All language subtitles for Disneynature Wings Of Life (2011)

In the countless
landscapes of life on Earth,

things are not
always what they seem.

What appears fragile
may be fierce.

What appears innocent
may be calculating.

Clever illusion
is more than
a means of survival.

It's also a story of love.

And of the mysterious force

relentlessly driving
all living things
to reproduce themselves.

By any means necessary.

Including deception.

I live in forests like this.

But then, I live
almost everywhere.

This tropical forest
appears still, but
everywhere living things

are following
the mute commands
of their genes to find mates

and to ensure that
their species lives on.

One might imagine
that the most important
life forms are large,

or flashy,

or smart.

But it is love among
the little things

that actually runs the
vast machinery of life.

Some of the most
important events
on Earth occur quietly

in small and hidden worlds.

And some species critical
to the grand scheme of life

are not what you expect.

This is a story about
one of the most vital

and ingenious of
all living things.

It's my story.

I'm a flower.

I'm going to tell you,
on behalf of all flowers,

about life from
our point of view.

You think we're just
fragile wisps of beauty,

unaware that beauty
is our strategy.

We're more important
than you know.

We've helped life prosper
across the ages.

Without us, humans
might not survive.

Beauty is not
always what it seems.

Beauty can be
a tool of survival
and seduction.

Every beat of every wing
in every forest

is somehow keeping the
great enterprise of life
streaming forward.

The constant motion
of life makes love
connections possible.

Animals with wings and legs
can search for mates.

But we plants are forever
rooted in one place.

So we entice animals to us
by offering rewards.

When they come, we use them

to make the love connections
we can't make ourselves.

In this forest in Panama,
a tropical orchid bee

has picked up
an alluring scent

and he's searching
for the source.

It's me, an orchid.

And I'm one of
the most cunning
of all flowers.

My perfume is a trick.

The orchid bee depends
on me for help with his
central mission in life.

To mate with a female.

For weeks,
he collects scent oils
from orchids.

Eventually, he uses
his mix of fragrances

as a kind of orchid "cologne"
to attract a female.

The scents come from me,
a bucket orchid.

The bucket is
part of my trick.

The bee has to
climb a waxy slope

to reach the scent oils
cleverly hidden
beneath a hood.

I've filled my bucket
with a sticky fluid that
makes the bee sink.

I provide only
one escape route,

which leads him
just where I want him.

After the bee climbs out,
I grip him tightly.

I glue two pollen
sacs to his back,

each filled with
tens of thousands
of pollen grains.

These are the only pollen sacs
I will ever produce,

so I won't let him go
until the glue is dry.

I may wait an hour or more
before loosening my grip.

This one bee now
carries my legacy.

When he comes upon
the scent of another
orchid that same day,

he heads right for it.

If he slips into the bucket
of this second orchid,

the pollen sacs on his back
will come unglued.

Pollination can occur.

A new orchid
generation can begin.

How nature has created
such intricate strategies

is a mystery of life.

Yet we can unravel
some of the puzzle
if we go back in time.

Back nearly 200 million years.

During the Age of Reptiles,

there were no mammals
larger than a mouse.

For a very long time,
there were no flowers, either.

Without flowers,
Earth was a drab place.

But about 135
million years ago,

life began to
change dramatically

because of an invention.

When dinosaurs roamed
forests like this,

most plants
spread their pollen
on the wind.

If they were lucky,
a few pollen grains
would reach another tree,

creating seeds
that would become
the next generation.

It still works today
for pines, grasses
and many other plants.

But it's not very efficient.

Most of the pollen
goes to waste.

Some unknown plant
in the deep past,

perhaps a magnolia ancestor,

produced a device
that would ensure
delivery of pollen

directly to a mate.

It would prove to be
one of the most
important events

in the history of life.

The device was me. A flower.

Our blossoms act like
advertising billboards.

Our perfumes and tasty rewards
lure passing creatures to us.

And we load
them up with pollen

they will unknowingly
carry to other flowers.

Beetles were among our
first "love messengers."

Our fruit, seeds,
nectar and pollen

became crucial foods
for millions of species.

