For nearly a decade, Monroe let Eve Arnold in. Not because she had to, but because she trusted her to look without wanting to possess her. More than a hallmark of on-set photography, it was a final collaboration between two women who refused to be only seen as two-dimensional.

By the production of The Misfits, Monroe became the embodiment of the outsider. While the men around her throughout her career (from directors Olivier and Huston to her husband Arthur Miller, and later photographer Bert Stern) projected their fears and desires onto her, Arnold's photographs from the set are grounded in something Monroe rarely received: consent.

Sir Laurence Olivier directed her. Eve Arnold observed her.

Where The Prince and the Showgirl delivered 117 minutes of Technicolor fantasy, Eve Arnold's black-and-white photograph of Marilyn Monroe amid a crowd of reporters reveals the scrutiny beneath the stardom. In a moment orchestrated for headlines, Arnold captured something rarely afforded to the mid-century icon: stillness, subtlety, and the assertion of agency.

The Oscar wasn’t just panned, it was nearly purged.

The Oscar is a film so overproduced, overacted, and overdesigned that it circles the block back to relevance. For all its missteps and miscastings, it exposes the machinery of Hollywood mythmaking better than a dozen prestige pictures. More importantly, its resurrection on Blu-ray reveals why boutique labels matter.

Physical media, in this case, captures The Oscar for what it is: a flawed, fascinating artifact of an industry in Golden Age denial.