If Pasolini had something more than grubby fantasy on his mind -- and presumably he did -- it isn't immediately apparent.

The Canterbury Tales isn’t a great film, but it’s enjoyable, and infinitely more intelligent than most of the pulp that is passed off as entertainment.

Canterbury Tales is a caricature, utterly lacking in poetry of human feeling, which cannot be excused by Pasolini's ignorance of Chaucer or the contempt he affects for the prudery of the society he lives in.

the brash, arguably campy manner in which Pasolini transcribes Chaucer's medieval bawdiness to the screen, coupled with the film's various technical faults (particularly the lousy dubbed dialogue), tends to make the film a chore to watch.