All language subtitles for Saludos Amigos 1942

Here is an unusual expedition:

artists, musicians and writers setting
out for a trip through Latin America

to find new personalities, music
and dances for their cartoon films.

So adiós Hollywood
and saludos amigos.

Three days later they glided in
to Rio de Janeiro, Brazil...

then down to the Argentine,
Buenos Aires...

and out across the pampas.

At Cordoba, the party divided.

Some flew over the Andes into Chile.

The others went north
to the Inca country;

Bolivia, Peru
and Lake Titicaca...

turning away from the modern
cities to find the descendants

of ancient Inca civilization.

Eight thousand square miles of water
over two miles above sea level,

Lake Titicaca has been prominent in Inca
history and folklore for generations.

Wood is scarce at this altitude, so

the fishermen's boats
are woven of balsa reeds.

There is always plenty of color
and excitement here on market day.

These folks come from miles
around to trade their goods

and swap some of the local gossip.

The styles run to bright-colored
clothes and conservative hats,

and a rumble seat for the baby.

Just the kind of material
the artists were after.

Their music is strange and exotic;

melodies handed down
from their Inca ancestors.

And walking haystacks
are right in tempo.

These little syncopated burros
bear the heavy burdens here

because the more dignified llama
will carry us too much and no more.

When his quota is exceeded, that
haughty aristocrat of the Andes

calmly sits down
and refuses to budge.

Yes, a llama can make you
feel awfully unimportant.

All these impressions, together with
the local color that had been absorbed,

resulted in a little travelogue...

seeing the land of the
Incas through the eyes

of a celebrated North American tourist.

Lake Titicaca is approximately
13,000 feet above sea level.

13,000 feet.
Approximately.

At this great height, many visitors are
subject to altitude fever or soroche.

Is that so?
The most common symptom is dizziness.

Dizziness? Aw, phooey!

Often followed by
palpitation of the heart.

The ears have a tendency to pop.

And a peculiar
ringing sound is heard.

Fascinating, isn't it?

The balsa or basket boat

is constructed entirely of
reeds tightly bound together.

It's built to withstand
the fury of the elements.

In fact, it seems to be impervious
to practically everything...

except the inquisitive tourist.

Crossing the lake is often
filled with adventure.

A strong wind may
arise very suddenly

and then stop suddenly.

In the village, we find
this quaint old bakery,

where the tourist may loaf
around to his heart's content.

For the artist in
search of local color,

the marketplace presents an
excellent picture of village life

as shoppers and merchants
bustle about the public square.

The precipitous terrain in this region
offers no problem to these hearty folk.

And we find the people here
divided into two classes;

those who walk against the wind

and those who walk with the wind.

Yes, wherever the visitor
points his camera,

he finds a picture fit for framing.

The llama or "yama", is
an odd-looking individual

with considerable personality.

His master here exercises
complete control over him

with a home-made flute.

Let's see how he responds
to a few notes up scale.

And down scale.

Up.

Down.

Now to a circular pattern.

Or reverse.

My. It's amazing.

Note how the crude sign language
is being used by our tourist here

is quickly interpreted by
this wide-awake youngster.

The visitor never seems to be satisfied
until he tries on the native costume.

And our tourist is no exception.

The llama is obviously
not a jitterbug...

but if you want to explore
this precipitous country,

he’ll solve all your
transportation problems.

One soon becomes accustomed
to the low, fleecy clouds

that steal like silent ghosts
across one's path.

The gentle undulating gait of the
llama adapts itself very nicely

to the swaying motion
of the suspension bridge.

Suspension bridge?

Oh, no!

Far below us, we see the village.

The flute.

Give me that flute, ya big palooka!

Hey! Take it easy!

What?

The traveler should be cautioned
against any reckless behavior

at this high altitude.

Overexertion is dangerous.

And above all, one should
never lose one's temper.

Shut up, ya big windbag!

Get off of me!
Go off!

Doggone you.

And finally, the pottery market...

where the visitor always drops in...

seldom failing to accumulate
a large collection of

the native handiwork, as
he bids a fond farewell

to the land of the Incas,
Lake Titicaca.

The flight across the
Andes into Chile

over the highest mountains in America.

Plenty to see and remember
on this spectacular trip.

Since no cameras are allowed here,

the boys have to cover this
from memory and sketches.

