The Sunday Woman (1975)

The Sunday Woman is that rare crime mystery that feels both impeccably crafted and mischievously alive, a stylish whodunit that glides through Turin’s high society with a smile as sharp as its suspicions. Luigi Comencini keeps the pace brisk and the atmosphere deliciously sophisticated, letting the city’s elegant surfaces and seedy corners share the same frame without ever tipping into parody. Marcello Mastroianni gives the investigation a human pulse—wry, curious, quietly romantic—while Jacqueline Bisset and Jean‑Louis Trintignant add a seductive ambiguity that keeps every conversation humming with possibility. If you prefer your mysteries grim and hard-edged this may feel too playful, but if you want a smart, funny, beautifully photographed puzzle with grown-up charm, it’s an easy film to fall into.

The Sunday Woman wants to be a chic, slightly naughty whodunit that pokes at Turin’s upper-class hypocrisy while letting Mastroianni glide through as a weary cop who’s maybe thinking with his heart more than his badge. If you’re expecting a tight, clue-forward mystery, the film can feel more interested in atmosphere, social satire, and flirtation than in clean momentum, and the tone shifts between crime and comedy may not always land. It also leans into 1970s “scandal” intrigue and relationship dynamics that can read as dated, so some viewers may find it more stylish than satisfying. Still, the cast is excellent, the setting has real bite, and if you like elegant European mysteries where mood and character matter as much as the solution, it’s an easy enough ride.