Most films about composers- Ken Russell's "The Music Lovers" about Tchaikovsky and "Immortal Beloved" about Beethoven are examples- rely upon the cliché of the creative artist as tortured, neurotic genius. Perhaps we like to console ourselves for the fact that we are not ourselves geniuses with the thought that genius must be paid for in mental suffering. Of course, not all composers fit this stereotype- Haydn was stoical in the face of misfortune (including a miserably unhappy marriage), Rossini was a noted bon viveur and it was often said of Felix Mendelssohn that his forename (Latin for "happy") well suited his character. But when did you last see a biopic of Haydn, Rossini or Mendelssohn? "Song of Norway" told the story of Grieg, another composer who doesn't really fit the "tormented genius" label, but it bombed at the box-office.
"Amadeus", however, attempts to overturn this cliché with a vengeance. The Mozart portrayed in the early scenes is about the least tormented genius who ever lived, obnoxiously hearty and cheerful, without the slightest doubt about his own talents. The tormented character is his rival, Antonio Salieri, but Salieri is no genius; in his own mind he is a hopeless mediocrity whose talents pale into insignificance besides Mozart's.
The story is told as a confession made by the now elderly, half- mad Salieri to a priest in 1823, long after Mozart's death, the earlier scenes being seen in flashback. As a young man, the deeply pious Salieri vows that if God will make him a great composer he will live a chaste, virtuous life and use his talents to God's glory. At first Salieri believes that his vow has been accepted. He quickly achieves fame and is appointed Court Composer to Emperor Joseph II. When Mozart arrives in Vienna, however, Salieri realises that the young man's music has a transcendent beauty which his own can never match.
Salieri's attitude towards his rival is not one of simple jealousy. Were Mozart a man of his own austere, puritanical stamp Salieri would not resent him nearly so much. Mozart, however, is very far from being puritanical. He is not a bad man, but he is very young, and his are a young man's faults- brashness, overweening self-confidence, a bawdy sense of humour, a keen eye for a pretty girl and a lack of respect for authority. (Actually, those last two are not really faults at all). His most irritating characteristic is his high-pitched laugh like a braying jackass. In Salieri's eyes, however, Mozart is a vulgar upstart, a smutty, sex-obsessed boy. Salieri believes that God has cheated him, by denying him the musical talent he deserves and giving it to an unworthy recipient. (The title is an appropriate one; Amadeus was not only Mozart's middle name but is also Latin for "beloved of God"). Salieri therefore plots a diabolical revenge against both Mozart and God.
The director Milo Forman took the brave decision to cast little-known actors in the three main roles, F. Murray Abraham as Salieri, Tom Hulce as Mozart and Elizabeth Berridge as Mozart's beautiful young wife Constanze. In each case, however, that decision paid off admirably. Constanze has sometimes had a bad press from biographers, but here Berridge portrays her as strong-willed but loving and kind-hearted.
Both Abraham and Hulce were nominated for "Best Actor" Oscars, and it was Abraham who won. Good as Abraham is as the gloomy, saturnine Salieri, a man eaten up with obsessive hatred, I still think that Hulce should have beaten him. There is a remarkable contrast between the brash young jackass of the early scenes and the Mozart of the later ones- a more mature, serious family man who has learnt the meaning of responsibility and who is for the first time starting to experience worries- about his finances, about his health, about his career. Hulce's achievement is that he not only makes these two Mozarts equally believable but also indicates that they are not two distinct individuals but rather two aspects of the same complex personality. There are also good performances from Jeffrey Jones as the conscientious but bumbling and musically tone deaf Emperor Joseph and Roy Dotrice as Mozart's autocratic father Leopold.
"Amadeus" is not, and is not intended as, a factually accurate biopic of Mozart. As Peter Shaffer, who wrote both the screenplay and the play on which it was based, was well aware, there is no real evidence that Salieri was obsessively jealous of Mozart, and absolutely none to support the old legend that he murdered him. He was not in reality a celibate puritan- he had a wife, eight children and a mistress. Shaffer uses this legend as the basis of a fictional story which explores complex questions about the nature of artistic creativity and the relationship between man and God.
The film, deservedly, won the "Best Picture" Oscar for 1984; indeed, it is in my view one of the finest films of the eighties. It works on a number of levels- as a lavish piece of "heritage cinema" recreating the Europe of the late 18th century (the sets and costumes are particularly fine), as an intellectual exploration of philosophical issues, as a well-acted human drama, as a fictionalised study of a great man. The soundtrack is heavenly, but that is only to be expected, containing as it does some of Mozart's greatest music.
