All language subtitles for Polly Maggoo (1966) eng

WHO ARE YOU, POLLY MAGGOO?

WHO ARE YOU, POLLY MAGGOO?

WHO ARE YOU, POLLY MAGGOO?

WHO ARE YOU, POLLY MAGGOO?

WHO ARE YOU, POLLY MAGGOO?

Daniel, I told you:
Like an egg.

Slick it down like an egg.

Give me the shears.

Now, darling,

you turn, hover a moment,
then fly off.

Just once.
No point making two rounds.

There's Miss Maxwell.
What a bitch!

- Who?
- The editor in chief who just walked in.

She's here!

That idiot won't get it
this time either. Oh, well.

That's enough.
Not too tight.

She wears it well!

Brilliant! Uncomfortable,
but what can you do?

Stunning!

Beautiful!

Marvelous!

Magnificent!

I knew it. You put her wings
too high. Lower them.

Enough hairspray!
It stains. I won't tell you again!

I cut myself!

It's bleeding!

We'll take care of it.
Give me that.

We'll stop the bleeding
and put some base on it.

It hurts!

I feel sick!

Believe me,
with some base you won't see it!

He's recreated woman!

Where's the designer?

There he is!

- You've recreated woman!
- I do what I can.

You're an architect,
a sculptor!

We had to reimagine woman
for the nuclear age.

Isidore Ducasse!

Botticelli's monumental angels!

The archangel of robots!

Tempests transfixed
and deified!

I'm very moved!

You don't just create...
you galvanize!

And I am galvanized!

I'm glad you understood.
I have great plans.

I'll be doing
the same collection in copper!

Look!

He doesn't eat.
He doesn't sleep.

That girl!

He can't live without her.

I know, madame.

She must be brought from Paris,
but not a word to the ambassador.

If our enemies got word of this,
it would be a catastrophe for our country.

But my son's happiness...

We need
our best top-secret agents.

Yes, madame.
I've taken the necessary steps.

They'll leave within the hour.

I like your figure
more than other girls'.

Let me buy you a coffee.

Hot chocolate? Coke?

Grapefruit juice?
What a shame.

- May I help you cross the street?
- No, thanks.

You must have something
against young people!

Will you be my fiancée?

Look! I have a nice present
for you. You like it?

- What is it?
- Shaving cream.

- That's disgusting.
- It's not! Come home with me!

Then at least
keep the shaving cream!

Men who run after models aren't real men.
They're afraid of women.

And models aren't real women.
They've never been with real men.

That's why they're afraid...
afraid of life.

That's why they're models.
I scare you, right?

You do nothing for me at all.

- Polly, did you cut your hair?
- It's a wig.

Hello? London, please.

Hello, Miss Polly.
You have visitors.

Really? Who?

- TV people, I think.
- TV?

What do they want?
- It's for a TV show.

A TV show?

Want me to tilt it?

No, put it straight.

No, not there!

Hey, get me a box up there!

If they're late, we're screwed.
If they're early, fine.

Who put that there?

Sorry. We're from the TV show
"Who Are You?" You know it?

- I've seen it once or twice.
- I see.

I prefer to just drop in.

Nothing prepared in advance.
We didn't touch a thing.

I'm Grégoire Pecque.
You're Polly Maggoo?

This is Jean-Jacques Georges.
Can someone take this?

Jean-Jacques will interview you.
Would you prefer to speak English?

- No, I speak French.
- Good!

Now then, let me explain.

This won't be the usual bore,

with you just sitting in a chair
answering questions...

absolutely not.

Imagine the screen full of pictures
of you as a model, and then suddenly...

- Where do I put the mike?
- Underneath.

- It shows.
- No, it doesn't.

Not that much.

Fine. I'll use a boom.

It'll be a medium shot.

Then you say,

"I'm Polly Maggoo."
You do this, walk over there.

Even turn your back
to the camera. You say...

You understand me?
- Yes, sir.

Call me Grégoire.

You say, " I've come to France
to do this and that."

Then maybe the phone rings,
and you answer. Okay?

He'll ask you questions,
and you answer.

Okay? Understand?
Fun, right?

Yes, it's fun.

So I come in over there? This is fun!

Okay. You get her
right there.

If she walks around,
you follow her. Good.

Fine. She's over there.

You stand here
and get her like that.

No, that won't work.

- Why not? Just stand here.
- Fine, but it won't be any good.

Well, do it anyway!

"Stand here! Stand there!"

- What are we doing?
- Everyone ready?

Scene 1, take 1!

Now?

Who am I?

I'm Polly Maggoo,

daughter of Molly
and Mack Maggoo,

a policeman in Brooklyn,
New York.

When I was young,
I was very ugly.

I had lots of freckles
and buck teeth.

I still have freckles,
but with makeup you don't see them.

A dentist in New York wanted
$2,000 to fix my teeth.

That was too much.

So I leave my mouth open
like Pat.

Pat was my rabbit,

but he died.

My uncle, Mack MacGregor Maggoo,
gave him to me.

My aunt, Patricia MacGregor Maggoo,
Uncle Mack's wife,

gave me toilet paper
to bring to Paris.

She said
it didn't exist in France.

