All language subtitles for Enigma.2025.1080p.WEBRip.x264.AAC5.1-[YTS.MX]

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Oh, hello! Bonjour!

Welcome.

Voila. Oh, magnifique.

Peace and quiet.

It's so wonderful
to be so far away from the crowd.

Far away from the stage.

I worked all my life to get this.

The music is finished,

and the children have gone now.

Have I stayed too long

At the fair?

Yeah, this is my favorite song,
I think.

It's a story...

of our life, you know. We've been...

having a happy time,
going dancing in discotheques,

and now, unfortunately,

it's all over, all these happy times.

Now, this is heaven.

And that's all right with me.

I've had my wonderful time.

Tonight, we're very happy to have

the European queen of disco,
Miss Amanda Lear!

It's important to say
that practically everything

that you have read in my biography

is not true.

There is absolutely no truth

about me having my sex changed.

I never changed my sex.

I don't want to change my sex.

I've invited to join us
the most celebrated transsexual,

I think that's the word,
in the country.

She, or if you insist, he,
is April Ashley.

The boy from the slums of Liverpool

who became a fashion model.

Biologically, I'm a male,

but socially, I'm a female.

And you decided
at a very early age up there

that you were female?

Well, I didn't decide.

I don't know who decides
those things,

but I certainly didn't decide.

Dalí was fascinated

by the whole sex change
aspect of your life.

I mean, it's ridiculous to deny that

because April Ashley's book is there.

I couldn't understand...

why she made up
so many stories in her book.

I was born 29th of April, 1935,

and I was christened George Jamieson.

I grew up in Liverpool,

which was very rough.

I was never... anything, you know,

a girl or a boy, I was an "it."

So my brothers and sisters

were always very embarrassed by me.

My mother used to hit me every day.

So I was like an angel,

I tried to stay
out of everybody's way.

It's terribly surreal
and difficult to--

to have the mind of one thing

when you're meant to be another.

I wouldn't know
how to put it any other way.

Because my mind
was completely that of a woman,

and my body was also of a woman.

Except this petite inconvenience.

It was a terrible problem
of growing up

and being terribly feminine

and yet having to behave like a boy.

So as all my brothers,
and my father, and uncles,

and everyone had gone to sea,

I thought I ought to behave
in the same way.

-What? Sort of be robust and--
-Be a sailor.

To get out of the Navy,

you actually attempted to kill
yourself, didn't you?

It wasn't to get out of the Navy.

I'd just gotten incredibly depressed.

About who you were?

About what I was.

I tried to commit suicide again

by jumping in the River Mersey,
of all places.

And this young chap
jumped onto a pontoon

and grabbed me by the hair
and pulled me out,

and I was furious with him.

But by the same token,

that was one of the first pieces
of publicity I ever got,

when it said,
"Youth Saved By Long Hair."

So, it was quite amusing.

And then they put me
in the loony bin.

I had a year's treatment,
which was shock treatment.

They even gave me massive doses
of male hormones

-to try and...
-Make you more--

-...make me masculine.
-Right.

Well, as you can see,
they didn't succeed.

And then after a year, they said,

"Listen, we're making you
physically ill.

We have to let you go

and you have to sort of cope
with your life."

Everybody kept saying to me,

"Why don't you go and work
at The Carrousel?"

And of course, I'd never heard
of The Carrousel.

Thank you for honoring us
with your presence and your history.

Merci, merci.

If we could start by...

Maybe you introduce
yourself first, Allanah?

I knew about Bambi for a long time,

but I met her for the first time

at the dedication
of the promenade to Coccinelle,

where I saw her perform
for the first time.

And I was really impressed
and sort of like...

mystified by her.

And now she's like
a mother to me, so...

That's our story.

Okay.

We drove up to The Carrousel,

and I met Monsieur Marcel, the owner,

and-and he thought I was a girl.

And I had to show my passport.

And he said, "Can you sing?"
and I said, "No."

He said, "Can you dance?"
and I said, "No."

He said, "What can you do?"
I said, "I don't know."

He said, "Okay, you've got a job."
So...

When I walked into the dressing room
the first time,

we had a Black entertainer,

we had quite a few Arab entertainers,

and other people of various colors.

And I said to Les-Lee,
the Canadian artist,

who was sort of mentoring me,

I said, "Are they all related?"

He burst out laughing and said,

"You silly thing!"

He said, "Don't be so stupid."

He said, "They've all been
to the same surgeon.

They've all got the same nose."

"That's why they look alike."

I thought that was hysterical.

We're here in Pigalle,
which is traditionally

the cabaret district of Paris,

and also the original
red light district.

I think that people don't know

about the legacy
of this neighborhood,

And how the seeds

of the modern trans community
really was planted here.

In Paris in the '50s and '60s,

the biggest cabaret act of that time

-was a bunch of trans women.
-Yes.

In Madame Arthur, still here,

-where it sort of all started.
-Right.

This is the original place

where there was really
a transvestite cabaret.

And it was a very different
type of place

than The Carrousel because--

-A bit more low-rent.
-Sort of. Yeah.

It was--

I think it wasn't so much touristy.

It was really for the local people.

What's interesting is that

when people started finding out
about this place,

girls all over the world
started coming here

because they realized
that it was possible,

living their day-to-day lives
as women.

It was really something
people had never seen before.

You-you dragged up and went to...

to work in the nightclubs,
didn't you?

Well, I think they'd be
very annoyed with you

at The Carrousel, the greatest
nightclub in France,

if you say "dragged up."

-But you did, effectively, do...
-It was a great art.

-...a drag act, as such.
-Yes, yes.

It was the most wonderful
and most famous club

in the whole world at that time
in the 1950s.

Did you feel any sense
that was a little bit seedy,

and you weren't really
being true to yourself?

There was certainly
nothing seedy about it,

and had you come, young man,

had you been able
to afford to come see us,

you would've also discovered
it wasn't seedy.

No, it was the most expensive
nightclub in France.

People could not believe their eyes

when they saw these acts come out,

and they'd say,
"That cannot be a man.

That's impossible."

And when you saw
the breasts of Coccinelle,

which were like two bazookas,

I mean, extraordinary.

My first years at The Carrousel

were an extraordinary time
of excitement and discovery.

In 1958, a young painter
from the south of France,

by the name of Alain Tap,

began performing at The Carrousel

under the stage name

Peki d'Oslo.

