On the personal side, Marilyn had re-newed an old romance with playwright Arthur Miller. They had met in Hollywood when she was a struggling starlet; their paths crossed again in New York— she was now the famous movie star on strike. Miller represented ethics, intellectualism, and what seemed a total understanding of her own aspirations as a person and as an actress. Unlike Joe DiMaggio, Miller was excited, rather than threatened by her public image. Surely, if Arthur Miller respected her, she was worthy. She married Miller, despite the warnings of friends, gossip columnists and even her old champion Spyros Skouros. Miller’s mounting problems with the congressional investigations into un-American activities could taint her, ruin her career. (Miller had dabbled a bit with Marxism in his youth.) She had heard it before—the nude calendar, leaving Hollywood, studying acting. Wasn’t all that supposed to ruin her? She stood by Miller in this era of blacklisting, protecting him with her fame and her money (his legal expenses were high.)

Together Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Miller traveled to London to begin work on “The Prince and the Showgirl.” She stepped off the plane at London’s Heathrow airport, arm in arm with Miller and embraced her co-star, Olivier and his wife Vivien Leigh. Former foster child and orphanage resident Norma Jeane Baker was now the president of Marilyn Monroe Productions, and had in her employ the world’s greatest Shakespearean actor. She was queen of the world. London, 1956, like Tokyo in 1954, went mad. Unfortunately, her confidence did not last.

When Olivier first met Marilyn in New York, he was dazzled by her wit, her beauty, her charm. He flirted. She flirted. But now she was a married woman, and he was her director. He ignored letters from Josh Logan, warning that Marilyn could not be treated like other actors; she was special. Marilyn felt Olivier was condescending, that he did not, in fact, respect her—this movie was just a publicity gimmick for him! He in turn was horrified by her needs, her tentativeness and her apparent disregard for his direction. No actor was “special” enough to coddle. When he demanded that she “be sexy” in a certain scene, she was shattered. Was that all it was?

Worse was happening behind the scenes. She miscarried, the first of three such losses with Miller. And, as she battled with Olivier, Marilyn one night discovered her husband’s diary open at their rented cottage. He was siding with Olivier, Marilyn was not the angel of his fantasies, in fact, she was being a troublesome bitch! Marilyn was shocked, angry and worst of all—believed it. The production, miraculously, staggered on, even coming in under budget. More astonishing, given the stress level, she gave a splendid performance as the sweet but shrewd Yankee showgirl. (She would be nominated for Britain’s Bafta award and win best actress statuettes from France and Italy. But America’s Oscar would not bend.)

Her relationship with Milton Greene suffered as well—Miller’s insistence that Greene was self-interested eventually wore Marilyn down. This was by far the most tragic consequence of the era. Greene had truly loved and supported Marilyn. Of course there was self-interest (when is there not? Miller himself was interested in Marilyn’s profitability) but Greene was by far her greatest champion. Marilyn Monroe Productions would never make another film.