AMADEUS: 4K UHD (Saul Zaentz/Orion Pictures, 1984) Warner Home Video

“When you finish a film, before the first paying audience sees it, you don't have any idea. You don't know if you’ve made a success or a flop. And in the '80s, with MTV, we were having a three-hour film about classical music, with long names and wigs and costumes. Don't forget that no major studio wanted to finance the film for these reasons.”

– Milos Forman

History vs. Hollywood’s fictionalized tradition of ‘inventing the truth’…and never the twain shall meet. Milos Forman’s Amadeus (1984) is about two people who never actually met in real life; the gifted musical prodigy, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, brilliantly reconstructed by Tom Hulce as oafish punster, and, insanely jealous court composer with daggers in his heart, Antonio Salieri (F. Murray Abraham). Throughout the better half of this 3-hour colossus, Salieri employs oily charm to ingratiate himself into Mozart’s confidences. Yet Salieri’s envy, all-consuming with devastating results, is well-known to seemingly everyone except Mozart, who trusts the serpent with his own ambitions and, tragically, his life. The artist's wife, Constanze (Elizabeth Berridge) recognizes Salieri’s darker purpose. Still, the trusting and naïve Mozart cannot bring himself to see the deceiver in his midst. Salieri presents himself as friend and mentor, all the while plotting the young composer’s demise. As they used to say, the truth (may) set you free. Alas, it rarely makes for good melodrama. And so, virtually none of Peter Schaffer’s screenplay adheres to the life and times of this brilliant man. Schaffer, instead embraces the precepts of an original off-Broadway play, and endeavoring to transform what, on the stage, had been a series of conversations and altercations, into a sweeping epic with exotic locales, the likes of which Hollywood then had not witnessed in nearly fifty years.

There is nothing new in Schaffer’s level of deception when delving into the bio-pic. Throughout the 1940s, Hollywood was enamored with exploiting the back catalog of famous composers, mostly to regale audiences with a loosely strung together fiction sandwiched between elaborately staged and glossy musical numbers, designed to show off a studio’s cavalcade of their brightest and biggest stars. Every life, from Frédéric Chopin’s (A Song to Remember, 1945) to Jerome Kern’s (Till the Clouds Roll By, 1946) was prone to this Technicolor fantasia into pure escapism. But like all other Hollywood-devised formulas, this too would run its course, fizzling in the mid-fifties. Changing times and tastes, not to mention the implosion of the ‘star system’ and severe budgetary restrictions thereafter, eventually crushed all future prospects for resurrecting this sub-genre. And truth to tell, Amadeus is not harking back to these all-star spectacles, but remains something more of a kissing cousin to the ‘art house’ experiments of yore, shot without the benefit of ‘stars’ and made for the relatively inexpensive budget of $18,000,000 – with every dollar showing up on the screen.

Shot in Prague, Kroměříž and Vienna, Amadeus greatly benefits from these sumptuous European backdrops. Forman was able to lens various sequences inside Count Nostitz’ Theatre where Mozart’s Don Giovanni and La clemenza di Tito had actually debuted two centuries earlier. And yet, there is a decided disconnect between these opulent and authentic surroundings, ably abetted by Miroslav Ondrícek’s stunning cinematography, Karel Cerný’s superb art direction and Theodor Pistek/Christian Thuri’s costuming, and, the cast, comprised almost entirely of American talent. The performances in Amadeus are highly theatrical, with some more skillfully executed than others. Schaffer’s screenplay plays to the strengths in Tom Hulce’s adolescent reinterpretation of this boy genius; dictated to by stern patriarch, Leopold (Roy Dotrice) and patronized by the Emperor, Joseph II (Jeffrey Jones – a dead ringer for his alter ego). Our Wolfgang – rechristened ‘Wolfie’ by Constanze – is both a scamp and a brat, not above informing admired court composer, Salieri that a melody created in his honor “doesn’t quite work” and suggesting to all Italians they know absolutely nothing about ‘love’. Mozart is also a bit of a deviant, over-sexed and prone to dirty jokes, farting in public, and, wanton revelries that fly in the face of his father’s Teutonic outlook on life.

Apart from registering as pure and magnificent entertainment, Amadeus is a film unusually bereft of fact, yet wholly excelling in its alternative verisimilitude. Director, Milos Forman assumed a daunting task with this motion picture. How best to capture the essence of a relationship between two men, where no relationship ever existed in the first place. Mercifully, the historical record has Salieri to chew on, in a fit of madness while convalescing inside an asylum. Salieri claimed to have orchestrated the demise of this musical genius. And so, our story opens many years after Mozart’s death, with the aged and half-crazed Salieri attempting suicide by slitting his own throat. He is taken to a mental hospital where he begins to confess his sins to a priest (Herman Meckler). From here, the tale regresses to Salieri’s days as court composer for Emperor Joseph II. Considered an authority, Salieri’s supremacy is all but ended with Mozart's arrival – a one-time child prodigy on his own, in an ambitious spree to take the world of music by storm, laughing hysterically in the face of his most imperious and judgmental critics, and, breaking wind on cue to punctuate his general contempt for authority. One can, in fact, empathize with Salieri during these initial scenes, the jaded stately popinjay forced to kowtow to an unruly upstart, scornful of practically any human thought outside his own limited understanding of the world.