Peki had been an art student,

making his way by painting
pristine little postcards

for tourists on the street.

His performance was less lovely,

and I encouraged him
to leave the stage

and continue his art.

But it was of no use.
Peki adored the spotlight.

So it came as no surprise
when, years later,

she went on to become
the most famous of us all...

the European disco queen,
Amanda Lear.

So when people look you up, Amanda,

they see that you're connected
to a Parisian club

called The Carrousel.

Yes, I've never been there.

I've never been there in my life.

I don't even-even exist.

On the Internet, it says you're

one of the most beautiful
showgirls at The Carrousel.

-Who was?
-You.

Me?

I've never been there.

But Salvador Dalí went there and...

Yeah?

No... I've never been there. No.

Amanda was called Peki at that time.

She had come to me and said,
"I want to live with you.

I-I want to be a lady like you,"

and I said, "Well, you can move
into my hotel.

I'll pay the difference,"

'cause she didn't get as much money

as I was being paid.

And so we just carried on.

I began to grow very fond of Peki.

We had such fun together.

She was sharp,

with an exquisite sense of humor.

She became a little sister to me,

which was so meaningful
in the absence

of my own family.

I continued to mentor her

as she blossomed
into an extraordinary beauty.

Every movie star that visited Paris

had to go to The Carrousel

because it was the most "in" place
in the whole of France.

We made great friends with people
like Josephine Baker,

Elvis Presley, who sent me
a bottle of champagne,

Juliette Gréco, Édith Piaf.

All of these extraordinary stars.

And Dalí came to The Carrousel.

Salvador Dalí had a thing
about transvestites, transsexuals.

And he took one look at me
and said, "I must paint her."

But of course,
you know, I was very shy.

When I introduced Peki to Dalí,

I knew they would be a perfect pair.

Amanda became
one of his greatest muses,

and he, her greatest teacher.

France is very liberal in theory,

but the culture
can be very conservative too,

and people can be very conservative.

The trans at that time

had a very difficult trajectory.

You know, it was still illegal
for a long time.

Everyone there at The Carrousel

would have been incredibly aware

of how close they live to the line,

and how, with one false move,

they could be walking the street,

turning tricks for pennies.

The goal for many early transsexuals

in this period
was to blend into society.

But for the girls at The Carrousel,

they were well-known,
famous performers.

The issue is, that closeness to fame

was entirely based in the fact
that they were trans.

To go any further,
you couldn't be trans.

But if you could save up
about a thousand francs,

you could fly yourself to Casablanca

to get a sex change.

Then it was quite easy
to pick up town,

go somewhere else,

and reinvent yourself
as a new person.

And then maybe

you had the possibility
of having a job,

or a husband, of...

being able to move
through the streets

without fear of arrest.

Because of course
if the police arrested you,

and stripped you,

they'd have nothing to arrest you

on suspicion of.

I had promised myself
by the time I was 25,

if I couldn't have the operation,

I didn't want to live anyhow.

'Cause I didn't want to live
in the half world

that you're in.

By this time,

Christine Jorgensen had done it.

And so that's when you knew

that it was possible to do.

So the moment I found out you could,

I started saving every penny I had

so I could go off to Casablanca

to see Dr. Burou,
who had done Coccinelle.

Coccinelle was very naughty.

She wouldn't give me the address,

but Kiki Moustic,
who was her best friend...

We were touring in Italy.

One evening, just as we were leaving,

the show was over and we were all

getting dressed and leaving,

Kiki just came up to me and said,

"I think, April,
this is what you're looking for,"

and handed me a little slip of paper.

And that was the address of Dr. Burou

at the Clinique du Parc
in Casablanca in Morocco.

So I wrote immediately
to Dr. Burou and he said,

"Come whenever you want."

So I did.

Peki and some of The Carrousel troupe

insisted on seeing me off
at the airport.

Going to Morocco for the surgery

was a terrible risk.

Very few had done it.

They were all worried
that I might never return,

and even tried to dissuade me.

We parted in tears.

And when Dr. Burou saw me,

he said, "You're a boy?"
Said, "That's amazing."

And he said, "When would you
like to be operated on?"

I said, "As soon as possible."

He said,
"Move into the clinic tonight

and we'll operate on you tomorrow."

And that's how easily
and quickly it went.

The moment for me, really...

was a day in 1960,

on the 12th of May.

Well, that was the day
I became a woman.

That's the day I was created.

And that was, to me,

was the most important day
of my life.

If you're going to impress somebody,

impress them with your own self.

Be truthful to yourself,
and you will be magnificent.

If you depended upon labels,
you will be trash.

You know, my mother was Oriental,

as you see my cheekbones,
you know, I'm...

She was from over there.

And they have there,
a strange tendency,

Oriental people,

to accept their destiny.

This attitude, I can't stand it.

Why? Why do you have to accept
your destiny if you--

if you can make it better, you know?

So you are totally free
to choose your destiny.

That's what I realized.

I wasn't sure if I wanted
to be an actress

or a singer or a dancer.

I like dancing.
I could have been a dancer.

All I knew is that I wanted
to be somebody, you know?

My mother, she was a poor woman.

She was not happy,
her husband left her.

I said, I don't want to be
miserable like her.

I want my life to be a success.

I left my family when I was 16

because I wanted to go to art school,

and I never saw them again.

I went to art school
because I love painting.

And you know, I lived in Paris,
when I was skinny as hell.

And one afternoon,

I ran into a little woman who said,

"Would you like to be a model?"
I said, "Are you kidding?

I'm not a model.
I'm a student at art school."

She said,
"Yeah, but you are very tall

and thin, and cheekbones.

You could be a good model."
I said, "No idea."

I didn't know how to put makeup on,
anything.

In fact, I thought I was pretty ugly.

I was full of complex.
My hair was too straight.

So anyway, that woman helped me
to become a model.

And suddenly,

one day,

I was pretty.

I said, "God, I can't believe
I was successful."

People were paying me good money

to pose for photographs.

I couldn't believe it. You paying me

to sit there and smile
on a photograph?

And I thought, "Wow, that's amazing."

And that's how I started

subtly getting into fashion,

image, lights, photography.

I thought, "Oh, that's exciting."

Did you want to be famous?

It's not being famous.

It's being somebody...

special.