I laughed when I got here...
there's lots!

Except in cafés.

At 16 I became a model.

In French, a "cover girl."

My Aunt Patricia also said
never to drink the water in France,

or eat salad,
and especially never to...

- Cut!
- Why? It's great!

Great? Take a look!

That's what you were getting?
I wanted a close-up.

Then say so.
You have to know what you want.

You have to know
what you want!

Let's keep going.
Okay, Polly?

One thing:

I'd like you to walk slower.

Slate!

Who am I?

I'm Polly Maggoo.

But just between us,
I'm not sure how to answer.

You want to know
who I am?

I sometimes wonder myself.

People take my picture.

People take my picture
every day,

so my picture's been taken
millions of times.

And every time
they take my picture,

there's a little less of me left.

So what will be
left of me in the end?

I'd like to know.

Polly, to the civilized world you're
a symbol of elegance and sophistication.

But I sense
it's all just a game to you.

Your life as a model
is a masquerade,

a game others help you play.

The good fairy tapped you
with her magic wand,

but come midnight,

will your carriage become a pumpkin
and your footmen lizards?

And your pretty clothes...
what will they turn into?

I don't know, sir.

Call me Jean-Jacques.

- Good! Cut!
- You like that?

Not bad. A fairy tale.

Poor girl!

Cinderella, eh?

I was just improvising.
A rough sketch.

I wanted a self-portrait.

Now we'll follow her.
Track her.

Going out, going to work.

We've got some great stuff of her
as a kid in New York.

Fine. Roll it.

Her neighborhood.

She lived in that apartment.

A picture of her,
not yet a year old,

and at three.

That's her First Communion.
She was eight.

Check out those legs!

This is some funny stuff
we got from a photographer,

a piece on the Beatles.
There she is!

See? Funny, isn't it?

- God, those teeth!
- Knock it off!

Here she is as a model.

She's changed.

Not that much.

I prefer her in the big hat!

And this is
a commercial she made.

Our cutie didn't say much...
just nonsense.

That's how she is.

Listen, baby.
That's all just the surface.

The surface is reality too.
That's life.

What else is there?

Listen, baby.

This girl hides behind a mask.
Pull it off.

Pull off the mask!
What's that mean?

What's behind the mask? Nothing...
or just another mask, and another.

- For me that girl doesn't really exist.
- I never said she did! Maybe she doesn't.

What does "exist" mean anyway?
I won't explain things.

Let the viewer figure it out.
No one explains things in real life.

Drop it, Grégoire!

Why explain things in a TV show?

Even on TV,
you can't talk down to the viewer.

You mustn't explain anything,
even for TV viewers,

or you're bound to go wrong.

Of course.

Get me Brazzaville 227.

Stupid cow! Brazzaville!

BRA as in bra, ZA as in za,
and VILLE as in your ass!

No, damn it!

René-Paul?
Hello, daddy-o.

How many dead?

Did you film it?

Way to go, baby.

The mask is...

Listen, baby. All those girls
are unhappy or crazy.

You could say
something like...

Well, Polly?

Well, Polly?
What's wrong?

I don't know.

You see?

Find the truth
beneath the makeup.

Yeah, I guess I should
shoot some more.

Get me Dallas 22.
Mr. Frank Alamo.

Yes, young lady... in Texas!

Have you heard?

The prince.

Not now. Later.
We're going to eat.

Shall we?

Please have your ID cards out.

Your IDs, gentlemen.

- Our friend...
- Sorry!

ID cards, please.

I'm 20, and I gave myself
to the young man I love.

Now, on the street,
he ignores me in despair.

Despair, my foot!
Look at monks and athletes.

What to do when a boy
whistles at you in the street?

Don't turn around. A boy like that
rarely has good manners.

Besides, maybe it's not you
he's whistling at.

My mother's driving me crazy.

She wears any old thing,
hardly takes care of herself.

How do I make her see
she should be more stylish,

if only for my sister and me?

She needs to realize
she's still charming.

Help her recover
her self-esteem and excitement.

An English woman with something growing
in her mouth goes to her doctor

and says, "My nose itches."

He examines her

and finds a small tumor
on her palate.

He sends her to the hospital
to have it removed.

Imagine the surgeons' surprise
upon discovering

that it was a tomato seed
that had sprouted

and that the roots
were valiantly growing

on her palate.

Speaking of palaces,

I read that Prince lgor
wants to marry a model.

- Who?
- He's not saying.

I know a girl
who married a prince,

only to find that
he already had 85 wives!

What did she do?

Nothing. She was unhappy
and made a big scene,

but there was nothing
she could do.

You have to be careful
with princes.

And how!
You have to be careful with princes!

LONG LIVE PRINCESS POLLY

Thank you, gentlemen.

Did you see this?

Is he new?
- Yes, a promising cadet.

Pull in that gut.

Very good.

- Where's the trombonist?
- Under the weather, sir.

Well done. Very good.

- What's all this?
- The children, Your Highness.

Everything okay, kids?

Very good.

What's your name?
- Francis.

- Very good. And you?
- Yves.

Your flags? Good.

And your name?
- Denis.

Very good, children.

Perfect.

What's this?

