Taking inspiration from a particularly ribald tale from “The
Decameron,” Italian writer Giovanni Boccaccio’s collection of 14th century
novellas, “The Little Hours” quickly spirals off in its own delightfully absurd
direction. That the Catholic League decided to issue an official condemnation
of this wacked-out story of three horny medieval nuns immediately after its
Sundance premiere should tell you everything you need to know about
writer-director Jeff Baena’s gleefully obscene comedy
of devotion and desire.
At the center of the tale are the holy women in question:
aloof Alessandra (Alison Brie), aggressively hostile-bordering-on-sociopathic
Fernanda (Aubrey Plaza), and uptight busybody Genevra
(Kate Micucci), who’s forever running to her Mother
Superior (Molly Shannon) to report her fellow sisters’ latest transgressions.
Into this hotbed of frenzied activity enters handsome servant
boy Massetto (Dave Franco). Fleeing the wrath of his
master (Nick Offerman) after he’s caught in bed with
the mistress of the house (a hilarious Lauren Weedman),
Masetto implores bumbling Father Tommasso
(a deadpan John C. Reilly) to give him shelter. The convent just so happens to
need a new groundskeeper after the previous laborer was run off by the unruly
nuns, so the priest agrees, suggesting that Massetto
pretend to be deaf and mute in the hopes that the sisters might leave him
alone. Cue the carnal experimentation and sexual escapades.
“The Little Hours” melds “Monty Python”-esque
irreverence with a dash of European sexploitation. The anachronistically
foul-mouthed — and largely improvised — dialogue clashes comedically
with the otherwise authentic period setting (the film was shot in real,
era-appropriate castles in the Tuscan countryside). What might have been a
one-joke concept — basically nuns gone wild — feels anything but, as Plaza,
Brie, and Micucci wring every drop of comedy out of
the material.
Franco is mostly called upon to look attractive while other
characters shout abuse at and/or have their way with him, but he does it all
quite well. He has a great rapport with Reilly, and a late night confessional
between the two is an inspired highlight. Fred Armisen
is also wonderful as a bishop who pays a surprise visit to the convent, and is
scandalized by what he discovers.
“The Little Hours” is silly, inspired lunacy with a filthy,
surprisingly warm-hearted soul. It also boasts an overtly feminist streak, as
the three women indulge in their own unique pleasure-seeking exploits and
engage in humanity’s age-old tug-of-war between our righteous aspirations and
our baser instincts. Marrying an exuberantly vulgar sex farce to some sly
commentary about religious and social repression in any era, “The Little Hours”
reminds us we might not be out of the Dark Ages quite yet.
This article appears in Jul 5-11, 2017.
