It’s almost inconceivable that “I’m No Angel” existed in the same world as my grandmothers. Starring Mae West, one of the most famous female stars of the day, the film inhabits the same world as the one my comfortable, midwestern Welsh relative grew up in. She was 13 when the film was released, and, by her own admission, never pumped her own gas. She loved bridge and scotch and wanted her middle granddaughter to be a well behaved classical pianist. The dirt-poor Texas Cherokee grandmother, who was 15 when the film came out, had her roadhouse fire quenched by three pregnancies in her early 20s, and was beaten to death at 31 while heavily pregnant with the fourth. At the time of their deaths, 60 years apart, their titles were “Mrs.” followed by their husbands’ names.

“I’m No Angel” — the West-penned story of a swaggering showgirl turned lion tamer turned cross-examining avenger of her own romantic reputation and pocketbook — is ahead of its time now, in 2011. It’s the rare tale of a strong, smart heroine without any ugly, angry-eyed Andrea Dworkin churl, the kind of woman who says to a mediocre boyfriend who tells her “see you later,” that “the later the better.” West is a cheshire cat in sequins with the savvy of Mona Lisa Vito from “My Cousin Vinny.” She’s smooth, but she bites. Her best lines expose the double standard cliches that continue to bog down the majority of movies: “When I’m good, I’m very good, but when I’m bad, I’m better.” Does James Bond ever have to dissect his own sex appeal, or argue the case for his own confidence?

And while she’s street-smart and knows when to cooly toss her drink in a rival’s face, she’s not jaded, like Marlene Dietrich in “The Blue Angel”: Tira still holds out hope for love and, in the end, is willing to plunge into the possible bonfire of a character-assassinating courtroom to prove she hasn’t been a conniving bitch about getting it. She’s got all the down-on-her-knees sex appeal of Paz de la Huerta, but without the degrading, baby-like dumbness that usually goes along with it. She’s sexually voracious (when a fortune teller says there will be a man in her life, she responds, “what, only one?”) without devolving into Tara Reid-like nymphomania.

And astoundingly, her character, Tira seduces Cary Grant, 11 years her junior. Even now, an actress no matter her talent or beauty seducing a man that much younger than her would cause many viewers to wrinkle their noses and retract from the ticket window.

“I’ll never forget you,” one of her fans says. “No one ever does,” she coos. How could they? Even her maids — who are more her entourage, her only friends, rewarded with true sweetness and gossip — are in her thrall. West is one of the only actresses who could tell a servant, “Beulah, peel me a grape,” without the slightest hint of condescension.