Well?

She's due any minute, Mother.

Hello? Who eez theez?

No, ze prince he not here.

No, he eez not here.

He come back tonight.

Very much thank you.

Though it's true our land
is really quite small

Not what you'd call

Very large at all

Advise the enemy

We won't be stopped
on our march to liberty

No, on this land
our fathers did plow

As then, so now

Never shall head bow

But to the prince, our friend

Our dear queen we'll defend

And our hearts
to them both extend

Wave, flag of mourning
and glory bright

In black and white

Set our hopes in flight

For never has man seen

North, south, or in between

The splendor of Borodine!

Long live Princess Polly!

Mother, allow me
to introduce Polly.

She's a real princess.

I want to show
what's special about that girl.

Not that she's all that special.

- Is it for what's-his-name?
- Yes.

See ya.

We can use a trick here
and cut her blah blah blah

so she just comes in and says...

I am Polly Maggoo,

daughter of Molly
and Mack Maggoo.

When I was young,
I was very ugly.

I realized I myself
was a rabbit,

but with makeup
you don't see it...

except in cafés.

So what will be left of me in the end?

I'd like to know.

There!
What do you think?

Your model's no Einstein!

- Are you?
- Back off, Zorro!

I see what you're going for,

but what if you started
with me saying,

"Polly, your life
is a costume ball.

Others help you play the game,
but come midnight..."

Then cut to Polly...
reaction shot.

And then pow... Brooklyn!

I say, " Deep down
you're still the little girl from..."

Cut to young Polly
with the same expression.

I finish with,
"You're still the little girl from Brooklyn."

And that's it! You see?

I don't know. We need to shoot more.
Hold off on editing.

Show me what
you've got on fashion.

Here I say this and that.

Here I talk about recent years,

how fashion was once for the rich
but now it's just for teenagers.

Little-girl fashion,
no chest, no hips...

just knees, socks,
flat shoes, little boots, etc.

Not so bad after all!

Holy cow!
Check out that one!

Androgynous
Little Red Riding Hoods

and ltty-Bitty Women.

Fashion is about
money and illusion.

To sell and dupe people,

the industry invokes
its powerful magic: The model.

Paid 20,000 francs an hour,
this courtesan for the eyes,

this mirror of fantasies,
madonna of the photo spread,

keychain to the dream world:
The cover girl.

Then we cut to Polly.
We've almost got it.

We're not
out of the woods yet.

Relax, daddy-o.

- See ya, chicky.
- Bye, pussycat.

See ya, sweetie.

Bye, my pet.

- When do we see her again?
- Polly? Maybe tomorrow.

No, I don't have
a minute free tomorrow.

We'll work it out. What do you think
of the new regulations?

Instead of stepping up production
to increase productivity,

they cut back on staff
and make conditions worse,

leaving employees cowering
in fear and insecurity.

OK-TV has the most backward
bylaws of any state-run institution.

Management just announced
arbitrary lay-offs.

Under these conditions...

I can only feel anxious
for the personnel

and for the future
of OK-TV itself.

- Are you scared?
- Me? Not at all.

Blücher thinks our piece costs too much.
It might get axed.

Quality programming adheres to norms
untouched by the notion of profit.

Must we choose between cultural
and educational public programming

and bargain-basement TV?

That is the question!
I gotta go see what's-his-name.

- What about Grégoire?
- I saw Blücher. It won't be a problem.

He asked for it.

Parsley, garlic,
onion and white wine.

Now the contest is underway.

American women are very free
in that respect.

I should have told him

a Frenchwoman doesn't allow
just anyone to take such liberties.

But come midnight...

That guy's really something.

What if I asked the questions?
I've done interviews before.

- What is your occupation, sir?
- I'm a railroad porter.

Ah, you're a porter.

No topic is more controversial
than this confounded fashion.

I'm glad I have you
to ask about it.

What do you say,
Madame Tabouis?

Fashion is quite appealing
your first 50 years.

But to tell the truth, you know,

that said, I think

I must confess

that when I look back on my life,

I see one dress

of shirred fabric
with little sky-blue ruffles.

It was charming.

I wore it for the party
Mussolini threw

for Pierre Laval

on January 5, 1935,
at the Palazzo Venezia.

Your dress
didn't bring them luck!

No! As I passed
Mussolini, he said,

"I love your dress, Geneviève Tabouis,
but I hate your articles!"

What do you think, Jean Nochier?
That's all very nice,

but we mustn't forget
that this is 1966!

It always comes down
to the same thing.

They're dressing up broomsticks,
these very skinny women.

They've stripped women
of all their best assets

that I wouldn't mind
seeing them keep!

Even dressed this way, women have
retained down through the ages

all their feminine assets.

On the street they seem
to lack busts and all the rest,

but they still have them!
You just have to get to know them.

Right, but meanwhile,
they seem to be trying

to make women unattractive...
which they'll never do!

The mark of an authentic Frigidaire
is its scratch-resistant finish.

Finnish, miss?

I'm from Vladivostok!

Finish... not Finnish!

Oh, finish!

Yes, it's her

The goddess

I need to have
a suit custom-made.

TVshows are better
than movies.

