#But once he tried it it was downright gross! Not as advertised at all!

[tswwwit]

If Dipper's not ready to try something kinky in one life, do you think Bill will get him to try it in the next? I feel like Bill gets to try out a lot of different sex things with different reincarnations.

Absolutely! Different incarnations would come with different experiences; a scene that's meh for one might really get another's motor running. Side effects of living a partially different life and all.

[trvelyans-archive]

something to look forward to

mari wiseman x gray black. 4k words.

Is there a piece of popcorn in your hair?

“Mari, are you listening?”

You snap to attention, finally glancing away from the mirror in the bathroom and rolling your eyes. “Yes, Dad, I’m listening,” you reply, holding your phone between your shoulder and your ear while you tug your boots on. “You must not be, though, because I’ve reminded you more than once that it’s only a ten-minute walk to the train station and that I’ll be perfectly fine.”

“I should just come and get you,” Nick says. It’s past midnight now – you had to stay after your shift ended, cleaning up a puddle of Pepsi on the floor that you found accidentally after kneeling down to grab some popcorn from under the seats – and no matter what you say, he insists that you’re going to run into trouble on the way home (even though you have the grumpiest face in the Chicago area – probably all of Illinois – and there’s probably very few people who would approach you because of it without even starting to consider the whole mind-blind thing). “Did you at least bring a hat?”

You pause. “Yes?”

“Mari –“

“Nick, it’s minus ten.” You zip up your jacket and straighten, reaching to grab your phone to make sure it doesn’t topple to the ground while you swing your bag over your shoulder. “That’s nothing.”

“Alright,” he concedes, sensing that you’re not going to budge. “But… call me if you see anyone acting - I don’t know, suspicious, okay?”

“Don’t you worry enough at work?” you ask, reaching for the bathroom door and pulling it open. “Don’t you get tired of it?”

“Button.” You can hear a smile in his voice. “I never get tired of you.”

You nod at the co-worker by the ticket booth as you wander through the lobby, your boots squeaking loudly against the floor. You don’t know how they didn’t dry in the eight hours they spent sitting in your locker – they’re still as wet as they were when you got here earlier today. Well, yesterday, technically.

Jesus, you’re tired. He should be more worried about you falling asleep on the train than he should be about you getting mugged.

Before you push open the front doors of the theatre, you pause and heave a sigh, remembering that he’s still waiting on the other end of the line. “I’ll call you if I see anyone acting suspicious,” you promise, hoping that you sound sincere. And you are sincere – even you don’t want to die by a mugging-gone-wrong. “And once I get on the train.”

“And once you get off the train.”

That gets a laugh out of you – not an entirely frustrated one, either, which is a feat to behold, at this hour and after this much badgering. While he can just tune into your thoughts whenever he wants to hear whether or not they’re ‘ah, that customer sucked’ or ‘ah, I’m being actively murdered’, sometimes – especially now that you’re an adult with a part-time job – he likes to let you pretend that you have some semblance of privacy (even though you really don’t). “Alright, before and after I get on the train,” you repeat. “Anything else?”

“Nope. Be safe, okay, Button?”

“Will do. Bye.”

“Love you,” Nick replies. “Bye.”

The call clicks off before you have a chance to say ‘love you’ back, and after spending thirty seconds deliberating whether or not you want to call him again to do so, you decide against it and brace yourself before pushing out into the night.

Thankfully, it’s snowing outside, and you take a minute to tilt your head back and let the snow hit your face. Most people might complain, but you like the snow. It makes everything in the city look pretty… dreamlike, almost. Still, after breaking yourself out of your reverie, you sigh and stuff your phone in your pocket, regrettably beginning to feel the tips of your nose and ears getting cold already. It’s minus ten, you remind yourself, gritting your teeth and dragging your boot-heavy feet down the sidewalk. And you’ve survived worse. Worse weather, and…

Well, worse.

You sigh a second time like a melodramatic dog that hasn’t yet been fed by its owner and glance up just in time for you to notice a man wandering down the sidewalk towards you. Late forties or so, with a leather jacket and slicked back hair – is he a mobster? He walks like a mobster, at least ones that you’ve seen in movies, and – it’s Chicago. He could very well be a mobster.

Should you call Nick?

You opt not to this time, but tighten your fingers around your phone anyway and hold your breath as he gets closer and closer, close enough that you’d probably be able to pick him out of a line-up if he tries anything, and then, in the span of about two seconds, he walks directly past you without even looking over, leaving you shaking in your boots for more than one reason and sufficiently not-mugged. (No word on whether or not you’re sufficiently not-frostbitten, though.) You’re almost disappointed – do you not look put-together enough to at least try mugging? – and then you remember that going unnoticed by as many people as possible is something you usually like, so you let your phone fall to the bottom of your pocket and keep walking. A little faster, this time, though - just to be safe.

Which is good, because it hasn’t even been a full minute when you hear footsteps behind you – quick, careful footsteps, too close for you to run away from.

Oh, well. It was good while it lasted.

“Mari?”

You frown and turn around – sure enough, Grayson Black is standing behind you, a package of toilet paper stuffed under one arm and a paper grocery bag hanging from his opposite hand, his golden-brown hair tucked beneath what looks like a hand-knit toque.

Great. Just your luck. He looks like he stepped out of a Whole Foods advertisement and you’re wearing a coat that’s about three winters old and smell like stale popcorn that someone put way too much butter on.

“Hey, Gray.” You smile at him, trying to pretend that you hadn’t convinced yourself you were within an inch of imminent death. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh – just walking home from the store.” He frowns. “What are you doing here?”

“Work,” you say, pointing to the theatre down the block. Grayson follows your finger and then sighs.

“Right.” He turns back to you. “Sorry, Nick told me you were working, I was just… surprised to see you out so late.”

“It’s okay,” you reply. It’s not like you have any friends to go clubbing with, so you can understand his confusion. “Uh – okay, well… See you later?”

“Are you going to the station?” he asks. Why is he still frowning?

You nod. “Yeah.”

“I’ll walk you,” Gray offers.

“I – what?” You shake your head. “No, it’s fine.”

“And it’s late.” He takes a step closer, but not close enough to break the unspoken barrier between you. “Besides… Nick will kill me if he finds out we ran into each other and I didn’t walk you.”

