Miranda (1985)

Miranda is special because it treats eroticism not as a gimmick but as a kind of mischievous life force, wrapped in a lovingly textured portrait of postwar small-town Italy. Tinto Brass stages the film like a sunlit postcard with a wicked grin—lush period detail, teasing humor, and a buoyant rhythm that turns romantic entanglements into a dance of desire, loneliness, and stubborn hope. Serena Grandi anchors it with a charismatic mix of warmth and self-possession, making Miranda feel less like an object of attention than the unapologetic center of her own story. Fair warning: the sexual content is very explicit and absolutely the point, so if you’re not in the mood for a breezy, unabashedly sensual comedy, it may not be your evening—but if you are, it’s a stylish, surprisingly playful time capsule.

Miranda is trying to be a cheeky, lusty slice of postwar Italian life, using romance and farce to frame a woman’s messy independence while she claims to be waiting for her husband. The catch is that it’s very much Tinto Brass in full “erotic comedy” mode, meaning the plot often takes a back seat to explicit nudity and simulated sex, so if you want emotional depth or subtle humor, you’ll likely feel shortchanged. Many versions also suffer from rough dubbing that can flatten performances and make the whole thing feel cheaper than it should. If you’re comfortable with heavy sexual content and you’re mainly here for the playful, provocative vibe (and Serena Grandi’s star power), it can still be an easy, shameless watch—but it’s not one for the prudish or the romance purists.