People watch TVabsentmindedly.
It's like life.

People watch movies too closely.
That's bad.

There should be gaps.
The little screen is one big gap.

Yes, sir.

To Nice.

What day
do you wish to leave?

To Nice.

When did you realize
you were in love with her?

I don't know.

Maybe it was the first time
I took her... picture.

It's strange talking about yourself.
You think you know yourself, but you don't.

But really, Grégoire:
Who are you?

It all started long ago.

In the beginning I wasn't much.
Almost nothing.

Then, slowly but surely,

month by month,
year by year,

vacation by vacation...

and school by school,

from his First Communion

to his first long pants,

from his teen years
and finally to military service...

- Grégoire was a difficult boy.
- But we were good girls!

And eventually I became
what I am today.

Otherwise
I'd be something else.

And if I were something else,
I wouldn't be what I am.

But it was all for nothing,
because I'm nothing...

absolutely nothing.

The contestant
answered incorrectly,

but since he didn't know the rules,
the judges won't count that point.

Good. We can go on.

Is that true?
You didn't know the rules?

It's true.
I didn't know the rules.

I didn't even know
there were any.

No one told me.
No one ever tells me anything.

He says no one told him!

Paris, can you hear me?

Try to resolve this dispute!
Over to you, Paris!

No one ever
told me anything.

I swear.

MODELING SCHOOL

Turn around.
Ladies, step forward.

You're models.
Walk like stars.

Like cats!

A model must
always look impeccable,

as if all her clothes
were brand-new.

- We're looking for Polly Maggoo.
- Yes, I know her, but please.

The model's walk once again.

Be careful not to take
more fish than you can eat!

The orchestra.

We have a municipal orchestra

directed by an eminent musician.

It provides great pleasure
to the people of our city.

Cows, horses, pigs, and sheep
give the farmer plenty to do.

One, two, three.
It's me.

Personal diary.
Friday, March 4, 1966.

I learned one expression,
one proverb, and three new words.

I did fine on TV.
It wasn't hard.

Grégoire is cute.

He's going to call
and follow me around all day.

It'll be fun.

What else is new?

I've got a pimple.

I learned a French dance,
the "paso doblo."

Last night I had "osso bucchio,"
a kind of tripe.

This morning I bathed
and put on perfume.

It's perfect.
I smell like chocolate all over.

I read in the paper
that the demands of fashion

are more rigorous
than those of philosophy.

- Silence!
- Sociologist, take 1!

- Clapper again!
- Sociologist, take 2!

There's another version...

The mike's in the shot!
Get it out!

Sir, we're starting over
for technical reasons.

Very calmly. Ready?
Here we go.

To your left, please!
Good.

Shit! It's not filming!

We're very sorry, sir.
We'll try another angle.

- It's working now.
- Too late!

Sociologist, take 2!

Move your elbow here.
That looks more natural.

Look at the camera.
Here we go.

There's another version
of the Cinderella legend.

The prince arrives,
and the oldest sister...

takes the slipper
to her room to try on.

Her mother goes with her.
The slipper's too small.

The mother says
to cut off her big toe.

"Once you're queen,
you'll never need to walk."

The girl cuts off her toe, puts on
the slipper, and rejoins the prince.

He carries her away on his horse.

But the prince discovers the hoax

when the bride's white stockings
are stained with red, etc.

There you have it: Fetishism.

Fetishism, mutilation, suffering...

fashion in a nutshell.

In any case, the child absorbs
several essential points:

The economic worth
of small feet and pretty clothes,

thanks to which Cinderella
finds love and a good husband.

Secondly, the erotic nature
of fashion is revealed.

The prince is aroused by the slipper.
It's a fetish of his.

Fashion is, above all, erotic.

I think that's enough.

Cut!

- Was the sound okay?
- Perfect.

- We're looking for Polly Maggoo.
- That's against the law!

- Against the law?
- You're both bastards!

Do you know this woman?

I don't know.
It's not Sheila, is it?

Isn't that Mireille Mathieu?

She's a pop star.

Is she a TV announcer?
Jeanne Moreau?

Have you seen her?

- Not a pretty sight!
- Disgusting!

- Horrible!
- She looks ridiculous!

What a dog!

I'll lift and you guide it.

Such a marvelous cemetery
so close to Paris!

We're here
for a magazine piece.

We're asking, "Is Paris dead?"
Fashion-wise... get it?

She's marvelous!

Not bad.

- She's marvelous!
- Divine!

- What are we doing?
- I'm going to talk to this gentleman.

- The cafeteria's gonna close.
- Forget the cafeteria!

Tell me:
Who creates fashion?

Well, designers fill a need.

There are more and more
young people, vacations, ski trips,

weekends in the country.

Isn't it telling that it's teenagers today
who both create and consume fashion?

It's a rite of puberty
and sexual initiation... it's all about sex.

Fashion celebrates their sexual
awakening as society looks on.

Here in our store,
fashion is young, practical, and fun.

"Young, practical, and fun."
We'll start with that.

Move back a bit.
Is my crew there?

Let's get ready.
The clapper's ready.

Ladies, act like we're not here.

This is for TV,
so act natural, okay?

Wait. Camera. Clapper.