Impressions of Uspallata Pass
from 16,000 feet.

These sketches and the stories
told of the pioneer mail planes

that first flew this route
started everyone thinking.

First a little plane
began to take shape

with a personality all his own.

All agreed that he had
good screen possibilities

and before the plane
set down at Santiago,

his life story had begun.

Once upon a time in a little
airport near Santiago, Chile,

there lived three airplanes:

the papa plane, the mama plane
and the baby plane.

The papa plane was a big,
powerful male plane.

Mama plane was a
middle-sized female plane.

And the baby plane was a
little boy plane named Pedro.

Where is Pedro?

There he is. Maybe someday...

he’ll grow up to be a
big plane like his father

who carries the mail
between Chile and Argentina.

Like all fledglings, Pedro
went to ground school

to learn the ABC's of flying.

He studied reading,
skywriting and arithmetic.

He was taught anatomy.

He also studied history...

Pedro! And geography.

And in geography, he learned the mail
route between Santiago and Mendoza.

Over the mighty Andes,
past Aconcagua...

highest mountain in
the Western Hemisphere.

One day the papa plane was laid up
with a cold in his cylinder head.

So he couldn’t fly the mail.

And the mama plane
couldn’t stand the altitude

because she had high oil pressure.

So she couldn’t fly the mail.

But the mail must go through...

I hope.

Calling Pedro.
Ready for Flight 2 to Mendoza.

"Now, remember, Pedro",
the mama plane said...

"stay out of downdraft and
keep your muffler on tight."

And don’t go near Aconca.

Aconca. Aconcagua!

Flight 2 leaving for Mendoza.

All clear, Pedro.
Let her go.

Give her the gun, boy!
Gun her! Gun her!

Don’t lose you plane speed!
Pull up! Pull up!

Look out!

And so, after a masterly takeoff,

Pedro started on
his first assignment

to pick up the mail at Mendoza.

Each and every trip through
this pass is an adventure in itself.

At this altitude, you
never can tell what...

Downdraft!

Pulled out of that one all right.

Handles himself like a veteran.

His course carried him
over the Pass of Uspallata...

where stands the statue
of the Christ of the Andes...

marking the boundary
between Chile and Argentina.

So far, so good.
Not a cylinder missing.

Pedro was flying on top
of the world when suddenly...

his first view of that
towering monarch, Aconcagua!

So this was the big bully
they’d warned him about.

But he didn’t scare Pedro though.

No, sirree.

Well, the worst is over.

And from now on, it's
clear sailing to Mendoza.

Come in against the wind, Pedro.

There is your mail.
Easy now. Attaboy!

He picked up his
mail like a veteran.

Careful!
That cargo is precious.

Pedro was homeward-bound
and ahead of schedule.

I’ll bet his mother and
dad will be proud of him.

Just a natural-born flier.

Maybe I shouldn’t
have mentioned it.

Look out!

Hope he got that out of his system.

Now with good luck and a...

I was afraid of that.
Hey, Pedro,

come back!

The little fellow had completely
forgotten his responsibilities. Pedro!

Then suddenly...

Aconcagua!

Its rocky, snow-filled crags formed
the face of a leering monster.

The oil froze in little
Pedro's cylinders...

and his motor knocked with fright.

All those warnings
came back to him now:

the treacherous crosscurrents,
the sudden storms.

Climb above the storm, Pedro!

Never mind the mail!
Let it go! Let it go!

Forget the mail!
Climb, Pedro! Climb!

Look out!

Climb, Pedro! Climb!

Get above the storm.
I know you can make it.

Drop the mail!
You’ve got to save yourself.

More altitude!
25,000 is all you need.

Up! Up!

Gun your motor! Now just a little
more and you’ll be in the clear.

Climb, Pedro! Climb!
Good boy!

Good boy!
I knew you could make it.

You’re all right now.

Just level off and head
straight for home.

He is out of gas.

Pedro! Pedro!

He is gone.

Back at the home field...

Pedro's parents searched
the skies in vain.

They knew that he couldn’t
have held out this long.

Their brave little son was gone...

another martyr to the mail service.

Poor little fella.
His first flight.

It's too bad it had
to end this way.

What was that?

I wonder if it...
No, it couldn’t be.

Wait! It is!

It's Pedro!

