All language subtitles for Women of the World (1963)

THE WOMEN OF THE WORLD

TO BELI NDA LEE, WHO
THROUGHOUT THIS LONG JOURNEY

ACCOMPANI ED AND HELPED US
WITH LOVE.

Rome.

A grand military parade
on the Via dell'Impero.

Thousands of young men,
the nation's finest

proudly line up to present
this superb spectacle to officials

and to the public
jamming the grandstands.

Disciplined, fearless, impassioned

hearts swelling with noble ideals

nothing in the world
could distract them today.

Well, maybe one thing.

But just one.

Israel, August 5, 1 962.

Thousands of female recruits,
the nation's finest

line up before the regiment commander,
a female general.

She observes a sample of the very best
on a harsh assault course.

At 2:00 p.m., they lay down their arms
for a half-hour break

leaving them no worse for wear,
or for underwear.

At 3:00 p.m. sharp

arms are inspected
by Sergeant Major Corinne Rosenthal.

Her completely feminine
love of cleanliness means

just one grain of dust in a gun barrel
could ruin her entire day.

Isn't a girl's greatest virtue

to keep a submachine gun
polished and ready to fire?

Meanwhile, at a remote outpost

the more seasoned soldiers
guard the borders of the Promised Land.

It could cost them their lives at age 20,
this privilege of being present

from the dawning of this immense,
impassioned, eternal biblical theater

to the final act of the drama

lived by their restless people
for the past 30 centuries.

But for the recruits,
the off-duty call sounds at 5:00 p.m.

Here they are

the fearsome females
of the Israeli army

heirs of the ancient Amazon warriors
who, to better guide their weapons

had a breast amputated.

At least that's what
some foreign observer said

one equipped with
scant powers of observation.

Look for yourselves.

Does it really look like
the tough life in the field

military discipline,
familiarity with arms

has diminished any of their primitive,
delicious and refreshing femininity?

Retired Colonel Rudyard Hopkins,
formerly of Scotland

is supreme commander
of the army of Iua.

This is another female army,
because Iua is an island of women only.

The army is an obligatory stop for all
physically fit girls between 1 3 and 1 8

whom Colonel Hopkins trains

with tireless daily--
and nightly-- maneuvers

for the purpose of feeding
the new conscripts of tomorrow.

As you may have guessed,
this army is made up of his 84 wives

who've provided him
with 52 children.

Colonel Hopkins is proud of his soldiers
and speaks constantly of their virtues.

Unfortunately, it's not possible
to understand a single word

because he's as mute as a stone.

But to make up for it,
he's as deaf as a doornail

though he moves his lips
with the calm confidence of someone

who ran out of
hearing aid batteries ages ago.

As far as we can tell,
his troops are in fine shape.

Things always go smoothly,
unless a recruit under inspection

is found unfit for service
due to thoracic insufficiency.

Colonel Hopkins is a good Scotsman

as demonstrated
by the rich variety of his clothing.

And he's a good colonel,
as demonstrated by his ease

in mobilizing his troops
at the moment of our departure.

These are the convicts of Stius

an island without women
in the Gulf of Carpentaria.

They've caught
one of those marine monsters

which today's biologists
call a dugong

formerly known as a Siren

the mysterious creature
sung of by Homer

half fish and half beautiful woman

the love and death
of ancient sailors.

The convicts stare in silence
at her slow agony

awaiting nightfall to taste
of her flesh in a ritual of love

as tragic and ancient
as the world itself.

It's April 1 2, 1 962.

On Stius, island without women

the myth of the Sirens continues.

July 1 4.

Paris celebrates
the fall of the Bastille

elegantly recalling the historic end

of a frighteningly myopic century

the triumph of Voltairian Enlightenment
and the advent of freedom.

On a day like this, people elsewhere
would be kissing their flag

but the French kiss their women.

In the tragedy, misery and splendor
of the history of France

we always sense the physical presence
of women as the stimulating force

behind that pinch of anarchy that
today urges the unwitting citizen

to kiss his woman right in the middle
of a mass of policemen.

In Paris, a public kiss on July 1 4

transcends all romantic
and physical limits

and takes on the proportions
of a provocative gesture

directed at the public
or at servitude and conformity.

But it is a sterile gesture
to which the public does not react

filled as it is
with its skeptical civility.

"The day I kissed my wife in public'',
Moliere wrote,

"I felt like I was kissing
the Statue of Liberty on the lips.''

