Lili: A Cold War Parable
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Marco, the magician with whom Lili was smitten, and his glamorous wife
(Rosalie/Zsa Zsa Gabor) may, as McGowan suggests, represent the glamorous
France of the past, now older and diminished, lacking their earlier sparkle.
Rosalie also reminded viewers of the glamorous screen goddesses described in
Jackie Stacey’s book, Star Gazing. Though beautiful, she was gaudy, vain, and
possessive of a man who denied his association with her. If her husband
represented the glorious France of history, he clearly did not want to publicly
associate himself with the superficial beauty of Hollywood, even though he was
married to it. Moreover, because of his marriage to Hollywood, he was
unsuitable for Lili. He had nothing real to offer her. His illusions were part of a
romantic past, conjured up for the entertainment of carnival audiences. Marco
did, in the end, achieve success when he and Rosalie accepted a position with a
prestigious Paris company. Success came with a price, though. He had to leave
the carnival, as there was no place for him there. He also had to publicly
acknowledge his marriage to Rosalie, and relinquish control over Lili’s
emotions.
Paul, though less attractive than Marco on the surface, was a suitable mate
for Lili. He was a war veteran whose wounds ended his dancing career. Like
America, Paul danced through prosperous times, only to crash, and later suffered
war wounds. Tried by these fires, Paul, though deranged, had much to offer Lili.
Recognizing his limitations, and his external ugliness, Paul carved his humanity
into charming puppets. Through those puppets, he gained the love and support
of the one he desired and upon whom his success depended.
Like Paul, the American government and entertainment industry understood
that they could not manipulate American audiences with a scarred, heavy hand.
They hid behind an exterior of showmanship and foreign aid programs. Through
these media, American policymakers wooed postwar Europe. America’s power
elite, after all, desired postwar France, in much the same way that Paul desired
Lili. It needed France, and other European nations, as markets for its postwar
products. To accomplish this, America exported Hollywood glamour through its
films and other media and American affluence through foreign aid programs.
The Marshall Plan was pitched to the American public as a humanitarian
program, aimed at providing milk and shelter for war orphans, rather than a
scheme to sell American goods. The Congress for Cultural Freedom spewed
American films, magazines, and art exhibitions across the globe to fight the
appeal of Communism (Saunders). It was important for the Lilies of America
and Europe to relate happily to these machinations. American women, for
example, were told to support the Marshall Plan, and it irritated policymakers
when they appeared indifferent. George Catlett Marshall and George Fielding
Eliot railed about women’s apparent apathy in a 1947 Women’s Home
Companion commentary: “. . . [HJardly one of these women realizes that her
laziness, indifference, ignorance or buck-passing has anything to do with the