Brass’s films suggest that the dirty secret isn't the act itself—it's that everyone is pretending they don't want to do it. His famous use of the "keyhole" perspective is a metaphor for the viewer’s own hypocrisy. We are all voyeurs. We all want to see what happens when the rules disappear. By saying "todas lo hacen," Brass removes the shame. He normalizes the hidden. Today, the phrase "Todas lo hacen—Tinto Brass style" has evolved into a cultural shorthand. It appears in film essays, late-night conversations, and even feminist critiques of the male gaze. Some use it to dismiss his work as repetitive male fantasy. Others—particularly a new generation of European directors—defend it as a celebration of female libido before the era of clinical, sanitized sexuality.

Take the character of Lisa in The Key . She is a married woman in 1940s Venice. On the surface, she follows the rules. But "todas lo hacen" applies here: Lisa orchestrates an elaborate game of voyeurism and adultery, forcing her husband to watch. She is not being looked at; she is performing for her own pleasure. She holds the power.

"Todas lo hacen" is Spanish for "They all do it." Tinto Brass is an Italian film director known for his erotic and provocative films (e.g., Caligula , The Key ). The phrase likely refers to a thematic trope in his work: the idea that beneath a surface of propriety, all women (or all people) possess a hidden, uninhibited erotic nature. This article explores that concept as a cinematic and cultural theme. Beyond the Veil: The Enduring Provocation of "Todas lo hacen" in the Cinema of Tinto Brass In the landscape of European erotic cinema, few names carry the weight—or the controversy—of Tinto Brass. The Italian maestro of sensuality has built a decades-long career on a single, audacious thesis: beneath the corsets, the etiquette, and the social masks, there exists a raw, unapologetic, and liberating truth. In Spanish-speaking circles, this philosophy is often captured by the phrase "Todas lo hacen" — "They all do it."

What remains undeniable is the challenge Brass presents. He forces the audience to confront a simple question: If "todas lo hacen," why do we punish the ones who admit it? Tinto Brass may not be to everyone's taste. His films are baroque, excessive, and unapologetically focused on a single note. But within that note—the idea that repression is the root of unhappiness and that desire is the great equalizer—there is a profound humanism.

The phrase "todas lo hacen" (referring to women, specifically in the context of his films like The Key (1983), Capriccio (1987), and The Voyeur (1994)) is the key to his universe. Brass argues that the housewife, the professor, the nun, or the aristocrat all share the same secret. Behind closed doors—or in Brass’s case, behind a slightly ajar door—every woman is the director of her own erotic rebellion. This is where the interpretation becomes nuanced. Mainstream critics have often accused Brass of misogyny, of reducing women to objects of the male gaze. However, a closer look at his heroines suggests the opposite. The women in a Tinto Brass film are rarely victims. They are strategists .

"Todas lo hacen" is not just a tagline. It is an invitation to stop pretending. In the dark theaters of the 1970s and 80s, Brass held up a mirror to a society still uncomfortable with its own body. That mirror might be smudged, tilted, and covered in velvet, but its reflection is honest: underneath the clothes and the conventions, we all share the same fire.