This is the statue
of Guidarello Guidarelli

a handsome young hero
who fought and died for Cesare Borgia.

Today, in the museum of Ravenna

the irresistible Guidarello
still exudes sex appeal

from every one of his marble pores.

So much so that every year,
on the anniversary of his death

women line up to kiss him
tenderly on the lips.

From a cultural
and romantic perspective

this is a refined
and tender gesture

but from the scientific
point of view

it's a tendency common to all
erotically underdeveloped countries.

Her name is Erika Sommer.

She's 40 years old, Swedish

and the only woman in the world
authorized to celebrate the Mass.

Since the distant times of
vestal virgins and priestesses

history gives us
no other example besides hers.

She is the official priest
of a Stockholm parish

where the faithful rush in great number
to receive communion from her hands.

From the hands of a woman

imbued with a physical
and spiritual understanding

a mystical affinity.

And what other sort of affinity
induces these girls

to dance with each other
at a famous Parisian nightspot?

What feeling is this

that distances them
from the company of men

while impelling them to imitate men
to such pathetic result

and mask their melancholy
tenderness with irony?

But where these women
can at least point

to a literary source
for their proclivities

men have only
the weight of ridicule.

For all the effort they make
to deny women

the fair sex is present
among them more than ever.

Trying to deny women makes their presence
more pronounced than ever

whether among hermits,
celibates, eunuchs

and especially this group.

As you can see,
Europeans hold no monopoly

on the spectacle we just witnessed.

Here in Papua New Guinea,
among the Ibitoe tribe

what we euphemistically call
"special friendships''

are extremely common
among all the men of the village.

Doing their coiffures, putting
on makeup, plucking unwanted hairs--

it's all a great effort, which, although
satisfying, takes nearly the entire day.

So the heavy work of keeping
the village going falls to the women

who don't need to waste time
in front of the mirror

since no one even looks
in their direction.

As you see, this type of weakness
is common in both hemispheres

and it wouldn't be so bad if it weren't
the women who pay the price.

These oppressed working women
cannot even resort to a strike

for it would leave these gentlemen
perfectly indifferent.

FULL NUDITY PROHI BITED

But there's another village

only 1 2,000 miles away,
on the Cote d'Azur

where men may seem unenthusiastic
before the great bounty of God.

But the women?

They'll say it's to get a great tan

and avoid the ugly
double white strip

left by the bikini
at the end of summer.

Which is not a sign of
good prospects for the winter.

Chinese women, on the other hand,
don't think that way.

Their idea of beauty
is skin white as milk

and transparent as porcelain.

So they enter the water
dressed in a thin suit

closed up to the neck, complete
with socks, gloves and parasol.

The Chinese woman is afraid of
tanning because, or so they say here

in the sun her skin doesn't tan
but turns yellow as a lemon.

So every winter-- because here
they go swimming in winter--

she takes every precaution to maintain
in her most intimate anatomy

the fragile delicateness
of fine china.

Which is a sign of good prospects
for the summer.

In New Guinea, the ideal of beauty
for the black women of Lambu

is white skin

obtained by smearing their bodies
with a special type of mud.

The custom is of recent origin

coinciding with the arrival
of the first missionary nuns

the " White Sisters of Charity''

My name is
Maria Angelica de Montal.

I am 22 years old

and for the last 1 6 months

I have been living in this cloister
in New Guinea in the peace of the Lord.

We maintain the rule of silence

and the only voice heard
is that of our prayers

to our Divine Bridegroom.

I am happy in my cell

which is comfortable and clean

and even has
a little window high up

through which I see the sun
and the sky that's always blue.

On Thursday, when I may speak
with our Mother Superior

she tells me that outside
there are many big yellow flowers.

I pray every day
for those good people

who bring us food

so that we may live in the glory
of our bridegroom,Jesus Christ.

Today in Orgosolo, a paramilitary
policeman died in a clash with bandits.

He was a young man of 20,
born and raised here in the village.

Perhaps the bandits set their sights
on him for that very reason

since even today, in their eyes

a Sardinian on the side
of the law is a traitor.

They brought his body to the cemetery
on Thursday morning

but on Tuesday and Wednesday
it stayed at the home of his mother.

On Wednesday evening,
the " mourning women'' came.

The best come up from Oriena da Fonni
and Orzulei for special deaths.

