Marilyn Monroe, who died 50 years ago, created a wholly other version of herself, meant not to convince but to seduce. John Banville, who fell in love with her when he was 10, considers a new biography of this enduringly compelling icon

Marilyn Monroe with Joe DiMaggio, c1955. Photograph: AP

For many years that curtain was associated in my mind with Kay Weston, the saloon-bar singer Marilyn played in the movie – no doubt the shade of rich red and the sumptuous, silken folds seemed the very essence of sexiness, for a boy who as yet knew nothing about sex. The plot of River of No Return, loosely derived from Vittorio De Sica's 1948 film Bicycle Thieves, is a lot of hokum, of course. Mitchum plays a homesteader just out of prison after serving a sentence for shooting a man in the back, and Calhoun, an oleaginous smoothie born to play spineless villains, is a gambler who steals Mitchum's only horse. When a band of injuns attack, Mitchum, Monroe and Mitchum's young son are forced to escape downriver on a raft.
In the movie's saloon scenes Monroe wore some extraordinary belle epoch gowns that might, indeed, have been run up from surplus cinema-screen curtains, but throughout most of the film, as Mitchum manfully steers the raft through the rock-strewn flood and raging rapids, she is clad in skin-tight jeans and a simple white blouse with a plunging neckline.

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