AMADEUS

Sometimes the ambitious nature of a project is enough to put one off it. After all ambition can lead to a film’s being overwrought and over-thought. Amadeus cannot help but appear somewhat over-ambitious. It’s a biopic of one of the greatest musicians to have ever lived, it’s a story about the nature of envy – of how mediocrity is born and in turn destroyed in the shadow of brilliance and it moves forward with a kind of agitated energy changing its mood whenever it pleases. At one moment it’s a simple period piece, next it’s a romantic comedy, then it’s a meditation on mediocrity before it finally bleeds into a kind of murder mystery. This kind of enterprise, although admirable can often derail a film – I’m thinking of the overlong and overblown sweeping historical epics such as Kingdom of Heaven or Troy which aim high but fall flat. These considerations combined with Amadeus’ bum-aching three hour running time (if you’re watching the director’s cut – which you must) prevented me from popping this film in the DVD player.

But I’m damn glad I did get around to it. After about 15 minutes my worries and presuppositions were dashed and I knew that director Milos Foreman was in complete control of the material. He expertly handles the changes in tone and pace, crafting film both visually stunning and emotionally affecting. Amadeus is not about Mozart – at least not in any direct sense. It is a film about greatness and its antithesis - a story of inferiority and jealousy. Antonio Salieri, born 1750, was an Italian composer and a devoted subject of the Hasburg Monarchy who exercised a great deal of influence in the development of 18th century opera. He also suffered the grave misfortune of living in the same time and place as a certain Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.

When we first observe Salieri (F. Murray Abraham) he is a broken suicidal old man, living in Vienna circa 1823, who is racked with guilt believing that he is responsible for the death of Mozart (Tom Hulce) some thirty years ago. He is soon moved into an asylum where he offers up his full confession to a somewhat out-of-his-depths Priest. Amadeus is this confession. From a young age Salieri’s love for music and desire to progress were hampered by the imprudence of his business-minded father. He barters with God: a life devoted to his one true love – music, in return for his celibacy. The untimely death of his father sees Salieri climb through the ranks of Vienna’s cultural elite earning a position as court composer for Emperor Joseph II (Jeffrey Jones). Despite his ascension he finds himself unable to hit upon any sense of satisfaction as his progress is seemingly mocked at every step by the precocious ability of a young man whose talent both haunts and obsesses Salieri. As a young boy, Mozart plays concerts for dignified nobles whilst blindfolded. As a young-man Mozart is observed in the court of the Archbishop by Salieri to be impertinent and tardy but also supremely talented. A spark of envy is born within Salieri.

Whilst Salieri is presented to us as a competent enough composer it is clear he recognises both the limits of his own abilities and the unrestrained strength of Mozart’s ability. His trouble results not from his own mediocrity but from his ability to discern genius – to understand what it is about Mozart’s music that makes it great, without ever being able to achieve this greatness for himself. That’s what makes this film universally relatable. We are not always able to relate to greatness since the majority of us will never experience it for ourselves, but everybody strives for it. If what Mark Twain has to say is true – that human live is made worth living through the respect and favour of our neighbours, (in a wide sense) then it must be equally true that we seek to obtain this respect through our own unique brilliance or individuality. The urge to stand-out from the crowd whilst also maintaining the rights to be a part of this crowd is present within us all. In this respect Salieri is an everyman character, a man of ample talents, but also – fatally – a man whose skill set is sadly lacking in comparison to the bloke down the street who seems to have it all.

When his attempts to prevent Mozart’s rise to prominence in Vienna fails, Salieri attempts to take from Mozart everything he holds dear. He does this by using the only quality over which he is a better master than the seemingly naive Mozart – his cunning. He attempts to corrupt Mozart’s wife Constanze (the beautiful Elizabeth Berridge) almost succeeding but falling at the last hurdle, hoisted by his last remaining virtue: his obedience to God. More successful is his attempt to take Mozart’s patrons by painting a picture of him as a disorderly drunk with an eye for young ladies. Soon enough with his family’s expenses on the rise and his commissions decreasing Mozart begins to cut an increasingly desperate and disturbed figure. This opens the door for Salieri to unleash upon Mozart his master plan. Wearing an ominous mask and cloak combination to hide his identity he offers Mozart a considerable sum of money on the condition that he complete a requiem mass. Exhausted and weak, yet desperate for cash, Mozart accepts the stranger’s terms.

In fact, Salieri’s plan is to do away with Mozart on the completion of the requiem (what would become the Requiem Mass in D Minor) and claim the composition as his own. This is his opportunity to claim the respect and admiration that he feels due to him. Through working on The Magic Flute and the Requiem at the same time, Mozart’s exhaustion worsens until he is left bed-ridden. This leads to the film’s best scene (albeit one which requires us to suspend our prior beliefs) where Salieri tricks the frail Mozart into working on his Requiem. Mozart conjures instrumental arrangements and orchestral movements off the top of his head whilst the ‘spiritually ravenous’ Salieri struggles to get all the details onto paper. The combination of Mozart’s enormous – almost supernatural talent and his naivety is almost too much to bear. Despite all of Salieri’s malicious deeds Mozart reaffirms their friendship: “I thought you did not care for my work - or me. Forgive me. Forgive me!” and asks Salieri to stick by his bedside throughout the night. Eventually Mozart’s heart gives out, perhaps through exhaustion or an acute rheumatic fever.

Many years later Salieri accepts the blame for his death. Whilst we as an audience can accept that he is worthy of the blame for pointing Mozart towards his own grave, it is difficult to view Salieri as a repugnant or morally-vacant man. After all, he claims, “I speak for all mediocrities in the world. I am their champion. I am their patron saint” and it is we, the great mediocre masses that he speaks for. In many ways his actions are just the ones we commit every day when we place our own progression over and above that of others, but pushed to an extreme. This is a film about Salieri and yet the film’s title takes Mozart’s middle name. The reason behind this is important: Amadeus is latin for ‘God’s beloved’. Whilst God’s love permeates throughout Mozart by way of his seemingly beyond-human talents, Salieri is a man forsaken by God – a man who through no fault of his own and despite an abundance of passion cannot make his voice heard.

Tom Hulce’s portrayal of Mozart is an interesting one. His Mozart is lewd and bawdy – he drinks too much and has little respect for the monarchy or the state. He wears expensive clothes, dyed wigs and attends decadent parties. He is, in short, a rockstar. Then there’s that laugh. I can see why some might deem his performance as ‘too big’ but it worked for me. In a film where little time is given to Mozart’s biographical details, it is the character of Mozart himself which must stand out and remain memorable at the films end and to this extent Hulce is successful. But this is P. F. Abraham’s show from beginning to end. His every emotion is so clearly etched upon Salieri’s evocative face – be it admiration, guilt or self-loathing, Abraham cannot help but make us feel sorry for this creep. Despite playing the bitter straight-man to Hulce’s Mozart, Abraham crafts a character who is just as memorable and a number of times more affecting.