Pedro! Petey boy!
Are you all right?

Well, don’t ask me how he did it.

It wasn’t exactly a
three-point landing,

but he did fulfill his mission.

He brought the mail through.

The mail, that
all-important cargo.

"Having wonderful time.
Wish you were...

Well, it might have been important.

And he did bring in the mail.

And so, the papa plane,
the mama plane

and little Pedro flew
happily ever after.

Sailing eastward from Chile,
we cross the Argentine pampas...

just millions of acres
of rich grazing land...

stretching from the mountains
to Buenos Aires,

the third largest city in
the Western Hemisphere.

Buenos Aires is a beautiful city.

This is the plaza de Mayo,
one of its delightful parks;

the Teatro Colon,
home of the opera;

and the stately Congress building,
center of Argentina’s government.

The tallest building
in South America...

the Edificio Cavanaugh.

Yes, they were really
impressed with the big city,

but impressive too, was
the lure of the pampas,

and the Argentine gaucho as
painted by F. Molina Campos.

The party were guests
at his ranch studio

where Senor Campos paints the gaucho

with amazing detail and humor.

Seeing these pictures made
them more anxious than ever

to meet these
caballeros in person.

And they lived up to their pictures.

A real Wild West show...

but just part of the day's
work for a gaucho.

Sketching these paisanos
in action was no easy job.

But they did manage to get a good
look at the gaucho's equipment.

Silver coins decorate
his belt, or tirador.

The sheepskin saddle.

Soft horsehide boots.

This garment is called a chiripa.

Here the visitors were
treated to an asado.

choice cuts of meat;
mate, the Argentine tea;

and wine from their own vineyards.

True Argentine hospitality.

A group of skilled dancers
entertained the guests.

Not the modern tango
of Buenos Aires...

but the country dances
of the Argentine.

The same tunes to which
their grandparents had danced.

Notice how closely
these steps resemble

the old-time square dances
of North America.

Gathering picture material
here was a pleasure.

Another story was under way.

And after seeing Senor Campos'
paintings and all this colorful exhibition,

we couldn’t help but compare
the life of the Argentine gaucho

with that of our own cowboy.

And they reached way back
into Texas to find a leading man.

From the windswept
plains of Montana

to the sunbaked banks
of the Rio Grande

over countless miles
of mountain and prairie

untouched and unsullied by
the mercenary hand of civilization...

roams a tough, hardy and
heroic breed of man:

the North American cowboy.

Strong, silent and weather-beaten.

Howdy, strangers.

This colorful cowhand
of the great West

has his counterpart in the
South American gaucho.

So let's call upon the magic of
our motion picture camera

and whisk our hardy heros outward.

Over land and sea, over rugged
mountains and dense jungles...

down across the equator to the lush,
grassy pampas of the Argentine,

the home of the gaucho.

Now, the cowboys of both
Americas have much in common...

although their costume
differs in a few minor details.

We substitute bombachas
for chaps; the sombrero.

Then there is the saco,
the tirador...

the chiripa and the panuelo.

Botas, espuelas.

Then, finally,
we have the poncho...

which just about covers everything.

The gaucho's closest friend
and inseparable companion

is his horse or pingo.

Quickly the gaucho
reaches for his lasso.

Twirling the rawhide above his head, he deftly
tosses the noose about the horse's neck

and easily subdues
the spirited animal

with the help of
the snubbing post...

or palenque.

Thanks to the palenque,
or snubbing post,

the horse is soon brought under
control and is ready for the saddle.

While it appears complex
at first glance...

the recado or saddle is
really simplicity itself.

In saddling the horse or pingo,

the gaucho simply lays a
foundation of sudaderos

and rosaderos, adding the cinchas,
bastos, sheepskin, pigskin...

bridle, bit and, finally...

the gaucho.

When riding the range at night,

the saddle may be quickly
converted into a bed or catre.

Bed?

One of the gaucho's
favorite sports is the asado...

or Argentine barbecue.

Over an open charcoal fire...

thick, juicy, tender
steaks are prepared.

And amigos,

it fairly melts in your mouth.

What a noodle!

The gaucho's method of
eating looks quite simple,

yet requires a certain
amount of practice.

The bread and meat
are held in one hand,

the knife in the other.

Note the action
of wrist and elbow

as knife and food synchronize
in deft, graceful rhythm.

