Disciplined Italian composer becomes consumed by jealousy and resentment towards the hedonistic and remarkably talented young Viennese composer Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.
A moment early into Milos Forman’s “Amadeus” announces that it has deeper intentions than the typical screen biography. Just after an elderly and troubled Antonio Salieri attempts suicide and is placed in a psychiatric hospital somewhere in Vienna, Austria, he is assigned to the care of Fr. Vogler (Richard Frank), a Catholic priest who seeks to hear the retired composer’s final confession. Salieri plays some popular tunes he wrote early in his career to demonstrate his mental fortitude in these final months, but the good father doesn’t recognize them. Bemused, Salieri plays a third, which the priest instantly recognizes, this time with a massive smile of nostalgic recognition on his face.
More clearly than ever, especially with the Academy Archive’s stunning restoration of the film’s theatrical edition on 4K Ultra HD™, we notice that bemusement all over Salieri’s face. Part of that, of course, is in F. Murray Abraham’s Oscar-winning performance as the man whose fall from grace, and whose gradual belief that God was laughing at him through life, he attributes to Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (played here by Tom Hulce), the child prodigy turned superstar (perhaps beyond any conceivable comparison to today’s musical acts) whose technical mastery and preternatural gift were matched only by his vanity and vices. Abraham, possibly best known as a character actor, is astonishing and magnetic in both the representative present of the story—in 1823, just two years before his death—and in the past, which spans from the early 1770s to Mozart’s mysterious death in 1791.
The screenwriter was Peter Shaffer, the great English playwright and novelist, adapting his stage play to the screen. However, the story originated within another stage play by Alexander Pushkin (godfather of Russian literature). All versions greatly adapted the actual lives of and the relationship between Salieri and Mozart, of course. However, by all accounts, the two men enjoyed a long rivalry that was occasionally acrimonious and eventually based upon stubborn mutual respect. Then again, neither Shaffer nor Forman pretends to be weaving truth—nor did they have any obligation to do so. The story here is technically a dual biography—of Salieri through his own eyes and of Mozart through the prism of Salieri’s opinion of the man—which means that this could count as an anthropological study of sorts.
That’s what makes the framing device of Salieri’s deathbed confessional so vital, and it’s a miracle that Forman pulls off such a tired and gimmicky concept with this much truth but without the psychoanalysis that lesser hands might have attempted. “Amadeus” is a stunning accomplishment on the level of design and style, with Patrizia von Brandenstein’s colossal art direction, Miroslav Ondříček’s burnished cinematography (instead recalling the compositions of Stanley Kubrick’s “Barry Lyndon” from a decade before), and the shooting on location in Prague all combining to craft an overwhelming experience. But the true accomplishment here is in the film’s exploration of a one-of-a-kind companionship, transcending the usual definitions of friendship and rivalry. These men were defined by their unmatched talent, and through this unique storytelling device, we understand both of them precisely.
Now available on 4K Ultra HD™
