Saludos Amigos (1942) Movie Script

Saludos Amigos

A fond greeting to you

A warm handshake or two

Good friends always do

Saludos Amigos

A new day's waiting to start

You must meet it

Wake up and greet it

With a gay song

In your heart

NARRATOR:

Here's 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, "Adios, Hollywood,"

and "Saludos, amigos."

Saludos Amigos

A new day's waiting to start

You must meet it

Wake up and greet it

NARRATOR: 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's 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 just so 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 travelog,

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.

- Thirteen thousand feet?!

- NARRATOR: Hm. Approximately.

At this great height, many visitors

are subject to altitude fever

- or soroche.

- Is that so?

NARRATOR: The most common symptom

is dizziness.

Dizziness?

Ah, phooey!

NARRATOR: Often followed by palpitation

of the heart.

(BEATING)

The ears have a tendency to pop.

(POPPING)

- And a peculiar ringing sound is heard.

- (RINGING)

NARRATOR: (CHUCKLES)

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.

(BOAT RATTLES)

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.

(MUSIC PLAYS)

The precipitous terrain

in this region offers no problem

to these hardy folk.

And we find the people here

divided into two classes,

- those who walk against the wind...

- (CAMERA CLICKING)

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 homemade flute.

Let's see how he responds

to a few notes up scale.

(NOTES GOING UP)

And down scale.

(NOTES GOING DOWN)

- Up.

- (NOTES GOING UP)

- Down.

- (NOTES GOING DOWN)

Now do a circular pattern.

(PLAYS MELODY)

Or reverse.

(TRANSPOSED MELODY)

My, my, my! It's amazing!

(SHUTTER CLICKS)

(PLAYING FLUTE)

NARRATOR:

Note how the crude sign language

being used by our tourist here,

is quickly interpreted

by this wide-awake youngster.

¿Aquí está?

¡Gracias!

¡Mucho gracias!

BI-bl-bl-bl-bl!

NARRATOR: The visitor never seems

to be satisfied,

until he tries on the native costume.

And our tourist is no exception.

(PLAYING OFF-KEY)

(CONTINUES PLAYING FLUTE)

(JAZZY MELODY)

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 steel like silent ghosts

across one's path.

(CONTINUES PLAYING FLUTE)

The gentle undulating

gait of the llama

adapts itself very nicely

to the swaying motion

of the suspension bridge.

DONALD: Suspension bridge?

Oh!

NARRATOR: Far below us,

we see the village.

DONALD: Whoa! Whoa!

(SQUAWKS)

The flute.

(PLAYS FLUTE)

Give me that flute,

ya big palooka!

(SQUAWKING)

Hey! Take it easy!

Whoa! Whoa!

What?

NARRATOR: 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!

(DONALD MUTTERING)

Get off of me! Go on, beat it!

(MUTTERING) Doggone you.

(SQUAWKS)

(PANTING)

(SQUAWKS)

NARRATOR: 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.

(ENGINE STARTS)

Mama plane was a middle-sized

female plane.

And the baby plane

was a little boy plane named Pedro.

Uh, where is Pedro?

Oh, 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.

- (ENGINE ROARING)

- (BELL RINGING)

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.

(THUNDERCLAP)

One day the papa plane was laid up

with a cold in his cylinder head.

(SNEEZES, PROPELLERS SPUTTER)

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.

- (ENGINE SPUTTERING)

I hope.

TOWER: Calling Pedro.

Ready for Flight Two to Mendoza.

NARRATOR: "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!

- (SNEEZES)

(PROPELLERS SPUTTER)

TOWER:

Flight Two leaving for Mendoza.

(MUSIC PLAYS)

TOWER: All clear, Pedro.

Let 'er go.

- (ENGINE SPUTTERING)

- TOWER: Give 'er the gun, boy!

- (SPUTTERING CONTINUES)

- Gun 'er! Gun 'er!

Don't lose your flying speed!