At midnight their wails can be heard
down to the last house in the village.

At 4:00 a.m., the women from Orzulei
turn the job over to those from Oriena.

They have to return to their village for
a job at the house of Domenico Piddu

whose wife died the evening before.

Our next stop is those shores
where delight and smiles reign

that sweetest of islands, Tahiti

the last paradise on Earth.

Here the angels are women as delicate
as butterflies aloft in the spring

among perfumed trumpet flowers

flitting about from dawn to dusk.

But luckily, even in Tahiti

the new generations
are bursting with energy.

We're at the public school in Papeete,
the island's capital

during the three daily hours
of dance lessons

compared to two meager hours

to cover French, math,
history and geography.

Tahiti is constantly dancing

and even after school
they dance away their free time

to the incessant
and frenetic rhythm of the tamure.

They dance during working hours
as well, because on Tahiti

dancing, aside from being instinct,
diversion and passion, is also work.

In fact, by 6:00 a.m.,
in hotel gardens

the girls decorating the tables
with flowers are already dancing.

Dancing prepares their bodies
to perform for tourists.

To better offer its all
to the tourist industry

this industrious island is constrained,
for its very survival

to keep each one of its " natural resources''
moving from dawn to dusk.

But today, Tahiti, which has passed from
small-scale work to mass production

can count on the advantages
of exportation.

Here is the lovely Vaea, recently
exported to Europe in films

seen here taking lessons
from her mother.

Here is the charming Lorraine

also recently acquired
by the European market.

And the beautiful Kula

whose imminent exportation
to Italy makes us hope

that this island
will join our Common Market.

Also flourishing is the importation
of sailors from the United States.

Every evening, this training ship
from San Francisco

unloads its cargo of 300 cadets
on the docks of Papeete.

From a business perspective

that represents a sure 300 spectators
for the day's final tamure performance.

Leis, kisses, smiles
and door-to-door pickup and delivery

are all included
in the price of admission.

For a young cadet in the US Navy,
the tamure isn't just a dance.

It's an education.

It's the discovery of a new world,
of new emotions

and, above all,
of a new feminine fauna

he never learned about in school.

This is where they come from

like the blossoms
of this perennially flowering island.

White, yellow,
red, blond, brunette

flowers planted
by no one knows who

belonging to everyone
and to no one.

They are children of the dance,
that benign muse

that gives them their daily bread.

And here, everyone
accepts them like a blessing.

Their care is entrusted
to the old women of the island.

Their mothers are dancing
on the beach or at the port

where another tour boat has arrived.

The young mothers ofTahiti
don't raise their own children.

They'll bring up other women's
children in their turn

when they, too, are too old
to dance in public

and a solitary beach will remind them
of the sweet years of their youth.

Here we are at Cannes
during the annual film festival.

Nowhere else is a woman
so engaged

in the dramatic, pathetic, useless
and unyielding battle with time.

She races toward
a future already attained

or toward an unattainable past.

At 1 8, she feels too distant
from Lolita

and too close
to the threshold of her 40's.

She's restless, like Cossinette

not knowing whether to act like
a mature man or an old woman.

So she heads
toward an unknown future

leaving behind
a past without regrets

which may well reflect the part
of her most worth remembering.

She wants to be in movies

because movies seem
the quickest path to her destination

though she doesn't yet know
what that is.

She only knows that for movies, you don't
need to know anything in particular--

which gives her substantial courage--

and that you need to be ready
to do anything--

which gives her
loads of security for the future.

She believes in the myth
of the overnight sensation

in dinner with the producer

and in all that is easy, pleasant
and, above all, quick.

She wants to be discovered, noticed,
admired, helped, launched.

All in 2 4 hours.

Launched, yes. But where?

She also believes in scandal.

So she shows up at the
Palais des Festivals in a bikini

certain she'll be made
an actress by the next day.

And the next day
she's in bed with a cold.

In Los Angeles, Eva Barrett, 20,
aspiring actress

has been waiting 1 8 months
to at least be called as an extra.

To make ends meet, she sells
newspapers on Hollywood Boulevard.

Ivy Page, Gloria Still

and sisters Rosy and Martha Crystal

pump gas at an all-night station.

They're paid on commission.

Four aspiring stars from Louisiana

and two ex-models from New York

have been waiting two years
for their big break

while serving burgers and fries
until 5:00 a.m. at a drive-in.