The film has had a curious side effect. It could have condemned Salieri to perpetual infamy as a jealous minor composer who was supposedly responsible for the death of a great one. Instead, it seems to have led to a revival of interest in his work; he is certainly better known today than he was in 1984. Many musicians would now regard him as something far more than the "patron saint of mediocrities". God may have answered Salieri's prayers long after his death. 10/10
"Amadeus", however, attempts to overturn this cliché with a vengeance. The Mozart portrayed in the early scenes is about the least tormented genius who ever lived, obnoxiously hearty and cheerful, without the slightest doubt about his own talents. The tormented character is his rival, Antonio Salieri, but Salieri is no genius; in his own mind he is a hopeless mediocrity whose talents pale into insignificance besides Mozart's.
The story is told as a confession made by the now elderly, half- mad Salieri to a priest in 1823, long after Mozart's death, the earlier scenes being seen in flashback. As a young man, the deeply pious Salieri vows that if God will make him a great composer he will live a chaste, virtuous life and use his talents to God's glory. At first Salieri believes that his vow has been accepted. He quickly achieves fame and is appointed Court Composer to Emperor Joseph II. When Mozart arrives in Vienna, however, Salieri realises that the young man's music has a transcendent beauty which his own can never match.
Salieri's attitude towards his rival is not one of simple jealousy. Were Mozart a man of his own austere, puritanical stamp Salieri would not resent him nearly so much. Mozart, however, is very far from being puritanical. He is not a bad man, but he is very young, and his are a young man's faults- brashness, overweening self-confidence, a bawdy sense of humour, a keen eye for a pretty girl and a lack of respect for authority. (Actually, those last two are not really faults at all). His most irritating characteristic is his high-pitched laugh like a braying jackass. In Salieri's eyes, however, Mozart is a vulgar upstart, a smutty, sex-obsessed boy. Salieri believes that God has cheated him, by denying him the musical talent he deserves and giving it to an unworthy recipient. (The title is an appropriate one; Amadeus was not only Mozart's middle name but is also Latin for "beloved of God"). Salieri therefore plots a diabolical revenge against both Mozart and God.
The director Milo Forman took the brave decision to cast little-known actors in the three main roles, F. Murray Abraham as Salieri, Tom Hulce as Mozart and Elizabeth Berridge as Mozart's beautiful young wife Constanze. In each case, however, that decision paid off admirably. Constanze has sometimes had a bad press from biographers, but here Berridge portrays her as strong-willed but loving and kind-hearted.
Both Abraham and Hulce were nominated for "Best Actor" Oscars, and it was Abraham who won. Good as Abraham is as the gloomy, saturnine Salieri, a man eaten up with obsessive hatred, I still think that Hulce should have beaten him. There is a remarkable contrast between the brash young jackass of the early scenes and the Mozart of the later ones- a more mature, serious family man who has learnt the meaning of responsibility and who is for the first time starting to experience worries- about his finances, about his health, about his career. Hulce's achievement is that he not only makes these two Mozarts equally believable but also indicates that they are not two distinct individuals but rather two aspects of the same complex personality. There are also good performances from Jeffrey Jones as the conscientious but bumbling and musically tone deaf Emperor Joseph and Roy Dotrice as Mozart's autocratic father Leopold.
"Amadeus" is not, and is not intended as, a factually accurate biopic of Mozart. As Peter Shaffer, who wrote both the screenplay and the play on which it was based, was well aware, there is no real evidence that Salieri was obsessively jealous of Mozart, and absolutely none to support the old legend that he murdered him. He was not in reality a celibate puritan- he had a wife, eight children and a mistress. Shaffer uses this legend as the basis of a fictional story which explores complex questions about the nature of artistic creativity and the relationship between man and God.
The film, deservedly, won the "Best Picture" Oscar for 1984; indeed, it is in my view one of the finest films of the eighties. It works on a number of levels- as a lavish piece of "heritage cinema" recreating the Europe of the late 18th century (the sets and costumes are particularly fine), as an intellectual exploration of philosophical issues, as a well-acted human drama, as a fictionalised study of a great man. The soundtrack is heavenly, but that is only to be expected, containing as it does some of Mozart's greatest music.
The film has had a curious side effect. It could have condemned Salieri to perpetual infamy as a jealous minor composer who was supposedly responsible for the death of a great one. Instead, it seems to have led to a revival of interest in his work; he is certainly better known today than he was in 1984. Many musicians would now regard him as something far more than the "patron saint of mediocrities". God may have answered Salieri's prayers long after his death. 10/10