Based on the hugely imaginative work of Giovanni Boccaccio, this is a rather lacklustre effort with Louis Jourdan taking the role of the acclaimed storyteller who is seeking shelter from the pursing troops of the invading Duke of Lorenzo. He has also learned of the location of his love "Fiametta" (Joan Fontaine) but upon arrival at the villa in which she, and four others (including a terribly wooden Joan Collins as "Pampinea") are hiding, he is only permitted to stay with them on the condition that he tells them a story each evening and that he doesn't try to seduce anyone. He agrees, but clearly plans to use his tales to arouse her ardour nonetheless. His stories challenge the strength of her morals, to varying extents: always a young woman married to much older man (always Godfrey Tearle) but the third story comes from the woman herself, and it offers an interestingly juxtaposed position to those presented in his, more opportune, depictions. The stories themselves challenge stereotypes of romance; the place of a woman in the home; the nature of love and honour and loyalty but the film itself falls well short. Fontaine is remarkably sterile and Jourdan, despite his mellifluous tones, lacks charisma. It takes for ever to get going and when we do, it all struggles to animate itself. Much like with Shakespeare, so much of the nuance of the narrative - the descriptive language that is subtle, funny and potent struggles to translate onto a screen at the best of times - and this isn't one of those. His works deserved a much more sensitive and competent adaptation for the screenplay. What we are left with here is just a confused romantic adventure with some seriously undercooked characters across the board. It runs beyond two hours, so there is no real excuse for this short-selling. Pity.