Amadeus
Inspired by recent considerations on art, and my own creative and intellectual endeavors, I revisited Milos Forman’s Oscar-winning “Amadeus,” which I’d recently purchased on something of a whim. Its’ eloquent and mesmerizing story inspires me still, not only in the cinematic artistry Forman shows in adapting Peter Shaffer’s stage play with the financing of producer Saul Zaentz (“One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest,” “The English Patient”), but in the moving story being told, as Antonio Salieri- the court composer for Emperor Joseph II of Vienna- develops a life-long hatred of God- for blessing him with the desire to composer, but cursing him with minimal talent- and Mozart, in whose music he hears true Divine Inspiration.
Contemplating the film after watching it, I wondered whether Forman’s film may have inspired “The Prestige,” Christopher Nolan’s atmospheric and riveting thriller about rival turn-of-the-century magicians. In that film, Hugh Jackman’s Rupert Angier becomes envious of the success and life his former friend- Christian Bale’s Alfred Borden- is blessed with- a loving family, a gift for making the impossible seem likely- even after Borden appears responsible for Angier’s wife’s death onstage. The rivalry becomes an obsession that consumes his soul, and his life, as he tries to one-up Borden at every possible turn.
That said, there’s something even more tragic and elemental at work in “Amadeus.” Part of it is obviously the tantalizing notion of the film as a work of historical fiction (neither the play nor the film is meant to be taken otherwise), with the other part of it coming from Salieri himself. When we first see him, he has just attempted suicide near the end of his life. His cries of “Mozart!” pierce the air as cries from a soul eaten away by the Seven Deadly Sins over a long, sad, second half of a life. The envy of Mozart and his art. The lust for musical gifts beyond his capabilities. The greed for fame beyond the notoriety he already has as the court composer of Emperor Joseph. The sloth at work in his lack of development of his own musical ideas once Mozart comes into his life; for a court composer, he seems little interested in his own work. The gluttony which goes hand-in-hand with his greed- sabotaging opportunities for the prodigy for his own gain and respect. The pride invading his mind, thinking himself the only one capable of being God’s musical vessel on Earth. And finally, the wrath of his final insult upon God and Mozart, in the last haunting passages, with Salieri at Mozart’s deathbed, forcing out the composer’s masterful “Requiem”- a piece Salieri has commissioned himself- with intention of taking credit for after Mozart’s death.
That Mozart dies before this final act of malice and sin can be carried out (his “Requiem” was incomplete at the time of his death- the facts of its’ commission left a mystery he’d take to the mass grave his body is lost forever in) can be seen as Salieri’s punishment from God, with the solemn, tearful face of the young priest he’s confessing to in his cell at the sanitarium after his suicide attempt displaying the disappointment of God in a man who was once his faithful subject. What Salieri cannot comprehend is that while Mozart is the more naturally gifted composer, his own music is no less worthy of being in service of God. Such is the blind-sidedness of a sinful soul, and an artist undeserving of the gifts he possesses within himself. God doesn’t judge art done in his name on virtuosity but in the soul of the artist creating it. This makes the final scene, where Salieri is wheeled down the corridors of the sanitarium, bestowing forgiveness on those around him with equal parts arrogance and madness, all the more tragic- his voice was filled with such remorse, and a desire for absolution, in talking to the priest. He still sees himself as having won a victory against God in the end.
If this makes “Amadeus” sound like a chore to sit through, rest assured- nothing could be further than the truth. Lesser filmmakers than Forman (who won his second Oscar for directing for this film; his first was for “Cuckoo’s Nest”), Zaentz, and Shaffer could have turned this film into an absolute bore. But almost as if taking their cue from the music of the composer who’s name provided the film’s title, they make “Amadeus” as entertaining to sit through as any one of Mozart’s compositions. The rivalry is played with subtle menace and sometimes devious wit. But also, the film’s characterization of Mozart (performed to the hilt by Tom Hulce in a star-making performance that hits just the right notes) is counterintuitive to how a typical biopic would play things. Mozart isn’t an obsessed artiste but a hard-to-tame jester, his high-pitched, infectious-to-the-point-of-annoying laugh setting the tone for his character very early on. This isn’t a man who we would naturally revere but one we’d love to grab a beer with. His enthusiasm for his art is almost as difficult to reign in as his love of bawdy behavior with his wife Constanze (Elizabeth Berridge, in a performance that almost goes unnoticed in how good it is; that she can hold her own with both Hulce and Abraham- whose Oscar-winning performance Salieri is one of the great iconic performances of the past 25 years- convincingly and not miss a beat is hard to ignore), and both seem to come through as he conducts and performs his work, especially as he’s conducting the premiere of his opera “The Marriage of Figaro,” and fighting for its’ complete performance. His insolence made him someone less-than-favored by the elite of society, but it also made his work irrepressibly brilliant. How the film manages to make that clear without directly expressing it is one of its’ strengths.
That high camp comedy and devastating tragedy can share the same space in a movie that clocks in at three hours is a credit to Forman, whose work with actors, his eye for visual detail, and keen storytelling sense makes a high-risk venture seem absolutely effortless. But ultimately what makes “Amadeus” soar as one of the great films in movie history is it’s respect for the music of Mozart, which bleeds through the film like the third main character. It doesn’t act like a true soundtrack- delineating the emotions onscreen in obvious ways…and yet it does, while still retaining it’s character. It captures, all at once, the joy of Mozart’s existence, the tragedy of his death, and the mystery of how such a brilliant mind went all but unnoticed in his lifetime. Forman’s film doesn’t try to answer such a question in his film, just observe that it happened- the mark of an artist who knows you can’t explain creativity, and how it comes through, just celebrate its’ existence.