That is important, I think.

I came back to England in 1960.

You know, I didn't try
to hide who I was.

You know, if people said to me,

"Don't I know you?
Didn't I see you in Paris?"

And I would say,
"Yes, of course you did."

So I wasn't trying to hide anything.

Vogue chose me
to be their favorite model

for underwear

because I was tall.

They wanted you to be
a little more voluptuous

for showing underwear.

But I made some wonderful,
wonderful girlfriends

and we used to have
such fun afterwards.

And they could never get over
that I could drink

until four o'clock
in the morning and turn up

and get up at six and be there,

looking divine and, you know,
ready to work again.

So it was a quite--
quite extraordinary period.

It was lovely.

I enjoyed every moment of it.

I think basically, deep down, I knew

I didn't have long to go
before something would happen.

And sure enough,
suddenly, one Sunday afternoon,

I'm at home,

and there's banging on my door,

and there's all this press
outside the door,

saying, "We know who you are
and you've got to let us in."

And I said, "No, you're not
coming into this flat."

I said, "If you don't go away,
I'll call the police."

And of course,
the moment it came out,

I went to my agent.

Signon just said to me,
"Well, April, you know, darling,

you will never get
another job in this country.

Every job you've had
has been canceled."

They did not want
a transsexual associated

with their products.

It was extraordinary
to be cut off like that,

to have every single job,

where you are booked
for six months in advance,

canceled overnight...

never to be offered
another one to this day.

That's a rather striking miniskirt.

Aren't you feeling a bit cold?

No, it's not a question of cold.

I don't feel the cold, really,

'cause I wear stockings and boots.

I was modeling.
Um... I lived in London.

Unfortunately, it was not like
the models of today.

I mean, today, they are paid
millions of dollars.

We didn't have much money.

But anyway, I stayed there,

and I really was part
of what is called,

I don't know, the London scene.

That's where it was happening.
Not in the South of France,

where my mother lived.

There was the King's Road,
there was this movement,

there's this revolution.

The Beatles, The Rolling Stones.

It was so exciting to live in London.

London was fully swinging by the '60s

when Peki popped up
after having what she called

in our Carrousel days

"Operation Pussycat."

She was tight-lipped

when it came to discussing
the details,

as she was eager to start life anew.

Peki's new life was not off

to the most dignified start.

While she had been enjoying
the male attention she received

performing a whips and leather act

at Raymond Revuebar,

I knew such a profession
would not endear her

to the passport office.

She changed her name to Amanda

and we set out to obtain
her British passport

in the easiest way I knew how.

Marriage.

Upon entering a pub in Notting Hill,

we spotted an unremarkable
individual sitting at the bar,

whom we would come to know
as Mr. Lear.

I offered him 50 quid
to marry Amanda,

and the next Saturday, we were off

to Chelsea Old Town Hall
to perform the nuptials.

So you met him at a pub and, um...

-Yeah.
-What was his name?

Paul, I think. No?

I'm not sure.
I think it's Paul, yeah.

Darling, we're talking about...

60 years ago or something.

It's a long time ago.

-So you took his last name?
-Yes.

What was your name before?

Forgot.

-There was no before?
-No. Forgot.

What were your parents' last name?

-My parents' what?
-Last name.

Surname.

Their last name
was the same name I had.

Clever.

As the newly minted Amanda Lear,

she became shrewd,
an adept social climber

who was brilliant
at drumming up publicity.

Eventually, her ambition
began to eclipse all else,

and I only heard from her
when she was feeling lost,

reaching out
for an anchoring presence.

Anita Pallenberg was my friend.
She was modeling with me.

We had the same model agency.
We all knew each other.

It was the same circle.
The Rolling Stones,

Anita Pallenberg, Keith Richards,

Brian Jones.

We were all friends.

And Brian Jones,
because he was taking

a lot of sleeping tablets at night,

in the daytime, he was taking
what we call "speed,"

you know, amphetamines.

And he gave me this--

his pills, to keep in my handbag.

And when we were in that little shop

in the King's Road in London,

the shop was raided by the police.

And of course,
they found those pills on me.

And Brian Jones told me,

"Say it's yours. Say it's yours."

So I say, "All right. They are mine."

So, I was-- I was searched,

I was taken to the police station.

I was charged with the possession

of, uh, dangerous drugs.

I mean, it was a... big nightmare.

I said, "My God,
what am I getting into?"

So Brian Jones said,

"Don't worry,
I'll get you a good lawyer."

And he took me to court
in his Rolls-Royce.

But anyway, no charge in the end

because the doctor said
that this was on prescription

for losing weight.

But it was a difficult moment,
I must say.

All this drug situation.

Yeah, that's me going to court.

That's the lawyer and the driver.

Nice miniskirt.

I've got skinny legs.
My God, so skinny.

Here we are going to...

Marlborough Court.

In Amanda's version of events,

Brian Jones bailed her out.

The truth is, it was me
who paid her bail,

accompanied her to court,
and testified on her behalf.

It's a curious thing, being removed

from someone's story.

How did you create Peki d'Oslo?

-How did I create?
-Peki.

-Who's Peki?
-Peki d'Oslo.

Who's that?

Amanda.

Oh, Peki. I see,
I couldn't understand.

Oh, yeah. That one.
Well, that's not me.

She does look like me sometimes,
but that's not me at all.

That's really not me.

That's a total, total
misunderstanding from the start.

The arrest photo of you,
though, says Peki d'Oslo--

And it is true that people
keep saying,

"That's you. Come on, that's you."

I say, "No, that's not me."

Look, that's not me.
It's not the same person.

The dates, they don't coincide.

She should be about 95 by now.
That's not me.

But I mean, I don't care, okay?
Think what you think.

Think what you want.
I-I don't give a shit.

It doesn't change my life at all.

Can we look at these photos?

That's not me.

-That one you mean?
-No?

That's not me.
No, no, that's not me, baby.

That's not me.

That's not me. That's not me.
That's not me.

That me.

With Salvador Dalí
going out at Maxim's.

That's not me. Oh, that's not me.

That's not me.

Amanda, looks just like you.

That's not me.
That's not me. That's--

Oh, this one. Definitely not me.

So you are not Peki?

No, darling.

I'm Amanda.

Only what people?

Only stupid people tell the truth.

Never tell the truth?

My life changed
because I met Salvador Dalí.

