Patrizia Mirigliani
Sé stessa

Behind the glitz of Miss Italia, director Patrizia Mirigliani fights to save the iconic pageant, now wavering amid scandals and changing beauty standards.
I didn’t expect to feel sorry for a beauty pageant. Not after decades of eye-rolling at sequined gowns and rehearsed answers about world peace. But Miss Italia Mustn’t Die isn’t really about the pageant—it’s about the woman who’s spent her life holding it together, even as the world decides it no longer wants what she’s selling.
Patrizia Mirigliani, the director of Miss Italia and the film’s central figure, is a study in stubborn grace. She’s the kind of woman who can say, with absolute conviction, that a bikini contest is a cultural institution, while the camera lingers on the empty seats in the auditorium. The contradiction isn’t lost on her.
It’s just not enough to make her stop.
The film opens with a montage of past winners—glossy, triumphant, their smiles as polished as the trophies they clutch. Then the camera cuts to the present: a half-empty theater, a stage that looks like it’s been borrowed from a local high school, and Patrizia in a blazer, barking orders into a headset. The contrast is jarring, but not in the way you’d expect.
This isn’t a funeral for a dying tradition. It’s more like watching someone rearrange the deck chairs on the Titanic while insisting the ship is unsinkable. And yet, there’s something almost heroic in her refusal to acknowledge the iceberg.

The documentary’s greatest strength is its refusal to soften the edges of its subject. Miss Italia isn’t just outdated—it’s grotesque. The film doesn’t shy away from the pageant’s most uncomfortable moments: judges debating the “wife potential” of contestants, leering at their bodies like they’re inspecting livestock, or dismissing a woman’s intelligence because she’s too pretty.
One judge, in a moment of unguarded honesty, admits that the ideal Miss Italia should be “a little stupid, but not too stupid.” The line gets a laugh from the room. It’s supposed to be funny. It isn’t.
And yet, for all its critique, the film doesn’t quite know what to do with Patrizia. She’s both the villain and the victim of this story—a woman who’s spent her life perpetuating a system that now sees her as a relic. The camera follows her home, where she lives surrounded by memorabilia: photos of past winners, newspaper clippings, a framed picture of Donald Trump (a detail that’s either hilarious or horrifying, depending on your politics).
"A sharp, sometimes grotesque look at Miss Italia’s outdated world: revealing and well made, but also exhausting and uneven."
The film is strongest when it lets judges, organizers and contestants expose the pageant’s sexism and anachronism in their own words, turning the spectacle into a bleakly funny portrait of a dying institution. It underlines the patriarchal mentality behind the show and is a well-crafted documentary, but the focus on family melodrama, the heavy attention on Aurora, and the sheer unpleasantness of the environment put others off.
Behind the rhinestones and regional sashes, Miss Italia Mustn’t Die hides more drama than a season of prestige TV. latestnetflix.com's view is that The Netflix documentary about Italy’s most infamous beauty pageant accidentally turned into a very public family therapy session, a culture‑war battlefield, and a rolling scandal machine.Let’s peel back the spray tan.
Whether you see Miss Italia Mustn’t Die as a passionate defense of a misunderstood institution or a self‑owning confession of a bygone era, one thing’s certain: the pageant may be fighting irrelevance, but the gossip? Very much alive.
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