Dorothée Bis, take 1.

What do I do now?

It's young, practical, and fun?
That line?

Fashion here is young,
practical, and fun.

That's easy for you to say!

Don't you believe in anything
but filthy money?

- Money is fundamental.
- I believe in the the purity of emotion.

There's no such thing
anymore, sir!

- Why?
- That's wishful thinking!

Money's at the root
of everything.

- No! Money is just shit!
- That's your opinion!

Let me tell you something.

I read France Soir
only for its sports, not its politics.

All they do is make atomic bombs
and missiles... I'm against that.

They should build hospitals
and let people retire at 60...

but retire decently,
not starve to death!

Retirement pay is decent!

Billions of people go hungry
while we stuff ourselves!

We're a civilization
of selfish men!

Can we even speak
of civilization or religion

in a country
that lets the poor starve?

- How the hell would I know?
- No need to be so rude!

I don't give a damn!

Please calm down, sir.

- I work for a living!
- And we don't?

All right.
Are you ready?

- Who is it?
- Grégoire.

Come in.

Hello.
How's the show going?

- Fine.
- Did you find out who I am?

Not yet,
but we're going to work today.

- On the show?
- Yes. We'll do some tests.

Psychological tests?
Great! I'm going to change.

Can you read faces?
- Of course.

For example,
you're the lunarian type.

- What type?
- Lunarian.

A large, pale, round face
with soft cheeks,

and round, blue, prominent eyes.

Your expression, at first glance indecisive,
reveals frequent flashes of intelligence.

The protruding teeth
reveal an individual

who's verbose, arrogant,
proud and unstable.

Your turned-up nose denotes falsity,
vanity, extravagance and fickleness.

Did you know that how you walk
reveals your personality?

- How do I walk?
- The way you are.

So walk!

Let's see. You walk...

like a sailor.

I actually knew a sailor
in Nantes who walked like you.

Look how you stand.
What does that mean?

Nothing.

You're wrong.
Everything means something.

Look, you just made a face.

You become
a different woman.

That? It means nothing.
I'm still me.

You pretend to be
someone else when you pose.

What about actresses?

Sure, but you're always posing.
You never stop.

Even now you're posing...
"the natural look."

You're really crazy.

Get down.

Get down.
We're going to do some tests.

- What tests?
- You'll see.

Here are some psychological tests.
We'll start with this one.

Folon intentionally made a mistake
in copying his own drawing.

You have to find the error
in the copy. Ready?

Go ahead.

Here. The hat?

The hat...

- What's wrong?
- Nothing.

Now, would you rather sleep with:
President Johnson or Fidel Castro?

Fidel Castro
or Wernher von Braun?

Fidel Castro
or Georges Brassens?

Georges Brassens
or Lawrence of Arabia?

Georges Brassens or Picasso?

Picasso or Cassius Clay?

Cassius Clay
or Marcello Mastroianni?

Marcello Mastroianni
or Cassius Clay?

Cassius Clay
or Fidel Castro?

Good.

That's better.
- Better?

Yes, much better.

What's happening in this picture?
What's the woman doing?

- Crying.
- Why?

- Because she's sad.
- Why?

- Because she's old.
- What's the man doing?

- Leaving.
- Why?

- Because.
- Will he be back?

And now,
some pictures to identify.

Who is this?
- The General.

- And this?
- The president.

- And this?
- Lucky Blondo.

- And this?
- Ladoumègue.

- And this?
- Mama! Papa!

- And this?
- Me! Me!

Good!

Now, you're a little girl of six,
and I'm a magician.

If you make me laugh,
I'll give you anything.

- I'll make you laugh.
- I doubt it.

- I can.
- I don't believe it.

Very good.

You are this woman.
Sing like she would.

- I can't.
- Sing!

Good.

Now come over here
and kick this ball.

Very good.

I'll ask some questions:
What plant you'd like to be, etc.

What plant would you like to be?
- A carrot.

- Why?
- I don't know.

She doesn't know.

What plant
wouldn't you like to be?

- Spinach.
- Why?

I'd grow above ground, where little
animals walk on me and go pee-pee.

I'd like to be a carrot because
they grow hidden underground.

And carrots are useful too.

Good. What object
would you like to be?

A rocket.
They're wonderful.

What animal?

You already know:
A rabbit.

- But if you could choose?
- A rabbit.

Or an elephant.
They're simple and sad.

A work of art?

- You want me say the Mona Lisa.
- Why?

- Isn't that normal?
- Not necessarily.

No, I'd like to be a statue.

Paintings are stupid.

Raw material?

Steel.
It's hard and white.

Historical figure?

Not Cleopatra.
Joan of Arc is better.

Very good.

The castration complex fits in
with the inferiority complex.

To be useful: A carrot.
To avoid being squashed: Spinach.

To be the biggest: Elephant.

These two complexes are also
associated with narcissism:

The statue, beauty, the eye.

We also see several signs of frigidity:
Purity and whiteness.

And then there's the fear
of gaining weight... spinach again.

You know,
I said spinach for no reason.

So I have every complex?
- A few.

- Is it serious?
- Not really.

Most complexes resolve on their own
as sublimation takes full effect.

