This film is a celebration of the female buttocks. It glories in the arse, the backside, the bum, the buns, and the hindquarters. Its camera glides over the sensuous contours of at least 57 tushes, posteriors, rears, and rumps. It wallows in the keister, the bottom, the behind, the derriere, the fanny, and—above all—the ass. I'm not sure I've ever seen a movie so comically obsessed with the southern-rear portion of the female anatomy.

Best known for directing Caligula (into which Penthouse's Bob Guccione famously inserted hardcore smut footage), Tinto Brass in 1992 came up with the softcore, fetishistic All Ladies Do It, a story about the sexual empowerment of women directed by a famous objectifier of women. This is a strange contradiction of a movie, which seems to take place in an alternate universe where women are demonstrably horny exhibitionists who simply crave sexual freedom and subservient men.

Diana (Claudia Koll) is the sexually adventurous yet perfectly content young wife of Paolo (Paolo Lanza). She is consumed by sexual fantasies—at parties, at the lingerie shop where she works in various stages of undress, on public transportation, at disco clubs—and these flesh-focused fantasies inevitably bleed into reality. She begins a series of real erotic dalliances, much to Paolo's eventual dismay. He is outraged, and she doesn't understand his anger. After all, she remains, at heart, a faithful and sexually satisfying spouse. The remainder of the film is a study of that dichotomy, as well as an intense study of—as previously mentioned—a plethora of asses.

There are so many butts that you can taste them. They're all over the damn place, everywhere you look, plastered across the screen like a sorority house full of girls hanging BAs out all the windows. The camera practically fondles these tushes as they pass, lingering pervertedly, seemingly wanting to climb up inside them. You'll certainly get caught up in all the keister worship, and there's a genuine sense of eroticism to the sheer volume of beautifully rendered flesh. Heterosexual women might want to give this one a pass, though, because the men range from bland to repulsive.

The story certainly doesn't offer amazing insight into the female mind. It's prone to silly caricatures and ridiculous scenarios and dialog, all in the name of male hormones. This is truly a film constructed by a man. Brass's engorged fantasies translate to the screen with all the subtlety of a fat, bloated erection. Still, the in-your-face ass imagery makes All Ladies Do It an interesting piece of erotica, if only for its sheer decadence.

Cult Epics presents All Ladies Do It in a lackluster non-anamorphic 1.66:1 widescreen transfer, but the original aspect ratio appears to be wider. I noticed several instances of panning and scanning—or, at least, very poor framing. Of course, a new anamorphic transfer, as well as some kind of restoration, would have been ideal. As is, this image offers relatively sharp close-up detail, but colors are washed out and I wouldn't even use the term "black level," but rather "gray level." Grain is fairly heavy. And the print is distractingly dirty, with a hair (I wonder where that came from) frequently wiggling at the bottom of the frame.

I noticed a strange anomaly in the black bars above and below the image: They shift from shot to shot, and the end credits even spill into them. Close-up views of naked bottoms are never cropped, however, so the main attraction remains problem-free.

After some research and calculation, I've come to the conclusion that this DVD contains the worst English dub job I've ever heard. Worse, it's the only audio track the disc offers. Dialog is centered at the screen in this mono track. Sound is tinny and even crackles in places like an LP. In the extended music scene, the sound is often distorted and lacking in fidelity. I would've liked the option to switch to the original Italian with English subtitles, but no such luck. At the very least, my eyes were free to roam all the glorious hineys.

Nothing.

I value nude female rears as much as the next guy. I found this salacious celebration of them to be reasonably arousing yet hopelessly silly.