AmadeusHistory is filled with amazing stories about people who were larger than life--old, dead legends. But as the irrepressible Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (Tom Hulce) comments regarding the relevance and entertainment value of listening to staid accounts of figures whose names are etched in stone, it becomes clear that what endears us most to any character of any story is not as much of how remote they are from us, but how much in common we share with these old, dead legends, be they the vaunted and celebrated like Mozart, or the shadow figures lost in the annals of history, like Antonio Salieri (F. Murray Abraham).
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Antonio Salieri is my favorite movie villain of all time; he is conniving, vain, delusional, but intelligent, and, in a way...even sympathetic. And though Salieri is our protagonist, even in the title itself--the middle name of Mozart, loaded with meaning--he is denied the spotlight. Amadeus starts with Salieri crying out that he killed Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart--and while Salieri and Mozart were rivals in the music world in 18th Century Vienna, much of the animosity and events have been highly fictionalized. The story of Amadeus was born from a series of myths and rumors, a sentiment expressed in the film's theatrical trailer. Did Salieri actually kill Mozart? Probably not, but it makes for good gossip, and thus, a spectacular play and film. One might even say that the rumors themselves were not that unlike the kinds of rumors that circulate about modern day celebrities; Amadeus: a tabloid biopic--I jest, of course. Amadeus was adapted from the stage play of the same name by director Milos Forman, with the screenplay by the original playwright Peter Shaffer. The story goes that both well-respected artists conspired to produce the adaptation after being locked away in a Connecticut farmhouse for about four months, developing the rich events and transition to screen that Amadeus would become. This parallels one of the final scenes, in which Salieri and Mozart are--for their mutual love of music--forced to co-operate to produce a work important to them both.
When Amadeus debuted, it had several scenes cut from the theatrical release; although this was a conscious decision by the director to trim the length--cut a few notes--to make the film more palatable to audiences, these scenes have been since restored in the subsequent "director's cut". And while one of the first dvds I owned was Amadeus, and had watched it so many times so that I knew all the beats, watching the director's cut was almost like watching a new movie--many different scenes had additional context, meaning, and revisited lines of dialogue I would not have been aware of without the additional content, including a stunningly tragic scene with Mozart's wife, Constanze (Elizabeth Berridge), which lends important weight as to her disgust for the court composer. It is following this episode when Salieri has passed the point of no return in his faith, taking down the longstanding cross from his wall, so familiar that it leaves the shadow of itself behind in the dust as it is itself consigned to flames of woe. The additional content also highlights Constanze's role as the caregiver in the Mozart household, requiring that she exact her own business savvy in the face of her husband's inability to bring income into the household. In a way, it is not unlike Mozart's own enriching of the entrance march Salieri composes in his honor, in a display of his musical prowess--let's face it, he's showing off--which proves to be both a brazen and humiliating improvisation for Salieri in the presence of the emperor of the Holy Roman Empire, Joseph II (Jeffrey Jones).
Salieri possesses a unique arrogance in his desire to "praise God" with music and his keen ear for sublime harmony, and his dismay at discovering that Mozart is blessed with this power, where he is not. When Mozart is defending his opera to the emperor, upon the discovery that he will be adapting the banned play, "The Marriage of Figaro", he pleads of the emperor and his musical council: "Why must we go on forever writing about gods and legends?" Ironically, in Amadeus, this is what is happening; we are privy to a dramatized slice of history, of myth, about the most beloved musical composer of what we regard today as "classical music". True, Amadeus is unquestionably a period piece, possessed of lush recreations of the period which look as though lifted from the canvases of paintings by William Hogarth, a collection of masterful work by Mozart, and even the great mystery of Mozart's demise; it is no small wonder that given the quality of the film that it has such enduring popularity. But Amadeus is beloved not because it is a titanic triumph, but because it is also so very natural and human, where the virtues and vices of people like Salieri and Mozart are as authentic today as they were two hundred years ago. Mozart is a rock-star of his day, known throughout Europe, highly acclaimed, popular, and has a wild reputation. Though Salieri struggles to compose his work, a quote often attributed to the real-life Mozart exemplifies his attitude toward the craft: "I write as a sow piddles". How this attitude must have infuriated Salieri, who cannot grasp the justice in his devotion to his music being worth less than the inspired genius of a vulgar man who drinks too much, sleeps around, and borrows money. Is God tormenting Salieri out of some whim? I think not; rather, it is evident from the start that if God has a role to play in Amadeus, it is that of the teacher...only, Salieri isn't humble enough to believe that he is the student. From his youth, his earnest prayers to God were a proclamation to celebrate His divinity. But this is only a delusion; Salieri is only interested in celebrating himself. He prays not for the welfare of others, but for himself alone, for God to "make him immortal". This is hardly a humble prayer, even if he claims to offer up his chastity, industry, et al. He claims to offer his humility, but in truth he has none to give. And it is in this with which God answers his prayer, in the attempt to educate the selfish student who has long forgotten how to learn this lesson until it is too late.