And there are signs of those
precious moments in the psyche

that bring the id and superego
into balance as the ego develops.

Then there are
the vertical images.

The rocket and the carrot.

Vertical imagery stems
from sensations of flight,

blossoming, soaring,
and sublimation.

- Those games were fun.
- Not games. Tests.

- What will you do with them?
- Collate the results.

- And?
- That's all.

- Will you explain them?
- I won't explain a thing.

I see.

You know,
the producer saw our footage.

He says that for him
you don't really exist.

Really? And does
your producer exist?

I don't know.
Do you feel like you exist?

Yes. Don't you?

Oh... it depends.

But I know what he means.

This modeling and fashion...

- What about fashion?
- It doesn't really exist.

- Yes, it does.
- How so?

Because it's always changing.
Everything passes away.

Fashion endures because it changes.
What doesn't change dies.

Nonsense.

Fashion for fashion's sake,

just so a designer can make money.
It's stupid. Makes no sense.

It's not stupid, it's fun.
And it makes lots of sense.

Everything has its fashions:

Love, ideas,
even war and politics.

One thing at a time.

- Fashion is about money and deception.
- So is war.

We're talking about you now.
There's something you don't realize:

You're being used.

Like all women.

They use you to dupe other women,
driving you all crazy in the process.

- What's crazy about me?
- What's not crazy about you!

It's stupid putting on makeup,
dressing up, staring in the mirror.

- All women do that.
- But it's your job.

All women make love,
but some make a job of it.

- What are you getting at?
- What am I getting at?

They play with you like a doll.
They dress you up and do your hair.

Fine, you're a doll.
Well, it's stupid.

No more stupid
than making TV shows.

Yes, much more stupid!
Listen, this is serious!

Stare in the mirror all day
and you become a monster.

- What kind of monster?
- Like other models.

If the world collapsed
around them,

all they'd care about
is their mascara and stuff.

What other models
do you know?

I only know you.

You know nothing about me.

You just film me
and give me stupid tests.

If the world collapsed,
all you'd do is film it.

True... no, I mean
that's irrelevant.

I simply asked if you knew
what you're doing with your life.

I'm doing what I like.
What about you?

Me? I've made nothing
of my life.

You're sad.

It's true.

It's my fault.

No, it's mine.
Nobody loves me.

- I didn't say I didn't love you.
- Do you?

- Sort of.
- See?

But I don't know you!

If you did,
you wouldn't love me at all.

Now you really look sad.

It's true.

I have to get dressed.

My God, Polly,
don't be so clumsy!

I'm in high heels!

Really, Polly!
Stop being horrible!

Here's where you climb up.

- Up there?
- It's nothing!

- Is she crazy?
- It's all for show!

- Who is she?
- Polly Maggoo.

Be sure to get the neckline.

- It's her!
- You sure?

It's them all right. Look.

Yeah, it's them.

What's the weather like?

Chilly, madame.

Very well.

You're so stiff.

Move a little.

Shoulders back!
Head up!

There.

Speak French.
It's the paper in Lausanne.

Can you hear me?

Good. I'll start.

Headline: " Designer
Isidore Ducasse has slain fashion.

Fashion is dead!
Long live fashion!"

Paragraph.

"Engineer of knees,

wizard of calves,

sculptor of thighs,

architect of the abdomen,

the great choreographer
of the female body,

Isidore Ducasse,
has recreated woman!

Born of his rib
and his electronic brain,

she emerged fully clothed,

our Eve for the atomic age."

Paragraph.

"France's incomparable soil

has produced a wardrobe
fit for Joan of Arc:

Peter Pan collars
in sheet metal."

It's her!

Who are these gentlemen?

Chimney sweeps, ma'am.
Today is chimney sweeping day.

"Supple.

Lightweight.

Low-maintenance."

My layouts!
Who are these men?

Chimney sweeps.

Just doing our job.

Photographs.

It's urgent.

That's right.

No, ma'am
We're not chimney sweeps

Who is that?

What is it?

A dress, and I made it!
I'm a designer!

It's awful.

I have talent!

This is what's awful!
I'll fix your dress!

Arrest him! He's crazy!

Is this you?

Polly!

The case of Polly Maggoo:

Delicate baby hair,
brittle and limp.

Beer gives it body.

Lemon gives it shine,
but so does beer. What to do?

If your nostrils
are delicate and flexible

and can quiver like a horse's,

you were born
under a lucky star.

Is your mouth large,

straight and finely drawn,

slightly turned up
at the corners?

Is your face round?

Everything round is good.

Eyebrows set the stage
for your eyes.

Recover the balance
in your face.

Rearrange the lights
and shadows yourself.

You have no idea
how important your expression is.

Be careful.

Your eyes speak volumes.

In just a wink they've said it all.
Good-bye, razor.

All this is yours, my darling.

All of it?

All of it.

Thank you.

It's nothing.

Come.

The great clock.
It's a quarter past noon.

We enter here and exit there.

Magnificent!

Paris, Place de la Nation,
Dalou's Triumph of the Republic.

What's that?

The Seine, a general view.

Morning fog has cleared.
It's a nice day, 59°.

