Marilyn Monroe once said, “Hollywood is a place where they’ll pay you a thousand dollars for a kiss and fifty cents for your soul.” After watching The Prince and the Showgirl, I can only assume Laurence Olivier pocketed the extra change. This 1957 romantic comedy—a film with more behind-the-scenes drama than a season of The Real Housewives—was meant to be a showcase of class meets charisma, royalty meets razzle-dazzle. Instead, it’s a strange relic of two powerhouse performers with less chemistry than a damp matchstick and a pile of wet wood. Yet, somehow, amidst the botched British charm, Monroe’s vodka-induced giggles, and Olivier’s clenched-jaw disdain, there’s a watchable—if uneven—film lurking beneath the surface.
When Shakespeare Met a Bombshell
The film was based on The Sleeping Prince, a stage play by Terence Rattigan, which starred none other than Olivier himself opposite his then-wife, Vivien Leigh. When Monroe—who had just formed Marilyn Monroe Productions—decided to take the property under her wing, it was with the idea of solidifying herself as a serious actress. A noble goal. Unfortunately, what she got instead was a masterclass in how to infuriate a Shakespearean legend.
Monroe, fresh off Bus Stop (where critics actually acknowledged she could act), thought she could bring nuance to the role of Elsie Marina. Olivier, on the other hand, thought he could direct the film like it was Hamlet with cleavage. The two were doomed from the start. Monroe, relying heavily on Method Acting and her ever-present coach Paula Strasberg, drove Olivier to near madness. Olivier, ever the stiff-upper-lip Brit, was about as flexible as a granite bust of Queen Victoria. It was the clash of the century.
The Showgirl, The Prince, and The Great War Behind the Camera
If the casting process had been any more doomed, Nostradamus himself would have scribbled something about it. Olivier had played the role of the Prince Regent before, and his wife, Vivien Leigh, had played Elsie. But by 1957, Leigh was too old for the role, and Monroe, well, Monroe was the most famous woman in the world. Her presence meant box office gold—until, of course, the cameras actually started rolling.
Monroe was habitually late, forgot lines, and reportedly sent the cinematographer into fits by standing in the wrong places. Olivier, in his frustration, famously told her to “just be sexy,” which is akin to telling Da Vinci to “just doodle.” Monroe responded in classic Marilyn fashion—by making sure every take took longer than the last. At one point, she got the ultimate revenge when she overheard that someone on set (allegedly Olivier) had started a betting pool on how many takes she’d need for a scene. Monroe went home, memorized the lines perfectly, performed the scene flawlessly in one take—then threw in an unscripted “Pretty good, huh?” before slamming the door. It stayed in the final cut.
As for the film itself? The plot is charming in a one-BBC-costume-drama-too-many sort of way. A stiff, humorless prince (Olivier) invites a vibrant showgirl (Monroe) for a late-night dinner, expecting a seduction, only to find himself completely thrown off by her naive honesty and quick wit. There’s some minor political intrigue, a drunken Monroe being carried like a plank of wood to bed, and a resolution that suggests love might be real—but only after eighteen months of bureaucratic nonsense.
A Comedy of Errors (Literally)
Upon release, the film was met with a lukewarm reception. In the U.K., where people have an alarming tolerance for dry aristocratic banter, the film was well-received. In the U.S., where people preferred their Marilyn Monroe with a bit more oomph, it underperformed. Critics were torn. Variety praised Monroe’s comedic timing but noted the film’s sluggish pacing. The New York Times shrugged and called it “pleasant but unremarkable.” And Olivier? He vowed never to work with Monroe again—until, of course, he actually watched the film and begrudgingly admitted she was good.
Today, the film is more famous for its behind-the-scenes drama than anything that actually made it to the screen. It inspired My Week with Marilyn (2011), which documented Monroe’s brief, oddly intimate friendship with production assistant Colin Clark. The legacy of The Prince and the Showgirl is not one of artistic triumph, but of Hollywood legend—where two titans clashed, a great deal of alcohol was consumed, and somehow, a movie got made.
A Beautiful, Broken Clock
So, three stars. Not because it’s a great film, but because it’s fascinating in all the ways great films usually aren’t. The Prince and the Showgirl is a film you watch less for the story and more for the history behind it—like a royal painting where the artist and the model got into a fistfight halfway through. Marilyn shines in her own way, Olivier broods, and the whole thing is a gloriously awkward dance of a film that, while not perfect, is still worth the ticket price.
⭐️⭐️⭐️ (3/5)
#MonroeVsOlivier #MethodVsMadness #PrettyGoodHuh #CinemaHistory #RoyalPain
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