One evening, I was modeling in Paris.

It was Fashion Week.

I was modeling for a crazy stylist

called, uh, Paco Rabanne.

Paco Rabanne used only metal.

He was doing dresses
completely made of metal.

They were heavy.
They were really like 30 kilos.

You have to carry the dress.

And we went to a restaurant
after the show,

and there was Salvador Dalí,
the big painter.

He was sitting there.
He was surrounded

by a sort of court of people.

"Oh, you are the great maestro.
You are so wonderful."

It was disgusting to watch.

So... Paco Rabanne introduced me
to Salvador Dalí and said,

"Oh, I want you to meet Amanda.
She's my favorite model."

And Salvador Dalí looked at me

and he looked at my cheekbone.
I was very thin, of course,

and he said, "Wow,

you have the most beautiful
skull I've ever seen."

Skull? Me, skull? I was shocked.

My God, that man is insulting me.

So I said, "I'm not just a model.

Actually, I'm a painter like you."

And he said to me, "If you want
to remain my friend,

don't ever show me your paintings."

Now that was a bad start.

So I said, "I'm never gonna see
that man again."

That's it. And the next day,

he phoned me

and he said, "Would you like
to have lunch with me?"

And I said, "Well, all right,
I'll come for lunch."

And suddenly he was alone.
He didn't have around him

all this court of photographers
and models,

and he was all by himself,

and he was charming.

He was adorable. He was funny.
He was incredible.

So I fell in love, obviously,
because no one...

no one has been so kind
to me like he was before,

and he was so intelligent
and everything.

Salvador Dalí was a superstar, right?

The whole world knew him,

and he behaved
like an enormous pop star.

So I was watching him,

and in fact, it was like
going to school,

how to become famous.

You watched how he behaved.

The minute there was a cameraman,

a photographer, a journalist,
that's it.

He was putting on an act.
He was being Dalí.

He was doing what people
expected him to be.

So it was all an act.

Celebrity is an act.

You give people what they expect.

And I was learning
from him very much.

He loved to surround
himself with people

who were eccentric
or odd or a little...

visually striking.

Or, in Amanda Lear's case,
people who were striking

because of the meaning of them.

Having himself surrounded
by transsexuals

and transvestites

made him an outsider,
glamorous figure.

And he wanted that.
He wanted that energy.

That's why he hung out
in New York with Candy Darling

and in London with Amanda Lear.

He went wild when, uh...

hippie time arrived,
because the hippies, for him,

were the epitome of what he likes--

long hair, flowing robes,

boy-girls,

very difficult to tell who was who.

He liked all that.

Did you have
a romantic relationship with him?

It was passion.

He was passionately in love with me.

But it wasn't...

It wasn't an affair.

Like, people might think
it includes sex.

It's nothing like that.
It was very artistic love.

Very sublimate in his art, you know.

He was looking at me
differently, holding my hand.

Sometimes I look at him and say,

he's not just my lover.

He's a sort of brother.
He's a bit of...

a guru, perhaps, a teacher.

He's a bit--
a bit of everything, you see.

I met the Honorable Arthur Corbett,

who was the heir to Lord Rowallan,

and he fell in love with me.

A few months later, it coincided

with me being outed, so to speak.

And he had left his wife
and children,

and decided to open
a nightclub in Spain.

So he said to me, "Well,
come and work with me in Spain."

I knew I couldn't work in England.

So I went with Arthur to Spain.

You see, when I first knew him,
I liked him very much.

We had such fun.

I always told him I never loved him,

but he wouldn't have it. He said,

"I love you enough for both of us."

We ended up in Gibraltar,
getting married.

I said to him, "Is it legal
that we can get married?"

Because I wasn't sure, you see.

And the solicitor said,

"Well, as long as Miss Ashley's
got a female passport."

And so Arthur arranged
the whole thing.

I didn't,
I had nothing to do with it.

I just turned up.

And the marriage,
it was incredibly difficult.

Arthur was so mad

and totally insane.

He was a transvestite,
which I didn't know about.

And the more we got
to know one another,

the more she appeared.

When he was a man,

he was very jealous of anyone
who made passes at me.

And a lot of people did, of course.

But when she appeared,

she was madly jealous of me

and it was a nightmare.

I said, "You've always known
that I don't love you,

but I've come to the point
where I don't think

I even like you anymore."

I left him after 14 days.

I couldn't take any more.

And so that's what happened,

until we reached the divorce case,

which was seven years later.

By this time, I had gone
to live in England,

and I was fed up with the fact that

Arthur was still living
in my house in Spain

and he wouldn't pay rent.

So I went to my solicitor and I said,

"You know, he gave me this house,"

but I had spent thousands
of pounds furnishing it.

And then Arthur countersued,

and that's when the divorce started,

in 1968.

The second day we were in court,

I said to my team, I said,
"We've lost this case.

The judge will not even look at me.

Even when he's directing
a question to me,

he will not look at me."

They decided that I had to be...

examined from head to toe.

So all of Arthur's side

had to come to the hospital with me.

They X-rayed all my bones.

They X-rayed my brain.

And of course, the most important one

was what's called
the three finger exercise,

which is to go into your vagina

to see if you can receive
a man or not.

They did a measurement of your hips

and your shoulders.

And if you're the perfect woman,

your hips and your shoulders
are the same width.

Mine were both 36,

but what they didn't say
was that my waist was 17 inches.

You know, that's Scarlett O'Hara.

So you can imagine my fury when

they just said, "Well, she's got
36 shoulders, 36 hips."

So there were all kinds
of nauseating little things.

And every day I arrived in the court,

the press were there,
so it was incredibly difficult.

Arthur Corbett knew exactly
what he was doing

when he married me.

There was no... no deception.

So it was a total fabrication
on his part

that he didn't know what he was doing

when he got married to me.

The marriage of April Ashley,

formerly merchant seaman
George Jamieson,

was declared void
in the divorce court today.

The judge granted a decree
to her husband, Arthur Corbett,

who is the heir to Lord Rowallan.

He ruled that Miss Ashley
was biologically male,

and said this was the first time

an English judge
had ever been called upon

to decide an individual's sex.

Miss Ashley called the verdict
a load of waffle

and said she intends to appeal.

This could have been just one loss

for one trans woman, but oh, no.

