All language subtitles for World Without Sun (1964)eng

It is now 1810 hours, homeward bound,
heading east-northeast, depth about 200 feet.

Just short of 200 feet and so now.

Condensation seems somewhat less than
normal.

CO2 less than 0.5%.

Oxygen, 100 pounds.

Well, okay, take her up now.

Very well.

Back to the hangar.

The diving saucer returns from a world
where the sun never shines.

Our pocket submarine is shaped like a disc
to avoid snags.

Water jets that swivel take the place of
propeller and rudder.

The diving saucer heads for her garage.

This is the first time an undersea boat
has ever had an undersea base.

There are no storms here.

The hangar door is a placid pool.

We have eliminated wind and
waves that imperil the saucer

on operations to and from
the surface of the ocean.

Inside the submarine
hangar, 35 feet down, is a

four-ton winch to hoist
the saucer into the dry.

This steel shell holds down a
big bubble of compressed air

like a cup turned upside down
and pushed into a bowl of water.

The diving saucer, piloted by Albert
Falco, has made more than a hundred

scientific voyages down to a thousand
feet.

She gives two men up to 24 hours of oxygen
and four hours of electric power.

Most of her machinery is outside the hull,
streamlined by plastic fenders.

After each dive, technicians check the
little boat.

They recharge batteries, reload cameras,
test the mercury ballast, refill oxygen

bottles, and provide fresh soda lime to
remove carbon dioxide from the air inside.

But they are waiting dinner for us at
headquarters.

Let's get going before night falls.

This is headquarters of Continental Shelf
Station No.

2, or Conshelf 2.

It is a cozy five-room lodge, the big
house of our village on the seafloor.

These men are the first oceanotes.

They are going to live down here for a
month.

The oceanotes are subjected to double
normal pressure without feeling it.

They receive a generous flow of pure air,
but compared with surface air,

it is twice as heavy,
contains twice the

oxygen, and makes
tobacco burn twice as fast.

These sunken houses permit us to escape
many limitations of diving.

The oceanotes may work 80 feet down the
reef five hours a day, or make excursions

165 feet deep, and return directly to
base.

They no longer risk decompression
accidents, the bends, which would strike

them if they had to go back to the
surface.

Men of quite different walks of life,
a biology professor, a cook, a physical

education instructor, a customs inspector,
an industrial draftsman, are the pioneers

of an historic adventure,
conquest of the continental

shelf, a worldwide
territory larger than Africa.

Conch Shelf 2 is situated in the open sea.

It stands along a table reef across which
white breakers foam.

Our topside crew crosses the reef on a
bridge from our floating base, Rosaldo.

She supplies air
and electricity to the

station, while Calypso
looks after our security.

Our headquarters and the saucer hangar are
on this ledge, 35 feet beneath the surface.

86 feet down is our deep cabin.

Still further down the reef, we placed
anti-shark cages.

The oceanauts living in the upper station
can visit their friends 50 feet below.

But those in the deep cabin must not come
up for fear of fatal bends.

Heavy smoker Raymond Kienzie has volunteered
to spend a week in the deep cabin.

Down there, he will have to give up his
pipe.

It would contaminate the recirculated
atmosphere.

For myself, I belong to Calypso.

Now I will have to go up and
hang around for an hour in

a decompression stop 10
feet under the keel of my ship.

Free from such misery,
the oceanauts talk over

the explorations and
discoveries of the day.

Through a liquid door,
oceanauts pass with equal

ease from air to water,
or from water to air.

In the morning, cook
Pierrot Gilbert calls the

surface to discuss his
menu with Simone Cousteau.

They try to do their best with the ship's
provisions.

Life, six fathoms under the sea,
becomes almost uneventful.

But this is a big day.

Two men in black masks are leaving to
settle in the deep cabin for a week.

Raymond Kienzi and Andr� Portelatine are
moving man's homestead further into the sea.