Salieri's torment is to remain forever haunted by Mozart--or, more accurately, by his music, and that legacy is evidenced when he is carted from his home following his attempt on his own life, and from the warm, glowing halls in Vienna rings out Mozart's clarion call of divine music. And in the following scene, when Salieri is approached by Father Vogler (Richard Frank) looking to hear the old man's confession, Salieri plays a wonderful prank on him to help him--and us--understand his envy, his frustration. He plays several of his own compositions without recognition (by the priest, or, unless one were a classical music historian, by us)...followed by a few bars of "Eine kleine Nachtmusik"; who is truly "immortal" is apparent, underscoring the finality of Salieri's defeat. It is clear that Salieri does respect Mozart's work--he can't help it--but he also can't help his all-consuming envy at not being the paramount of Viennese music, not just in the eyes of the emperor, but his rival's as well. He is torn between his emotions, caught in a tug of war for the soul which his disadvantaged noble side cannot hope to win. Something springs to mind when I regard two of Salieri's idiosyncrasies: that he has a great fondness for sweets and that he is fashionable, often bearing in his attire or surroundings an article of deep red, and both of these visual cues develop as he becomes more resigned toward his envious--and even diabolical--side. Sweets are a temptation, and the red accents mirror one of mythology's great tempters, the devil himself. These mannerisms subtly indicate Salieri's fall from grace and his escalating abandonment of his claims to honor God, never mind his more overt disclosure of his desire to triumph over God anyway.
Mozart's secretiveness regarding his work often proves to be a hurdle for him, either in his relationships and/or his finances. More often than not, his work is kept safe and secure in his head, as he only puts quill to parchment when it is prepared and perfect, a point of conflict between him and others who want to see he is not merely procrastinating; people such as the producer of "The Magic Flute", Emanuel Schikaneder (Simon Callow), Mozart's own father, Leopold (Roy Dotrice), and even Salieri, by virtue of a hired maid named Lorl (Cynthia Nixon), who performs reconnaissance on behalf of the court composer. Mozart's secrecy ultimately has to do with his need for approval and the perfectionism which that need has driven into him. In his eyes, an imperfect work is no work at all; he is the result of a famous child star who has known only that he lives to serve his father, and to be perfect for him. He frequently cites his work as perfect, and refuses to allow the unfinished work to be seen, lest he lose out on that fantastic praise like a drug to him, a psychological ailment, not that unlike Salieri's. It's funny that Mozart's work seems to get the most exposure in Vienna via parody. How like parodies today of cinematic classics or pop culture, part homage and part recognition of the existence of the original work as an accepted entry into the collective of human culture. In a way, both Mozart and Salieri are not that far apart; they get not so much what they want from each other in the end, but what they need. Mozart finds the acknowledgement he has craved in Salieri's devotion and (gasp) friendship; and in a backwards way, Salieri is made "humble"...well, maybe not humble, but recognizes his "mediocrity", albeit with a sardonic cynicism. The last words Mozart says to Salieri is "forgive me", and the irony cannot be lost on the man who recounts this tale to the priest following his suicide attempt. These words might very well belong to God; certainly Salieri no doubt would wish for the wound in his heart to close, but until he can forgive, it shan't. And the worst irony is that he can never repent; the die is cast, and his ascension as the "patron saint of mediocrities" is assured--immortality at last.
Recommended for: Fans of classical music, lush period pieces with sharp and clever dialogue, and even fans of mysteries, too; also, anyone who wants to see one of the best villains ever to grace the silver screen.
When Amadeus debuted, it had several scenes cut from the theatrical release; although this was a conscious decision by the director to trim the length--cut a few notes--to make the film more palatable to audiences, these scenes have been since restored in the subsequent "director's cut". And while one of the first dvds I owned was Amadeus, and had watched it so many times so that I knew all the beats, watching the director's cut was almost like watching a new movie--many different scenes had additional context, meaning, and revisited lines of dialogue I would not have been aware of without the additional content, including a stunningly tragic scene with Mozart's wife, Constanze (Elizabeth Berridge), which lends important weight as to her disgust for the court composer. It is following this episode when Salieri has passed the point of no return in his faith, taking down the longstanding cross from his wall, so familiar that it leaves the shadow of itself behind in the dust as it is itself consigned to flames of woe. The additional content also highlights Constanze's role as the caregiver in the Mozart household, requiring that she exact her own business savvy in the face of her husband's inability to bring income into the household. In a way, it is not unlike Mozart's own enriching of the entrance march Salieri composes in his honor, in a display of his musical prowess--let's face it, he's showing off--which proves to be both a brazen and humiliating improvisation for Salieri in the presence of the emperor of the Holy Roman Empire, Joseph II (Jeffrey Jones).