Of course he’s only offering for Nick’s sake. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I won’t tell him.”

“Mari.” God, the way he says your name is a prime example of why every girl in Illinois has a poster of him of their bedroom wall. “Can you let me walk you to the train station?”

You stare at him for a second, sticking your tongue against the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from smiling too wide. “Okay, yeah, sure. When you ask so nicely.”

He laughs and moves closer until you walk side-by-side with the usual distance between you, though it feels much bigger tonight – actually, considering his arm is sticking out half a foot farther than it does most of the time because of the package of toilet paper stuck under it, the gap probably is bigger than usual. You glance around at the street while you walk, listening to the crunch of snow under your boots and the gentle hum of passing cars. God, you’d kill to be in a nice, warm car right now – you should’ve taken a cab.

Actually, no, you’re glad you didn’t. You’re probably safer (and happier) on the street with Gray than you are with a potential Ment cab driver.

“So.” You turn to Gray, and he turns to look at you before you even say anything. “Another late night run for Arizona?”

He laughs again, and you try not to let yourself feel too pleased with yourself about it, because he could just be doing it to be polite, right? “No, not this time,” he answers. “Just some… ah… dish soap. I’ve been out for a week, and…” He grimaces, and you get the sense he’d reach up to scratch the back of his head if he had a free hand. “I finally ran out of plastic cutlery tonight after dinner.”

“Mmm… Well, that’s a good reason for a midnight run to the grocery store if I’ve ever heard one.”

“Of course, a couple cans of Arizona just so happened to fall into my basket, and – it would be rude of me to say no...”

“Yeah, yeah, totally.” You smile. “That’d be downright heretical, and Fortitude has a reputation to keep.”

Gray laughs, louder this time, and you feel your smile widen. “Anyway, enough about me,” he says. “How was work?”

“Ah… it was okay.” You shrug absently, feeling his eyes on you while you do (even though he should be looking at the ground so he doesn’t slip on a patch of ice and fall on his ass). “Had to stay late and clean up, which was gross, but… According to Nick, I have some cookies waiting for me when I get home, so that’s nice.”

“Something to look forward to,” Gray agrees, nodding.

As if anything compares to this. 

“Yeah,” you say. “Something to look forward to for sure.”

“Are you getting excited for the Academy?”

You cringe. As thrilled as you were to get accepted into Aeon, the prospect of finally starting there is nowhere near as thrilling. Though it’ll be nice to have classmates that are strictly non-Ments – at least when you’re not working with Sally’s class – the idea of being back in any kind of school isn’t… well, that isn’t something to look forward to. Still… “Yeah, kinda,” you answer. “Not ready to go back to school, I think, but I also don’t want to be scraping gum out from underneath movie theatre seats for the rest of my life.”

He makes a face. “That sounds… gross.”

“Yeah,” you reply. “It is. But I’ve snuck into a couple movies so far and watched them for free, so… it’s an okay trade-off, I think.”

“Sounds like it,” Gray muses. He turns to you. “You’re really not excited to go to Aeon?”

“I said kinda!” you protest.

He smiles. “You shouldn’t be nervous, Mari.”

You’re the one to make a face this time. “Who said I was nervous?”

“No one had to.” He angles his head in your direction like he’s sharing a secret. “I can tell.”

“And Nick told you.”

“Nick… may have mentioned it.”

“I’m not nervous.” You’re lying, of course, because you’re nervous about everything. Right now, only half of your brain is tuned into the conversation because the other half is nervous that you’re going to slip on the ice and break your neck, which would both be not hot and so embarrassing that you’d have to write off your friendship with Gray entirely for the rest of your life and become a full-time hermit whenever he comes over for dinner. “I just… I don’t know…” You kick a block of ice and watch it skitter through the fresh snow in front of you. “I don’t want to disappoint Nick.”

“You could never disappoint him,” Gray responds. “You’re brilliant.”

“Psh. Not even Nick could get away with saying that.”

“He didn’t.” Gray adjusts his grip on the package of toilet paper. “I mean, I’m sure he thinks it. I meant that… I meant that I think you’re brilliant.”

Sure, that could be a really cute compliment Gray gave you, but you’re probably just being too optimistic, right? Like – sure, he’s nice to you and brought flowers to your graduation ceremony and sure, he gave you that cute teddy bear for Christmas and sure, he once brought over a 6-pack of Dr. Pepper for dinner because you were having a bad day and he knows it’s your favourite, but… “Gray,” you sigh. “British people say everything is brilliant.”

He laughs. You can’t tell if his cheeks are pink because of how cold it is out or – well, for other reasons that are so impossible that you don’t let yourself continue that train of thought. “That’s true,” he says. “But I mean it. From the bottom of my heart.”

You don’t know what to say to that, but you don’t say anything. Thankfully, you don’t think Gray seems to mind, because he doesn’t say anything else, either.

There’s a crosswalk coming up, and even though no cars are coming and you could easily get away with some perfectly safe jaywalking, you stop and press the button (ha) anyway and wait for the light to turn, figuring you don’t want to risk it if Gray wants to report anything back to Nick. (Because Nick could very well assume that you jaywalking is something to be grievously concerned about.) Although, on second thought, you’re not sure Gray’s paying very much attention right now – he’s glancing across the street with his eyebrows furrowed, a distant look in his eyes. He must be thinking hard about something, so you elect not to interrupt him.

Now that there’s a lull in conversation, you find your eyelids beginning to flutter. You stayed up late last night after falling down a Wikipedia rabbit hole – that’s why you shouldn’t watch documentaries at three in the morning, you think to yourself - and Nick had to wake you up at noon to make sure that you weren’t late for your shift, so… Yeah, falling asleep on the train sounds like a pretty likely scenario.

Gray shifts his weight back and forth from one foot to the other and once again adjusts his grip on the toilet paper package – as he does, though, it topples out of his grasp and lands perfectly in between your feet with a soft, snowy thump. You bend down to grab it the same time Gray does, of course, because you’re the two most awkward people in the world, and there’s a three-second pause before you finally reach for the toilet paper and scoop it into your arms because it would be too awkward now not to.

“Don’t worry, I can take it,” you say before he can protest. “You have your… uh…” You gesture to his bag. “Hand full, anyway.”