If they succeed, it
will become possible to

systematically exploit
the resources of the ocean.

Professor Vessi?res
escorts them to their new

dwelling, ready to help
in case of emergency.

Pierrot, the cook, also
volunteered to live in the

deep cabin, but must be
content to watch them depart.

Headquarters converses with the black
masks by ultrasound wireless telephone.

They wear transmitters on their legs and
earphones and microphones in their masks.

We keep constant vigil over the deep men.

The deep cabin is filled with
a mixture of helium, nitrogen

and oxygen at a pressure of
three and a half atmospheres.

The lower deck is a
wet room where the black

masks store diving
gear and take showers.

Up the ladder is their tiny cell in which
they will eat and sleep for seven days.

They are not quite alone.

A television eye reports their situation
to headquarters day and night,

and the helium they have begun to breathe
gives them quite a surprise.

Hello, little house?

Hello, little house?

You have arrived safely, both of you.

All is well?

We have arrived safely.

So far, all is well.

All is well?

All is well.

All is well?

All is well?

It required two ships, twenty sailors and
twenty-five divers to establish Conshelf 2.

Bundles of pipes and cables run from the
support ship to the station.

The buildings are held down by two hundred
tons of lead.

The silver ocean oats are
helped by calypso divers

dressed in black to service
the submerged hamlet.

Seaweed grows so quickly on the buildings
they must be scrubbed each morning.

The bustle has scared away sharks,
leaving only one villain, Jules,

a six-foot barracuda.

The ocean oats take turns sunbathing
inside the sea.

Each man needs ten minutes a day of
ultraviolet rays for his health.

It also improves Andre's morale.

Calypso divers are eager to make life
pleasant for the ocean oats.

Antonio Lopez offers his skill as a hair
cutter.

Andre subconsciously clings to terrestrial
tastes.

The other inhabitants of the sea are a bit
disturbed by visitors from topside.

The first ocean oats have crossed to a new
way of life.

Their sense of time becomes hazy.

They neglect the clock and the calendar.

They shut off the radio and select their
own tape recordings.

Conshelf too is upside down in lots of
other ways.

We live with fish, but we open a can of
sardines.

The air, thick as syrup, slows the
ventilators to half speed.

In the deep cabin, he-men sound like
schoolgirls.

Cuts and abrasions heal overnight.

Beards almost stop growing.

People like to stand on their heads.

We can't remember whether we are outside
the aquarium or inside.

And, of course, we feed the fish with
rabbit meat.

Every day, we set up
40 empty four-bottle

aqualungs to be refilled
with compressed air.

Calypso divers bring all our supplies down
in pressure cookers.

The ocean oats would
like to forget all these

fussy people on top, but
must rely heavily on them.

Undersea stations of the future will be
independent.

Calypso's doctor has balanced the diet of
Conshelf too.

He finds that when men
breathe double oxygen, there is a

reduction in the number of
red corpuscles in their blood.

After a few days, the count becomes
stabilized.

It is just the opposite of what happens to
mountaineers.

Claude Vesely welcomes our parrot and
introduces him to some parrotfish.

Birds are more sensitive than men to their
environment.

If this parrot can stand the pressure,
it will encourage the men.

The deep cabin is sunk in brooding calm.

Sun and shadow have lost their meaning.

Light comes from all directions.

The men living down
here breathe a gas mixture

designed to reduce pressure
effects on human beings.

They themselves control the proportions of
helium, oxygen and nitrogen.

Every other day, they use
110 pounds of chemicals

to absorb carbon dioxide
from their respiration.

Calypso divers bring them fresh supplies
and scatter the harmless waste in the sea.

In the coral jungle, the oceanoats capture
all sorts of fish, alive and unharmed.

They use traditional gear, gill nets,
landing nets and traps, and set them with

a precision that a man would never achieve
from a boat.

In the living history of our reef,
the men take coral samples from various

levels, in spite of certain
troublemakers who

are not frightened by
the sound of hammers.

