When I saw the movie the Dr. NoIt had been four years since it had been released. Mom used to buy movie and celebrity magazines at a pharmacy in Bello (perhaps Pompilio Hernández’s). And there she was, in a bikini, the stunning Ursula Andress. And later, in the posters and “photos” of the Teatro Bello billboards, they showed the same girl in a bikini, with a dagger at her belt. The rapture in front of the posters and cinematographic photographs was almost one of drooling, or, from another look, of an enormous desire to enter the room as soon as possible to meet, especially, with actresses like the one who, in another poster, had some conchshells in your hands, perhaps to hear the sirens singing.
In those days, between the childhood that was unraveling and the adolescence that was just being announced with its wish alerts and other unpublished sensations, one fell in love with the actresses of the cinematograph. They were the first fictional girlfriends, huge on screen, beautiful, stunning. And when I saw the one that I would later meet in that parish theater, my collection of women on the big screen, unattainable, who accompanied dreams and other dazzles in which imagination was a fundamental ingredient, became part of my collection.
And just as I already had in my sentimental records Raquel Welch, Sophia Loren, Claudia Cardinale and other Italian divas and Hollywood cinema, the most popular then, the one with the daring bikini in the film of agent 007, the album of passions fattened of collection.
The minimal, white garment worn by the actress who in the early sixties caused a worldwide commotion and crammed pages of magazines and newspapers, yes, of course, the bikini, had been an invention of sixteen years before the release of the aforementioned film about him. agent created by Ian Fleming. An engineer and automobile designer, the Frenchman Louis Réard, in the summer of 1946 had the bright idea of creating a minimal bathing suit, in two pieces, so that the girls could enjoy the sun more and, incidentally, offer their eyes of the others, in particular of the peeping boys, a spectacle without many reservations.
The world had just emerged from a dreadful conflagration. A year earlier, on August 6 and 9, 1945, the United States, in an action that for various analysts, historians and other scholars was a genocide, a war crime, dropped two atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. It was the beginning of the postwar period and also of the so-called Cold War. And the powers were in the mad rush to develop new weapons and experiment more on nuclear energy issues. In Bikini Atoll, in the Pacific, the gringos carried out several tests with nuclear devices, whose explosions began on July 1, 1946.
Four days later, Réard launched the garment that would be a complete revolution. “The bikini: an anatomical bomb”, read the slogan of the two pieces of cloth, one band above, one below, which made up the tiny clothing that the girls were going to wear in swimming pools and beaches around the world. So it was not easy to find who premiered it. The engineer turned aquatic fashion designer selected the Molitor swimming pool complex where the Parisian crème was going.
No model dared to present herself with that miniature that made it possible to show what the bathers hid for a long time: the navel. And it was when a 19-year-old dancer, Micheline Bernardini, star of the Casino de Paris, was in charge of activating the trigger. She paraded in a bikini and was on the cover of all the newspapers in the world. A sensation that would be the reason for pulpitazos, moralisms, frantic speeches about the body of women and, of course, an opportunity for designers, manufacturers, models … It was the anatomical explosion that heated the Cold War.
Seven years after that universal outburst, at the 1953 Cannes Film Festival, the captivating Brigitte Bardot would wear a flowery white-bottomed bikini that almost made not only photographers swoon but those who could appreciate the attractive lady. A year before he had appeared in the movie Manina, the bikini girl. It was a seventeen-year-old girl. At the beginning of the wonderful decade, the French actress was exhibited in Saint Troupez and Cannes with the garment and there the bikini was watered by beaches and pools around the world.
And in that context, of controversies, political ebbs and flows and of all kinds, the bikini rose to fame, it was democratized and there was no inquisition that could stop its use. In 1962, the James Bond movie, Dr. No, directed by Terence Young and starring Seann Connery and Ursula Andress, had a spicy ingredient: the white bikini of the Swiss actress, another sex symbol of the sixties.
When we saw those movie posters in the hall of the now non-existent Teatro Bello, we did not know about the romances that the beautiful Ursula had had with Marlon Brando, James Dean, John Derek (her first husband) and later with the legendary Argentine boxer Carlos Monzón . Well; you could tell with today’s eyes that we weren’t jealous either. That girl by the sea, with shells and a dagger, was a high fever. And that’s how we felt when we saw her in the magazine that Mom had bought in a pharmacy.
Of the film of the Dr. No (also known as Satanic Dr. No), I do not remember its plot or anything, only the image of the girl who came out of the sea loaded with snails and whose bikini, or, rather, all of her without so much clothing, lightly dressed, made the hundreds of boys applaud. we were hypnotized in that darkened room. With it, and without knowing it, for us the Cold War reached erupting volcano temperatures.