In the UK, this resulted
in all trans people

losing the right
to change our legal gender,

and thus losing any marriage rights

for four decades.

Gay marriage was not legal in the UK

during any of this period,

which meant that no trans person

could marry anyone of any gender

because it would be considered
a gay marriage.

Yet another tragic thing is, though,

that she should have won the case

because there was a legal precedent.

She and her lawyer found out

the night before the verdict was read

that several years before,
there had been another case

of a trans man from the aristocracy,

Sir Ewan Forbes,

who had legally changed
his birth certificate.

And that information
not only came too late,

it was sealed because he was
a member of the aristocracy,

so they couldn't use it in court.

Thus she lost her case,

and lost all trans people
our rights to transition...

legally.

Everything was crumbling around me.

I was tormented
by the court's decision

and by the public scrutiny
brought on by the tabloids.

I once again felt the hopeless pain

of wanting to give up.

I was a ship tossing about at sea

with nothing to anchor me.

There was no escape,

no family to return to,

and no release valve.

I was alone.

Bryan Ferry of Roxy Music

saw me modeling and he said,

"I want this girl
for our next record cover."

So he said, "I want you
to be a Hitchcock girl."

Very mysterious,

all clad in black leather
with very high heels,

and he wanted me to hold
a-a black panther on a leash.

And it's because of this
famous Roxy Music cover

that David Bowie
finally discovered me.

He saw the photograph, and he said,

"Oh, I like that girl.
I'd like to meet her."

Who are you?

Better yet, explain yourself.

I can't explain myself
because I'm not myself, you see.

Anyway, explanation takes
such a dreadful time.

-Would it be better, maybe?
-Okay.

What do you mean,
"Okay"? I'm finished.

-Very good.
-I can't explain myself,

you see, because I'm not myself.

It doesn't mean much today,
I suppose.

-You don't think so?
-Well, I don't know.

Lots of people didn't understand.

Well, it's because
it was David Bowie.

You know, it had to be weird.

The dialogue, strange.
A bit like a...

like an enigma. Like a--
But I don't know.

I don't really know what it meant.

Well, it's about performance.

No, it's just that David Bowie

was always hiding behind
different personalities,

you know, different masks.

So the whole idea was,
who are you really, you know?

David Bowie said to me,
"Why don't you sing?"

I said,
"Well, I'm not a singer. I'm a...

you know, I'm a fashion model."

So David Bowie said,
"No, but you've got a voice

that you should cultivate,

and I think you could be a singer."

So he sent me to singing classes.

His manager, Tony Defries,
put me under contract,

and for a couple of years
I followed David Bowie around.

We had a little fling going on.

I suppose we were in love.

And after a couple of years,
um, nothing was happening.

So I was getting restless and I said,

"Well, when am I gonna be, you know,

having my first record released?"

So I got fed up. I took a plane,
I flew back to Europe.

And in Germany...

this German record company

called Ariola put me under contract.

They gave me a seven-years contract

and they said, "Okay,
we like your voice, we like you,

but you have to do disco."

And so we cut this first record.

-I Am a Photograph, the first album.
-Exactly.

Exactly.
Because David Bowie fell in love

with a photograph,

I decided to call my album,

I Am a Photograph. Not a real person.

I finally signed
my seven-years contract

and I sold 28 million records
all over the world

and money came in.

I had that feeling

of revenging myself
on all those years

when I was just looked at...

like an object, like a thing.

"You're just a beautiful girl,
you know, a model."

That was very frustrating.

Now I can communicate with people

through my music.
That is, for me, a revenge.

And that's why I call
my second album Sweet Revenge.

I decided to make it a story,
you see.

So that from the first track,
it'd carry on

to the second track, the third track.

And the story was the story of Faust.

The devil offered Faust

fame, glory, whatever, beauty,

in exchange for his soul.

And Faust signed. And I thought,
now that's a good story.

Let's convert it into showbiz.

Let's say that this girl wants
to become famous worldwide,

and she's ready to sell her soul
to the devil to become famous.

That's why I wrote this song
called "Follow Me."

In fact, the whole idea
was that the devil

was saying to this girl,

"Follow me. Follow me.

I'll give you anything you want.

You'll be rich, you'll be famous."

So follow me

Just follow me

And you said
that it was autobiographical.

Did you feel...

like you sold your soul?

And in what way?

It's not autobiographical.
No, it's not. It's not me.

It's not autobiographical

'cause I did not sell my soul
to the devil.

But you have sometimes,

when you're successful in showbiz,

you have this sensation
that a little part of yourself

has been sold.

But anyway, "Follow Me"
was a really big success,

at least in Europe.

The European queen of disco,

Miss Amanda Lear!

Amanda Lear.

-Amanda Lear.
-Amanda Lear.

Ladies and gentlemen, Amanda Lear!

Oh, disco music
is very fresh. It's alive.

Grace Jones, Amanda Lear...

-Donna Summer.
-...Donna Summer, yes.

I think this is very good

for this fresh, new group of people.

What would you like people to know

about your life?
What are you proud of?

Well...

First, it's important to say

that practically everything
that you have read

in my biography

is not true.

I think some, um, asshole

has dug out this publicity handout.

And anybody who believe
that I am a man

obviously is an idiot.

There is a truth
in having been a boy.

You were called John and--

-John?
-No? That's what I read.

No, there is absolutely no truth

about me having my sex changed.

I never changed my sex.

I don't want to change my sex.

I like my sex.

I don't see why I should change
my sex. And I--

I don't see any reason for it
at the moment.

Absolutely. Some people maybe think

I am a man, but, um...

I don't think I look like a man,

-and...
-Not anymore,

but what does the word "transsexual"

mean to you at all?

Does it have any role in your life

or is it something
you don't rather like--

don't like to talk about?
That's the question.

Well, I can--

I can only talk about
the things I know.

About transsexuals, I don't know.

I was only wondering why the hell,

before, we agreed on the topic,

and now you say,
you know, it's not valid.

-No, no, no.
-I feel a bit faked.

I just...

You see, I come here
because I made a record

and I want to sell my record,

and I want everybody
to see my record.

-Oh, yes.
-I don't come here to do

a campaign
for transsexual people because

-they can do it themselves.
-Oh, of course not.

I'm sorry about it.
But if you want me to sympathize,

I sympathize deeply because...

I want everybody in the world
to be happy.

