Netflix's The Decameron: The crazier, the better!

As someone who went through three years of isolation during the COVID pandemic, I feel like we haven't really changed from the craziness of humanity during the Black Death seven hundred years ago: the same oppression, madness, bewilderment and absurdity. That's my biggest takeaway from Netflix's new series "The Decameron."

Even though it's a comedy, I couldn't shake off a sense of bewilderment after watching it.

When the trailer for "The Decameron" first came out, I was really excited by its vibrant sets, crazy characters, modern music; I have been intrigued by the core story of the original book. It all seemed like a perfect match for what I wanted to watch - a story that is fun, exciting, not too deep, and definitely not melancholic. However, it didn’t turn out that way in actuality. It feels more like a medieval version of "The White Lotus" rather than an adaptation of "The Decameron." More disappointingly, the character development weaker than in the former.

The series tells the story of a group of nobles and their servants retreating to a countryside villa to escape The Plague in 14th-century Florence. Dramas unfolds in this relatively confined space. Sex, violence, sickness and death comes one after another. In such a crisis-filled environment, it's the best time for human nature to show its bright or dark sides. But the character portrayal in "The Decameron" ends up feeling mediocre and boring.

The story starts off with promise. Tanya Reynolds, who impressed audiences in "Sex Education" as the quirky girl Lily, plays one of the main characters: the servant Licisca. Watching the first episode, I thought she would be a really likable character. She is not self-abased by her low status. She treats everyone equally, cares for the master of the house like a beloved father, and even helps dying beggars by the roadside. She's also smart, being able to see through other people's personalities. She clearly sees the vanity and selfishness of the lady of the house, Filomena, and teaches her a lesson in her own way. Watching her push Filomena into the river and then drive away in a carriage, I was full of anticipation for what she would experience next, believing she would end up a very likable character no matter what.

When I say a character is likable, I don't mean they have to be kind or wise. They can have their selfish desires, evil thoughts, and foolish sides. However, I think a person must have some characteristics that allows me to empathize with. They don't have to be very similar to me to achieve that. Just some qualities that I desire to have will work. For example, in real life, I tend to avoid all possible conflicts. But deep down, I long to be brave enough one day to stand up for myself. Therefore, I always fall for characters in movies who are particularly clever and daring to argue with others.

Another important point is that likable characters are often vivid and real. They can have a particularly strong personality, but they should not be one-dimensional. This requires characters to show some contrasts and changes.

In this regard, "The Decameron" does relatively well with Neifile and Panfilo. Neifile starts off devout to the point of being rigid sometimes. But after learning that her rescue from the well was not a divine intervention but arranged by her husband, she exhibits a kind of reckless madness. From this point on, she becomes an endearing role that allows the audience to regret her death soon afterwards. Similarly, Panfilo's personality is initially vague. His most prominent feature in the story is his homosexuality. But for today's audiences, this is not a compelling secret. It is not until he shows a love for his wife Neifile that goes beyond plain romance that he becomes likable. His highlight moment comes when he walks towards the mercenaries with Neifile's body in his arms to save others.

A devout woman is not just devout, and a homosexual noble does not only love the same sex. The contrasts and changes in their personalities make their characters more three-dimensional and thus more lovable to the audience.

In contrast, the less likable characters in the series drive the plot forward but gradually drain my interest in the story, such as Pampinea, who is mean and selfish from beginning to end, Sirisco, who is always fussing over his pride, Misia, who always compromises with the lady of the house without limits, and Tindaro, who is extremely self-centered. When these characters appear, I wish I could fast-forward, and I did. I don't care about their fates; to me, it wouldn't matter if they disappeared.

Fortunately, these characters undergo a change in the last episode. Pampinea shows warmth towards the maid Misia, Misia kills Pampinea, Tindaro sacrifices himself to protect others, and the arrogant Sirisco is finally abandoned by the villagers.

Unfortunately, these changes happen too late. Some the tedious parts of the plot could be cut away and rueduce the length of the series to six episodes. Just remove unnecessary setups and repetitive scenes (for instance, Licisca and Doctor Dioneo's flirting does not need three episodes of setup), and keep the parts that showcase the madness of the characters.

Madness, undoubtedly, is the key that attracted me to watch this series. Our fear of a world losing order and our bewilderment at a disordered world can all be invested in this madness, one in which we will overthrow the masters who oppress us, throw ourselves against the mercenaries in a futile fight. We will risk our lives to release our sexual desires, our anger and our suppressed pain. To hell with religious doctrines, laws, social hierarchy, morals, and class distinctions.

This brings me to the point where "The Decameron" is not mad enough. In the end, the only survivors are the servants, including Filomena, who served as a servant for a while; all the masters are dead. The plague and violence in this series follow a classic pattern. It's clear that the writers wanted to convey a theme of class struggle through the characters' final fates. However, this goes against the core theme of the original "The Decameron." All the mad atmosphere built up in the earlier part of the plot goes in vain.

Freud believed that civilization is repression. The more advanced the civilization, the deeper the repression. Long-term repression leads to long-term mental disorders, which is the price we must pay for entering civilization as a human species. However, in fact, this repression is not always effective. Most of the time, civilization is like a filter, used to cover human desires and madness. As someone who grew up in an East Asian cultural environment and experienced three years of continuous control during the COVID pandemic, I have a deep understanding of this. Sometimes I am surprised by my own unvented anger and desires, often fantasizing about some form of apocalypse or occasionally having self-destructive thoughts. I deeply know that the gene for madness is rooted in the psyche of every civilized person. Madness is a common spiritual pursuit for people in a repressive environment.

Fortunately, nowadays, there are various paths in our daily lives that can help us vent such madness. Isn't film one of them?

Therefore, the biggest regret of Netflix's "The Decameron" is still that it is not mad enough, though the effort it has made for this is worth acknowledging.

My favorite line from the entire series is what the cook says to her son: "We're just a bit better than mud, but there's nothing wrong with that."

Yes, all beings are equal, but that doesn't mean all beings are noble. Perhaps another truth of equality is that all beings are small, humble, and insignificant. The pandemic won't spare anyone because one life is more valuable, more devout, or more moral than another. Since tomorrow may not exist, why not revel in madness today?