We flourished and became
a keystone life form.

Today, our pollination
schemes knit together
the fabric of life

across the planet.

Over time,
our pollination
tactics evolved.

Pollinators adapted in turn.

And life everywhere
became infinitely
more diverse.

There's an example
in this rain forest.

Some of us began
hiding our nectar
in tubes.

It encouraged
some pollinators
to specialize,

developing mutually
beneficial relationships.

One of these pollinators
evolved a longer beak
for nectar tubes.

And wings that can beat up
to 200 times a second.

With these unique
aerobatic skills,

hummingbirds can hover to feed

and maneuver like
airborne dancers.

Now, after millions of years,

pollination partnerships
occur almost everywhere.

In luxurious habitats
like the rain forest,

but also in some of
the harshest places
on Earth.

The Sonoran Desert
of northern Mexico

is a world of blistering heat.

I live here, too.

We cacti are
flowering plants

central to life
in this arid world.

Living as long as 150 years,

we help feed generation
after generation
of desert creatures.

We are living water tanks.

That's how we survive.

But to reproduce,
we form alliances
with unusual partners.

In this harsh realm,
our strategy is
not to deceive,

but to nurture.

When pollinated,
we cactus flowers
turn into fruit

with seeds to start
a new generation.

So, on summer nights,
to attract pollinators,

we open a few
nectar-filled flowers.

And we wait.

Elsewhere in the night,
our pollinators wait, too.

When the time is right,

they will leave their home
on an island in
the Sea of Cortez

to search for
the white flowers
beckoning from the desert.

These nectar-feeding bats
are all female.

They live apart from males
while pregnant.

Most are due to
give birth soon.

Some are already nursing.

They desperately
need nourishment.

Pollen sticking to
their faces rubs off

and pollinates the flower
of the next cactus.

A new mother gulps nectar

so she can nurse a baby
born only moments ago.

Each flower opens
on only one night,

its sole opportunity
to spread its pollen
across the desert on wings.

In billions of these
brief intersections

of the animal
and plant worlds,

life regenerates itself
over and over again.

If the flowers
were pollinated
and fertilized,

they will become
nourishing fruit.

A wait begins among
hungry creatures

for the next
gifts of the cacti.

A waiting game has also begun

among very different flowers
in a very different world.

The farm fields
of the American Midwest.

I live here, too.

I'm a kind of wildflower
growing near the crops.

Each spring,
I wait for a pollinator
to sweep in from far away.

I thrive across North America,
but I'm considered a weed.

"Milkweed," people call me,
because of my special sap.

I make a milky poison

that can sicken many animals
that might feed on me.

But I also produce
sweet nectar

that draws a kind of
beautiful pollinator

from a hidden retreat
more than 1,000 miles away.

In a forest on a mountain
in central Mexico,

monarch butterflies
are amassed by
the tens of millions,

waiting for the rising sun
to energize their bodies.

In clusters so dense
they can bend the trees,

they rest and
prepare themselves

for the long journey northward
to reach the milkweed.

Every autumn, to avoid
freezing in the north,

they fly here
from as far away
as Canada

and perch in fir trees
at an elevation of
more than 11,000 feet.

It's the perfect climate
to help them conserve energy
through the winter.

As the morning sun
warms their wings,

they begin to
cascade downward.

To stay alive,
they must rely
on stored fat

they accumulated last fall.

But to turn fat into energy,

they need water.

Their mission each day
is to search for
a drink of water.

They must maintain
their strength

for the exhausting flight
from here to the southern U.S.

From there, the children
and grandchildren
of these monarchs

will journey on northward
through the summer to Canada.

Their thirst quenched,

the monarchs
return to the trees
by late afternoon.

By next autumn,

their great-great
grandchildren

will return to
these same forests.

Soon they will set out
on the longest migration

of any butterfly on Earth

to reach a little-noticed weed
half a continent away.

Not all plant and
animal relationships
are so exotic.

But even a familiar one,

involving a common food
and well-known insect,

is an example
of hidden beauty.

People raise this
flowering plant,
not for the flowers,

but for what
the flowers turn into.

