Behind the Glamour: What Hollywood Legends Really Thought of Marilyn Monroe

Marilyn Monroe—born Norma Jeane Mortenson in 1926, gone too soon in 1962—still dazzles as Hollywood’s ultimate enigma. From Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (1953) to Some Like It Hot (1959), her 23 films raked in over $200 million in their day, per Britannica. But behind the platinum curls and breathy allure, her colleagues saw a kaleidoscope of brilliance and baggage. As of March 18, 2025, their words—spanning directors, co-stars, and confidants—paint a portrait of a woman whose genius sparred with her struggles, leaving an indelible mark on set.

Billy Wilder, who helmed The Seven Year Itch and Some Like It Hot, caught her magic early. “She had a kind of elegant vulgarity about her,” he told Cameron Crowe in Conversations with Wilder. “She automatically knew where the joke was… absolutely perfect” from the first rehearsal. Yet, he didn’t sugarcoat the chaos—her addiction-fueled forgetfulness and cling to acting coach Paula Strasberg frayed nerves post-production, per SlashFilm. Laurence Olivier, directing her in The Prince and the Showgirl, swung both ways. “She’s a brilliant comedienne,” he gushed initially, per Daily Mail, only to groan later, “I’ve never been so glad when anything was over,” worn thin by her tardiness.

Co-stars split the difference. Tony Curtis, her Some Like It Hot foil, infamously likened kissing her to “kissing Hitler”—a quip he softened later, admitting an affair and her talent, per The Guardian. Jack Lemmon, his co-star in the same flick, was smitten: “She had an incredible charisma… I absolutely adored her,” he said in a tribute (REMEMBERING JACK LEMMON). Her lateness irked him, sure, but he chalked it up to nerves, not diva fits, per Deseret News. Tony Randall, from The Seven Year Itch, wasn’t as forgiving: “No fun to work with,” he grumbled to interviewers, tired of waiting after a week.

Then there’s Betty Grable, her How to Marry a Millionaire pal. “Go and get yours, honey! I’ve had mine!” she cheered, per Wikipedia. After Monroe’s death, Grable mourned, “We were very close… there will never be anyone like her,” crediting her for lifting Hollywood’s spirits, per a Reddit thread. Off-screen, friend Amy Greene saw no damsel: “She was never a victim… a young, vital woman who loved life,” she told Vanity Fair. Arthur Miller, her husband and The Misfits scribe, wrestled with her unraveling: “She was ill, physically… distraught psychologically,” he recalled in a 1962 essay (The Guardian), yet his admiration peeked through the strain.

Monroe’s colleagues didn’t mince words: she was a comet—dazzling, unpredictable, maddening. Wilder and Lemmon marveled at her instincts; Olivier and Curtis chafed at her quirks. Grable and Greene adored her spark; Miller mourned her fragility. Typecast as a “dumb blonde,” she fought back with method acting and her own production company in ’54, but the pills and punctuality battles shadowed her shine. Love her or loathe her, they all agreed: Monroe was a one-off, her chaos as captivating as her craft. Hollywood hasn’t seen her like since.