Amadeus (1984)
Amadeus had all the markings of a pretentious little art
film - After all, how could a biography of Mozart not seem dull?
But nothing could be further from the truth . . .
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart died mysteriously in 1791. Thirty-two
years later a mediocre, forgotten composer named Antonio Salieri
attempted suicide and was dragged off to an insane asylum claiming
to be the man who murdered him.
How much is truth and how much is fantasy? What really
happened? These are the questions Milos Forman addresses in Amadeus,
the big, expensive, but ultimately exhausting film Peter Shaffer
has adapted from his London and Broadway stage successes.
Quite a few historical liberties occur in Amadeus, but
they are liberties that had to be taken because most of the movie
is depicted from the point of view of Salieri (Abraham), Mozart's
main musical rival. This works very well because it allows the
viewer to appreciate Mozart without the film being overly
pedantic.
We see the powdered, giggling Mozart, a ridiculous mess, work
his way up to a cherished position in the court, while Salieri
watches his own position as official court composer usurped by the
arrogant young visitor from Salzburg.
As Salieri is ridiculed by the obnoxious brat Mozart in front
of his own king, the first seeds of hate are sown almost from the
two composers' introduction. Missing no opportunity to wreck his
rival's career and ruin his health, Salieri simultaneously
worships him as a musical genius, thus we have the tragedy of a
mediocre talent surpassed by a great talent who was a mediocre
person.
Salieri constructs the ultimate revenge against Mozart's
God-given talent. He anonymously commissions the brilliant
composer to write a requiem mass, then plans to murder him and
unveil the mass at Mozart's funeral, claiming the work as his own.
Abraham justifiably won the 1984 Best Actor Oscar for his
multifaceted performance as Salieri. He portrays the inner demons
in the man and his obsessions without making him into a
caricature; he keeps him accessible and likable, no matter how
conflicted he becomes.
As Mozart himself, Tom Hulce does a very good job, though he
may go just a little too far at times. He usually cannot display
the subtleties of the character's various emotions as well as
Abraham does, but it remains a strong performance. Hulce also adds
a touching sense of innocence and naïveté that helps make his
scenes with Abraham more effective.
Elizabeth Berridge, who plays Constanze, Mozart's wife, is a
total disaster. With her pinched, metallic voice and her community
theatre artistry, it doesn't matter how much she pinches her
bodice into one of the low-cut Viennese gowns. She still looks and
sounds and acts like a preppie schoolgirl who got lost on her way
to a Michael Jackson concert.
With all the pomp and pageantry, there are painfully dull
stretches, especially the midsection of the film, which includes
some clumsy stagings of the Mozart operas themselves.
Extraneous subplots are introduced and abandoned. We really
don't need to know how Mozart's father got worked in his operas,
or how Mrs. Mozart balanced the books. And there's entirely too
much music.
Filmed at gargantuan expense in Prague, the film drips with
opulence in its recreation of eighteenth-century Vienna.
From the howling madhouse where Salieri tells the story in
flashback to a visiting priest, to the masked balls of the royal
court, Amadeus spares no cost in filling the screen with flashy
sets, glittering costumes, and what seems like more extras than
there were subjects in the Austrian Empire.
If it's majesty you're after, Amadeus is a visual treat.
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