It's 50° in Lille,
66° in Draguignan.

The Cine Univers
is on your left.

What's all that down there?

Part of University of Paris.
Hard to explain.

And that?

The Pont de Neuilly bus stop
on line 175.

Magnificent!

- Where are we?
- Suresnes.

Do you live here?

No, but I have
a château over that way.

I must leave.
Have no fear. I love you.

Who's there?
Ah, long live the bride!

Very well, thank you.

I speak French.

Excellent!
So you're a "polly-glot"?

Taste this, Miss Polly.

Have you ever had that?
You don't have that in America?

- What is it?
- Calf's head.

- Is this French cooking?
- Yes. Grégoire's mother makes it.

It's very special.
You'll love it.

She loves it!

- You don't have that in America!
- Everything's canned over there!

The news said
they're even canning wine.

In America?

In France.

To send to America.

I thought so. Miss Polly, I was
a military observer in America.

My American military colleagues
looked down on me,

but I was more
in the know than them

and had a historical
background they lacked.

Incredible!

Americans are children,
but they're our children.

We Europeans gave them
everything... even their liberty!

- Liberty!
- And the statue to go with it!

It's true, Grégoire.

Are you honest, Miss Polly?

Yes, sir, I think so.
Why?

I think you're too "poll-ite"
to be honest.

Miss Polly,
are you in "polly-tics"?

Your full name isn't
Polly Styrene, is it?

Americans are all
beef-jerky jerks!

Americans are filthy,
and stupid too.

What do you expect,
with brains so much smaller than ours?

You can't tell them apart.
They're racists too... and filthy.

Come now, Juliette!
Not all of them!

Come now, Juliette
Not all of them

Franck's a singer!

- How old is he?
- Not old.

I read about an American man
who found his mother after 25 years.

He recognized her
by a little red mark.

- How'd he find her?
- He called her.

- So he knew where she was!
- Perhaps.

In America, even workers
drive big American cars!

What should they drive?
Chinese cars?

And now an odd story
from the United States.

Mr. Mack Smith found his mother
after a separation of 25 years.

He recognized her by a small red mark
he'd made on her before he left.

What did I tell you?

Unfortunately the woman was not
actually Mr. Smith's mother.

Mr. Smith is continuing
his search.

We end with this story
from Washington.

President Johnson's daughter...

That's quite a story.

- Does she love Grégoire?
- No.

- What did she say?
- No, damn it!

I can't hear!
I'm not 20 years old!

- We'll all be dead before you, Granny!
- What did she say?

Everyone up!
It's picture time!

Who's there?

It's us!

Quick! No one's around.

Grab all that stuff!

Her father.

Miss Polly?

I'm coming!

Is this you in these pictures?

Yes, it's me.

We've come
on Prince lgor's behalf.

We present to you this picture
signed by the prince himself.

He's handsome!
Thank you.

In our country, giving someone
your picture means you're engaged.

Money orders only.

He doesn't understand French.

Dirty foreigner.

"Note these expressions:

'Give it a break, Jake. '

'Says you, Lou. '

'Y ou're off track, Jack. '

'T hat's a riot, Wyatt. '
'You've got a screw loose, Bruce. '

'My darlinzh... '"

My "darlinzh."

How many girls
have you slept with?

My "darlinzh"...

Have you ever slept
with an American girl?

Can you do this?

You're funny!

Are you mad?

Please don't touch my hair.

Why don't you wear it like that?
It would be cute.

Guess who I am.

Your aluminum dresses
are lovely, Mr. Ducasse,

but in everyday life...

Clothes must have
more structure than before.

We must restructure
the structures, reposition woman

within the cosmogonic universe
we've inhabited for years now.

Fine, but what about
Polly Maggoo?

Polly's from the other side
of the looking glass.

She's oblivious to gravity.

She runs
and never loses her breath.

She is sidereal!

"Who Are You?"penetrated
the secret world of fashion

and secretly filmed
the people,

the actions,

and the rites
of this kingdom of marvels.

We introduced you
to its queen model,

Polly Maggoo,
queen for a day,

queen for today.

But night is falling.

Do you know that,
Polly Maggoo?

Where will you go now?

Where are you going,
Polly Maggoo?

What's up next?

"Who Are You, Paul VI?"

This week,
"Who Are You?" takes you

behind the towering walls
of this fortress of faith

called the Vatican.

Wake up back there!

Peasant woman, our prince
has gone to Paris for his princess.

Long live the princess!

Chamberlain...

Your prince isn't by chance
toying with communism, is he?

It seems a certain
leftist model has led him...

It's just like I told you.
Now we must act.

I have a plan.

Wait!

Who am I?

My God!

What do you want?
It's his "artistic vision."

The idiot! His piece stinks.
We gotta redo it.

Can you handle it?
- Okay.

What a jerk!

Welcome to Paris,
Your Excellency.

His Excellency.

Very nice to see you again.

Welcome to Paris,
Your Excellency.

Get on the ball!
Are you coming?

You don't like her look?

No, I don't like her look.

Listen to me, Carita sisters.

We're headed for the moon,
and you give her Marie-Antoinette curls.

I can't believe it!

And this makeup!