He tries to protest anyway. “Mari, let me –“

“No, it’s okay.” You smile pleasantly at him. “You’re walking me, so I can… you know… take one for the team.”

He deliberates for a second before nodding – you think he might only do that because the crosswalk light has started beeping at you. “Okay,” he says. “Thanks.”

“Of course.”

The snow is starting to lighten up, now – you can see the train station in the distance. It’s still a few blocks away, which means you more than enough time to make a sufficient fool of yourself. (Or perhaps, continuing the theme of the rest of the night, a not-fool of yourself?) “You know, uh, if you think I’m so brilliant…” You’d put air quotes around it if your fingers weren’t too cold. “Maybe we should have a Scrabble rematch soon?”

You, Nick, and Gray ended up playing a round last time Gray came over for dinner, but Nick stopped halfway through because he was getting bored and decided to go try mixing a new drink instead. Usually you would’ve complained – you like to wipe the literal board with him whenever you can – but it was hard to complain when you were sitting across the coffee table from Gray and splitting a plate of cookies like a couple of little kids. (It’s hard not to feel like a kid around Gray – shy and long-limbed and awkward. Like Bambi, but less cute because you’re a human and also, just generally, not cute.) “I still can’t believe you beat me...”

“Is now a bad time to remind you that I was my school’s valedictorian?”

“Yes, it’s a terrible time,” you reply, watching Gray grin out of the corner of your eye. “English was one of my best classes! I’m supposed to be good at Scrabble.”

“Well… maybe you’ll be better during our rematch.”

Okay. Keep it cool, Mari.

It only sort of sounds like you’re arranging a date with the love of your life and he’s not even taking a couple seconds to be weird about it.

“Oh, I will be better,” you say. “That’s a promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that. Do you work tomorrow?” He sniffles – he must be cold. This is what he gets for wasting his night walking you to the station instead of going back to his nice, warm apartment. “Maybe I could pick you up after your shift and train with you back to your house.”

“Oh, uh –“ You clear your throat. “Yeah, I work tomorrow! I think I get off at six?”

“Okay, great. Just let me know if – erm, that changes or… something.”

“Yeah, I will,” you reply, a little taken aback.

What in the world is happening?

Did you actually get stabbed by that maybe-mobster, and awkwardly making plans to play Scrabble with Grayson Black is your purgatory?

“Uh… I just – I hope I remember to tell Nick,” you comment. “Not that he’s ever bad when you show up on our doorstep unannounced and ask for dinner…”

“I – I don’t ask,” Gray stammers, “he offers before I can even get a word in, and – and I say yes because it would be rude not to!”

“Mmm… sure.” You shake your head fondly. “You’d probably eat Nick’s dinners every night if you could.”

“Yes, but for the company,” he says, smiling. “Not for the dinner.”

“Not entirely for the dinner.”

He laughs. “Alright, you got me. Not entirely for the dinner. But…” Clearing his throat, he adds, “Mostly for the company.”

You can’t exactly disagree. Nick could serve you a plate with nothing more than an uncooked chicken breast on it and you wouldn’t even care as long as Gray was there to get salmonella with you.

You’re nearly at your stop, you realize suddenly. You’re both disappointed and relieved – disappointed because you always hate to leave Gray, but relieved because things have gone too well so far and you’re starting to get suspicious. It’s just like you always say (to yourself) – you’re not lucky. You’re incredibly unlucky. If something is going well, it means that something incredibly unwell is going to happen as soon as possible.

You pause before you reach the stairs to the train platform and turn to Gray to say goodbye.

“Well… here’s my, uh… stop.”

Gray looks at you. “Here it is,” he repeats.

“Thanks for walking me,” you say. He tilts his head, almost in question, but you continue – “You really didn’t have to.”

“Mari.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and you watch carefully as Gray raises a hand like he’s in a trance, reaching out to you like –

Like what?

Is he going to kiss you?

He blinks and the trance breaks, shattering into a thousand little pieces like a snowy sidewalk under a winter boot. “Oh, sorry,” he says softly, and you don’t miss the way he backs up a half-step. Did he really forget about the… well, everything? He never forgets. Gray drops his hand before raising it to his head again, moving it in little circles near his temple. “You have a –“

Following his movements, you reach up, and –

Of fucking course. There was popcorn in your hair the whole time! You make a note to guilt Nick about distracting you when you get home.

“Damn it.” You pull it out of your hair – how did it get so tangled in there? – and toss it onto the ground, hoping that he’s not going to call you out for littering. (Would that even count?) “Thanks.”

“Uh… you’re welcome.” Gray smiles at you again, and though it’s awkward and a little forced, it’s still a Grayson smile. “I should… let you catch your train,” he continues, running his free hand over his head before scratching the back of his neck.

“Yeah, I should let you get back to – uh – doing dishes?”

He nods, laughing. “Yeah, yeah, that sounds right.” With one last lingering look, he smiles a little wider. “Goodnight, Mari. Get home safe.”

You smile back at him, suddenly bashful. “Yeah, you too.”

Should you watch him leave? No, that’s weird, right? You stand under the streetlight and consider it for several seconds before realizing that you’ve watched him for too long already, and then you shake your head, turning to the stairs and bracing yourself to trudge through the snow that’s gathered on top of them (as if you need anything else to be unnecessarily difficult today). The platform is relatively empty when you reach it, save for a couple of teenage girls and a man in a business suit looking entirely out of place at this time of night and at this weather, and you take a seat on a bench, settling in while you wait for the train to come.

You’re much more aware of how cold it is out now that Gray’s gone – even the sweat on your hands feels like it’s going to freeze – so to distract yourself, you look around the platform for something to entertain you. You manage squint at a weird-looking piece of graffiti a few feet away from you when you hear footsteps approaching.

Sure enough, when you turn around –

“Mari,” Gray says. “I’m sorry, I forgot the –“

He points to your lap, where you’ve diligently placed his package of toilet paper.

“Oh my God, I’m sorry,” you say, picking it up and holding it out to him from one end so he can grab onto the other. “I totally forgot.”

“No, that’s alright, I forgot too,” Gray assures you, because of course he does – when is he ever anything but nice and diplomatic? Once he’s tucked the toilet paper under his arm again, he chuckles to himself and continues, “Alright. Erm… goodnight again, Mari.”

