Wondrous Boccaccio

In the summer of 1348, as the shadow of the plague spreads through Florence, a tight‑knit circle of young aristocrats—seven women and three men—flee the choking streets for the peaceful isolation of a secluded villa perched among the Tuscan hills. The air is heavy with the scent of olive trees and the unspoken fear of an unseen enemy, yet the villa itself becomes a sanctuary where the rush of history is softened by the gentle hum of rustling leaves and distant church bells. Within these walls the group seeks not only safety but a way to quiet the constant dread that hangs over them.

Around the candlelit hearth they turn to stories, weaving a tapestry of tales that swing from the tragic to the bizarre, from the wistful to the erotic, always with a keenly felt female perspective at the heart of each narrative. In their recollections they summon figures such as Messer Gentile Garisendi and his beloved Catalina, the hapless apprentice Calandrino who chases illusion, the austere Duke Tancredi and his defiant daughter Ghismunda, the secretive Mother Superior guarding her own hidden passions, and the yearning lover Federico Alberighi whose affection for Giovanna lingers like a whispered promise. These voices, though rooted in different corners of medieval Italy, resonate with the same longing for connection, meaning, and a brief respite from the world outside.

The film moves with a lyrical, almost tactile sensibility—sunlight spilling across stone arches, the soft clink of wine glasses, the rustle of silk against parchment—while the storytelling itself becomes a character, shaping the mood and revealing the inner lives of the refugees. As each tale unfolds, it mirrors the fragile hope of its tellers, inviting the audience to wonder how the shared act of narration might transform fear into wonder, and whether the villa’s quietude can hold the storm that rages beyond its gates.

Last Updated: September 24, 2025 at 05:00