“Amadeus” understands the artist’s allure better than a traditional biopic

Miloš Forman’s fantastical 1984 period drama screens on 35mm at UW Cinematheque on April 18.

Ask the average person what they know about Mozart, and they’ll likely tell you something apocryphal. In part, this is just what happens with any historical figure. Their life becomes akin to a game of telephone, facts blurring over the decades (or centuries) into fantastical fictions. But with Mozart, at least some of this must be attributed to Miloš Forman’s 1984 film Amadeus, which was a bonafide cultural event when it was released. It won 40 of the 53 awards it was nominated for that year. It has long been available for home viewing only in its expanded director’s cut. UW Cinematheque will be presenting a handsome new 35mm print restored to the original (and, in my opinion, superior) 160-minute runtime this Friday, April 18, at 7 p.m. in 4070 Vilas Hall.

Director Forman and screenwriter Peter Shaffer, adapting his own play which was itself inspired by an 1830 work by Alexander Pushkin, always maintained that their film had little basis in reality; they called it a “fantasia on the theme” of the musical rivalry it depicts. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (Tom Hulce) might be the titular character, and possibly the draw for audience members unfamiliar with Classical music. But its actual protagonist is Salieri (F. Murray Abraham)—once the court composer to Emperor Joseph II, but whom we meet as a decrepit elderly man in an asylum. The plot unfolds in flashback as Salieri relates his obsession with the genius whose shadow he’s doomed to wither in.

Salieri is an unreliable narrator, or at least a self-interested one, which complaints about Amadeus‘ historical inaccuracies pedantically ignore. The Mozart he conjures is a deliberately anachronistic creation, one who has more in common with the rock stars of the 1980s era than the period-appropriate powdered wigs and ruffled shirts he wears. He’s the crude and lustful imp to Salieri’s imperious scold, who would never dream of punctuating a musical piece with a robust fart, as Mozart does during a particularly raucous performance. Salieri cannot fathom why the God he diligently worships would bless such a man with divine talents. Driven to the depths of jealousy, Salieri begins carrying out his adversary’s methodical destruction.

It’s not just these dramatically juicy qualities that have vaulted Amadeus to classic status and made it a mainstay of music education classes like the one I first saw it in. Sumptuous stage recreations of opera abound, but a considerable amount of the film is given over to the act of composition. It’s remarkable how much tension Forman wrings out of these scenes. More than a story about creative envy, it’s one of creative passion, of a kind that couldn’t be told if Mozart himself was the primary focus. While traditional biopics often get bogged down in hitting the big milestones in an artist’s life, Forman and Shaffer are much more interested in capturing what it’s actually like to be in the presence of such overwhelming talent, and how it can inspire envy and awe in equal measure. The great irony is that Salieri is the only one who recognizes Mozart’s gifts in his own time.

In short, it’s a film about the agony and the ecstasy of being a fanboy—to use our modern parlance. It’s what makes Amadeus something that biopics of great artists rarely strive for: relatable. Far more of us are Salieris than Mozarts, after all. This weekend, let the self-proclaimed patron saint of mediocrities take you to church.