I live here, too.

I'm a tomato flower,
and I lock up my
pollen tightly,

so that only
the most efficient
pollinators can get it.

My favorite is
a very hard worker.

The bumblebee,

who gathers pollen
for the egg-laying queen

and the developing young.

Bumblebees are one
of the few insects
that care for their offspring.

When damage occurs
in the hive,

a worker quickly
repairs the cell.

Honey made from flower nectar
is kept in wax pots.

The adults eat it

and regurgitate
it into the cells
to feed the young.

They need a lot of
pollen and nectar,

and searching for it
is a constant chore.

They spot a garden nearby.

As the foragers investigate,

they see things invisible
to the human eye.

Because they are able
to perceive ultraviolet light,

bees can detect markings
produced by flowers

to guide pollinators
directly to nectar and pollen.

The bees need more food
than the garden can provide.

Ahead, they see what
they're looking for.

So begins a fascinating
kind of pollination.

The bee bites
to hold on tight,

then blasts the
locked-up pollen loose

by vibrating her
flight muscles up to
440 times per second.

She packs
the pollen into baskets
on her back legs.

Her vibration rate is the same
as the musical note A.

She's like
a living tuning fork.

Few flowers are
"buzz pollinated,"

but they include
some favorite foods
enjoyed by human beings.

The workers will keep at this
until they have enough pollen

to feed the colony's
newly developing brood.

Such flower rewards
sustain billions of creatures,

sometimes in places
where there is
little else to eat.

Weeks have passed
in the Sonoran Desert.

My cactus flowers
should have turned
to fruit by now.

The female bats
are depending on it.

They can't continue
to nurse their young

without a new source of food.

The cacti may be
their only hope.

From their island cave,

they make a long night flight.

A round-trip of
more than 60 miles.

It's a demanding journey,
but a feast awaits.

The mothers need nourishment.

And so do those
carrying new life within.

As they gorge on the fruit,
they are also consuming seeds,

which they eventually spread
across the desert.

We cacti are key
to Sonoran Desert life.

But we couldn't endure
without the help of bats.

And the bats and their young
couldn't survive
without our help.

This crucial connection
between plants and animals

helps keep the desert alive.

There are others who depend
on the cactus fruit,

collecting it at
night so it can be
consumed fresh each day.

Their distant ancestors
so adored cactus fruit

that they honored
the cacti as revered
members of their tribes.

Today, it's a way for people
to provide for their families.

As well as a sweet pleasure.

So sweet that people plant
cacti seeds in their gardens.

From a flower's point of view,

humans are just
another species
we can use for our purposes.

But a delicious
reward in one place

can be the cause of
conflict in another.

Unlike the desert,

a tropical rain forest
is rich in resources

and competition.

Survival favors
the bold and aggressive.

Even the seemingly gentle
turn out to be warriors.

And nectar-bearing flowers

are territory to defend.

The winners will spread
pollen that helps keep
the forest lush.

One stakes his claim.

And the challengers arrive.

It's a standoff.

Then, the first move.

Even a warrior
can make a mistake.

The hidden
spectacles of pollination
can involve a few tiny rivals.

Or hundreds of
millions of voyagers.

From the high
forests in Mexico,

the great migration
of monarch butterflies

heads northward
toward the middle
of North America.

In their long
round-trip each summer,

the vast monarch population

will help pollinate
and sustain

more than 200
kinds of flowers.

As this first leg
of the migration
reaches farmland,

the butterflies are tiring.

It's a strenuous flight.

They need fuel.

That's where I come in.

Milkweed flowers in a variety
of colors and shapes

serve as refueling stations

in return for a little help
spreading pollen.

We milkweeds are wily.

Our flowers have narrow slits

that can snag the leg
of a feeding monarch

and hold her in
a vise-like grip.

When she tries to jerk free,

she snags a cord,
releasing sacs of pollen

she'll unknowingly carry
to the next milkweed.

As they migrate,
they also mate.

This overwintering
generation of monarchs

may live nine months.

They're among
the longest-lived
butterflies on Earth.

But now their
days are numbered.

