Marilyn Monroe: A Portrait, National Portrait Gallery
Marilyn Monroe remains one of the most enduring icons of the twentieth century. Her platinum blonde bob, winged eyeliner and dazzling sultry smile have become so familiar that they exist almost independently of the woman herself. It is fitting, then, that ‘Marilyn Monroe: A Portrait’ at the National Portrait Gallery is less interested in dismantling that image than in asking who created it, who controlled it and what happened when it escaped her altogether.
Tracing Monroe's life from her early years as Norma Jeane Baker through her discovery as a model, meteoric rise to Hollywood stardom and death at just 36, the exhibition unfolds almost entirely through photographs and portraits. The result is not simply a biography but a study of celebrity itself. Among the exhibition's highlights are several works from Andy Warhol's ‘Marilyn’ series, made shortly after Monroe's death. Warhol recognised that Marilyn had become infinitely reproducible and an image detached from the person it once represented. His repeated silkscreens simultaneously transformed her into a symbol of modern fame and predicted the endless circulation of Marilyn imagery that would follow in popular culture.
That tension between person and persona runs throughout the exhibition. It charts not only Monroe's rise to fame but the careful construction of Marilyn as a marketable icon. The exhibition asks how much of that transformation was her own making and how much was imposed by Hollywood studios, photographers, publicists and audiences. Hair colour, make-up, styling, cosmetic procedures and publicity photographs all become evidence of an image continually refined, altered and sold.
One of the exhibition's most compelling decisions is to foreground the photographers and artists behind Monroe's most famous portraits. Rather than presenting the images as isolated masterpieces, it explores the relationships between photographer and subject, revealing how each encounter produced a different Marilyn. Fan photographs often capture her warmth and generosity; paparazzi images feel invasive, recording moments when the performance briefly falters. Every portrait reflects not only Monroe but also the person behind the camera. Yet even in these supposedly candid moments, Monroe appears astonishingly composed. She seems instinctively camera-ready, suggesting that performance had become inseparable from everyday life. At the height of her fame she was rarely free from public scrutiny. Cameras followed her constantly. In many ways, to her, simply existing meant performing.
The exhibition also suggests that Monroe understood the power of images better than many around her gave her credit for. She cultivated relationships with trusted photographers, read contracts carefully and scrutinised photographs before publication. This desire for control is echoed in Richard Hamilton's 1965 artwork ‘My Marilyn’, which incorporates rejected publicity images marked with Monroe's own edits and crossings-out. It is a striking reminder that she was not merely being looked at but she was looking critically at herself too. That impulse, however, was likely also borne out of experience. Early in her career, nude photographs she had posed for while struggling financially resurfaced and threatened her reputation. Rather than deny them, Monroe acknowledged the photographs openly, reclaiming the narrative before others could weaponise it. The exhibition presents moments like these as evidence of someone constantly negotiating the gap between self-image and public image.
Still, it is difficult to escape the sense that Monroe ultimately lost that negotiation. Her appearance became a commodity owned as much by studios and audiences as by herself. The exhibition repeatedly returns to the idea that the world's fascination with Marilyn increasingly eclipsed Norma Jeane. Her intelligence, ambition and wit were overshadowed by the ‘dumb blonde’ stereotype she spent much of her career resisting. This is where the exhibition feels at its most poignant, but also its most limiting. Like so many books and films before it, ‘Marilyn: Portrait of an Icon’ leans heavily into the tragedy of Monroe's story. Looking at even her most glamorous portraits becomes tinged with melancholy because accompanying commentary continually reminds viewers of the struggles unfolding behind the scenes. It feels there is little room for joy allowed in the show. A more balanced portrait might have given greater attention to Monroe's intelligence, wicked sense of humour and headstrong nature, shining a light on the myriad of ways Marilyn resisted control and carved out her own path. As Ella Fitzgerald stated after meeting her in the 1950s ‘[she was] a little ahead of her times’. Indeed, we know Marilyn was an avid reader, deeply interested in literature and acting and often demonstrated remarkable resilience in navigating an industry that sought to reduce her to a fantasy. The exhibition acknowledges her attempts to shape her own image but they sometimes feel overwhelmed by the broader narrative of inevitable decline. Perhaps it would have been better to showcase Marilyn’s deep understanding of what these external forces were trying to reduce her to and how her knowledge of this demonstrated not only her intelligence but also her determination to fight back in subtle ways.
What makes the exhibition feel unexpectedly contemporary is its relevance beyond Monroe herself. Unlike today's celebrities, she had almost no opportunity for self-representation. There were no social media accounts through which she could publish her own version of events. Her image belonged to photographers, magazines and film studios. Today's public figures may possess greater control through platforms like Instagram and TikTok, yet they also participate in a culture of permanent visibility, voluntarily documenting their own lives alongside the relentless gaze of others. In that sense, Monroe feels less like a relic of old Hollywood than the blueprint for our present moment. The surveillance she experienced has not disappeared; it has simply evolved. Everyone now carries a camera. Everyone curates versions of themselves for public consumption. The pressure to appear permanently composed, attractive and successful is no longer reserved for film stars. In different ways we all understand what it means to perform for an audience.
The exhibition concludes by examining Monroe's extraordinary afterlife in art and popular culture, from Warhol's screenprints to Kim Kardashian's controversial appearance in Monroe's dress at the 2022 Met Gala. More than sixty years after her death, Marilyn remains instantly recognisable, endlessly reproduced and continually reinterpreted. Warhol famously suggested that everyone would one day enjoy ‘fifteen minutes of fame’. Looking at ‘Marilyn Monroe: A Portrait’ today, that prediction feels uncannily close to reality. Monroe's story no longer belongs solely to Hollywood history. It has become a lens through which to consider our own image-saturated world, where photographs travel faster than people, identities are endlessly curated and, increasingly, none of us can fully control how we are seen.