Masterful Synthesis or Unnecessary Hyperbole? Comments on A Docudrama about Italian Master-Poet Dante Alighieri
Howard Gardner © 2024
I routinely note television programs of interest and try to watch them—either live or recorded. Recently Public Broadcasting Service (PBS) announced a set of two-hour programs on the Italian poet, Dante Alighieri (Part I: The Inferno; Part 2: Resurrection). As one who studied The Divine Comedy sixty years ago, I was eager to learn more about the poet and the work; I chose to view the programs with considerable anticipation.
In terms of production, the two programs deserve high grades. As might be expected from master filmmaker Ric Burns—brother of master documentarian Ken Burns—the programs are beautifully shot, with arresting views of Florence, as well as other cities, towns, and the countryside in Tuscany. Dante’s life and work are well-explicated by a half-dozen scholars—some Italian, others from Britain or the United States. And one certainly learns about the genesis of the work, its growth over time, its final, completed form, and its reception immediately and in succeeding centuries.
Still from the show of Dante Alighiere (played by Antonio Fazzini)
As a primer, the programs work. Indeed, if someone had never heard of Dante or The Divine Comedy, and watched the pair of programs, that person might well be motivated to explore further.
Yet, as someone with some knowledge of Dante and his times, and with the hope that others could become more familiar with his poetic masterpiece, I was disappointed.
The poem, in three parts, consists of 14,233 lines (often called verses). Yet these verses are rarely recited on the program. (I would estimate that Dante’s verses constitute no more than 5 % of the script). They are often paraphrased or hinted at, but it’s as if the words of Dante himself—whether in Italian or in English or, for that matter, in any adequate translation—cannot be trusted…or, perhaps, that the viewer can’t be trusted to remain in front of the screen.
Galileo Galilei
Even as Dante’s poetic language gets short shrift, his place in Italian history is dramatically—I would even say drastically overstated. If you knew little else about Italy, you would conclude that Dante was the most important personality in the Italian landscape in the last millennium. Indeed, that’s the argument of the last segment of the program, which virtually postulates—indeed argues—that Dante is Italian history.
Quite possibly, he is the greatest writer—though Boccaccio or Petrarch in the next century would be a competitor. And of course, there are great Roman writers, dating back to Caesar, Ovid, and Virgil (the latter Dante’s guide for much of the epic). And of course, there are so many more recent important artists—consider the painter Leonardo, the sculptor Michelangelo, the composers Rossini or Verdi—and when it comes to science, no figure is more outstanding, more essential, than Galileo.
Leaving the realms of artistic or scientific creativity, what about political figures—the emperors of classical times, the counts and conquistadors of the Middle Ages, the political figures of recent times, or the numerous Popes, some of whom were arguably, at the time, the most powerful persons on the planet…or at least in continental Europe?
It’s as if one viewed a program about England, which claimed that Shakespeare (or Dickens) was English history; or Goethe (or Thomas Mann) was German history; or Voltaire, Zola, or Sartre were French history; or Dickinson or Melville or Twain were American history. For artistic purposes, one can make such a dramatic claim—but only those who are ignorant or gullible will take it seriously.
Bottom line, I would still recommend that viewers take the time to watch the program. I don’t regret the four hours that I devoted to it. But, if asked, I would feel the need to indicate that it presents a caricature of Italian history, which does not do credit either to Dante or to the numerous figures who, over two millennia, have together written Roman, Vatican, and Italian history.
Were the programs but two of twenty episodes—from Machiavelli to Mussolini, or from Pope Benedict I to Prime Minister Berlusconi—that would be fine. But as an attempt to convey Italy in its entirety, it is a disappointment, with hyperbole triumphing over a worthy synthesis.
For, as with the appealing movie Shakespeare in Love, you may get the gist of the writer and his times, but not the actual experience of wrestling with the text—optimally in the original, at least in a good and faithful translation. In the end, writing is about the worlds conveyed by a series of words—and not by the alluring ambiance.
I wonder whether these programs about Dante are a symptom—or even a victim—of what I might term PBS-mentality. I’ve seen enough programs à la Masterpiece Theater or Live from Lincoln Center or Rick Steves’ Europe to recognize its symptoms—as well as the ever-lengthening list of sponsors (and it’s not just their names now, we learn ever more about the philanthropists who enable such programs or series).
I wish the teams that assemble such programs would trust viewers, listeners, and readers to consider the content on its merits—rather than need to be assured that they are watching the most important programs about the most consequential figure on the planet…being Dante, who wrote The Divine Comedy, should suffice.
Stepping Back: A Word about Inadequate Syntheses
In this series of blogs, I have sought to describe and—to the best of my ability—explicate the human capacity to synthesize information and to call attention to effective syntheses.
In this pursuit, it’s also helpful, on occasion, to present aspiring syntheses that do not achieve high grades.
While the two programs are enjoyable—and presumably educational for novices—they fall short in two ways:
They do not give the viewer an actual feeling for Dante’s language—it’s like Shakespeare sans verse;
They greatly exaggerate the importance of one single figure in the arc of Italian history over the last millennium.
Perhaps someone can retain the excellent footage and expert testimony while eliminating the hyperbolic material and conveying instead the beauty and power of Dante’s poetry.
For their comments, I thank Shinri Furuzawa, Annie Stachura, and Ellen Winner.