They have to produce young
to keep the migration going.

Sometimes another male
tries to intervene.

Even in small love stories,
victory goes to
the most determined.

Eventually, the male
sweeps her off her feet

and carries her
to the privacy
of a tree branch.

He may keep her in his embrace
for up to 16 hours.

Within two weeks, each female
attaches up to 400 eggs

to the underside
of milkweed leaves,
and only milkweed leaves.

Unlike bees, monarchs
rely not on the care
of their young,

but quantity.

Enough eggs

and some are bound to survive
the onslaught of
hungry insects.

The job of
a monarch caterpillar
is to eat relentlessly.

First, its own egg case.

Then, milkweed
leaves exclusively,

growing to 2,000 times
its original size.

If it survives.

Fortunately, hundreds
of millions survive.

Their mothers put
them on milkweed
for a reason.

The toxic sap
settles in their bodies.

The monarchs are unaffected,

but a predator who eats one
is likely to become ill

and soon learns to avoid them.

Eventually, each caterpillar
finds a secure spot

and spins silk to hold onto.

It's time to
become a butterfly.

The caterpillar grips the silk
with its back legs

and hangs upside down.

Through contractions,
the skin is loosened.

Eventually it splits,

revealing a new
casing beneath.

Now, a dangerous maneuver.

In a matter of seconds,
as the old skin
and legs fall away,

she must thrust hooks
from the new case
into the silk.

If this delicate
handoff fails,

she will fall to
the ground helpless
and be eaten.

Within this protective shell,
her caterpillar
self is fading away.

Across the ages,

humans have seen
in this transformation

the ultimate symbol of change.

Her body begins to pump fluid
that will inflate her wings.

The scales on the wings
are shaped to reflect light

so that it produces
a bright coloration.

Contrasting orange and black
are warning colors in nature.

She still carries
milkweed toxins,

and these colors say,
"I'm not good to eat."

This strategy is so successful

that some butterflies
without poison copy
the monarch's colors.

We milkweeds will
provide the flight fuel

as this first
generation of summer

continues the monarch's
long migration.

There is no rest
for pollinators,

not for butterflies

and not for one
very hard worker.

In a farm field,

bumblebees are finishing
the exhausting job
of buzz pollinating.

When they're
loaded with pollen,

it's time for
the bees to return home
and store it.

The young are
beginning to emerge.

They'll need the colony's
treasure of pollen and
honey for nourishment.

But the colony's riches
can also attract danger.

A skunk will eat
not only the pollen,

but the bumblebees
and their young.

A threat to the colony
is one of the few times

these passive bees
will use their stingers.

With safety restored,
colony life goes on.

A young bee entering the world
will live on pollen and honey

in a home made of wax.

All are gifts from flowers.

And within a tomato blossom,

another kind of new
life is beginning.

This is how I reproduce.

Pollen grains brought by bees
from another tomato flower

send tubes
to the center of the blossom,

delivering reproductive cells
to the ovary.

Forming seeds,

each of which grew
from one grain of pollen.

Fertilization occurs.

Gradually, a fleshy container
forms around all of the seeds.

Most people don't realize
that what they eat
is a yellow flower

that turns into a tomato.

Around the world,

people depend on farming
for their sustenance,

as they have for
thousands of years.

By growing their own food,

people were able
to develop civilizations

and rise to dominance.

Humans consider agriculture
one of their great advances.

But it was actually
to our benefit.

People now take care of us

and spread our seeds.

Who is in control
of whom, really?

Today, farming is a science.

This is an immense
high-tech greenhouse.

Ten acres of tomatoes
under one roof.

I'm here as well,

and the humans
cater to my every need.

People have engineered ways
to grow tomatoes

without even using soil.

Nutrient-rich water
recycles constantly.

No pollution, no wasted water.

This operation
produces one in six

of all
the supermarket tomatoes
in the United States.

Yet, despite many tries,

humans have been
unable to come up
with a pollination method

as effective as
the one engineered
by nature.

The entire operation
and millions of dollars a year

depend on
ever-reliable bumblebees.