“Goodnight,” you reply.

With the toilet paper returned to him, he gives you a short, stilted wave before he turns and heads for the stairs again. You force yourself to look the other direction, making a mental note not to stare at him whenever he walks away from you.

You make a couple other mental notes on the train home, too, though it’s mostly in an effort to keep yourself awake. You definitely need to get more than four hours of sleep tonight if you have a long shift again tomorrow, especially since Gray’s coming over; you probably shouldn’t wear new jeans to work in case you run (or, more accurately, sit) into any more puddles, and you might as well bring a hat with you next time you leave the house, because there’s a spare sitting on the shoe rack near the door, anyway.

You definitely make a note to double-check your hair for pieces of someone else’s half-chewed popcorn before leaving the theatre from now on, too - then, when you think about the possibility of running into Gray outside work after all of your shifts from now on, you decide that you should probably triple-check, instead.

[paralleljulieverse]

Darling Lili in New York, or Where Were You the Night Julie Andrews Played Radio City Music Hall and Stole Manhattan’s Heart?

This is the second in a series of commemorative posts to mark the 50th anniversary of Darling Lili, the last of the 1960s Julie Andrews screen musicals. In the preceding post, we looked at the film’s fraught production history up to and including its World Premiere at Hollywood’s Cinerama Dome on 23 June 1970. Here, we turn attention to the film’s New York bow which took place a month later on 23 July at the city’s fabled Radio City Music Hall. 

Nicknamed “the show place of the nation”, Radio City Music Hall was for much of the mid-twentieth century the venue of choice for big event film releases. The theatre’s monumental size, architectural opulence, state-of-the-art technology, and pre-show stage spectacles made it “the quintessential motion picture palace,” and Hollywood studios jockeyed to secure bookings at “the Hall” for their most prestigious pictures (Goldman, 97-98).

During the late-60s, Paramount, the studio behind Darling Lili, enjoyed a run of extremely successful summer bookings at Radio City Music Hall. Its 1967 release, Barefoot in the Park broke house records for the longest run at the Hall with a 12-week season, only to be bested the following year by another Paramount comedy, The Odd Couple which ran for 14-weeks (”Trouble”, 114). It was something of a PR coup, therefore, when, in January 1970, Paramount announced with much fanfare that Darling Lili would make its official premiere as the summer attraction at Radio City Music Hall later in the year (”Par Gets”, 3). The deal even made the front cover of Boxoffice magazine with a photo of Frank Yablans, Paramount general sales manager, proudly signing the booking contract with Music Hall president, James F. Gould (″Sign of Summer,”, cover).

Barely had the ink dried on the deal, however, when Paramount changed tack. Hit by the toughest industry recession in decades and spooked by a precipitous downturn in the market for big-budget roadshow films, Paramount execs implemented a wholesale revision of studio operations, including a brutal hard-prune of their production and release schedules (Dick, 120ff). By April, earlier plans to give Darling Lili a high profile release had been ditched and, in its stead, Paramount decided to offload the film cheaply as part of a bundle of eight titles slated for saturation release during the summer off-season. Dubbed the “Big Summer Playoff,” the aim was to issue the films widely and quickly so that they could “saturate every major and minor market with single-house firstruns and key city multiples” (“Paramount’s Summer Playoff”, 5). In an era when important films were typically given carefully staggered roll-outs, it was an unorthodox move that fuelled advance perceptions of Darling Lili as a bomb of such magnitude that even its own studio had lost hope. As one newspaper commentator put it, Paramount “seems to have dumped the expensive movie rather than spend any more on it” (Taylor, 21-E).

Radio City Music Hall, by contrast, stuck to its original plans to exhibit Darling Lili as a high-profile summer spectacular. With Paramount having started to issue the film haphazardly to theatres across the nation in June, the opening of Darling Lili at Radio City on July 23 would no longer be a world premiere -- that honour was hastily devolved to Hollywood’s Cinerama Dome  -- but the Hall persisted in proudly billing its run as “the New York premiere”. As Variety wryly noted: “Music Hall has never played a pic which hasn’t been a New York first, although perhaps someone there thought the tourists may have thought Lili was otherwise in that the film opened nationally a month ago” (”New York”, 20).

While not strictly a roadshow presentation, Radio City Music Hall exhibited  Darling Lili with all the trappings of a hardticket prestige release. Seats were available via a mix of both premium reserved and general admission with special complimentary programs issued to patrons at all sessions. The theatre screened the film in wide-gauge 70mm with 6-track stereophonic sound, one of only two US venues to do so. Projected on the Hall’s 70′x40′ motion picture screen -- the largest indoor screen in the world at the time -- the film would have looked and sounded amazing (Goldman, 99). As an added point of appeal, screenings were supported by one of the Hall‘s famous live stage entertainments: in this case, a Spanish-themed spectacular with symphony orchestra, flamenco dancers, guitarists and, of course, the legendary high-kicking Rockettes (Jose, 54). In addition, the Hall lavished Darling Lili with a solid promotional buildup, taking out full page ads in key newspapers, and using strategically-placed billboards and transit ads around town.

It was an old-school approach of event-style cinema showmanship that paid off handsomely. Even before Darling Lili opened at the Hall, there was “an unprecedented advance demand” for tickets, leading the theatre to double the number of reserved seats from 900 to 1,800 for all sessions. “We’ve added reserve seats on a few occasions previously,” observed a theatre rep, but “only during the heavily crowded Christmas and Easter holiday seasons” and never...during the summer,” adding that he had “no idea” what had generated the extraordinary advance demand (Weiler, 37). 

The good news continued when the film opened on July 23 with a box-office rush that broke all house records, prompting the theatre to increase reserve bookings even further to 2500 seats in an effort to accommodate the clamour for tickets (“’Lili’ Hitting Peak,” E-2). As Variety commented:

“Radio City’s Darling Lili...is the summer blockbuster all the auspices hoped it would be, with $285,000 or close expected for kickoff session. Pic is curious in that its longtime postproduction shelving had spurred rumors of disastrous artistic results. But film has shown legs in crosscountry openings and both critical and word-of-mouth opinion in Manhattan has been mixed at worst. Some response is downright enthusiastic” (“’Lili’ and Revue,” 9).