They earn an average
of $2 a night

plus 1 5% in tips.

The rent for their sequined uniform
is five cents an hour.

Jamie Spring, 1 8, from Minnesota.

Eight times a night,
she dons this casual evening ensemble

designed to help American women
fall asleep easily

complete with sleep mask,
headphones for listening to lullabies

and a timer.

Barbara Green, 23, from California

is in charge of erotic accessories
for less peaceful nights.

Immense beds, fiery-red blankets

and masks inscribed with sayings

that can be changed according
to various contingencies, such as

Others head for the photo studios
at the big magazines.

This is Milton Green

perhaps the most famous
photographer in the world

who's attempting, by anatomic selection,
to assemble the ideal American woman.

A hundred women a day
come to this studio

leaving a nose, a neck, an arm, a foot

and going home with the rest
that no one wants.

That's the law of film:

chop up 1 00 women
to create just one.

In Japan, they get
straight to the point.

The model undresses completely and lets
the photographers choose the best part.

The photographers are tourists
ready to pay dearly for an obscene photo.

And theJapanese, a society of nudists
and thus less sensitive to obscenity

capitalize on their weakness
in good conscience.

On the streets ofTokyo,
immense film and theater posters

which in our cities would generate
huge protests and new laws

are barely noticed by crowds
of women and children.

Sex is not even a mystery at school.

On the contrary,
the first three years of middle school

include two mandatory hours
per week of sex education

in which the teacher
shares with the students

the secrets of physical love,
gestation and birth.

Boys and girls in mixed classes
learn to locate the source of life

without the doubts of adolescence
or the shadow of guilt.

And they learn
the most suitable and moral means

to carry out one of the most urgent
academic programs of theJapanese empire:

birth control.

With these surprising results.

These are the children
of 20,000 ex-US soldiers

who found their soul mates
here in Japan.

They dress in European style
and speak English.

One surviving tradition
is to bring them to drink

from the famous Fountain of Health,
where on the eve of battle

the ancient samurai came to find
courage, ecstasy and strength.

But since the American samurai
acquires courage and strength

from a different source,
Japan tries to keep up.

This is a cocktail lesson
for bartending students.

There's also a school
in western manners

teaching the correct use of the fork.

And a weight-loss gym

for the logical consequences.

In the department stores ofTokyo

girls pay more and more attention

to mannequins dressed
in European style.

Tastes change.

It takes just one look at
the newest dolls to understand

the longings
of the modern Madame Butterfly.

A bust likeJayne Mansfield

and eyes like Gina Lollobrigida.

Transforming almond eyes
into round eyes

is done by a surgeon wielding a scalpel
with exactly the opposite technique

of that used
by his Western colleagues

to transform round eyes into almond eyes
for European and American women.

Dr. Ashiri,
a popular ophthalmologist

with a prosperous clinic in Ginza

carries out
1 0 to 20 operations a week

and achieves
this incomparable result.

To enlarge the breasts,
the surgeon uses

the most elementary laws
of hydraulics.

The liquid generally used
is oil of paraffin

injected in varying amounts,
from 1 0 to 1 5cc per breast

depending on the safe limits
of pressure.

The results are not final

because, with time,
the breasts deflate

and must be brought back
to the clinic to be pumped up again.

The paraffin treatment is harmless

though it's not recommended
for women who are nursing.

Nine tons of synthetic rubber

for a total of 7,000 pieces per day.

And still this fake breast
factory in Los Angeles

has only 50% of the market.

How disheartening!

The continued use
of synthetic rubber

in a world desperately seeking
to defend itself against adulteration.

This is just too much!

This poor father is trying
to nurse his child with a coconut.

His wife wants nothing to do with it.

She's afraid of ruining her breasts

preferring to smoke and gossip
with her girlfriends.

We're in a Sakai village
in northern Malaysia

where polyandry is practiced

that ancient
and rather rare custom

whereby the wife lives it up

while her seven or eight husbands
slave away from sunup to sundown.

But the Sakai woman
still hasn't found

someone to stand in for her
when it comes to childbirth.

When the time comes,
she has to do that alone.

But even in this there's little cause
for joy for the poor husbands.

Gathered in the next room

they must pretend to assist
the likely father

who thrashes about,
complaining of atrocious labor pains.

MI NORS PROHI BITED
Much has been written about this street

but up till now
no one has ever managed

to smuggle a movie camera
past this steel gate

to document its squalor.