Salieri possesses a unique arrogance in his desire to "praise God" with music and his keen ear for sublime harmony, and his dismay at discovering that Mozart is blessed with this power, where he is not. When Mozart is defending his opera to the emperor, upon the discovery that he will be adapting the banned play, "The Marriage of Figaro", he pleads of the emperor and his musical council: "Why must we go on forever writing about gods and legends?" Ironically, in Amadeus, this is what is happening; we are privy to a dramatized slice of history, of myth, about the most beloved musical composer of what we regard today as "classical music". True, Amadeus is unquestionably a period piece, possessed of lush recreations of the period which look as though lifted from the canvases of paintings by William Hogarth, a collection of masterful work by Mozart, and even the great mystery of Mozart's demise; it is no small wonder that given the quality of the film that it has such enduring popularity. But Amadeus is beloved not because it is a titanic triumph, but because it is also so very natural and human, where the virtues and vices of people like Salieri and Mozart are as authentic today as they were two hundred years ago. Mozart is a rock-star of his day, known throughout Europe, highly acclaimed, popular, and has a wild reputation. Though Salieri struggles to compose his work, a quote often attributed to the real-life Mozart exemplifies his attitude toward the craft: "I write as a sow piddles". How this attitude must have infuriated Salieri, who cannot grasp the justice in his devotion to his music being worth less than the inspired genius of a vulgar man who drinks too much, sleeps around, and borrows money. Is God tormenting Salieri out of some whim? I think not; rather, it is evident from the start that if God has a role to play in Amadeus, it is that of the teacher...only, Salieri isn't humble enough to believe that he is the student. From his youth, his earnest prayers to God were a proclamation to celebrate His divinity. But this is only a delusion; Salieri is only interested in celebrating himself. He prays not for the welfare of others, but for himself alone, for God to "make him immortal". This is hardly a humble prayer, even if he claims to offer up his chastity, industry, et al. He claims to offer his humility, but in truth he has none to give. And it is in this with which God answers his prayer, in the attempt to educate the selfish student who has long forgotten how to learn this lesson until it is too late.
Salieri's torment is to remain forever haunted by Mozart--or, more accurately, by his music, and that legacy is evidenced when he is carted from his home following his attempt on his own life, and from the warm, glowing halls in Vienna rings out Mozart's clarion call of divine music. And in the following scene, when Salieri is approached by Father Vogler (Richard Frank) looking to hear the old man's confession, Salieri plays a wonderful prank on him to help him--and us--understand his envy, his frustration. He plays several of his own compositions without recognition (by the priest, or, unless one were a classical music historian, by us)...followed by a few bars of "Eine kleine Nachtmusik"; who is truly "immortal" is apparent, underscoring the finality of Salieri's defeat. It is clear that Salieri does respect Mozart's work--he can't help it--but he also can't help his all-consuming envy at not being the paramount of Viennese music, not just in the eyes of the emperor, but his rival's as well. He is torn between his emotions, caught in a tug of war for the soul which his disadvantaged noble side cannot hope to win. Something springs to mind when I regard two of Salieri's idiosyncrasies: that he has a great fondness for sweets and that he is fashionable, often bearing in his attire or surroundings an article of deep red, and both of these visual cues develop as he becomes more resigned toward his envious--and even diabolical--side. Sweets are a temptation, and the red accents mirror one of mythology's great tempters, the devil himself. These mannerisms subtly indicate Salieri's fall from grace and his escalating abandonment of his claims to honor God, never mind his more overt disclosure of his desire to triumph over God anyway.
Mozart's secretiveness regarding his work often proves to be a hurdle for him, either in his relationships and/or his finances. More often than not, his work is kept safe and secure in his head, as he only puts quill to parchment when it is prepared and perfect, a point of conflict between him and others who want to see he is not merely procrastinating; people such as the producer of "The Magic Flute", Emanuel Schikaneder (Simon Callow), Mozart's own father, Leopold (Roy Dotrice), and even Salieri, by virtue of a hired maid named Lorl (Cynthia Nixon), who performs reconnaissance on behalf of the court composer. Mozart's secrecy ultimately has to do with his need for approval and the perfectionism which that need has driven into him. In his eyes, an imperfect work is no work at all; he is the result of a famous child star who has known only that he lives to serve his father, and to be perfect for him. He frequently cites his work as perfect, and refuses to allow the unfinished work to be seen, lest he lose out on that fantastic praise like a drug to him, a psychological ailment, not that unlike Salieri's. It's funny that Mozart's work seems to get the most exposure in Vienna via parody. How like parodies today of cinematic classics or pop culture, part homage and part recognition of the existence of the original work as an accepted entry into the collective of human culture. In a way, both Mozart and Salieri are not that far apart; they get not so much what they want from each other in the end, but what they need. Mozart finds the acknowledgement he has craved in Salieri's devotion and (gasp) friendship; and in a backwards way, Salieri is made "humble"...well, maybe not humble, but recognizes his "mediocrity", albeit with a sardonic cynicism. The last words Mozart says to Salieri is "forgive me", and the irony cannot be lost on the man who recounts this tale to the priest following his suicide attempt. These words might very well belong to God; certainly Salieri no doubt would wish for the wound in his heart to close, but until he can forgive, it shan't. And the worst irony is that he can never repent; the die is cast, and his ascension as the "patron saint of mediocrities" is assured--immortality at last.
Recommended for: Fans of classical music, lush period pieces with sharp and clever dialogue, and even fans of mysteries, too; also, anyone who wants to see one of the best villains ever to grace the silver screen.