To quote Ben Franklin: “Nothing in this world is certain, except death and taxes.” But to experience the grip of death and taxes, one must first be born. And the first person one sees may not be one’s parents. There is obviously a crunchy set who choose to rely on midwives based on a hippie notion of wellness and fad. For those without ready access to good medical care, however, childbirth is still one of the most taxing events. Many mothers still pay with their lives and often alongside their child.
If instead of being insularly British, Call the Midwife had love-children with the rest of the world, The Delivery Line would be a fitting family photo. This is a film about those who practice midwifery with women who have no choice but to deliver out of a hospital.
Up to perhaps the 18th century, midwives had sole dominion over pregnancy, delivery, and postpartum care. So where there is a shortage of surgeons and obstetricians, or something has driven them away, this remains the case: in war-torn lands, to those in migratory limbo, and in resource-starved pockets. In generally well-off areas (of any country), however, it has settled onto a more hidden population, where midwives can inhabit the role of roving naturalists, often looking for the person who needs but is leery to seek help.
The Delivery Line takes us to these possibilities. With clever editing, the film segues from both borders of Mexico to rural inland Nigeria via shared desert scenery; it transits from dingy urban Toronto to the snow-capped eastern mountains of Afghanistan through the windows of fast-moving cars; drops of bath-water are posed with rain from Afro-Colombian suburbs like a simile. These moments give a tangible sense of the common throughline, and though not equality, a shared sense of plight emerges.
While the midwives documented here carry varying levels of equipment, when allowed, it is often best to shoulder the “equivalent of a level 1 trauma hospital” on her back. Elsewhere, a listening horn and forceps seem luxurious. There is, of course, an overdose of altruism here. The fact that many of the midwives are volunteers can stir a cynic – is this mostly about personal fulfillment? What could be gained? Because often, the (social, political, financial) circumstances are such that a chance at life becomes precisely what the mothers fear. This bitter irony is an undercurrent through the film – and batting it down are the fierce, compassionate central characters. I do not know how else to describe someone who lost children to starvation and desperation, yet still finds the courage to help others through.
At the 75 minute mark, just when you wondered if this is really a documentary about childbirth … it is finally ready to show itself. I’ll leave that sans caption. If we agree that watching a person being inducted into the world is a most heartachingly beautiful thing, imagine preparing for that every day of one’s life. It’s probably quite rewarding.
