THE passage of time has vitiated "Mandragola," Machiavelli's cynical lampoon of 16th-century Florentine morality and the fabulous fertility attributes of the mandrake root. As presented in the Italian period comedy, the satire and the legend, which is as ancient as the Book of Genesis and credulous human beings, are relayed with the approximate subtlety of jokes at a bachelor dinner. The critical thrusts at a dissolute, often irresponsible society that made "Mandragola" a classic of Italian literature are all too rare in this energetic, if obvious and broadly played farce.
Since Machiavelli, like Chaucer and Boccaccio before him, appreciated the historic, universal appeal of the boudoir and cuckoldry as well as love, he cannot be faulted for using these indestructible elements to set up his gibes and laughs. But Alberto Lattuada, the director known for such fine films as "The Overcoat" and "Mafioso," who collaborated on the script of "Mandragola," appears to have forgotten that Renassiance plotting can become dated.
His screenplay, though convoluted, telegraphs its punches. We are introduced to the handsome, aristocratic Philippe Leroy, who hurries to Florence from France to check on the fabled beauty of Rosanna Schiaffino, the very proper wife of the doltish, rich notary, Romolo Valli. Our hero is smitten and vows to conquer his virtuous quarry. His Peeping Tom view of her bathing hardly cools his ardor.
Her husband, on the other hand, is determined to father an heir and has resorted to all sorts of medieval nostrums to bring on this happy state, to no avail. So it is not entirely unexpected that he falls for a scheme concocted by his con man associate, Jean Claude Brialy, in collusion with our suitor, a money-hungry friar (Toto), and other plotters.
Their idea is to have Mr. Leroy, posing as a famed French physician, prescribe mandrake root and a lover, who under the legendary rules is supposed to die after the mating. Naturally, our disguised hero is the lover, a role he is destined to play at length when Miss Schiaffino discovers he is an honest romantic who amorously exposes his intrigue and devotion during their intimacy.
Glimpses of the cutting satire of the Machiavellian original are to be seen in these bedroom exchanges, and in such scenes as the placing of hot stones on the harried heroine's midriff, hot baths and similar tortures designed to foster fecundity, epitomizing the medical quackery of the day. Also in evidence are his acid comments on an avaricious clergy as personalized by the unctuous friar, who is ready to condone sin for a quick ducat, and a seeming contempt for life when a man is killed as an almost casual incident in the plot to nab a "lover." One gets his comic opinion of paying Peeping Toms, including Mr. Leroy, who crash into the private bathing area they are surreptitiously scanning. But they shouldn't be criticized too much since the brunette Miss Schiaffino, although no Eleonora Duse, is, nevertheless, a voyeur's vision. Mr. Leroy, who is no Hamlet, is sincere and handsome enough to turn even her logical head, especially when her husband is adequately played as a gross simpleton by Mr. Valli, and Mr. Brialy, Toto and Nilla Pizzi, as her anxious mother, make properly athletic, if uninspired conspirators.
Mr. Lattuada's direction is brisk but his spoof, which is only mildly sexy rather than strikingly satirical, merely shows its age, without bringing the story alive.
Since Machiavelli, like Chaucer and Boccaccio before him, appreciated the historic, universal appeal of the boudoir and cuckoldry as well as love, he cannot be faulted for using these indestructible elements to set up his gibes and laughs. But Alberto Lattuada, the director known for such fine films as "The Overcoat" and "Mafioso," who collaborated on the script of "Mandragola," appears to have forgotten that Renassiance plotting can become dated.
His screenplay, though convoluted, telegraphs its punches. We are introduced to the handsome, aristocratic Philippe Leroy, who hurries to Florence from France to check on the fabled beauty of Rosanna Schiaffino, the very proper wife of the doltish, rich notary, Romolo Valli. Our hero is smitten and vows to conquer his virtuous quarry. His Peeping Tom view of her bathing hardly cools his ardor.
Her husband, on the other hand, is determined to father an heir and has resorted to all sorts of medieval nostrums to bring on this happy state, to no avail. So it is not entirely unexpected that he falls for a scheme concocted by his con man associate, Jean Claude Brialy, in collusion with our suitor, a money-hungry friar (Toto), and other plotters.
Their idea is to have Mr. Leroy, posing as a famed French physician, prescribe mandrake root and a lover, who under the legendary rules is supposed to die after the mating. Naturally, our disguised hero is the lover, a role he is destined to play at length when Miss Schiaffino discovers he is an honest romantic who amorously exposes his intrigue and devotion during their intimacy.
Glimpses of the cutting satire of the Machiavellian original are to be seen in these bedroom exchanges, and in such scenes as the placing of hot stones on the harried heroine's midriff, hot baths and similar tortures designed to foster fecundity, epitomizing the medical quackery of the day. Also in evidence are his acid comments on an avaricious clergy as personalized by the unctuous friar, who is ready to condone sin for a quick ducat, and a seeming contempt for life when a man is killed as an almost casual incident in the plot to nab a "lover." One gets his comic opinion of paying Peeping Toms, including Mr. Leroy, who crash into the private bathing area they are surreptitiously scanning. But they shouldn't be criticized too much since the brunette Miss Schiaffino, although no Eleonora Duse, is, nevertheless, a voyeur's vision. Mr. Leroy, who is no Hamlet, is sincere and handsome enough to turn even her logical head, especially when her husband is adequately played as a gross simpleton by Mr. Valli, and Mr. Brialy, Toto and Nilla Pizzi, as her anxious mother, make properly athletic, if uninspired conspirators.
Mr. Lattuada's direction is brisk but his spoof, which is only mildly sexy rather than strikingly satirical, merely shows its age, without bringing the story alive.