We had to hide the cameraman
in a laundry truck

to get live images

of the famous " window girls''
of Hamburg.

And this is what
the street looks like

on a Sunday afternoon

when farmers and villagers
come to town

to enjoy the curious spectacle
of the " window girls''

with their wives and girlfriends.

This is the view

of a student dormitory
in Stockholm at 1 0:00 p.m.

This immense, modern building
has more than 200 small apartments

with one of the largest and most active
communities of Swedish students.

Our observation post proved
perfect for a very careful study

of the controversial coed life

lived in open promiscuity

in these fine lodgings
furnished with every modern comfort

except window shades.

Finally, and invariably at midnight

the curtain falls
on the long workday.

It's Saturday morning.

On the outskirts of Stockholm,
the highways swarm with coeds

seeking a ride to the beach,
the lakes, or the mountains

after a long week of studies.

But since all the world's a village,
some are left on foot. All the better!

Even in Sweden,
hitchhiking can be dangerous.

You never know how they drive.

In Italy, especially in the south

there are no exceptions
to the law of premarital chastity

and once the marriage
is celebrated

it's consummated on the spot.

Otherwise

"Angelica, who, as her name says,
lived like an angel on Earth

but, suspected of disgrace,
she became an angel in heaven.''

"Pure as a saint,
faithful as a warrior

killed and wept over
all because of a mistake.''

"Here lies Maria Grazia,
whose loving innocence

others believed was
tainted with sin.''

After burying an entire generation
of husbands in this pleasant cemetery

the Sporting Lidova Association

plays bocce every morning
on the green fields of Little Road

on the outskirts of Sydney.

This widows' group is made up

of 3 5 women
of fine Australian heritage

whose late husbands excelled
at playing bocce

considered the national
pastime in Sydney.

Properly dressed
in their mourning clothes

which can be either black or white,
depending upon the weather and season

these pleasant sportswomen
never lose the cheerful serenity

that accompanies
in even the most painful memories

these gentle, simple creatures

when, with these morning games

they celebrate the daily rite of paying
homage to their deceased husbands.

Meanwhile, along
the endless beaches of California

young American couples
also celebrate before the fiery ocean

their daily rite
in homage to their love.

It is the rite of heavy petting,
of motorized flirting

hurried, restless, impetuous

the desperate yearning for a love
barely glimpsed and already vanished

swift and elusive as a sunset.

A tree restaurant.
Capacity: two.

Recommended for those who wish
to spend a romantic night

wrapped in the tropical forest's
mysterious silence.

An irresistible attraction for American
couples on their honeymoon in Honolulu.

There are hundreds of reservations

and any couple who gets their turn

before their first child
is born is lucky.

Delicious food, atmosphere,
champagne

and as the brochure says:

"a romantic night wrapped in the
tropical forest's mysterious silence.''

But the brochure didn't mention this.

They climbed the tree trustingly

toward their innocent
and romantic dream.

It's the first disappointment
of their marriage.

They're not skeptical enough
to laugh it off

or cynical enough to dump soup
on the heads of the crowd.

The first clouds have drifted
over their honeymoon.

The divorce is final,
the bags are packed

and now they're leaving Las Vegas,
having stayed here the five weeks

required to obtain legal residency
in the state of Nevada.

The Twin Lakes Lodge is a real ranch
right out of a western

run by gallant cowboys

who do their best to help
their female clients forget

the real reason
for their forced vacation.

The children, waiting for Mommy
to get rid of Daddy, play by themselves.

Time is never wasted here.

There's always a smiling cowboy

to teach you how to put on a holster
and handle a six-shooter

without increasing the bill
by one penny.

Other cowboys organize rodeos

and teach the ladies
how to use a lasso to rope a calf--

after having taught
both the horse and the calf

how to behave in a lady's presence.

Meanwhile, the children
continue to play on their own.

At sunset, an innocent ride
two by two at the desert's edge

brings the tiring day to a close.

But for those women
having trouble sleeping

there's always more to learn.

In the hotel saloon, the bartender's
brother, dressed as a cowboy

teaches them how
to drink whiskey likeJessieJames.

Lessons continue
well past midnight

but this time
they're not included in the bill.

Get married for just $1 5!

Price includes minister,
flowers, and parking.

How can you resist the urge
to get married and have kids?

