Amadeus-Milos Forman

Shamefully, (before viewing this film) my knowledge of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart was so duff, that I didn't even realize he was the architect of Don Giovanni. And even more shamefully, the name Amadeus itself, with my 90's upbringing, is more synonymous with The Bloodhound Gang's intro to Mope, Tech N9ne's I'm A Player, and of course, Falco's Rock Me Amadeus, than it is with symphonic notes and opera.

It is what it is I suppose.

I've never been one much for opera, symphony, and live theater. Outside of a few trips to see local group "Cleveland Shakes" Summer renditions of Shakespeare in the park, I generally avoid the theater.

It's not that I don't respect the genre or the craft, as many close friends of mine make a living through work in the theater. And many titles that hold vast amounts of reverence in my catalog—8 1/2, Birdman, All That Jazz, Climax—revolve around the theater. It has just been one of those interests, like jazz music, that holds temporary attention in my pecking order of the arts. I respect the hell out of it but know that I will never bother to dive deep enough to understand the intricacies of operatic ingenuity and symphonic construction.

On the complete opposite spectrum of my haphazard regard for leisure activity relegated to the bourgeoisie was Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. Child prodigy turned rapscallion genius whose ear was second to absolutely none and could take an exquisite piece of music, written by a contemporary master such as Antonio Salieri, and, after only one hearing, sit down at the keys and turbocharge it into a masterpiece.

That scene in particular, when Mozart (Tom Hulce) sits at the keys with an absence of malice and completely shatters Salieri's (F. Murray Abraham) ego into a million pieces was AMAZING! This five-minute exchange is a piece of acting that I believe should be watched over and over by aspiring thespians to truly grasp what master craftsmanship is all about. Through mere facial expressions reacting to someone's destitution of social awareness, we, as the audience, are privileged to witness Salieri experience amazement, humiliation, surprise, anger, and, ultimately, unbridled jealousy, all bereft of a single word.

I sympathized with Salieri's character at that moment, as, more times than I would like to admit, I have been humbled (severely) in areas of competition where I deluded myself into believing I was much greater than I was. Namely on the lanes, at the poker tables, and in the gym. This may be a bit of a digression as well, but I feel as if this also correlates to the erosion of dignity associated with throwing your hat into the mix of artificial highlight reels on social media. Where every trumpeted accomplishment is vanquished by some other Joe-Schmo that's already accomplished what you have, only…better.

*In a subconscious way, I feel as if that is why I have never aspired to join any literary circles. For I know my writing is very amateur, and that it would be dwarfed by the slightest of competition. But I'd rather bask in the bliss of ignorance in which my writing satisfies the only audience that matters: me.*

But when I think about it, this type of blow to the ego tilts more to the common side of the scale rather than the unique. Charlie Parker experienced it when Jo Jones tossed a cymbal at his feet. Jordan got cut from his High School team. Mika Koivuniemi missed a ten-pin to lose the U.S. Open. Greg Norman blew a six-stroke lead in the Masters.

Some can utilize these setbacks as fuel to their fire, and propel themselves well past the goal line. Others—like back-to-back TV show washout king Lonnie Waliczek and Matt Ryan—fade into irrelevance, succumbing to the defeat of humiliation.

In Amadeus, Salieri chooses the latter.

After reading up a bit on both Wikipedia and the IMDB trivia factoids, I found that (surprise, surprise) the writers stretched liberties of dubious interpretation to the maximum. Tom Hulce's obnoxious laugh, I think, was more based upon a famous director he refused to name, rather than the unverified letter from two girls that described Mozart's laugh like metal scraping glass. Nevertheless, it is hilarious, and I'm glad they ran with it. And I don't believe the inner rift of Solieri was nearly as deep as it was portrayed. On the contrary, it appears as if he were an unabashed admirer of Mozart way past his death.

Despite these slight exploitations, it was a grand experience to watch such talent in a constant chess match of personalities from beginning to end. F. Murray Abraham's level of talent is akin to fine caviar and top-shelf Pinot Noir. Simply amazing. And the same goes for Tom Hulce as well. Where he gets that energy from, I have not a clue. But he works it well into every character that I have seen him play.

Great flick.

Stars: ***1/2

Verdict: Watch

Cousins: Whiplash, Bird, A Star is Born, A Clockwork Orange, Walk The Line