Darling Lili continued its bullish box-office run in New York, long after any initial novelty buzz should have subsided. Weekly grosses inched higher for a few weeks before settling into a very healthy $200K+ per week plateau. Come mid-August, Variety noted with thinly-veiled surprise that:

“Radio City Music Hall is experiencing a slight phenomenon with its current Darling Lili attraction. It’s not unusual during the summer tourist season for popular Hall programs to maintain or build grosses...but few remain in such a narrow range as has Lili to date. First week tally of $280,000 was a non-holiday record. Second was upped to $288,000. Now third session is headed for $280,000....70mm projection and sound are plus-values in a package which Hall president James Gould predicts will run until late September” (“N.Y. Full,” 9).

In the end Darling Lili did run at Radio City Music Hall until late-September -- September 23, to be precise -- when it closed to make way for the pre-booked Sophia Loren-vehicle, Sunflower. Across its 9-week run, the film grossed in excess of $2million in ticket sales, making it one of the theatre’s biggest summer hits to date (“Picture Grosses,” 15). 

The commercial success of Darling Lili at the Hall was music to the ears of the film’s star who, in a rare moment of unguarded hubris, admitted to a measure of self-satisfaction at news of the booming box office receipts:

“‘I’m not so interested for myself,’ she explained, ‘but I’m happy for Blake. He has been so maligned about this picture that I am delighted he is receiving some vindication...I think he managed to make a vastly enjoyable film...People are entertained by it; the Music Hall figures seem to prove that.’ [T]he actress had mild reproof for the releasing company, Paramount, over its handling of the film: ‘Three weeks before the opening, there was no advertising campaign. None whatsoever. Paramount didn’t seem to know how it was going to sell the picture--or if. I simply can’t understand an attitude like that’” (Thomas: 13).

Julie’s chiding of Paramount for its poor handling of Darling Lili was not mere sour grapes. Once the studio had decided to issue the film as part of a summer saturation bundle, it effectively abandoned any semblance of cogent or even halfway organised marketing. As outlined in our earlier post, there was little rationale to the film’s distribution. Lili appeared suddenly and briefly at second-run theatres and drive-ins across disparate suburban and provincial areas, while major metropolitan venues didn’t get the film till much later, if at all. In many markets, the film was booked for a fleeting season of a week or two – in some cases, just a few days -- and it was frequently paired as a double-bill with a host of poorly selected partner titles (Caen, 6-B). 

The studio’s approach to promotion was no better. A generic pressbook and merchandising manual was issued, but it was very bare-bones and perfunctory. In the absence of a clear marketing plan, local exhibitors were left to promote the film more or less any way they liked. Advertisements were frequently altered to pitch Darling Lili in diverse, and often contradictory, ways. The main advertising art provided by Paramount -- with its central image of Julie in mid-song set within a sepia frame of art nouveau swirls -- positioned the film principally as a nostalgic star musical with touches of adult romance. Many local exhibitors took a very different approach. Some tried to reframe it as wholesome child-friendly fare: “This summer’s one and only total family entertainment;” “It’s Julie at her best! It’s for your family” (“This Summer,” 24). Other theatres pegged it as “a man’s movie,” stressing the action and warfare elements with taglines like “See the Best Dogfights of World War I” or “If you enjoyed Blue Max you’ll love Darling Lili” (“Man’s Movie”, 13; “Palms”, 64). Some exhibitors even openly recycled graphics from The Blue Max and other WW1 action films, with one Florida venue going so far as to revive the film’s original working title: Darling Lili, or Where Were You the Night You Said You Shot Down Baron Von Richtofen? (“Amusements,” 11A).

Elsewhere, exhibitors implemented a rash of dubious promotional incentives such as “twofers” or free entry to "one child under 12...with the purchase of one adult admission to Darling Lili” (“Capri”, 2D). A theatre in Fort Lauderdale offered “free admission to World War I veterans in uniform during matinees Monday through Friday” (“’Darling Lili’ Ducats,” 5D). Possibly well-intentioned gestures but it was bottom-barrel marketing that fostered an unfortunate aura of abject desperation around the film that likely turned off more patrons than it enticed. 

Against this sorry backdrop of shambolic distribution and ham-fisted marketing, the meticulous handling of Darling Lili at Radio City Music Hall served as a strikingly singular counterpoint. The remarkable commercial success of the film at that venue -- which, if reported figures are to be believed, represented well over a third of the film’s entire US grosses (“US Films,” 184) -- can only be attributed in good part to the care and professionalism with which the Hall managed the film’s exhibition. One can’t help but wonder, therefore, how different the overall commercial fate of Darling Lili might have been had Paramount exercised a more discriminating distribution plan, affording the film the kind of special-event release it enjoyed in New York. It’s unlikely Lili would ever have been a major hit -- it was simply too narrow in appeal and out-of-step with the rapidly changing times -- but it certainly could have gone much further in recouping costs and might even have realised a modest profit. At a minimum, it would have helped redeem the film from its unjust reputation as the “Edsel that almost bankrupted Paramount Pictures” (Rosenfield, 5).

As a coda to this account of the exceptional history of Darling Lili at the Radio City Music Hall, it is interesting to note that the film fared well in New York not just commercially but also critically, Some of the film’s best US reviews came from New York critics -- a surprising turn-of-events given how notoriously hostile the East Coast critical establishment had been to Julie Andrews’ earlier screen musicals. Wanda Hale of the New York Daily News gave Darling Lili three-and-a-half stars out of four, writing:

“Radiantly beautiful, elegantly turned out, Julie Andrews graces Radio City Music Hall in a burst of song and dance, adventure and romance...[I]t’s Darling Lili everybody loves, so will you, you Music Hall patrons--you and the family” (Hale, 39).

Vincent Canby (1970) of the New York Times found Darling Lili “a pure if not perfect comedy” with “a lot of perverse charm and real cinematic beauty.” He continued: 

“Although Julie Andrews (the film, not stage, star) has always struck me as a very mitigated delight, she may be the perfect centerpiece for this sort of fantasy. That is, her angular, aggressive profile, combined with her coolness and precision as a comedienne and a singer, give the immediate, comic lie to the adventures of a supposedly irresistible femme fatale. She thus is immensely funny...” (16).

