The least painful way to comment on it is to say that, as directed by Jo Bonney -- working below her usual caliber -- it does very little to recapture Wilson's memorable achievement.
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My personal memory of Marilyn, far afield from Eunice Murray's terrible discovery, is splendid and dates back to the mid-1950s when I was barely a teenager and lived in the Belnord, the apartment building on the Upper West Side of Manhattan.
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