Las Vegas isn't a city.

It's a light bulb
that goes out at dawn.

Even the $1 5 chapels
have disappeared.

No chance of getting married now.

At this hour in Las Vegas,
you can only get divorced.

At 8:00 a.m., the couples line up,
and the first goes in.

They're only together now
out of legal considerations.

When they leave here,
they'll take two different streets

forever.

Someone is crying.

Some drunken husbands
beat their wives

or just insulted the judge.

This is the Las Vegas divorce court

its glass facade as transparent

as the mood and character

the nature and indifference

and pain of those waiting their turn.

Only age-old traditions manage
to keep the family together now.

Only the natural state of submission
of woman to man

can save the institution
of matrimony.

Observe this eloquentJapanese scene.

The women dive for pearls
eight hours a day

while the men,
seated in the boat, sip tea.

The women don't breathe.
The men don't complain.

But while the women tremble
with cold and fatigue

the man handles
the housecleaning all by himself.

In Magasho,
200 miles south ofTokyo

the scene is even more spectacular.

Hundreds of women return
to shore each morning

having been out to sea since dawn

gathering seaweed
from the bottom of the ocean.

Around noon, the men come
to wait for them on the beach.

As is easy to note,
this is only a polite gesture.

They don't lift a finger
or bat an eye

while the poor girls, half dead
from exhaustion, fill the baskets.

It's a type of seaweed
highly prized in Japan

belonging to a rare species
of hemigosoli

used to prepare aizzai,
a type of baking powder for fritters.

Market price,
about 7 5 cents a pound.

But the women
who brave sharks to gather it

get 1 1 cents of that.

The rest goes to the men

as compensation for their energetic
and determined participation in the work.

Her name is Elizabeth Rudel Smith.

She's 40 years old
and married with five children.

She arrives at 8:00 a.m. and signs
the dollar bills in the Washington mint

to supplement her husband's pay.

She's the treasurer
of the United States.

This warehouse alone
holds $1 billion.

Mrs. Smith carries out
the morning inspection

assisted by the director general.

The US government is
a healthy patriarchal family

where the men make
all decisions, large and small

but it's the woman
who holds the purse strings.

Mrs.Johnson, 42

married, no children.

Each morning she decides
how many million dollars

the Fifth Avenue bank
where she is president can spend.

Only she can open this safe.

Only she can close it with a nod

while the cashier
has to use brute force.

Her office is on the 54th floor.

The board of directors
is meeting today.

The board members are all men

but even so, they've proven
their ability and reliability.

A satisfied Mrs.Johnson
has promised them a year-end bonus.

Meanwhile, on the other side
of the globe

a different board of directors
is meeting.

We're in Singapore, and the Chinese
streetwalkers union

is celebrating
excellent annual revenues.

The president hands out ribbons

to those employees with the highest
productivity on the night shift.

The president may be a man,
but his popularity is unquestionable.

His term of office will be renewed
by unanimous acclamation.

The women's police corps in Hong Kong
assigned to control prostitution

begins its frantic day
in the Kowloon barracks.

In the maze of alleys

where tens of thousands of Chinese
live in deepest misery

the Hong Kong policewomen
are assigned to suppress

the vice offered in this city
in frequent and brazen display.

Half a million Chinese live
on boats in Hong Kong.

Each of these little sampans,
just 1 4 feet long

is home to families
of six, eight, ten people

with an average of 1 6 inches
of space per person.

At four million residents
and growing

squeezed between the sea
and the border of Communist China

the city overflows into the bay.

Twenty thousand sampans
are the only fragile salvation

for this huge human shipwreck.

A different Hong Kong floats
on the still waters of the bay at night

with all its fascination and misery.

The men and children
having mysteriously disappeared

the sampans are transformed
into dens of prostitution.

We came here one evening
on the policewomen's motorboat.

The old ladies pretended
nothing was wrong and didn't move

while the youngest girls
dove in the water.

The policewomen fished out
three of them.

Two were only 1 5

and were crying
and trembling with cold.

They had just launched
their careers the night before.

At 1 4 Sago Lane

the policewomen discovered
a house of ill repute.

They brought
the madam to the station

along with eight girls
between 1 4 and 1 8.

There were also these two
little girls, ages 8 and 1 0.

They answered every question the same:
"I don't know.''

"What's your father's name?''
"I don't know.''

"And your mother?''
"I don't know.''