Divers check the nets several times a day
and remove captive fish before they drown.

These prisoners are sentenced for life in
the aquarium at Monaco.

Calypso divers will collect the bags and
ship them there by plane.

We did not foresee that big fish would
regard this as a free lunch counter.

Unable to comprehend what interferes with
feeding, they go crazy with frustration.

By night and by day, as
soon as her batteries are

recharged, the diving
saucer departs on missions.

Before plunging into the unknown,
the submarine glides across the station,

which is lighted like an airport.

At night, plankton rises from the deeps.

It sinks back at the first glimmer of
light, as if scared of the sun.

In harmony with the
rhythm of days, these vertical

migrations set in motion
millions of tons of living matter.

Oceanauts can study
the tiny creatures of the

plankton without removing
them from the sea.

A motorized diver hauls a plankton net
through layers of minute beings.

Very fragile organisms
can be filmed intact in a

small transparent box that
fits into a special camera.

All forms of life evolve
from the sea, and

there we find the
greatest variety of species.

Some are nothing but organized water.

A small crustacean hides in a delicate
crystal home.

A jelly cup pumps like a heart.

In the pulsing ocean, little barrels made
of light, translucent insects,

shivering globes, silver larvae,
feed, multiply, and die.

At night, the deep cabin seems like a
house of exile.

With foreboding hearts, the deep men look
for sleep.

When their stay is over,
they will have to brace

from these masks for
hours before they can go up.

Meanwhile, their lives depend on
machinery.

Everybody is asleep on Rosaldo.

The fish are in bed.

Kienzi and Port Latine have finally gone
to sleep.

I have been diving now for 20 years.

Yet, when I am alone in the sea at night,
I am still afraid.

It is in the night that you meet the
strangest creatures.

Their shapes, their colors, their
movements are stolen from nightmares.

A sea snail with gills like plumes.

The sea devil flies with curling wings.

I found myself alone, staring with fright
at a bush that walks.

This tangle of roots and branches is a
single animal.

A sleeping monster I found in a grotto at
night.

We call it the bump fish.

In daylight, you are lucky if you can even
glimpse a bump fish at a distance.

At night, I can stroke them.

Every time I come across a fish new to me,
I am scared at first.

Then, I observe his reflexes and,
little by little, gain his confidence.

At dawn, the bump fish emerge from their
caves and move off in a herd like bison.

They live on coral.

They butt their heads against it, break
off a piece, and grind it with their jaws.

A 90-pounder joins the migration to browse
in stone pastures.

A team of oceanotes swims out to collect
biological samples.

To a naturalist, the valley is like a
catalogue of tropical sea life.

Collectors must be able to spot the
tiniest and best camouflaged animals,

to distinguish rare or unknown ones,
and to patiently observe their behavior.

Oceanotes have lots more time than divers
to spend in the field.

We bring specimens back to our lab.

Professor Vessi?res files them away or
exploits them immediately.

This is the first time a marine biological
laboratory is installed on the sea bottom.

Here, we can make experiments that are not
possible on shore.

For example, in microbiology, up there,
specimens die or are contaminated during

transportation, while down here,
we study them without delay.

The laboratory in Conshelf II
is the forerunner of a network

of permanent undersea
observatories in the world ocean.

They will be open to investigators of all
nations.

From the deep cabin, the black masks
strike down to 165 feet to work almost

without time limit, or they penetrate for
a few minutes to more than 300 feet.

From their loneliness, these descents are
a liberation.

The Antishark Cages
Strung down the slope are

Antishark cages, the
block houses of our frontier.

They are connected to headquarters by
alarm buzzers and blinker signals.

The black masks go on an inspection tour
to see that the cage alarms are working.

They have just turned on
the reserve, which means

that three out of their
four bottles are empty.

From cage number four,
they signal headquarters

to send fresh aqualungs
to cage number five.