One, two, bite, cut, chew.

One, a-two, a-bite, cut, chew.

Yes, it is this wholesome
diet that builds

the gaucho's nerves of steel
and muscles of iron.

And now the boleadoras or bolas.

The bolas consists of three lead
weights covered with rawhide

and is often used for sport,
such as capturing

that swift-moving bird of the
pampas, the Argentine ostrich

or avestruz..

Unlike most members
of the ostrich family,

the avestruz is not equipped
with ornamental tail plumage.

Its slender legs make
excellent targets for the bolas.

Did he say bolas?

Dashing at breakneck speed, the gaucho
whirls the bolas, round and round...

faster and faster,
and then the throw!

Straight and sure it flies,
until it finds its mark.

And the swift bird is captured
and tied all in one operation.

And now to fully appreciate
this remarkable feat,

let us study the action

through the eye of
the slow-motion camera.

Note the grace and beauty

of this light-footed creature
in startled flight.

With delicate balance and
clocklike precision of timing,

man and beast moving as one

display a minimum of waste motion...

as the whirling bolas are unleashed.

Faster and faster! On and
on they spin, closer and closer!

Here they come! Be careful!
Get out of the way! Heads up! Watch it!

Look out, look out!
Here it comes! Duck, duck!

Too late! Too late!

And when night...

When night falls...

the lone gaucho oft-times finds
himself far, far out on the pampas.

Listen to the melancholy
strains of the triste,

a sad, romantic ballad.

But the gaucho is not always sad.

Come, let us dance to the
lively beat of the chacarera,

the dance of the farmer's daughter.

Combining the minuet,

the bunny hug and a
dash of jumping jive.

The pampas version of cutting a rug.

And El Malambo...

a solo number in which the dancer
swings out with utter abandon,

often described as perpetual
motion below the equator.

Traditional dance of the
rooster and the hen.

And now, as he sways to the
gentle undulations of El Malambo...

we gently waft our
transplanted cowboy

back to his prairie homeland.

Here we leave him with
warm and tender memories

of his visit to the gay,
romantic land of the gaucho.

And now from the pampas
to Brazil and Rio de Janeiro,

a city of amazing beauty
and a perfect setting.

One of the best views of the city
is from the top of Sugarloaf...

overlooking Copacabana Beach,
the playground of Rio.

From Corcovado, the Statue
of the Saviour looks out

upon these scenes
of active city life.

This is the kind of atmosphere
the artists were after:

the outdoor cafes...

the mosaic sidewalks
that are found all over Rio.

These designs are a tribute
to patience and artistry...

preserving a Brazilian tradition.

Here are some of
the first impressions.

This is what can happen to a big
city when a crowd of cartoonists

are turned loose.

Among the sketches
was a promising actor,

Old Papagaio, the parrot featured
in most of Brazil's funny stories.

With the help of the wardrobe
department, he becomes Joe Carioca.

The music of Brazil,

a samba.

Rhythm instruments
like the reco reco...

and the cabaca...

all help to beat out that
intricate samba rhythm...

a lively two-step with a bounce.

It's the same rhythm that
captivates the whole city

when carnival time comes around.

Carnival in Rio...

three hilarious days and nights.

Singing, dancing and celebrating.

The spirit of the Mardi Gras and
New Year's Eve rolled into one.

Each year hundreds of songs are
written especially for this occasion,

and the dream of every composer is to
have his song chosen as a carnival hit.

One number stood out as a perfect
background for the first Brazilian film.

Its author, Ary Barroso, has
made use of the samba rhythm

to paint a musical picture
of his native land.

A watercolor of Brazil.

What happened? Where am I?

What's going on around here?

Boy, this is fun.

What's this?

A parrot?

"Chosé Carioco.

Rio de...

January, Brassa."

No, senor. José Carioca.
Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.

My card?

I know I brought one
from the States.

There you are.

"Donald Duck"?

O Pato Donald! O Pato Donald!

O Pato Donald!

Or, as you Americans say...

"let's go see the town."

Okay, Joe! Where do we go?

Donald, I will show you
the land of the samba.

Samba? What's samba?

The samba!

Soda pop!

Down the hatch, Joe!

Donald, now you have
the spirit of the samba!

Oh, boy! Oh, boy!
Samba!