"Where do you live?''

"I don't know.''

The girls make no denials.

They already display, in a sense,
a certain professional dignity.

One of them said,
"Can't you see I'm pretty?

What do you want a pretty 1 5-year-old
Chinese girl to do in Hong Kong?''

Every year, as soon as
the rainy season is over

Sister Luisa and Sister Maria
cross the 300 miles

of the Ngorongoro Reserve by jeep.

The old jeep is held together
by a miracle.

The two nuns call it " Providence.''

But after three years, old Providence
can still do 30 and doesn't act up.

Can you imagine being here at night
with Providence broken down?

But here, on the muddy shores
of Lake Magadi

where Providence could get stuck

the trip has to continue on foot.

The shy Masai tribe waits
on the other shore

the border of their territory,
which they never leave.

The Masai bear no love
for the white man

who always chased them off
the best land.

They don't trust him.

The Masai have many enemies:

poverty, ignorance, fear and disease.

They have only two friends:
Sister Luisa and Sister Maria

who arrive every year
to baptize and cure them

coming from far away on the wings--
or wheels-- of Providence.

These ladies come from far away, too.

They're the white missionaries of style
who bring the word of the gods

the fashion gods, that is,
to the heart of Africa.

After centuries of colonialism,
modern Western democracies

are dealing with the urgent problem
of emancipating African peoples

by bringing staples to the poorest
and most backward villages.

She can scream as much as she likes,
but no one will come.

This is a village in Borneo,
1 5 days by canoe from the coast.

In Borneo, the more tattooed a woman is,
the more beautiful she is.

The more she screams when young,
the more success she'll have later

with the men of the tribe who
only like women with defaced skin

a condition our women
would never accept.

In Europe today,
the complete destruction of the skin

represents the most modern and radical
plastic surgery on a woman's face.

Skin damaged by excessive makeup

or marred by some
annoying little pimple

is no longer a reason for unhappiness.

Just go to a special clinic,
and for the good of your face

have yourself flayed
with an abrasive paste

that strips away the old skin
and bares the living flesh.

The treatment is extremely painful
and lasts up to six weeks.

After that, the enormous abrasion heals
and new skin begins to form.

The result is astonishing,
at least in 80% of cases.

Aside from the trifling
20% of faces rendered useless

by complications such as infections

the treatment is clearly
recommended for all women

who ought to change
the skin of their faces

at least once a year,
preferably in the spring.

In Africa, beauty cream for the skin
is produced by the camel.

From time immemorial, Bedouin women
have turned to this cure-all

to nourish faces suffering
from overexposure to the desert sun.

We can even
trace it back to the Koran.

It seems that the camel, as a producer
of beauty cream, is very generous.

They never run out of it
in the villages.

After spreading it
abundantly on their faces

the Bedouin women
let it dry in the sun

to be more beautiful
when their men return home.

And here are some crazy celibates

the Maori bachelors of New Zealand.

Their national anthem
against marriage goes more or less

"Hey, woman

get lost!

I'll never do it!

I won't marry you. Never!

Hey, woman

get lost!''

There's the happy fellow now!

Not only is he married
like all his buddies

but, wonder of wonders

his wife is having a baby
after only five months of marriage.

They tied him up and left him alone
in the middle of the sea

as soon as her labor pains began.

The hours go by,
the tide comes in

but he knows no one will
come to save him

before the baby is born,
and she knows it too.

In her agony to get it over with quickly,
to overcome the physical pain

she pushes desperately,
causing a quick and happy delivery.

The love child is born in love.

This sea has never killed anyone.

In Switzerland, hundreds of expectant
mothers come from all over the world

to these clinics that promise fast
and, above all, pain-free deliveries.

The courses in modern gymnasiums
bring together groups of 20-30 women

who prepare to give birth painlessly
under the tutelage of an instructor

who is unmarried
but nevertheless a great expert.

Inhale... exhale.

Course tuition, travel,
a minimum of two months' lodging

and delivery in a room
with bath, flowers and a TV

costs over $3,000

which is nothing, considering
the advantage of being able to deliver

without so much as a peep.

"Unto the woman he said

I will greatly multiply
your pain in childbirth.'''

MI LITARYZONE.
ABSOLUTELY NO ENTRY.

Once again they've ignored
the posted warnings.

We follow them
with a powerful telephoto lens

while they run to collect shrapnel
between artillery blasts.