And I am bored and tired
with scandal publicity.

I do not want to pose nude
in Playboy magazine,

although they offer me
a lot of money, 10,000 marks.

-You know, it's cheap publicity.
-Oh, yes, alright.

-I do agree on that. I just--
-So, I only want people

to judge me on who I am--
what I do, you see.

Do you remember this interview

on German television in 1976?

Well, I wasn't speaking German
when I arrived in Germany.

So to me, it was very difficult to...

to go on television
and be interviewed.

So my-my very first interviews
at the beginning

when I was launched,

I didn't know what to say.
I was-- It was very difficult.

It's easy to make fun of people,
you know,

if they don't understand
what they say.

What-- What was that like
for you at the time?

'Cause when I watch it today,
it's-it's very painful.

Yes, it is painful
because you hesitate,

you don't know what to say.

Now I've learned.

The story
went around that Amanda Lear

was perhaps a man

and that made me
even more attractive.

So, it's why maybe you did
the photo in Playboy, no?

You posed nude.

I think there was
such a high price to pay

at the time for being out,

and Amanda Lear
surmised the situation,

made her choice,
and then she stuck to it.

And that sort of enigma,

as she calls it
in some of her songs...

is the entire interest
in her, really.

Even in her music,

Amanda Lear is always playing
with that line

of "Am I or aren't I,"

and sometimes
just flat out saying it.

For someone who so strenuously
denies being trans,

she has made an entire career
out of being trans,

and just not saying the word.

Now, my next guest is someone
whose name has been the target

of many a ripe remark
over the past ten years.

She first came to public notice
when her name

was blazoned across the front pages

of the Sunday newspapers as the man

who had had the effrontery
to undergo an operation

and become a woman.

Since then, she has undergone
the even more painful business

of divorcing the man she married

and being told by a judge

that she didn't measure up
to being a woman anyway.

Well, she's here to tell us
where she stands tonight.

Ladies and gentlemen,
Ms. April Ashley.

It's a very medieval gown,
that, isn't it?

No, I think it's Japanese, actually.

Now, let's get on to you.
How many years ago now is it

-since you had your operation?
-God, I can't remember.

Are you still an object
of curiosity in England?

Oh, I think so. Why do you think
they're all staring so intently?

While I watched some of my friends

from The Carrousel
move forward with their lives,

the newspaper attention
had enshrined me in notoriety.

I had never wished to hide who I was,

but in the face of a media
merry-go-round

that persistently diminished me
as merely a sex change,

I had to constantly assert
my humanity.

I mean, I had people coming up
and poke me in the breasts

and saying, "Are they real?"

Pulling my hair and saying,
"Is that real?" You know?

Which didn't
happen before the marriage?

Most certainly never.
Not-- No. Not ever.

What do you think it was
about the decision

that made people react that way?

Well, I think it just stripped--

stripped you, it denuded you.
It sort of gave--

It gave very ordinary people
in the street...

a feeling that they had
a right to bully you, if you like.

Ordinary people in the street
would come up,

and they would behave...

in such a way that, in the end,
you wondered who was the freak.

Was it you or was it them?

Because they behaved so abominably.

So eventually, in 1970,

I was living in, again, in London.

But I couldn't get a job.

I couldn't get a job as a model.

I couldn't get a job
as a salesperson.

I couldn't get a job at anything.

Nobody would employ me.

So I opened a restaurant.

And it was an extraordinary success.

And my customers buy my glamor.

That's part of the deal, in fact?

Yes, but they have a lot of fun too.

We had royalty,
we had the aristocrats,

we had the pops,

and we had the hoi polloi.
It was extraordinary.

You had to book three months
in advance to get in.

But Amanda was entirely absent.

We still spoke on the phone
when she was glum.

And I offered many times
to host her at the restaurant.

But she never turned up.

I met my husband

after my second album.

Yeah, after Sweet Revenge.

I saw this charming boy
coming to my dressing room.

I liked him very much.

I thought he was sweet and charming.

And I said to him, uh,

"After tomorrow, I'm going to Brazil

to do a television show.

Do you want to come with me?"
Just like that.

And that's how it started.

I took him with me in the plane,

we arrived in Rio de Janeiro,

and it was love.

Once we were married I realized,

"My God, I'm not Amanda Lear anymore.

I am now Madame Malagnac."

I wanted to remain
that figure that my fans loved.

It was a big sacrifice.

I wanted to be famous.
I wanted to be rich.

I wanted to travel the world,
have fans.

And what he wanted, my husband,
was to have a wife,

you know, staying home.

It's not a very nice position
for a husband, you know,

to have the wife being on stage

and him sitting there in the wings.

So he wasn't very happy about it.

Which is why I think...

it was, perhaps,
not a terribly happy marriage.

And, uh, that is why...

Well, it's because of-of showbiz.

Because of the fame.

I adored writing lyrics, you see.

So, all of those hundreds
of songs I released,

I wrote them all.

And I was trying every time
to say something.

Philosophical or not, or whatever.

Talk about illusion, about lies,
about love, w-whatever.

Unfortunately, nobody
was listening to those lyrics.

Except you, perhaps.

Nobody was interested in my lyrics.

It was very frustrating.

"I keep looking
for all the faces I had,

before the world began.

I've only known desire
and my poor soul will burn

-into eternal fire."
-That's "The Sphinx."

"And I can't even cry."

-Yeah, that's "The Sphinx."
-"A sphinx can never cry."

I wish that I could be

A silent sphinx eternally

"I'm famous or am I infamous?"

Yes.

"It doesn't matter much anymore.

Phony words of love
or painfully truth."

-Yeah.
-"I've heard it all before.

Appraisal or critics
or even politics."

-Yeah.
-"A conversation piece.

A woman or a priest.

It's all a point of view.

-I am standing in the sun."
-Absolutely.

That's all those people
asking question...

I'm famous or am I infamous?
It doesn't matter much anymore

Yes, it's-- I was asking myself
all those questions.

In fact, you know. "Why are they
all after me?"

Uh... "Why they criticize me?"

"Why do they want to know
who I am, where--"

It was difficult. So I wrote
this song, "The Sphinx"

'cause the sphinx never cry.

I wanted to--
not to be hurt by all this.

And if you're a sphinx, you are...

You don't care. You're a statue.

I wanted to be like that.

