"A perfect harmony"

Rating: 9/10 (7 March 2011)

Historical dramas have been many things in the history of cinema – tear-jerking melodramas, long-winded epics, painstaking biographies – but they have rarely been such good fun as this largely fictional black comedy set in 18th century Vienna. Sometimes mistakenly referred to as a biography, Amadeus is really a cheeky historical might-have-been, a storyteller's flight of fancy.
The greatness of Amadeus lies largely in its source material, a play by the renowned Peter Shaffer, who adapted the screenplay himself. Shaffer's twin Anthony was behind some of the best thrillers of the 1970s, and Peter shares his brother's dark wit, but with a mind more towards the dramatic than the suspenseful. It's true that for Amadeus he has updated a baseless rumour and embroidered the truth extensively, but this tale of childish rivalry between two classical composers is simply irresistible. The exaggeration of the characters of Mozart and Salieri, the former into a giggling schoolboy, the latter a stuffy hypocrite, drives the story forward. Shaffer weaves the myth of their antipathy into a fascinating and humorous study on fame, talent, jealousy and ego. The emphasis on Mozart's operas as turning points in the narrative, as oppose to his many symphonies or chamber music, appropriately demonstrates music as storyteller and backdrop for action.
Schaffer's play may be the mighty heart of this picture, but let us not play down the skill with which it has been brought to the screen. The first thing to make an impression is the lavishness of the sets and costumes, conjuring up the excessive glamour of the era, never totally clean, always a little dusty. Director Milos Forman however has such an ability to bring our focus in so totally on the actors that he can make us forget the extravagant backdrops. In example, for the interview scenes with the older Salieri, we move from the authentic clutter and bustle of the lunatic asylum, to suddenly having the background become a black and white blur, with F. Murray Abraham and the clergyman picked out crisply upon it. Still, the director does make clever use of the production design, a chandelier glittering eerily behind Abraham mirroring the fire on which he burns his crucifix. There is much cunning editing, not just of the image but also of the music, snatches of Mozart's compositions, accompanying such visual jolts as the appearance of Leopold, at other times disappearing in the middle of a scene, leaving a feeling of emptiness hanging in the air.
The cast is a good one too. F. Murray Abraham gives a masterful turn, at his best in his scenes as the older Salieri, full of wry cynicism and weary regret. Tom Hulce's Mozart is massively theatrical, but it's a hammy performance for a hammy character, and almost as much fun as watching Charles Laughton in full flow. Good as these two are, I would love to have seen the leads from the first Broadway production, Ian McKellan and Tim Curry, reprising their roles for the screen version. The standouts really are in the smaller roles, especially a witty Jeffrey Jones portraying the Emperor Joseph II as if he was some slightly incompetent manager. The almost universal American accents of the cast may seem a little unconventional, but really considering these characters would in reality be speaking German is no more or less accurate than them all sounding English. Besides it seems the smaller parts have been cast for the expressive range of their accents, some sounding bucolic, others pompous, giving us the idea of character as opposed to where they might be from.
Amadeus stands out amongst historical dramas for its mix of endearing wit and reflexive look at art and genius which is intelligent but never obscure. We are fortunate that it was produced in an era when production values were high enough to make it look stunning, after the days when censorship might have diminished its sharp edge and before the time when it could have been ruined by CGI cityscapes. This is cinema with every note in place.