In a rare honour, the New York Times afforded Darling Lili a second review from Roger Greenspan (1970) who argued for the film as a minor masterpiece of refined, borderline philosophical, sensibilities. “[O]ne very bright critic I know...has already compared the film, ecstatically, with Max Ophul’s great Lola Montes,” he remarked before launching into his own rhapsodic paean:

“To her characterisation, Miss Andrews brings a precision of gesture that matches Edwards’s directorial precision and that constitutes one of the most excitingly controlled expressions of theatrical presence I have ever seen in a movie. Not cold; elegant, finely drawn, perfect of its period--and yet inward, self-sustaining, as if already committed to that gorgeously contemplative state of transport that is the subject of the movie within the movie to look for in Darling Lili” (S2-10).

In a similar move, the inaugural issue of the New York-based cinephile journal, On Film devoted not one but two essay-tributes to Darling Lili from Stuart Byron and Mike Prokosch respectively. The former gushed:

“Darling Lili comes at the end of the big-budget musical cycle, and it [is] one of the only...good things to come out of the whole rotten effort to reduplicate The Sound of Music. But in any case, a masterpiece it is--Blake Edwards’ most beautiful film to date and surely his most meaningful. ... Edwards is the first director to utilise Julie Andrews’ full resources. Her rapid manner of speaking becomes the neutral fulcrum of her moods--it is sincerity hiding danger, or bitterness hiding love. Her singing, however tender on the surface, always gives the impression of concealing a quick intelligence ready to spring forth when needed” (Byron 1970, 31, 34).

Prokosch (1970) was equally smitten, calling Darling Lili “the only work of art Hollywood ha[s] released in 1970″:

“First. one must forget one’s preconceptions of Julie Andrews and look at the way Blake Edwards, the film’s director, casts his wife with remarkable shrewdness: Lili Smith is a young British singer caught in a situation she cannot master. What more natural part could Julie Andrews want? ... Darling Lili is really gutsy in its formal expression...Edwards’ control of the...formal means at his disposal--stylized lighting and colour, split-up background compositions, and especially cutting--displays a...complete knowledge of their emotional effect. What makes Darling Lili unique among recent releases, though, is its careful structuring. Almost every sequence...takes a clear place in the design of the film” (96).

If it sounds like these critics were a little woozy on the then new wine of auteur film theory, a measure of sobriety was served by none other than Andrew Sarris, chief architect of American auteurism, who filed a somewhat  more reserved, but nevertheless appreciative, review of Darling Lili for the Village Voice:

“Darling Lili is cinema a la folie, a rhapsody of romantic madness amid the current cacophony of absurdist dissonances, a sentimental valentine from Blake Edwards to Julie Andrews complete with gypsy violins and a Snoopy sub-plot about the Red Baron and the Dawn Patrol...but I’m afraid it won’t work for most audiences on any level. Its ingredients -- romance, satire, musical comedy, deadpan farce -- mix without blending. The song numbers don’t soar high enough and the prats don’t fall hard enough. But Darling Lili is never less than likeable, and its graceful professionalism is especially refreshing in this long hot summer of assorted crudities” (Sarris 1970, 47).

Despite his reservations, Sarris still included Darling Lili in his end-of-year list of the best films of 1970 -- as did several other Village Voice critics: Stuart Byron, Richard Corliss, Stephen Gottlieb, and William Paul (Sarris 1971, 59). 

Now, if only the critics and audiences west of the Hudson had shown Darling Lili half-as-much love as the crowds at New York’s Radio City Music Hall, who knows how different the course of Hollywood history -- or at least that of the Julie Andrews screen musical -- might have been...

Sources:

“Amusements Today.” Florida Today. 2 October 1970: 11A.

Byron, Stuart. “Darling Lili.” On Film. 1: 1, 1970: 30-34.

Caen, Herb. “It’s News to Me.” Hartford Sentinel. 5 August 1970: 6-B.

Canby, Vincent. “Screen: ‘Darling Lili’ Sets the Stage for Pure Comedy of Romantic gestures.” New York Times. 24 July 1970: 16.

“Capri: Florentines! Something Wonderful! Has Happened to the Movies!” Florence Morning News. 12 August 1970: 2-A.

“‘Darling Lili’ Ducats Pared for Retirees.” Fort Lauderdale News and Sun-Sentinel. 27 June 1970: 5D.

Dick, Bernard F. Engulfed: The Death of Paramount Pictures and the Birth of Corporate Hollywood. Louisville, KY: University of Kentucky Press, 2001.

Francisco, Charles. The Radio City Music Hall: An Affectionate History of the World's Greatest Theater. New York: E.P. Dutton, 1979.

Goldman, Harry. “Radio City Music Hall.” Journal of American Culture. 1 1, Spring 1978: 96-111.

Greenspan. Roger. “Oh! What a Lovely Spy.” New York Times. 9 August 1970: S2-1, 10. 

Hale, Wanda. “Darling Julie Sparkles as Musical Spy.” Daily News. 24 July 1970: 57.

Jose, “House Review: Music Hall N.Y.” Variety. 29 July 1970: 54.

“’Lili’ and Revues, Tally Darling 285G.” Variety. 29 July 1970: 9.

“’Lili’ Hitting Peak.” Boxoffice. 10 August 1970: E-2.

“Man’s Movie.” Winona Daily News. 7 August 1970: 13.

“N.Y. Full of Tourists; Divided Between ‘Darling’ and ‘Denmark’.” Variety. 12 August 1970: 9.

“New York Sound Track.” Variety. 29 July 1970: 20.

“Palms Advertisement.” Arizona Republic. 31 July 1970: 64.

“Par Gets Hall’s Summer Spot for its ‘Darling Lili’.” Variety. 21 January 1970: 3.

“Paramount’s Summer Playoff Strategy: 5,000 Bookings for Eight Major Films.” Variety. 3 June 1970: 5.

“Picture Grosses: Broadway.” Variety. 23 September 1970: 15.

Prokosch, Mike. “On Film/Feature Film: Darling Lili.” On Film. 1: 1, 1970: 96-97.

“Radio City Music Hall’s All-Time Boxoffice Darling.” Variety. 5 August 1970: 12.