On their way back, the oceanoids pass not
one, but hundreds of barracudas.

In higher territory, the
oceanoids set up a TV camera,

which scouts for a
remote-controlled movie camera.

The system allows us to
observe and make movies

of animals bothered
by the presence of men.

Andr� watches the television monitor.

When something interesting takes place,
he triggers the movie camera.

That is how we spied on a lazy fish that
lived with two small crustaceans.

He leaves the housekeeping entirely up to
them.

The little fellow thinks he's a bulldozer.

He even knows how to wedge a big stone
with a smaller one.

Headquarters gets
ready for the return of the

men in the black masks
after seven days below.

Their bodies are saturated with gases
breathed under pressure.

To ascend safely, they must inhale a
special mixture for three hours.

It is a critical test of their whole
ordeal.

The monitor watches them closely until the
last moment.

Before they went down,
our calculations and

laboratory tests indicated
that the project was safe.

But now, for the first time, living men
are trying the theory in the real sea.

The black masks rise above their roof and
climb cautiously toward headquarters.

The deep men have come back safe and
sound.

We can now move with confidence to plant
bases further down in the sea.

The occupation of the continental shelf
has begun.

Kensey and Portelatine have returned from
the future.

Every night, an expedition goes out with
narrow-beam searchlights.

The men in the black masks sleep in the
shelter of fire coral.

Parrotfish sleep in the shelter of fire
coral.

To avoid severe burns from the fire coral,
they are covered from head to foot.

The sleepers awake in dazzling light.

They are transfixed like rabbits blinded
by the headlights of a car.

The fish that we have caught with searchlights
are held in plastic-paneled stockades.

Starfish, despite their
peaceful appearance, are

carnivores specially
adapted to eat shellfish.

Scallops have many eyes to look out for
their dreaded enemy.

The fish that we have caught with searchlights
are held in plastic-paneled stockades.

The fish that we have caught with searchlights
are held in plastic-paneled stockades.

The fish that we have caught with searchlights
are held in plastic-paneled stockades.

Scallops travel by jet like the diving
saucer.

How about a test of the hydraulic claw?

Okay.

This afternoon, the 29th of June,
1730 hours, dive 114, exploration of the

northwest sector of station to depth of
1,000 feet.

The depth is minus 330 feet.

A jagged bed of dead coral sprinkled with
white sand.

There is not much life here.

Minus 360 feet.

We are gliding over a sort of cracked
sidewalk that hangs over a precipice.

Let her sink along the cliff.

Minus 500 feet.

Minus 650 feet.

Minus 800 feet.

Big scarlet fish mark the end of the
vertical desert.

At this point, 820 feet
down, we enter another

zone of life where
everything is to be discovered.

Minus 800 feet.

Minus 850 feet.

Every inch of rock here is encrusted with
oyster shells.

Fossil oysters at this
depth prove that sea

level has changed
considerably over the ages.

Minus 1,000 feet.

We are flying over the Sahara.

There are even gazelles.

All that's missing is an oasis with palm
trees.

Minus 1,000 feet.

Hundreds, thousands of crabs at 1,000
feet.

A mass meeting of crabs.

It must be their mating season.

Minus 1,000 feet.

They cover the bottom for miles.

Minus 1,000 feet.

Minus 1,000 feet.

A monster, a shark of the great deeps.

It is blinded by our light.

It must be more than 20 feet long.

It probably weighs 3,000 pounds.

Minus 1,000 feet.

Minus 1,000 feet.

1950 hours.

Depth minus 920 feet.

We are going up.

It's 20 hours.

It will be dark up there.

Yes.

What do we do now?

You think we should explore the tunnel?

Why not?

At the end of the tunnel, a miniature
lake.

A pocket of air and vapor.

A cave in which light shines for the first
time.

We have lived in the bosom of the sea.

The sea has indulged us.

But we have taken only the first steps
into our new space.

Further adventures await oceanos in the
world without sun.