The only thing higher than her range was her beehive.
Modern musicals prominently feature the actual actor's voice, even if that means risking the occasional Russell Crowe, but directors of the musical's golden age wouldn't stand for that shit. Nothing less than perfect would do, and perfect's name was spelled M-A-R-N-I. She lent her superhuman larynx to somewhere in the neighborhood of 50 films.
Of course, studio executives get off one bus stop before cartoon villainy, so this was all very hush-hush at the time. In fact, in payment for The King And I, Nixon received $420, zero royalties, and a threat to never work in Hollywood again should she ever speak of her role in the film. Leading lady Deborah Kerr, meanwhile, got an Oscar nomination and a swimming pool filled with molten gold (probably).
20th Century Fox
"Oh, I get to keep this dress, too?"
Secrets never last long in Hollywood, however, and word of Nixon's ghost singing gradually spread until, in 1961, she was able to fight for and receive unprecedented royalties from the West Side Story soundtrack ... which, by the way, became the best-selling album of both 1962 and 1963. She went on to spend her later years touring in a one-woman show entitled Marni Nixon: The Voice Of Hollywood -- a title which, in any other case, would be fairly presumptuous.
Audrey Munson Is Every Other Statue In Your City
Around the turn of the 20th century, a fortune teller gave young Audrey Munson a prediction straight out of Game Of Thrones: "You shall be beloved and famous. But when you think that happiness is yours, its Dead Sea fruit shall turn to ashes in your mouth."
Still, that didn't stop Munson from pursuing a career in the public eye. And it didn't take said eye long to notice that she was "the world's most perfectly formed woman." Ideal Grecian proportions, "fulsome" breasts, and a set of ass dimples you could do shots of Jameson out of. As such, she soon found herself serving as muse to an endless sea of artists -- and that's why, if you've ever strolled through New York City, you've probably seen her ... perched atop the Municipal Building. Or in the Pulitzer Fountain at the southeast entrance to Central Park. Or on the opposite end of Central Park, in the Maine Monument. Or at the Manhattan Bridge, or at the Brooklyn Museum, or at the New York Public Library. Suffice to say that if you've encountered a sculpture of a female in New York (or in any other major American city), you've probably come face-to-face with Audrey Munson.
Hiroko Masuike/The New York Times, Valeriy Ovechkin/Wiki Commons
New York City Tours Then and Now, Elisa Rolle/Wiki Commons
That last one was sculpted during her break time.
Hell, she was even featured on money, an honor normally reserved for old men who appreciate a perfectly formed breast, not vibrant women who proudly possess a pair of them.
U.S. Department of the Treasury
"But now we can look at boobs while we play with money!"
Tragically, Munson's immeasurable beauty was like a thin chocolate shell over a chewy center of shithouse crazy. She claimed to be a European aristocrat, naming herself "Baroness Audrey Meri Munson-Munson." She attempted suicide via poison. She petitioned the U.S. House of Representatives to pass a law specifically protecting her from the Jews. Then along came her 40th birthday, and with it the fulfillment of that age-old prediction: Munson was committed to an insane asylum in upstate New York, where she lived in obscurity until her death in 1996.
Anyway, the point is this: Don't go to fortune tellers. Best case scenario, you get something dissatisfying and vague; worst case scenario, you get an ironic curse.
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