cost of living crisis. But culture wars are the currency of the day. And Monroe, with her tangled web of unions, studios, and political affiliates, is a rich seam to mine.
So as the lookalikes posed for photos and tourists snapped their smartphones, I watched a woman in a red dress, clearly hired by some agency, whisper to a young reporter. 'She was a radical,' she said. 'Don't let the blonde hair fool you.' The same could be said of many a Labour MP. The packaging is part of the power play.
Monroe understood the game. The leaked phone calls, the 'accidental' timing of her New York move. She was playing three-dimensional chess while the studio bosses played checkers. Our current incumbents could learn a thing or two.
Me? I'll be in the back row of the screening, watching for who isn't watching the film. The real centenary tribute is the networking in the aisles.
