The Decameron on Netflix features a diverse cast with an even wider range of accents, meant to deliver a universal viewing experience.Supplied
When Giovanni Boccaccio composed The Decameron in the 14th century, he captured a slice of pandemic life that offered comedy, love and a few raunchy turns. The story followed 10 young people fleeing Florence in the wake of the Black Death and taking refuge in a villa. There, they spun a collective 100 stories to pass the time and earn their keep, setting the tone for hope, perseverance and sex.
Netflix’s eight-part version of The Decameron aims to do the same in 2024, reminding us all that COVID-19 wasn’t the first time the world shut down. The series is loosely based on Boccaccio’s collection of short stories and follows a group of nobles and their servants who take refuge in the Italian countryside in 1348 during the bubonic plague.
While this group doesn’t sing for their supper, the colourful characters certainly go through their share of ordeals during their time at the villa. There’s resident servant Sirisco (Tony Hale), who is tasked with entertaining the group but quickly becomes his own worst enemy. Pampinea (Zosia Mamet) arrives with her servant Misia (Saoirse-Monica Jackson), expecting to marry the villa’s missing owner. Neifile (Lou Gala) and Panfilo (Karan Gill) are a married couple with trust issues, Tindaro (Douggie McMeekin) brings along his amorous doctor Dioneo (Amar Chadha-Patel), and Licisca (Tanya Reynolds) arrives pretending to be her mistress, Filomena (Jessica Plummer).
It’s a diverse cast with an even wider range of accents, meant to deliver a universal viewing experience.
In a world of Netflix period pieces like Bridgerton, The Crown and even Vikings: Valhalla, The Decameron stands out both in tone and ambition. Rather than anchoring itself in history and exploring the surrounding world, this is a show that keeps its narrative contained with dark comedic turns, satire and an abundance of lust.
If Boccaccio was interested in how love allows humans to endure awful circumstances but also clouds judgment, The Decameron nails those themes. Almost every character is self-centred and living for themselves in a world that seems ready to end, opening the door for cross-class hookups and experimentation. Death is treated as an inconvenience that comes knocking sooner or later, and anyone inflicted with the pestilence is tossed aside.
That makes it tough to really care about any of the characters and whether they ultimately survive. However, random stories of one-sided love arise here and there, which give even these horrible people hope, offering the promise of redemption.
It’s a satirical tone juxtaposed against the suffering of the outside world, and The Decameron capitalizes on it with every scene. From the opening credits, which feature rats fornicating, to the discovery of a sex room in the villa halfway through the series, creator and showrunner Kathleen Jordan isn’t afraid to go there.
Those brash risks might not be for everyone, particularly during some of the gorier or more exploitative scenes. Often, the show veers into sheer silliness, which can be delightful or jarring, depending on the scene and who is involved. And the series lags at times because of its confined setting, but when it does introduce external characters they’re every bit as satirical and over-the-top as the main players and only add to the overall chaos.
Where The Decameron does succeed is in its exploration of class and privilege. As we’ve witnessed recently, times of crisis can lead to larger class disparity, and that issue is what gives this show what heart it has. Misia, Licisca and one of the villa’s resident servants, Stratilia (Leila Farzad), are women just trying to get by with what they’ve got. As a result they anchor some of that comedy in reality, keeping the series in check.
These characters all have their own secrets and reasons for attaching themselves to their nobles the way they do, but watching them break free of those relationships is half the fun. Every time they deal with the stupidity of those “in charge,” their relatable reactions draw sympathy before they too jump back into the play.
Play, by the way, may be the best way to describe the series as a whole. It’s a risk to set a comedy during one of the worst times in human history and only four years after the start of a pandemic that reset the world. But by no means does this series take itself seriously, so viewers shouldn’t either.
Much like the characters flee to the villa to forget the world while eating good food and drinking lots of wine, audiences should come to The Decameron for a brief escape. You won’t fill up on epic love stories, great conversations or life-changing moments, but you may leave with a reminder that this, too, shall pass. All you need to do is keep your sense of humour and remember that even in the darkest of times, sex rooms still exist.
Editor’s note: This article has been updated to clarify that Giovanni Boccaccio composed The Decameron in the 14th century. A previous version incorrectly stated that it was published at that time.