An important food of humanity

would not be grown
and distributed worldwide

but for an ancient partnership

between a bee and a flower.

To me, all pollinators
are important,

but to people, one is more
critical than any other.

So critical that
they carry them around
as precious cargo.

In many parts of the world,
honeybees are so vital

that hives are shipped
thousands of miles

from one kind of
farm to another.

Travel can subject
them to stress,

poor diets, new parasites,
pesticides and diseases.

But many kinds of farms
would fail without honeybees,

such as this almond orchard
in California.

Honeybees tend to
harass an invader
who opens their hive.

But smoke has
a calming effect.

The champion of
all pollinators
is ready to go to work.

Nearly 200 million bees
reaching every flower

in 1,700 acres
of almond trees.

They return with
loads of almond pollen

packed on their hind legs.

The foragers
share almond nectar
with the other bees.

This protein-rich pollen
will feed their
developing youngsters.

A returning scout
directs her companions

to flowers she's discovered

using a complex way
of communicating.

As she walks and
shakes her body

in what's called
a "waggle dance,"

she indicates the distance
to the flowers

and the direction
to take according to
the angle of the sun.

Across Earth,

pollination by
honeybees is essential

to more than 1,400 crops
people depend on.

Without bees,
none of these
foods could exist.

People forget that
life begins with plants.

We not only provide
shelter and medicine,

but we're living
solar collectors.

The only life forms
that can convert sunlight
into stored energy,

producing fuel and food,
and supporting
the entire web of life.

Weeks have passed
in the orchard.

Pollination has led
to the growth
of young almonds.

But there is an ominous sign.

Most of the honeybees
in the hive have disappeared.

In recent years,

some honeybee populations
have plummeted.

The causes could range
from diseases and parasites

to a phenomenon
in which hives seem normal,

filled with honey
and developing young,

but the adult
bees never return.

Are the missing bees a warning
of a greater collapse to come?

Some human activities
threaten pollinators.

Farming practices
can poison them

and kill flowers
such as milkweed.

Wild areas
needed by pollinators
are often cleared.

Or they're covered by houses.

Or roads.

And across the Earth,

pollinators are diminishing.

Every third bite humans take
is dependent on pollinators.

And if they continue
to decline,

life may reach
a tipping point.

The pollination scheme
that knits together
the fabric of life

could unravel.

But there are solutions.

One of the most important
is to restore
lost flower habitats.

Where human construction
eliminates wildflowers,

human ingenuity
can replace them.

I can flourish
even on a rooftop.

The love stories
of pollination can unfold

in the millions of
unused acres bordering
the world's highways.

In the past,
farmland left bare has
been planted with grasses.

But farmers increasingly
turn it into wildflower fields

to help pollinators.

People can turn
a backyard into
a productive flower habitat.

Neighbors are
planting vacant lots
with flowers

and teaching their children
to grow their own vegetables.

Even a six-story building
can support pollinators.

Children who learn
the value of pollination

represent hope for the future.

The lawn of the past

can become a yard
filled with flowers
and vegetables.

Humans simply need to remember

how intimately their lives
are connected with

and dependent upon flowers.

People use us to express love.

To honor loved ones.

To enrich the great
emotional moments
of their lives.

They give flowers
to congratulate.

To mark every
milestone in life.

They surround
themselves with flowers
to bring color to their lives.

We flowers are grown
and sold by the billions.

In the process,

people have become
one of our most
important pollinators.

Like other pollinators,
they feed on our rewards,

and they even use our perfumes
to kindle their own romance.

To people, flowers are
the universal symbol of love.

After all, we embody
the ultimate love story.

A love story that
feeds the Earth.

Day after day,
as flowers lift
the human spirit,

in hidden corners of the world
beyond the view of people,

bees are helping plants
produce the world's food.

Hummingbirds are
helping to spread

tomorrow's flowers
through the forest.

Bats are dispersing life
through the vast desert.

And butterflies are making
exhausting flights,

including the monarchs,

now setting out on
a marathon journey
of 2,000 miles back to Mexico.

Everywhere,
pollinators are
working tirelessly

to keep the vast
machinery of life running.