Every Main Character In Blonde, Ranked Worst To Best

Andrew Dominik's "Blonde" has finally made its worldwide debut, bringing with it the expected controversy. A success at the Venice International Film Festival, the film became one of the most critically polarizing arthouse dramas in years, inspiring both fervent defenders and mortified detractors to talk about it, write about it, and tweet scorching hot takes about it.

The reason for all the hubbub is plain: The film, adapted from Joyce Carol Oates' much-celebrated novel, takes a fictional approach to the life and times of one of the greatest Hollywood icons of all time, Marilyn Monroe — a stage name that "Blonde" pointedly positions as such, instead referring to the woman and listing her in the credits as "Norma Jeane." As if the artistically liberalized, proudly fantastical way Oates imagined Norma Jeane's life wasn't enough to stir the pot, "Blonde" makes a series of abrasive, potentially off-putting decisions in the way that it brings that story to the screen, largely reducing it to a mournful Passion of the Christ by way of Old Hollywood, with Monroe as the martyr who suffered for all of America's sins.

It's a concept that gets claustrophobic at points, and it's up to each viewer to determine whether that's a good or bad thing. On a pure craft level, at least, "Blonde" is frequently astonishing, starting with the many actors who clock into Norma's stations of the cross. Here, we've attempted to rank those actors' performances — with the caveat that all of them are, at a minimum, good.

Every relationship of a romantic or sexual nature that Norma Jeane has in "Blonde" turns out to be exploitative in some way. Many of those relationships are, indeed, nothing but exploitative — part and parcel with the cavalcade of endless misery the film puts Norma through. But there are also those relationships that give her, and us, some hope of respite, only for it to be snatched away, making the sting that much harder in the end. In "Blonde," Norma isn't just denied happiness; she is repeatedly made to mourn it.

Norma's relationship with Cass Chaplin and Eddy Robinson Jr., for example, appears to toe the line between exploitation and bliss, only for later scenes to make the case that she's actually having just as much fun as the boys. The lingering source of tension in those scenes is Eddy, whose connection to Norma isn't explored very deeply, rendering him as a sort of mystery. What does he want? How does he feel about their arrangement? What is Norma to him? 

Evan Williams plays Eddy so that those questions are never answered, and his wry, ever-so-slightly bitter smile suggests that he has a harder time than Cass getting over his existential hang-ups. When the boys show their true colors, Eddy's betrayal is both more and less shocking than Cass'; his opacity is striking, but somewhat frustrating from a narrative standpoint.

Given how violently Norma Jeane gets jerked around by the patriarchy, it stands to reason that her efforts to find stability should be marred by chauvinistic violence. Out of all of Norma's partners in the film, Joe DiMaggio — referred to as "Ex-Athlete" in the film's credits, as in the novel — is the one who makes the most concentrated effort to "protect" Marilyn Monroe, and also the one who's most directly and aggressively abusive towards her. Such is the hand that Norma has been dealt in life.

Bobby Cannavale is no stranger to playing charming scumbags, as demonstrated by diverse projects like "Boardwalk Empire," "Spy," and "Homecoming." In that sense, the role of Ex-Athlete finds him in his element; Cannavale nails both the gallantry and sense of security in DiMaggio's early interactions with Norma, and the destructive rage and jealousy that ultimately make him yet another calvary in her life. If there's anything that makes him less memorable than the other men in Norma's orbit, it's that DiMaggio, despite how much of a presence he is both in terms of screen time and plot, is a bit of a one-note figure. There's not much more to him than the man-of-the-house routine, with its inevitable possessive disenchantment. Cannavale is a great performer, but there isn't a lot for him to sink his teeth into.

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The best scene in "Blonde" is the one that reverses the polarity. The vast majority of the film depicts Norma Jeane as a perpetual sufferer, a woman for whom even the lighthearted comic charms of the greatest Marilyn Monroe performances came at a great emotional cost. At one point, however, we see Norma in her dressing room, accompanied by her team, trading banter and listening to fan mail. In that moment, she's happy, snarky, and self-aware; it's a brief glimpse of the quick-witted, endlessly charismatic comic genius the real Monroe was known to be. In that moment, she's also being teased by her personal makeup artist, Allan "Whitey" Snyder, who effortlessly makes her laugh like only an old, trusted friend can.

Every scene with Whitey in the film carves out a similarly blissful space amidst the Passion of Marilyn. He's the only man in Norma's life who truly sees, understands, and respects her, warts and all. He's the one who holds her hand through breakdowns and laughs with her when she's recovering from drunken dazes. Toby Huss' performance is unshowy, much like Whitey's support for Ms. Monroe. But it's also just about perfect. The warmth he exudes is almost alarming; I kept expecting the other shoe to drop, but it didn't. Watch for the details whenever Huss is in the background of a big scene — his constant attention to Norma, and his instinctive responses to how she feels. It's impeccable character building.

Besides Norma Jeane, the character who appears most prominently in "Blonde" is ... Norma Jeane, but as a seven-year-old girl. Like most children, pint-sized Norma is sensitive, observant, and a lot more aware of what's going on around her than others assume she is. The mistreatment she suffers at the hands of her mother, Gladys, manifests most clearly not in the behaviors of Gladys herself, but in Norma Jeane's anguished, powerless, and increasingly desperate reactions. We feel every pang alongside her, and the experiences of young Norma become a map to the woman eventually known as Marilyn Monroe.

Getting that much pain and trauma across without falling into rote repetition is no small job, especially for a child actor, but Lily Fisher aces it. Seven-year-old Norma is never just one thing — she loves her mother and longs for her affection, but also recoils at the sheer absurdity of the things Gladys puts her through; she puts on a brave face as children from abusive households often do, but the pain and confusion always simmer underneath it; she's sweet and innocent, but asks questions with enough clear-eyed authority to stun adults. Most of all, she feels it all so, so deeply. Fisher allows Norma's feelings to come through on her face with haunting, undeniable clarity; her close-ups are almost difficult to watch.

Few movie characters in recent memory have been mass centers of omnidirectional pain to a more upsetting degree than Gladys. She suffers and dishes out suffering with the intensity of a tragic figure in a particularly mean melodrama — one of those shocking, blazing Sirkian figures that us viewers are unsure of what to do with. "Blonde" implicitly argues that Gladys is but one of who-knows-how-many women on the outskirts of Los Angeles who's driven to ruin by their proximity to, and ultimate exclusion from, the glamor of Hollywood life, but that's not to say it positions her as a mere allegory. Everything about Gladys and her relationship to Norma Jeane is searingly specific.

Julianne Nicholson has always been a fearless actress, but "Blonde" finds her reaching for new depths of naked, unglamorized human horror. The character is excessive and Nicholson plays her as such, never holding back during any of Gladys' outbursts or tempering the uncontrollable anger she feels towards her own daughter. At the same time, she makes Gladys' own victimhood plain, adding nuance to her mostly unsuccessful efforts to be a decent mother. This dizzying feat of muscular yet perfectly controlled acting is only made more impressive by the scenes in which Gladys reappears in a nursing home. She's a shell of her former self, unassailable to Norma yet every bit as capable of dealing existential damage.