Pull up! Pull up!

- (RINGS BELL)

- Look out!

NARRATOR:

And so after a masterly take off,

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--(GASPS)

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, siree.

(THUNDERING)

Well, the worst is over.

And from now on,

it's clear sailing to Mendoza.

Come in against the wind, Pedro.

There's your mail.

Easy now.

Atta boy!

He picked up his mail

like a veteran.

Uh-oh! 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.

Hmm, maybe I shouldn't

have mentioned it.

Look out!

Hope he got that out of his system.

Now with good luck and--

Uh-oh.

(SQUAWKING)

I was afraid of that.

- Hey, Pedro, come back!

- (IMITATES MACHINE GUN)

NARRATOR:

The little fellow had completely

forgotten his responsibilities.

Pedro!

(SIGHS)

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.

(THUNDER EXPLODING)

(WIND GUSTING)

(THUNDER RUMBLING)

Climb above the storm,

Pedro!

Never mind the mail!

Let it go! Let it go!

Forget the mail!

Climb, Pedro! Climb!

- Look out!

- (BRAKES SCREECHING)

Climb, Pedro! Climb!

Get above the storm!

I know you can make it!

(WIND GUSTING)

Drop the mail!

You've got to save yourself!

More altitude!

25,000's 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!

I knew you could make it!

You're all right now.

Just level off and head straight

for home.

(SPUTTERING)

- He's out of gas.

- (SPUTTERING CONTINUES)

Pedro! Pedro!

- (SPUTTERING)

- He's 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.

- (ENGINE SPUTTERING)

- What was that?

I wonder if it--

No, it couldn't be.

Wait! It is!

It's Pedro!

(CLUNKING)

- (SIREN BLARING)

- 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.

"Estoy divirtiendome."

"Having wonderful time.

Wish you were--" Hmm.

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's 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.

(MUSIC PLAYS)

Notice how closely

these steps resemble

the old-time square dances

of North America.

Gathering picture material here

was a pleasure.

(GAUCHO SINGING)

(SINGING CONTINUES)

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 the 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!

NARRATOR: This colorful cowhand

of the great west

has his counterpart

in the South American gaucho.

So let us call upon the magic

of our motion picture camera

and whisk our hardy heroes 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's 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.

(KISSING)

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...

(CLANG)

...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? (WHINNIES)

NARRATOR: One of the gaucho's

favorite sports is the asado,

or Argentine barbecue.

Over an open charcoal fire,

thick, juicy, tender steaks

are prepared.

- (SNIFFING)

- And, amigos,

it fairly melts in your mouth.

Macanudo!

NARRATOR: 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.

Yes, it is this wholesome diet

that build the gaucho's

nerves of steel and muscles of iron.

(GULPS, METAL CLANKS)

And now the boleadoras,

or bolas.

The bolas consist 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.

- (GULPS)

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"?

Caramba!

NARRATOR:

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.

(BELL RINGS)

And now to fully appreciate

this remarkable feat,

let us study the action,

through the eye

of the slow-motion camera.

NARRATOR: (SPEAKING IN SLOW MOTION)

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.

(SCREAMS)

NARRATOR: 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, duck!

Too late! Too late!

(NARRATOR'S VOICE SPEEDS UP,

INDISTINCT)

(BOLAS CLANGING)

(HIGH-PITCHED)

And when night--

(CLEARS THROAT)

When night falls,

- (THUD)

- ...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.

Yo soy la blanca paloma

Que en el cardal

De la loma

Yo soy-- Yo soy-- Yo soy--

Yo soy-- Yo soy-- Yo--

(NEEDLE SKIPS)

Yo soy

NARRATOR: 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.

(WHINNIES)

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.

(GASPS)

- NARRATOR: El Pala Pala.

- (CROWING)

Ah-hyuck!

NARRATOR: Traditional dance

of the rooster and the hen.

(WHINNIES)

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.

Hasta la vista.