They are the women of Mareb,
a remote Bedouin village

on the border between
Algeria and Morocco.

They hide behind sand dunes
to escape the notice

of sentinels who survey
the firing range.

Their technique is to run in
as soon as the guns open fire.

With the smoke and dust
of the explosions

it's unlikely anyone will see them
and chase them away.

They risk their lives
for a few pounds of metal

which the dealer from Mekhera
will buy for a few coins.

Mareb is one of
the poorest villages on the border.

Ten years of war
have carried off all the men.

Only a few elderly remain

and lots of children.

The prickly pears
are few and rotten

but the children know there's only
grain for couscous twice a week

when their mothers go to the target zone
to await what descends from the heavens.

VANDEPUTS NOT GUI LTY

Suzanne Vandeput,
a young Belgian mother

gave birth to a daughter
without arms and killed her.
THE RIGHT TO KI LL

The court of appeals in Liege
acquitted her of infanticide.

Public opinion throughout the world
seemed to welcome the verdict.

Avenue of the Lilies, in Liege.

We knocked
on Suzanne Vandeput's door.

Her father opened the door
but wouldn't let us in.

We waited with a telephoto lens

to capture any moment
of the everyday life of this woman

the focus of the most extraordinary
and unpredictable event of the century.

Here she is, leaving the house to join
her husband, who's waiting in the garage.

It's a Sunday afternoon.

They're going to see
their favorite soccer team at St. George.

She doesn't know we're watching her,
trying to find some sign on her face

some shadow that will reveal
her true feelings.

What does her presence at the game mean,
just a few days after the tragedy?

Interest in her team,
or a desperate attempt to forget?

In court, she said she couldn't allow
a little girl without arms

to grow up to be
an unhappy woman

and that if she had the chance,
she'd kill her again.

Has her maternal instinct
been appeased?

Is her conscience at peace?

It was a great game.

Her team won.

Why isn't she smiling?

In Germany today, there are
7,800 little victims of thalidomide

all born with deformed arms
like Suzanne Vandeput's daughter.

But their mothers chose life.

At 7 1 Kieler Strasse,
in Eckernforde, Germany

Annette Kind lives
with her two-year-old daughter.

Little Ilke is an extraordinarily
beautiful and intelligent baby.

Aside from her little arms,
she's perfectly healthy and happy

and has a formidable appetite.

At 1 5 Hardenberg Strasse
in Frondenberg

Wilma Wittdorf spends
her free hours away from work

with her 2 1 /2-year-old son.

Peter, too, is
a happy and healthy baby

who, without ever fussing,
intelligently follows the game

with which his mama tries to train
his poor little arms as best she can.

At 2 Schlesische Strasse, in Iserlohn

Gertrude Stark lives
with her little 1 8-month-old Magdalena.

As healthy, pretty and intelligent
as almost all these little victims

she is particularly
sensitive and affectionate.

At 54 Aubstrasse, in Menden

Karl and Linde Schulte-Hillen
adore their littleJan.

His father says,
"my son's arms will never develop

but his heart, intelligence
and spirit will.''

Who knows if one day these won't prove
even greater assets for him?

She bore a son in pain

sheltered him in a manger,
raised him in misery

accompanied him in anguish
and watched him die on the cross.

To her, the mother who knows
what it means to suffer

for a child tortured in the flesh

800 mothers at Lourdes come every day
to ask for aid in their misfortune.

They come from
every corner of the globe

to beg for the miracle of healing
for their unhappy offspring.

The long years of alternating
between hope and darkest despair

have caused them to lose faith

in the science that cannot heal
the flesh of their flesh

their suffering and martyred flesh.

They've sacrificed their youth

and spent their last dollar
for their children.

Almost all of them are poor

and many have had
to sell possessions

to come here to ask
Our Lady of Lourdes for help.

There is no Christian submission
in their expression

only the mute, worldly
desperation of a mother

defending the life of her child
with all her might

asking of heaven
what earth denies her.

There is no humility in their prayers

just the insistence of one asking
for that to which she has a right.

They are neither angels nor saints.

They're just mothers

who, in their worldly pride,
ask for salvation for their children

from that purest of mothers
who, seeing her son die

asked not for his salvation
but said with humility

"Lord, Thy will be done.''

They pray

but in their prayers
they ask nothing for themselves.

They only beg for health
for their little ones.

THE END