I realized that people,
they-they want to dream.

People need to say, "Oh, I want
to be like Amanda Lear."

Why not try to be like Amanda Lear?

Whether you're man or not a woman,

or trans or whatever,

try to be Amanda Lear if you want.

I don't even know who
Amanda Lear represent for them.

I don't... I don't really know.

I'm so normal. I'm so down to Earth.

I'm so...

I don't-- I don't feel that
I live in a world of fantasy,

of-of sequins and glitter, and...

No, really. I feel like
I'm totally normal.

Paris, sexy

-Marie-Pierre Pruvot, bonjour.
-Bonjour.

Did you know Bambi?

Never met her.

I know who she is, obviously.

But I never met her.

From what I understand,
she was... a teacher.

She was a teacher in school
for many years.

Intelligent. I know she wrote
quite a few books.

No, she's intelligent. I-I know her

because she came to see me
in the theater.

I never met her personally,
but she-she came to see

my-my plays in the theater.

And she wrote me

a couple of very nice letters,
congratulation and all,

"You're wonderful on stage,
I'm an admirer."

Very-- I think she's a very...

proper person.

But I never met her.

I have to explain to anyone
who doesn't know that--

Is this gin and tonic or champagne?

Well, if it's champagne,
it's pretty pale.

-You can sip it and see.
-Yes.

Oh, it's blue. It's gin and tonic.

Now, you began your life
not as April Ashley

but as George Jamieson,
I think I'm right in saying.

-Yes.
-So you are a remarkable person.

I wanted, like anyone else,

to be many things to many people.

But my sole role in life became
to justify myself as a woman

and to tell my story of transition.

I was endlessly subjected

to the same offensive line
of questioning.

One has to talk a little bit

about the whole problem
of sex changes,

because I was talking
to some psychiatrist.

He said one of the criteria
was that if you were ugly

and look terrifically like a man,

you know, they wouldn't do it

because you'd be sort
of more miserable after that.

That was the implication. Um, what--

The need is just as great
if you look revolting...

-Well, abs-- No, no, no.
-...and very manly.

I can't go along with that,
because the criteria for me

is what you are mentally.

And so, it doesn't matter
if you're beautiful.

One day, while yachting with friends

in the south of France,

we docked in Saint-Tropez,

and whom should I see but Amanda Lear

sitting outside a cafe.

I waved her over
from the deck of the yacht

and she instantly
fled the scene on bicycle.

I understood then
that I was an artifact

from the past she had discarded.

April Ashley tells this story
about seeing you

when she was on a yacht, in her book.

And that she sent somebody down...

Darling, so many people
write stories.

They can write what they want.

It didn't change anything for me.

She write what she want.

It did not change a thing.

I still carried on-- selling record,

going on stage, making shows,

having beautiful boyfriends.

My life didn't change.

So she can-- They--
Her and all the people,

perhaps, can write what they want.

Dalí was fascinated by you.

But he was also fascinated
by the whole sex change...

aspect of your life. I mean,
it's ridiculous to deny that,

because April Ashley's book is there.

-Yes, I-I...
-Do you object

-to my asking you about that?
-Yes. I read her book,

and I... I couldn't understand

why she made up
so many stories in her book.

Suddenly, people came up and say,

"Ah, you were a sex change."

And I said, "It's a good story.
Let's keep it," you know.

Yeah, I've seen that picture before.

The problem with that woman, uh...

What's her name? That one there.

She died, I think, a few years ago.

The problem is that she was
a complete alcoholic.

Yeah. I met her in London.

She was running a club, a restaurant,

and she was totally...

pissed every night.

And everybody know
that she was a bit of a mythomaniac,

inventing herself a past
as a great model.

The... Which is not true.

It's a bit sad, actually, her life,

because that is a typical life
of someone

who did not make it
in showbiz, at least,

and desperately wanted to be
in showbiz.

But a part of that was her saying,

"I am trans," right?

A part of it was that she said,

"This is who I am."

And then,
because of the circumstances

-of the time--
-I think in England

she was quite famous,
in England, yeah.

Only in England, though.
I don't know.

Not in France or in Italy
or whatever.

But in England she was quite famous,

she went on television.

She became very grand.

I saw a picture of her
looking very...

Late in life.

But as a young woman,

she didn't have a ton
of opportunities. Right?

I don't know.
I don't know what she was doing.

Tell you, she was
drinking too much, probably,

or hanging around the wrong people.

I don't know what she was doing
when she was young.

Now she was the epitome
of the swinging '60s.

Showgirl and socialite April Ashley

was regarded as one of the most
popular celebrities of her era.

What do you view
as your biggest achievement?

Becoming me.

Even to this day,
now that it's 53 years later,

I still wake up in the morning
with a little sense of joy,

of that moment.

I had written
to Prime Minister Tony Blair

saying, why doesn't
such a great country of ours

catch up with medical science

and enable transsexuals

to change their birth certificate?

Eventually, in 2004,

the UK very quietly bring forward

the Gender Recognition Act,

which gave trans people
the right to change our gender

and thus gave us again
the right to marry.

So trans people from 1970 to 2004

could not legally change
their genders

all because of April Ashley's case.

Now, some people...

would have perhaps

thrown up their hands
and walked away.

But to April Ashley's credit,

she continued to push, all the way up

until the Gender
Recognition Act and beyond,

for a change in the law.

She didn't abandon her community,

and I think that's one of the reasons

why April Ashley
is so widely beloved,

especially by British trans people.

Because she fought for decades
to get back the rights

that had been stolen from her
and from all of us.

They had forced me in 1960

to change my name completely.

They wouldn't let me keep
my family name,

which was Jamieson.

So it was an extraordinary thing.

In 2005,

we were sitting on the terrace
in the South of France

on a beautiful sunny day,

and a big brown envelope arrived,

and I knew exactly what it was.

After nearly waiting 50 years,
it was an enormous...

sense of satisfaction

to actually see
that birth certificate,

which said, "April Jamieson.

Female."

Extraordinary.

See, if you live long enough

as I'm actually doing,

the most wonderful thing
is you become an institution.

And once you become an institution,

you become quite respectable
all over again.

But what happens in between
becoming an institution,

and the fact is-is another story.

So my lesson to anybody listening is,

never, ever think life is over.

No matter what age you are,
you just go on and on and on

and life keeps offering you
the most wonderful surprises,

and take them.

