Back in Hollywood, Marilyn found herself married to a man who resented her stardom and loathed her image (“Who did he think he married, when he married me?” she would ask friends as the relationship faltered.) And her studio was up to its old tricks. She would appear in a corny musical extravaganza, “There’s No Business Like Show Business.” Oh, no she would not. Oh, yes she would—and if she did, Fox would give her the screen version of the Broadway hit, “The Seven Year Itch,” to be directed by Billy Wilder. She agreed, though she hated the “Show Business” script, which mocked and degraded her. As she toiled—and frequently collapsed—on this set, she thought more about the aspirations of photographer Milton Greene, who had suggested Marilyn form her own production company (with him, of course) and leave Hollywood. Her pivotal crisis arrived twofold. When she came to shoot location scenes for “Itch” in Manhattan, DiMaggio showed up just in time to catch the famous skirt-blowing scene; her scanty panties transparent under the klieg lights. The exhibitionist in her adored the attention; the actress, struggling to control her image was torn. She fought with Joe and they soon separated. Then came the release of “There’s No Business Like Showbusiness.” She was criticized for vulgarity—indeed, how her pelvic-centered “Heat Wave” musical number escaped the censors is astonishing. Marilyn realized her career would soon be over, or certainly not the career she wanted, if she continued to give in to Fox. She rejected another script, and then, without warning flew to New York, breaking her contract, declaring herself free from the studio.

No star of Marilyn’s caliber—a sex-symbol—had dared to defy Hollywood. Who did she think she was—Bette Davis? (And Davis had actually lost her famous battle with Warner Bros.) Marilyn had only been a real star for less than two years! Zanuck said he would keep her off-screen; she was no longer young (28), she would be ruined. Marilyn went ahead. She formed her company, Marilyn Monroe Productions with Greene, and then, putting a fine point on her independent stance, began to study with Lee Strasberg and the Actor’s Studio. Lee and his wife, Paula, became Marilyn’s new security blankets. She discarded her old drama coach, Natasha Lytess; she steeped herself in “motivational” acting exercises and Freudian analysis. (Naturally inclined to morbid self-examination, these were perhaps not the best avenues for her.) Yet, while pronouncing herself eager to star in the film version of “The Brothers Karazamov,” Marilyn also appeared at Madison Square Garden atop a pink elephant, wearing a showgirl outfit; bosoms pushed high. Did she contradict her desires to be taken seriously? Yes. Maybe. “No matter how much a person learns about acting, that person is not going to dye her hair black and wear dresses up to the neck,” Marilyn said, attempting to explain sex and sensibility. Her natural desire to exploit her most negotiable assets would never fade—and why should it?

“The Seven Year Itch” was the comedy smash of 1955. 20th Century Fox capitulated (helped by Darryl Zanuck’s withdrawal as studio head) and Marilyn Monroe returned to Hollywood in 1956 with a new contract that that gave her more money—though that was never the primary issue—and control over almost every aspect of her work, including director approval. She had also bought the rights to Terrence Rattingan’s play “The Prince and The Showgirl” which she would produce. Her leading man—and the movie’s director—would be Sir Lawrence Olivier. She had come a long way from “Heat Wave.” (But at their joint press conference, Marilyn allowed the strap of her tight black cocktail dress to snap—a wink and a nod to her blue-collar fans, “Don’t worry, I’m still Marilyn!”)

“Are you the boss lady?” asked a female reporter of Marilyn upon her return to Los Angeles. “I am the president of Marilyn Monroe Productions,” she replied sweetly, “and Mr. Greene is the Vice President, and there are other people…” The woman persisted, “You are wearing a high-necked suit, very different from the last time I saw you. Is this a new Marilyn, a new you?” Marilyn threw back her head, “No, I’m the same person. But it’s a different suit.”

Fox, now headed by the less combative Buddy Adler, offered Marilyn the screen version of William Inge’s Broadway hit, “Bus Stop.” She accepted, and approved Josh Logan as her director. Logan was unusually sensitive to his star’s mounting terror in facing the cameras—this was her “comeback” and she was at the crossroad age of 30. He also tolerated with grace her reliance on the oppressive Paula Strasberg. The result of Logan’s care was Marilyn’s spectacular performance as Cherie, the beat-up hillbilly “chanteuse” who improbably yearns for Hollywood stardom. The film was a critical and box-office success, but Monroe would be denied the Oscar nomination many felt she deserved—though her co-star, Don Murray nabbed a nod. Hollywood was serving notice: we still don’t respect you.