Rosenfield, Paul. “Reconcilable Differences.” Los Angeles Times-Calendar. 12 July 1987: 4-5.

Sarris, Andrew. “Films In Focus: ‘Darling Lili’.” The Village Voice. 13 August 1970: 47, 52.

________. “Films In Focus” The Village Voice. 21 January 1971: 59.

“Sign of Summer.” Boxoffice. 26 January 1970: cover.

Taylor, Robert. “‘Lili’ Can Be Charming.” Oakland Tribune. 27 June 1970: 21-E.

“This Summer’s One and Only Total Family Entertainment.” Tucson Daily Citizen. 5 August 1970: 24

Thomas, Bob. “Julie Andrews Praises ‘Lili’.” Courier-News. 15 September 1970: 13.

“Trouble in Paradise.” Newsweek. 25 October 1971: 113-115.

“U.S. Films’ Share-of-Market Profile.” Variety. 12 May 1971: 36-38, 122, 171-174, 178-179, 182-183, 186-187, 190-191, 205-206.

Weiler, A.H. “Big ‘Darling Lili’ Advance.” New York Times. 23 June 1970: 37.

Copyright © Brett Farmer 2020

[jhope-seok]

I have a lot of things to say about Tinder.

This is a personal rant about idiot boys on tinder. So if you’d like to read my CRAZY FUCKING ESCAPADES IN THE DATING WORLD. PLEASE. GO AHEAD. CLICK READ MORE. IT’LL BE INTERESTING. And fun. To watch me implode then explode.

Warnings: mentions of sex/sexting, lots of cursing, men being disgusting--potentially triggering, and one angry ass woman.

Warning part 2: this is A LOOOONG ASS POST, probably with a lot of grammatical errors. It’s 2am. (just so we’re all aware, it’s about 2.3k worth of ranting plus pictorial evidence)

So here’s the thing about me and tinder. I’ve been on the thing since I was in college, probably around junior year when I really came into the realization of my sexuality/being a pansexual person. Keep in mind this was like.....5 or 6 years ago now. I was interested in exploring my options, exhausted from going to countless frat parties and having random makeout sessions with boys who never asked for my number, and/or went on to makeout with the next girl they found at the party. Over the years I have collected an INFLUX of over 1,000 matches. I am not saying this number to brag, I am saying this number to give you an idea of how much of a credible fucking source I am when I present my case. And my case is as such.

ALL MEN ON TINDER ARE THE FUCKING. ABSOLUTE. WORST.

For perspective I have also dabbled in the following dating apps:

OKCupid (absolutely horrid. don’t do it. the shit i went through on this app....just. don’t get me started. I could make a whole other post about the atrocities of this site)

HER (really sad option for lesbian/bi/pan/women looking for other women)

Bumble (pretty successful but forcing the woman to speak first is annoying as hell and then giving a STRAIGHT MALE ONLY 24 HOURS TO RESPOND. Utter hell.)

Hinge (just...downright annoying)

CrossPaths (for christians. Honestly a good idea. Poorly executed. Poorly advertised).

Badoo (honestly...what the fuck)

Coffee Meets Bagel (good idea; too complicated)

Skout (nope)

The Game by Hot or Not (i don’t remember using this but my phone says it’s in my cloud)

And probably some others I can’t remember

What you should take away from this list is that

I’m a needy bitch

I was VERY DESPERATE at times

And i’ve tried a LOT OF OPTIONS.

therefore: don’t comment on this saying: well this worked, well that worked, try this, try that. No. Tinder is still one of the only options that actually works consistently and will continue to work because it is one of the least complicated among the dating apps.

Now. To my point that all men on tinder are the absolute fucking worst.

Time for some examples.

I will not be using these people’s real names, because that’s just mean. So I will present them to you in cases.

Case #1:

Me and this man matched about a year and a half ago, end of 2016. We were unable to meet up because I had a bunch of plans going on--at the time I worked in a law firm and my commute was hell so i only had time to go on dates on the weekends. And being that it was december I was busy every...single...weekend. Which he was fine with! (Awww what a kind gentlemen). No.

He had made it pretty clear from the beginning that he was really only in it for the sex. which for me at the time was fine. I let him know that I didn’t just fuck around on the first date. I lived--and still do live--with my mother and so he couldn’t just come over whenever and i couldn’t just leave whenever i wanted to spend the night at his place in D.C. He said that was fine. However, apparently he was not fine with that.

We talked for a month, lots of sexting, lots of naked snaps, whatever, whatever, we were basically waiting to jump each others bones. But I had also told him that I did not fuck on the first date. I had a rule. I would not break that rule. Again, he said he was fine with that.

On our first date--in a CROWDED RESTAURANT--for brunch, he kept whispering to me about how he wanted to push all of our plates off the table and fuck me in front of all those people. I politely told him to shut up because there were people sitting less than two feet away from us and that was inappropriate for sunday brunch to be talking like that (how proper of me....). Anyways, I let him walk me to my car in a garage, and as we approached it he came up behind me and forcefully turned me around to kiss him. I was like “ooh how hot. I like this.” Anyways, I drove him to his car, we made out a little, then we went on our separate ways. We had a second date not much longer after that, where we had agreed to go out to dinner BUT that first we were gonna fuck in his car. So we met up in a garage and we waited for the cars around us to leave and then we made out, and i sucked his dick. I did N O T let him have sex with me because I was annoyed that he was trying to push me to it--he had a daddy kink--and kept saying “ooh how hard do you want daddy to fuck you”. I said “You can only fuck me when I say you can, and I say no.” thank god he respected my boundaries. So I sucked him dry, then he “MAGICALLY” got a call from his work calling him in. I barely heard from him after that. Because he told me I should come over and spend the night so we could fuck. I said no. He ghosted me.

Case #2--Who knows:

Soooo many fucking men. Have ghosted me. For no reason. Like we’ll have a good few opening lines. And then....nothing. Forever. Where in the FUCK DID YOU GO?! Did you find someone better? Did you grow uninterested with our conversation?! Did you forget how to speak the English language? Did you decide you regretted swiping on me? The worst is when they don’t unmatch you and then it’s just left there....hanging.

Case #whatever:

The fucking men who ask if it’s okay to text. And then don’t text.

