As a fan of historical dramas with a wicked sense of humor, I was immediately drawn to Netflix’s “The Decameron.” The series follows a group of nobles and their servants escaping the Black Plague in medieval Italy only to find themselves ensnared in a web of sex, secrets, and deceit at the Villa Santa.
At the start of Netflix’s “The Decameron,” most of the characters are seeking refuge from the ongoing Black Plague. They may not express it this way, but they’re essentially escaping to the peaceful, uninfected countryside as a means of riding out the pandemic.
Regardless of their efforts to adopt a carefree attitude during vacation or how fervently they wish for a change in fortune, and despite interruptions from reality, the stories in The Decameron demonstrate that humans are inherently complex beings, expressing our flaws, desires, and heroism in every situation.
At Villa Santa, where The Decameron’s elite guests are welcomed by enigmatic Visconte Leonardo, they find themselves entangled in a scandalous world of desire and concealed truths, rivaling even the most sensational reality TV shows. Among them are Neifile (Lou Gala) and Panfilo (Karan Gill), each secretly pursuing the charming doctor Dioneo (Amar Chadha-Patel). However, he is captivated only by Filomena, who in disguise is Licisca (Tanya Reynolds), her mistress’ servant. Leonardo himself keeps a low profile, leaving Sirisco (Tony Hale) and Stratilia (Leila Farzad) to manage his estate. Pampinea (Zosia Mamet), Leonardo’s wealthy fiancée yet to be met, grows increasingly frustrated by his absence. The intrigue continues with many more characters.
In a light-hearted and humorous manner, “The Decameron” doesn’t take things too seriously at first. Amidst the piles of corpses being thrown into the rivers of Florence, the characters indulge in their own carefree escapades in Tuscany, intermittently evading threats from robbers and illness. The series playfully mocks medieval remedies like wearing flowers in one’s nose or rubbing onions on pulse points. Similar to “My Lady Jane” on Prime Video and “Mary & George” on Starz, Kathleen Jordan’s adaptation of Giovanni Boccaccio is intentionally irreverent towards history. Although the setting may appear typical for a medieval costume drama, the dialogue is filled with sass and bawdiness, spoken in unabashedly contemporary accents.
As a big fan of “Derry Girls,” I’m always in awe of the complex dynamics between Pampinea and her loyal handmaiden Misia, portrayed brilliantly by Saoirse-Monica Jackson. Pampinea is the epitome of a demanding employer, bouncing between mood swings and unreasonable requests with the unpredictability of a temperamental toddler. Misia, on the other hand, is the ultimate devoted servant, accepting each of Pampinea’s outbursts with an unwavering obedience that borders on submissive.
Despite the actors’ dedicated performances, the early parts of the comedy are marred by a lack of polish. With eight hours to fill, certain jokes, such as Neifile’s frequent gazes at half-clad men, become repetitive and lose their impact. Characters like Panfilo and the genuine Filomena (Jessica Plummer) fail to stand out from the crowd of generic wealthy characters, while numerous relationships appear to be driven more by the story’s demand for maximum drama rather than authentic feelings or conflicts between the characters.
The Decameron becomes more engaging as it delves deeper into the raw emotions hidden beneath the merriment. Despite its unwavering commitment to comedy, it introduces sincerity, making the stories even more touching. Death is a recurring theme at Villa Santa, with the first episode directed by Michael Uppendahl ending in a gory massacre as the guests defend against marauding thieves. However, the impact of death grows stronger as it takes characters we’ve grown fond of. Amidst these harsh realities, seemingly hateful relationships unexpectedly reveal deep wells of affection. Some characters remain despicable to the end, but others uncover unexpected heroism and empathy within themselves. Even Tindaro (Douggie McMeekin), Dioneo’s crude misogynist, displays a softer side in the most endearing character transformation.
In the later stages of The Decameron, the characters’ predicaments become more intense, making us more engaged in their narratives. The second part explores the struggle between our yearning for autonomy – from societal norms, past regrets, oppressive figures or complicated relationships – and our innate need for companionship. Love is a heavy burden, one character remarks as the pressure mounts near the end, and this sentiment resonates deeply; shortly afterwards, another character will acknowledge that all they have left to battle for is each other, which also seems fitting. The grim reality of The Decameron eventually emerges, compelling us to wish that it had maintained a better balance between freedom and connection throughout the series. Regrettably, like its protagonists and antagonists, the show sometimes forgets that everything matters until it’s nearly too late.
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2024-07-25 10:24