Editor’s Note: This article contains spoilers for “The Decameron.”
Giovanni Boccaccio’s 14th-century book is a frame story in which 10 young people agree to abscond to the Italian countryside at the height of the bubonic plague. Their pandemic experience was defined by innovation directly resulting from their forced isolation, much like many of the world’s creatives in recent years.
As the saying goes, history is bound to repeat itself. When it does, forms of entertainment will follow suit. In 1353, “The Decameron” arose from the ashes of the plague in literary form. In 2024, it re-emerged in the wake of COVID-19 in the form of television.
“The Decameron,” the latest addition to 2024’s summer of period dramedies, takes audiences all the way back to medieval Italy. Premiered on Netflix on July 25, the limited series reinterprets Boccaccio’s book of the same name as a soapy, raunchy dark comedy.
Set in 1348, the series revolves around several pairs fleeing to a countryside villa to escape the plague-ridden metropolis. Netflix’s adaptation of the book changes the original brigata of Florentine elites by reimagining them as a mixture of social classes. The brigata, which notably features Pampinea (Zosia Mamet), Licisca (Tanya Reynolds) and Sirisco (Tony Hale), aims to spend their time at the villa sequestered away from the terrors of the plague but find themselves in increasingly chaotic situations throughout their stay.
The premise of Boccaccio’s “The Decameron” has been incredibly topical in recent years; the image of a group of elites relaxing in their personal pastoral paradise amid a plague hits too close to home post-COVID 19 pandemic. Shaking up the brigata is a step in the right direction.
Many of the alterations to the source material attempt to bring the story in line with the societal expectations of today’s audience, though these attempts vary in success. By shifting focus to the serving class a positive perspective change is possible and two role reversals occur to accomplish this.
Witty and charming Doctor Dioneo (Amar Chadha-Patel) was originally a part of the book’s brigata, while nobleman Tindaro (Douggie McMeekin) was the seldom-mentioned gullible servant to the eliminated character Filostrato. Tindaro’s social upgrade to a nobleman is at a glance positive, but his behavior remains consistent with his book counterpart. This rendition of Tindaro only seems to serve one of the show’s arguments: that the upper class are nothing more than brattish tyrants of their homes. Dioneo’s virtues are highlighted briefly, but his secret scheme to poison Tindaro negates most of the progress made to make him come out as a hero.
One attempt to shift perspective is successful. The in-universe role reversal between Filomena (Jessica Plummer) and Licisca adequately repairs the tensions felt between maid and mistress. While Licisca’s character remains fairly static, she is the only member of the brigata who can truly be described as noble, despite her being born into the serving class. Her courage and craftiness make her one of the few characters that is enjoyable to watch from start to finish.
Filomena’s character development is perhaps the only satisfying arc of the series. She transforms from a greedy young lady with a penchant for complaining to a woman open to love and connection with those she previously viewed as beneath her station. Filomena and Licisca’s narrative reminds audiences of the age-old lesson that one cannot be quick to judge the castaways of society. Their concurrent development better serves the main takeaway of both the show and book: social class is not an indicator of one’s character and virtue, and there is always potential for growth.
The differences between this adaptation and its source material are jarring and often unnecessary, but they are understandable when put in the context of today’s streaming culture. While the book is a collection of stories told by our storytelling brigata, the series focuses solely on the lives of the brigata, with some gentle nods to the tales their original characters told.
A faithful adaptation of Boccaccio’s original work does not seem feasible for the small screen. 100 tales told over 10 days cannot reasonably fit into the standard eight-episode run of a limited series. A lengthy television series for a nearly 700-year-old book that is relevant — but not exactly popular — in today’s culture is equally illogical, even if that would best serve the source material.
What the series lacks in book accuracy, it makes up for in modern entertainment value and cultural relevance in the current zeitgeist. The source material serves as a true piece of escapist literature. Its metafictional nature is not appropriate for a post-pandemic social climate that would rather forget some of quarantine’s creations. Focusing on the realities of the lived experiences of pandemic survival is the ideal route given the current entertainment environment.
The bubonic plague’s dooming presence is pervasive throughout the entire series, but the dread it brings is upstaged by the utter childishness of many of its leads, primarily the nobles. Before being humbled by her temporary servitude, Filomena is nothing short of a nightmare to be around. Pampinea is enthusiastically petty and entitled throughout her failed engagement and attempt to claim the villa. Tindaro abuses his hypochondria to push his doctor around and guilt the rest of the villa into sympathizing with him. It is Pampinea’s and Tindaro’s abilities to be the most annoying characters in this story that make their demise oddly gratifying.
All that being said, there is something absurdly compelling about watching the silly fools barely get through their obstacles. The dark comedy genre suits itself very well to this reimagining of a work already intended to serve purely as a fun distraction during trying times.
Despite all the diversions from the original story, Netflix’s “The Decameron” comes back around to match the book’s ending with the tale of Griselda. The only ones to make it out of the villa alive were those born into the serving class or humbled by their circumstances of temporary servitude, and they are the ones that audiences will recognize as the most virtuous. Like Griselda, their meager appearances do not alter the nobility of their character.
One of Licisca’s last lines brings the encompassing message of Boccaccio’s work back into the foreground, maintaining that it is not a place or title that is worth fighting for but the people who stick with you through it all. Netflix’s rendition of “The Decameron” reinvigorates the notion that camaraderie is the greatest power in the face of peril and pestilence.
Camille Robinson is an Arts & Entertainment Intern for the summer 2024 quarter. She can be reached at camilllr@uci.edu.
Edited by Mia Noergaard
