The ghosts of Hollywood came to London this week. Not in spirit, but in bidding paddles. The auction of Marilyn Monroe memorabilia on what would have been her 100th birthday saw a stampede of British collectors. The prize: a slice of the silver screen's most tragic icon.
Julien's Auctions, the California firm behind the sale, watched the gavel fall on a bombshell blonde dress that once clung to Monroe's curves. The final bid? £4.2 million. A record. The buyer was a shadowy figure from the city. A hedge fund manager with a taste for the macabre, they whisper.
But it wasn't just the big-ticket items that drew the crowds. The auction catalogue read like a who's who of Monroe's life. A pair of rhinestone earrings from 'Gentlemen Prefer Blondes' went for £120,000. A handwritten letter to her acting coach, dated 1955, fetched £45,000.
The real prize for many was a collection of personal photographs. Candid shots from her 1956 marriage to Arthur Miller. The marriage that was supposed to save her. It didn't, of course. The photos show a woman undone by her own fame.
Why the frenzy? Why now? The centenary of her birth is a convenient hook. But the obsession with Monroe goes deeper. She represents a lost age of Hollywood glamour. An era before Instagram, before PR teams sanitised every pore. She was raw. She was troubled. She was ours.
The Labour Party leadership race took a backseat to the auction. Backbenchers were spotted browsing the online catalogue during a committee hearing on housing. One MP was heard muttering: 'At least she had a better script than this lot.'
The auction house reported a surge in online bids from the UK. More than any other country outside the US. It seems the British fascination with Monroe is undiminished. Perhaps because she was the quintessential American tragedy. And we love a good tragedy.
One item failed to sell. A script for 'Something's Got to Give', the film she was fired from weeks before her death. The reserve was £200,000. No takers. Some things are too sad even for the collectors.
The sale raised over £20 million in total. A testament to Monroe's enduring power. But her real legacy is not in the dresses or the diamonds. It is in the cautionary tale. The price of fame. The cost of being the most desired woman in the world.
As the auctioneer's gavel fell for the last time, a hush fell over the room. For a moment, you could almost hear her sing 'I Wanna Be Loved By You'. But the tune faded. And we were left with the silence. And the bidding slips.
The game of politics may be brutal. But Hollywood? It eats its own. And we are left to pick over the bones.