I don’t even remember this dude’s NAME in the first place to omit it, but we got into an argument because he supports the store brand cheese puff that is America’s president, and I matched him only so I could yell at him (yeah I know...whatever...I like to prove my dominance and tell boys why they’re wrong. Also because half of the time I use dating apps just to have conversations with people because I’m bored). Anyways. we got in this heated debate and he was like “I like your fire, you should text me here’s my number ____” blah. So I texted him cause i was interested enough in our debate to continue it. THE BITCH NEVER ANSWERED ME. LITERALLY....FOR MONTHS. PROBABLY OVER A YEAR. And then out of fucking nOWHERE he responds like “hey who is this again?” Dude...... NO.

Case #The Never Ending Message Senders:

These men are the worst. So I should explain myself first. I don’t really ever unmatch someone unless it’s for a good reason. Like they’re being disgusting, racist, homophobic, gross, call me fat, ugly, whatever. For the most part I don’t unmatch with someone because in the old days of tinder, unmatching would just PUT THE PERSON BACK IN YOUR CIRCUIT (good job tinder). I’m assuming they did this in case you deleted your tinder, or your app crashed and you had to restart, or you accidentally unmatched someone, whatever. So I don’t unmatch for the sole reason that I don’t want these jerks, who never took the time to respond to my hello or witty opening statement, back in my playing field. I don’t revisit my old matches, I don’t try to restart conversations with them.

If only men could learn the same fucking thing. I have so many men who CONSTANTLY message me. I’m talking like once in every blue moon. It’s like they let the conversation lie for a while, and then BAM another message. The ones I do actually unmatch are the ones that don’t wait a while. They just constantly message, hour after hour after hour until I either respond or unmatch. I don’t know a woman who WOULD respond after having gotten 10 messages of the same “Hello? You there?” “Member me?” (yes one dude has actually said “member me” to me. Not “remember me”...”member me”) etc. etc. in the course of a few hours. Take the hint dude. Please. I don’t enjoy being ghosted, but I know when to take a hint.

A perfect example of such case is the following!

(Context: I just updated the pictures in my tinder account today! So through tinder’s cool new facebook timeline! you can see when your matches update their profiles. to scroll through and judge them even further to see if they’ve gotten cuter or uglier through time).

Please take note of the dates attached to the message. For clarification, “today” is August 27th, 2018!

I have since unmatched him. Buddy. Please. Take the hint. (Also, how fucking creepy of him to say that I’ve gotten closer since a while back....like are you tracking my distance every time you message me? Please dear lord, no).

Case #THE IDIOTS WHO WAIT YEARS TO RESPOND.

This. THIS. THIIIIIS RIGHT HERE. IS WHAT HAS GOT MY BLOOD BOILED SO MUCH I NEEDED TO MAKE THIS POST. THE FUCKING IDIOTS WHO MATCH WITH ME. AND THEN CLAIM THAT THEY DELETED THEIR TINDER. OR THAT THEY LOST THEIR PHONE. JUST REDOWNLOADED. DIDN’T SEE MY MESSAGE. FOR FUCKING. YEARS.

OOOOOOOH BOY. You’ve gotta have some damn nerve to pull that shit. If you lost the app, deleted it, got a new phone, WHATEVER. Your profile would not continue to show up on the matching feed. People would not be able to swipe on your face to find that they matched with you. You would not exist in the eyes of tinder. You would be GONE from the system.

So don’t pull that shit with me. So many dudes have had the audacity to pull this shit with me, and when I call them out on it, most of the time I get either one of three responses: they say “oof yeah I’m sorry, I’m a dick can we move on?”, “Hahaha sorry” and then they continue to ghost me, or people who pull the shit I listed above.

These next photos are from THE SAME DAY AS THE PREVIOUS PHOTOS. Please take note of the date of the first message. (“today” in this sense is technically August 28, 2018 because it’s past midnight.)

Although I deleted his name, I gotta say. My insult was pretty on point. Anyways.

Like how the fuck can you live with yourself with that fucking lie?! Own up to that shit. Be like “yep oops sorry, didn’t think you were cute the first time but this snapchat filter making u look damn good” like don’t be a DOUCHE DUDE. Men are just honestly so fucking frustrating. And yes you better fucking believe I sent that reason for unmatching to tinder. You best fucking BELIEVEEEEEEE I did that. I’m so fucking mad at men. Like how in the hell.

I’ve HONESTLY had better luck matching with MARRIED COUPLES on tinder than I have had with straight men. Married couples at least know how to respect people. God damn.

YOUR MOTHERS DID NOT RAISE YOU TO BE LIKE THIS, MEN. LEARN HOW TO BE DECENT HUMAN BEINGS. JESUS CHRIST.

All in all, if you’ve ever toyed with the idea of downloading tinder: Don’t. Stay out of the fucking awful shit that is Tinder and dating apps for as long as you can. I have my settings set up to men in their 30s, and honestly older men do not mean more mature men. Just absolutely frustrating.

Also, as an addendum: 

Case #Don’t put my height in my bio/or do and say “Cause I guess it’s important/matters”

To all males on the planet earth: PUT. YOUR. FUCKING. HEIGHT. IN. YOUR. BIO. It fucking matters. As a tall as woman, it is so fucking annoying to match with a cute dude and then have them say “Hey I’m 5′2″ is that okay?” um....no. I’m sorry buddy. That is not okay. I have strict height limits for this ride and 5′2″ does not pass the riding restrictions.

We’re gonna call in a CELEBRITY SHOT for this story, I matched with this dude on bumble who didn’t have his height in his profile. (Context: my bumble profile says “5′10″ cause it doesn’t matter” <--a nice jab at all the straight dudes out there) and we go about having this great conversation, we’re clicking, he knows one of my friends from college, we bond, we go on a date. THE FIRST THING OUT OF THIS ASSHOLE’S MOUTH ON OUR DATE WAS “WOW. You’re taller than I expected.” BITCH HELLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO CAN U READ. IT’S THE FIRST THING IN MY BIO.

Sub case: I once had a guy match with me, tell me he was shorter than me, then asked me if I would be okay owning him as my slave. I understand and respect everyone’s fetishes, considering I have a slight dominance fetish as well, but a hello would have been nice first.

Thanks for coming to my ted talk.