Those same fans may address why Paolo and Vittorio Taviani emulated Pasolini’s example — and, one may include, those of Hugo Fregonese (“Decameron Nights”) and additionally Monicelli, Fellini, Visconti and De Sica (“Boccaccio ’70”). While the last two movies aren’t on the same level as Pasolini’s suggestively charged Renaissance cavort, in any event they pass on a fitting feeling of lively deviousness, which is missing in the Tavianis’ version. What turned out badly? The script and the lensing are very spotless, the overlong preface excessively constrained, and the comic drama regularly excessively wide something Boccaccio, notwithstanding when rough, figured out how to skirt through his authority of the storyteller’s specialty.
The infection is annihilating Florence in 1348, striking fear among the solid few.