I want her face smooth and hard
and luminous, like aluminum.

Her eyes should go "Beep! Beep!"
Understand?

Look at her.

She's a rocket,
and her face is the homing device

that goes "Beep! Beep!"

Understand? Give me
a hairstyle for a rocket.

Carita sisters,
we're going to the moon!

Yes, ma'am.
Send her to our salon.

Good-bye, rocket!

Actually, that girl's
not much of a rocket.

It's not really her style.

She's more Cinderella,

and Cinderella's
going out of style.

Should I look
for another girl?

I have an idea!

She has an idea!

The Almighty placed
the country in my hands.

I grew up with it.
I've suffered for it.

I created the Army of Learning
to reduce illiteracy to... 30%.

You might say your country wears
two faces... past and present.

That's right.

You've also been called
"the prince of solitude."

Perhaps.

If you were to marry,
what would you look for in a woman?

A simple woman
who shares my tastes:

Hunting, fishing,
riding, reading.

I read widely in French:
Emile Zola, Françoise Sagan.

A woman who has seen poverty...
at least from a distance.

A moving description.

Pardon me, sir.
This way, Your Highness.

And if you had to choose
your happiness or your country?

My God!
Only time will tell!

May I introduce the general.

Pleased to meet you.
If you'd be so kind.

Papa.

Nicely cut, Your Excellency.

General.

Mr. Minister.

Your Highness.

CHIEF OF POLICE

We've been watching
these two a long time, sir.

- Wandering around with binoculars.
- Selling pictures.

Your ID.

- What is it?
- The Seine.

Who's the artist?

Who's the artist?

I don't know.

Well, shall we go?

This way, Prince.

This machine
makes a dairy treat.

Are there other flavors?

His Excellency asks
if there are other flavors.

No, no other flavors.

Just plain.

Let's try it, shall we?
It's excellent!

It's good.

Here he comes!

This is His Excellency.

My granddaughter.

Charming.

Our headmistress.

Charming.

Ladies, it was a pleasure.
Good-bye.

Good-bye, Prince lgor.

Down with the prince!

I've changed. I'm not the same
as a half hour ago. I've aged.

Just like that. Fine... I'll hold
my breath up to that wall.

Men are never ugly,
but I am.

Now I'm old and ugly.
I'll never get out of this traffic jam.

I can't wallow in self-pity.
I'll think about Polly.

- I can't sleep with just anyone!
- Why not? Who do you think you are?

There's no talking to you!

Fine! It's not talk I'm after!

Listen, Polly Maggoo.
I'll tell you something.

Your life is a masquerade.
You're always acting.

You think only of yourself.
You have no heart.

You're really a little
pain in the ass.

You're nothing but trouble.
You failed every test.

Well, not every one.

Polly, let's stop acting.

I love you.

I always have.

Miss Polly,
you have a letter and a telegram.

Would you go out
dressed like that?

Not me!

Yes, darling.

Where's Grégoire?

He stands before you, Polly.

A wicked fairy's spell
reduced me to that ugly state

until a beautiful young girl
would agree to marry me.

I was forbidden
to show my true self.

Thus you alone
in all the world

had the goodness
to let me touch you.

Offering you this crown
can never fully repay my debt to you.

Jean-Jacques Georges here,
coming to you from the Champs-Elysées

atop the OK-TVnews van.

We're all awaiting the prince,

who was due here
20 minutes ago.

It's exactly 1:18,
and he's still not here.

Punctuality is the hallmark of a king.
Prince lgor's not yet a king,

but all the same!

Are we on the air, boys?

You can see the huge crowd.

All Paris has turned out
to greet Prince lgor,

that modern and charming prince,
"the prince of solitude."

Ah, something's happening!

Someone's running for the latest news.
More in a moment.

Miss Polly, please.

She's in her room.
Shall we announce you?

You needn't bother.
She's expecting me.

Fourth floor, Room 15.

Announce him anyway.

She's so beautiful!

A true princess!

Sadly, the skies
are rather gray,

and the sun has not appeared
since our last report

to brighten these images.

POLLY SAYS YES TO IGOR

What do I see?

General Kronenbourg
is getting in his car.

They can't be starting
without the prince!

The festivities are in his honor!
I really don't understand!

Are you looking for Polly?
She just went downstairs.

Those dark eyes,

quick as a jungle cat's,
met my own,

then traveled down
to my lips and my neck

and down my whole body,
which burned with desire.

Is it you, my prince?
You certainly took your time!

Yes, it's me.

And I love you
more than my own self.

He's coming!

YOGA FOR EVERYONE

Oh, Polly, Polly Maggoo

Oh, Polly
Now the bubble's burst

Your prince is gone
Your neighbor got him first

Oh, she's the worst

"Prince-iples"are not
among her charms

But she has your prince
wrapped up in her arms

How, you wonder, could this be

It's really no great mystery

You weren't there, Polly

Princes everywhere
are infamous

Both too polite
and too polygamous

Prince lgor is a sad disgrace

And that cruel girl
so quick to take your place

Oh, Polly, what an awful day

To find your ship has sailed away

It's all over, Polly
It's the end

Polly, it's over

It's the end, Polly Maggoo

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