¡Adios, amigos!

NARRATOR: 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 Savior 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.

- (MUSIC PLAYS)

- The music of Brazil, a samba.

Rhythm instruments

like reco reco...

and the cabaca...

all help to beat out

that intricate samba rhythm...

a lively two-step with a bounce.

(MUSIC PLAYS)

It's the same rhythm

that captivates the whole city

when carnival time comes around.

- (MUSIC PLAYS)

- CROWD: Samba!

- (SHOUTING)

- (LAUGHING)

(SINGING)

(SINGING CONTINUES)

NARRATOR: 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.

- (GLEEFUL SHOUTING)

- (MUSIC PLAYS)

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,

"Aquarela do Brasil,"

a watercolor of Brazil.

(MUSIC PLAYS)

Brasil

Meu Brasil brasileiro

Meu mulato inzoneiro

Vou cantar-te os meus versos

O Brasil, samba, que da

Bamboleio

Que faz gingar

O Brasil

Do meu amor

Terra de Nosso Senhor

Brasil

Pra mim

O esse coqueiro que da coco

Aonde amarro a minha rede

Nas noites claras de lua

Brasil

O oi essas fontes murmurantes

Oi onde eu mato minha sede

E onde a lua vem brincar

Oi, esse Brasil lindo e trigueiro

E o meu Brasil brasileiro

Terra de samba e pandeiro

Brasil

Pra mim

(SAMBA)

What happened?

Where am I?

What's going on around here?

(LAUGHING)

Boy, this is fun!

(SQUAWKS)

(SPUTTERING)

Uh-oh!

What's this?

A parrot?

(SAMBA)

Cavalheiro,

aqui esta o meu cartao.

DONALD: (MISPRONOUNCES WORDS)

"Jose Carioca.

Rio de...

Janeiro, Brasil."

Nao, senhor.

Jose Carioca.

Rio de Janeiro, Brasil.

Tem um dos seus?

- Huh?

- Tem um dos seus?

My card? I know I brought

one from the States.

Ah! There you are.

Muito obrigado.

Donald Duck?

O Pato Donald!

(QUACKING)

(LAUGHING)

Ora, venha de la um abraco,

um quebra costelas,

um bom carioca,

bem amigo, seja bem-vindo,

meu caro.

O Pato Donald!

Veja voce.

Vamos sair por ai.

Vai conhecer o Rio.

Vamos a todos os lugares.

Vamos a Tijuca, Copacabana,

Salgueiro, Laranjeiras,

Botafogo, Andarai, Meyer,

Jardim Botanico, Furnas,

Campos de Sant'Ana, Cinelandia,

Praca Onze, Sao Cristovao, Niteroi,

Paqueta, Avenida Atlantica,

Leme, Leblon, Gavea,

Pao de Acucar, e ao Corcovado!

- Or as you Americans say...

- Huh?

- JOE: "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?

Ah, the samba!

(SAMBA)

(FLUTE)

(FLUTE CONTINUES)

(ACCORDION)

(NO FLUTE SOUND)

(STILL NO FLUTE SOUND)

(ACCORDION)

(SAMBA CONTINUES)

(GUITAR)

- (CYMBAL CRASHES, SONG ENDS)

- Ah, soda pop!

Nao, cachaca.

Que tal uma

cachacinha agora?

- Saude.

- Down the hatch, Joe!

(BELLS RINGING)

- Muito obrigado.

- Oh.

(HICCUPPING)

Donald, now you have

the spirit of the samba!

(TAPPING SAMBA BEAT)

(MUSIC PLAYS)

(CYMBAL CLASHES)

(SAMBA CONTINUES)

DONALD: Oh, boy! Oh, boy!

Oh, boy! Oh, boy! Samba!

Oi, esse Brasil lindo e trigueiro

E o meu Brasil brasileiro

Terra de samba e pandeiro

Brasil

Pra mim

Saludos Amigos (1942) - full transcript