I think one of the nicest things

that happened was,

that in Her Majesty's Honours List

I got an MBE.

Which means the Most Excellent
Member of the British Empire.

And to be presented...

with that from the Prince of Wales

at Buckingham Palace
was rather nice.

They wanted to make me a Dame,

but unfortunately, Lord Tebbit
and Ann Widdecombe

and a few other Grandies said,
"Absolutely not.

She is not getting a damehood,

but she can have an MBE."

But I don't like the title
"Dame" anyhow,

so it doesn't matter.

There is nothing like a dame

She was forever
telling me to moisturize.

"You'll be sorry," she'd say,

"if you don't moisturize now."

She was right.

April was invited
to come back to Liverpool

in 2008

from a lesbian, gay,
bisexual and trans,

um, festival in Liverpool.

And I know, having spoken to her
when she came back,

that she was quite nervous
about coming back,

um, because she hadn't been
back here in quite a long time.

-There it is.
-There it is.

That was my bedroom,
called the box room.

Even as a child, you couldn't

put your arms outstretched,
it's so narrow.

-Hi!
-Hello!

-No...
-She did at one time.

I used to live there.

She was programmed
into St. George's Hall,

in a very historic building,
and it's incredibly beautiful.

And I think that convinced her
partly to come back.

She said to me,
"I don't know if anybody

would remember me,
you know, in Liverpool."

And of course
the event sold out in a day.

And everywhere she went in the city

people were thrilled,
thrilled to see her.

And then the Museum of Liverpool

had talked to her about honoring her

by doing an exhibition
about her life

from a sort of
sociopolitical point of view,

charting her life
alongside how her life

had impacted on legal
and societal change

in this country.

And I mean, I don't think
she expected that exhibition

to be quite what it was,

because it was very grand in scale

and a million people
came to see it.

Yeah.

She was very loved,
I think, by people.

And I think that's something
that mattered to her, you know.

-Now I'm getting upset.
-I know.

It's ridiculous.
She's been gone for two years.

-No, it's not. You loved her.
-Oh.

How quick as I can.

Oh, darling.

Transition is very difficult

no matter what decade you do it in.

It sets you apart from society.

It sets you outside
of your family, your friends.

Cheers. Cheers.

But the one thing
that you get out of that

that is incredible
and that gives you strength

is...

your trans siblings, you know,
the sisterhood of trans women.

That kind of community

is, I think, what sustains

many of us in our day-to-day lives,

and especially the older women
from previous generations.

I certainly don't put
anyone down for being stealth.

I understand the struggle.
I understand why people do it.

Hello.

But when I think about someone
like Amanda Lear,

I think it must be
really lonely at the top.

But that's the bargain
she made, you know?

Do you really believe
that Amanda is not trans?

Or is it just an open secret?

What I really believe? Okay.

All right.

How can I say this?

Respectfully so...

I believe that she's trans, yes.

But I want to say that I respect

her decision not to...

say it.

But I know that in France,

people accept her

as being a cisgendered woman

because that's the narrative
she's given in Europe.

Which is amazing.

She did that well.

I mean, in the end,
it doesn't really matter, right?

Well, you've had to fight so hard

for your identity as a woman.

Your-your whole public life,

you've been dogged by this question,

and you've always had to persist
that you are a woman.

And that's very painful.

No problem for me.

No. Honestly.

But the women
who said, "Yes, I am trans,"

-they were not very successful.
-But I'm not.

I'm not saying that.
I never-never say that.

People say that, and I never deny.

I say, think what you want.
You're free to think.

But I know who I am, you know?

Like the queen.
Never complain, never explain.

I think you would
not have the success

then, if you had said yes.

But I think you will have
even more success now if you do.

Do you know what I mean?

It's weird, you know.

-It's very, very weird.
-And it's up to you.

You are the epitome of...

-a successful woman.
-Success. A success story.

And I can understand how in your time

in the 1960s and the 1970s,

you wouldn't have all of that.

Oh, no, it's completely
different from now. Yeah.

It's very different.

It's easier, I suppose,
for the girls now today,

or new generation.

Things have become a little easier.

In my days,
it was a little more difficult to...

because people are-- were...

not bad,

but at least they say, how...

"What is it? We don't understand.

She's strange. What?"
You know, all this going on.

It's easier today

to be accepted as a different person.

But it hasn't...

Well, perhaps our society changes.
Anyway...

I wonder if you know
who your legacy is for.

I don't realize that.

That's true. I don't realize.

I'm amazed sometimes
when I see people's reaction

or the letters I receive,
the messages. I'm amazed.

And it is a worry 'cause
you have to-- For them,

you have to always be,
you know, not perfect,

but at least trying your best
not to disappoint them.

I would hate to disappoint people.

But it's in...

our flaws that we are human.

And to me, I don't idealize you.

I think that you're very human

and that's what makes you relatable.

And there's so many parts
of your story

that I can relate to,

and also that I can't understand

because I didn't live in those eras.

I feel like I am a part
of your legacy.

But you're much younger, darling.

And I know many girls

who are also a part of your legacy,

who admire you and look up to you

for all that you've accomplished.

And they're trans girls.

Yeah, there is a lot.
Even in France, also in France.

But... I don't really know

what I can do for them. I don't know.

I have an idea.

Oh, you have an idea. What?

When you are remembered,

and when you have a legacy,
you are eternal.

You have helped me become
the person that I am today.

And now that I've met you, even more.

When I tell girls I was meeting you,

people were amazed.

-How do they know me?
-Pioneers seldom...

understand the paths
that they've blazed,

and you have just kept your eye
on the horizon

and moved forward.

And so you have this path
that you've blazed

and we're all walking in it.

The thing is that I never
looked back, you see.

I don't know, I probably made
many mistakes in the past,

but it doesn't matter.

It's gone. It's finished, the past.

And you should do the same.
The past is past.

I mean, you're not the person
you were 20 years ago,

and that's what's important.

But I learned so much from...

knowing about your history
and your past

because it tells me
how to move forward

and how to survive.

I think the main thing
is not to listen to anybody.

You go your...

You know where you're going
and you're going there.

You know what you want.
You know where you wanna go.

Go there.

Which is why I keep saying,

I want to become
the Greta Garbo of Provence.

That's it.
You never see me again. Ever.