Little Women

- Merry Christmas, Mr. Higgins.

- Merry Christmas, Jo.

- Did you hurt yourself, Jo?

- No, I never hurt myself.

- Where have you been, Jo?

- Skating.

And it was splendid, my Beth.

Look, we've just finished

trimming the tree.

Christmas won't be Christmas

without any presents.

It's dreadful to be poor.

I especially feel it, because

I remember when we used to be rich.

I remember, too.

I certainly don't think it's fair...

for some girls

to have lots of lovely things...

and other prettier girls have nothing at all.

We are better off than a lot of people.

Orphans, for instance.

We have Father and Marmee

and each other.

We haven't got Father and

probably won't have him for a long time.

But the men in the Army

are having such a terrible winter.

I think it's right when Marmee said

we shouldn't buy each other presents.

We have to make sacrifices.

I'm glad to make them.

Only I am tired of making

these dresses over year after year.

At least you're the first to wear them,

as you are the oldest.

Well, I don't think any of you suffer as I do.

You don't have to go to school

with impertinent girls...

who label your father

just because he's poor.

If you mean libel, then say so,

and stop talking about labels...

- as if Papa was a pickle bottle.

- I know what I mean.

And you needn't be "statirical" about it.

It's proper to use good words

and improve one's "vocabilary."

"Vocabilary"?

Christopher Columbus. Aren't we elegant?

- Don't use slang words, Jo.

- And stop whistling, it's so boyish.

That's why I do it.

How I detest rude, unladylike girls.

And I hate affected, niminy-piminy chits.

Birds in their little nests agree.

Amy, you're too prim. Take care or you'll

grow up to be an affected little goose.

And, Jo, now that you turn up your hair,

you should realize you're a young lady.

I'm not.

If turning up my hair makes me one,

I'll wear it in two tails till I'm 90.

I won't grow up and be Miss March.

I won't wear long gowns

and look like a China aster.

I'll never get over my disappointment

at not being a boy. Look at me!

Dying to go and fight by Father's side,

and here I am, sitting and knitting...

- like a poky old woman.

- Knitting? Bless me.

- Poor Jo.

- I don't want any pity.

Someday I intend to be a famous writer

and make my fortune selling stories.

Then I shall live and behave as I please.

And you'll all ride around in fine carriages.

And you, my Beth,

you'll have a new piano.

And, Meg, you will have

10 dozen dresses and satin slippers...

and red-headed boys to dance with.

- I'd like that.

- There's no use fretting now.

Come, let's rehearse the play.

Beth, you play something gruesome.

Amy, I wrote a new scene for you.

It's wonderful!

- Oh, no.

- Well, it's perfectly simple.

All you have to do is shout,

"Roderigo, save me!" and faint.

"Roderigo, save me," and faint?

Oh, I can do that.

I planned my costume, too.

It's absolutely plain,

with all the colors of the rainbow in it.

Impossible.

Why?

I am a princess, am I not?

Yes, you are a princess,

but you don't know it.

You think you're a servant girl

working for Beth. I mean Hagar, the witch.

A princess always knows she's a princess.

Well, you don't.

Look! Beth has just left the stage...

with her kettle full of simmering toads.

You are locked in the tower.

Suddenly and unexpectedly,

Hugo, the villain, enters.

You cry out in horror,

"Roderigo, save me," and faint.

- Then Roderigo, Meg, enters...

- Meg, Roderigo?

I thought Meg was Don Pedro, my father.

She is, but you don't know it.

I've told you a thousand times,

till the end of Act Five...

you haven't the slightest idea

who you are.

- Does Meg know?

- Of course I do.

Then I want to know, too.

Why should I always be so "igonorent"?

Simply because if you know who you are,

the play is over.

It's too long anyway.

- Please, after all, it's my play.

- And the best we've had yet.

Jo's a regular Shakespeare.

It's nothing, really.

Now, ready?

Are you ready?

I'm Hugo.

I come in,

and with wicked intentions, I say...

Then I move closer.

- Come and get your tea, girls.

- Don't we ever have coffee anymore?

Coffee is scarce and dear.

The ships are needed in the war.

There ain't no time to go to Brazil

and bring back coffee for Miss Amy March.

And some folks

seem to have nothing better to do...

than to pry into other folks' business.

- Who is it, Hannah?

- That Laurence boy.

- What Laurence boy?

- Mr. Laurence's grandson.

I didn't know the old fusspot

had a grandson.

He just came last week.

But from what I can find out,

he must be a fine one.

- Why? What's he done?

- First he ran away from school.

That's the bravest thing I've ever heard of.

Couldn't trace him anywhere.

When they did find him,

he was in an Army hospital, wounded.

He'd joined up under another name

and lied about his age.

How perfectly splendid!

I should like to do the same.

Fine soldier you'd make.

- Jo, don't!

- It's our private property.

- I can look out of it as much as I like.

- You're every bit as bad as he is.

There he is.

Amy, Beth, stand back a little.

Well, I'm glad he's a boy.

I'd like to know a boy for a change

and have a little fun.

Don't say such things.

I wonder how I could get to know him.

I wish our cat would get lost

and he'd bring it back.

Then we'd get to talking.

I don't think that's very romantic.

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