There have been 600 books written about Marilyn Monroe since she died in 1962. So we are told by Monroe (Pixie Lott) herself in Sharleen Cooper Cohen’s play. The star’s body was discovered by her housekeeper, and her death at the age of 36 has spawned as many conspiracy theories as Elvis Presley’s. Was it an overdose, or a contract killing by the Kennedy family because she had kompromat on them? Did the mafia have something to do with it? Was an enema administered on the night she died? These are some of the questions that have been asked by Monroe obsessives.
You imagine this drama is setting itself up for something beyond the slew of familiar theories. But there is little to gain from this trot through Monroe’s life, narrated in cliches.