Sex with an improper young lass seems to have turned Mozart’s head – both of them – Constanze, seen as a sort of enterprising interloper, disparaged by Leopold, who disavows his son of his inheritance upon learning of their secret marriage.  At least the movie gets most of this subplot right. The real Mozart’s marriage to Constanze was considered mildly scandalous, insofar as he had courted her while boarding with her family, was asked by them to leave – did – but took Constanze’s affections with him. Afterward, the two engaged in clandestine rendezvous inside Mozart’s apartment. This prompted Constanze’s sister, the Baroness von Waldstätten to threaten an intervention based on the mores and laws of decency then in place. To prevent a full-blown scandal, Mozart married his sweetheart almost immediately, quelling any allegations of indecency, but very much incurring ire from Constanze’s family as well as his own. Although this vignette from Mozart’s life might have fueled enough tension to sustain an entire movie, Amadeus is not particularly invested in exploring the turbulent union, except as backdrop to an even more treacherous and downward spiral in Wolfgang’s fortunes – and misfortunes – presumably, compounded by his unsuspecting good nature toward Salieri, the man who (at least, according to Schaffer’s designs) will push him into an early grave.

Mozart and Salieri get off to a rough start. Mozart illustrates his mastery of composition by instantly memorizing, then re-composing the ‘welcome’ written in his honor by Salieri, but bumbled rather badly at the keyboard by the Emperor.  Mozart’s ability to simply ‘pick up at tune’ impresses both the Emperor and his court cronies. All, except Kappelmeister Bonno (Patrick Hines), regard Mozart as an evil little bug to be squashed. Thus, when Mozart insists his first opera under Joseph’s patronage be in German, rather than traditional Italian, he incurs Bonno’s considerable opposition. Mozart compounds this displeasure at court by seducing Katerina Caveleri (Christine Ebersole) – the operatic diva whom Salieri has lusted after for quite some time. Salieri pretends to be unimpressed by Mozart’s efforts, when, in reality, he is seething with jealousy. When it is announced Mozart will marry Constanze instead, Katerina flies into a rage. In Salzberg, news of his son’s hasty marriage to this lowly girl all but breaks Leopold’s heart. Even after paying a visit to the happy couple, Leopold cannot contain his displeasure. Instead, he departs the city, the rift between father and son never entirely mended. News of Leopold’s death shortly thereafter leaves Mozart tormented and fearing his father’s ghost will forever haunt him.

From here, Salieri begins to deliberately conspire on a richly satisfying - to his own ego - but extremely vial, well-orchestrated plan of revenge – first, to tarnish Mozart’s good standing with the Emperor; then, to feign loyalty as Mozart’s confidante in order to steal his latest composition, a requiem Salieri has secretly commissioned, meant to drive this young zeitgeist into his early grave. Constanze, who had left Mozart in a marital quarrel over monies owed them by Emanuel Schikaneder (Simon Callow) several months before, now returns to discover Salieri’s ruse too late. Salieri has been driving her ailing husband, bedridden and delirious, to finish his requiem. Recognizing the terrible strain this work has put on his health, Constanze gathers the pages of Mozart’s unfinished composition and locks it away in a nearby cabinet, ordering Salieri from the house at once. Alas, in their moment of heated exchange neither has yet to realize Mozart has already died, presumably, from heart failure brought about by extreme exhaustion.

Mozart’s burial in an unmarked pauper’s grave is devastating (and untrue), just one in a heap of nameless bodies committed to the same hole in the earth without fanfare or even a faint remembrance of the genius that once occupied corruptible flesh.  In reality, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart was laid to rest in a ‘commoner’s plot’ with a private headstone – merely, denoting he was neither a member of any royal house or even the aristocracy. Again, we regress to the asylum where the aged Salieri, having survived his suicide attempt, concludes his confession to the priest. It is taken as fact, with Salieri’s sins destined to condemn him for eternity. As Salieri is wheeled back to his cell, he gleefully passes an entourage of unfortunates, mad, filthy, lost in their own tortuous thoughts and chained to the walls or restrained in straightjackets, gleefully smiling and absolving all of them of their sins. Alas, the sudden echo of Mozart’s infectiously juvenile laughter pierces his mind, causing Salieri to wince in his ever-lasting mental anguish.

In these final moments, Amadeus almost degenerates into a sort of moralizing grand guignol. The asylum is a house of oddities. Yet, within its walls of yowling despair we glean the nucleus of Peter Schaffer’s exercise, his decision to illustrate how revenge is never as sweet nor as satisfying as the avenger at first anticipates. In murdering that which he secretly loved and desired to become – though, publicly condemned, and, swore to destroy as a rebuke of God’s purpose and presumed curse on his own willful talents – Salieri condemns himself to a fate worse than death. He is void of love – ethereal or otherwise – and plagued by a vengeance far more self-destructive and enduring than the swift end to which he has sent Mozart. As sparring, artistic adversaries, Tom Hulce and F. Murray Abraham are pretty evenly matched. Hence, in 1984, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences simply could not decide who had given the better performance. In the end, they elected to nominate both Abraham and Hulce for the coveted Best Actor Academy Award and let the voting members of AMPAS decide. The members chose Abraham who, in his acceptance speech declared, “Only one more thing could have made this evening complete…to have had Tom Hulce standing by my side” to which Hulce, from his seat in the auditorium, mouthed the words ‘thank you’ in reply. If animosity and competition between Salieri and Mozart had been the order of the day, it was anything if nonexistent between Abraham and Hulce as professionals throughout the shoot, and particularly absent on this Oscar night.

In retrospect, Amadeus is very much a product of its time, disinterested with virtually all particulars when creating any authenticity outside its own marvelously achieved falsehoods. Hulce’s performance is especially of the moment – that moment, very much catering to the social mores and mannerisms of youth circa, 1984, or as clever marketing of the day then declared, “the man…the madness…the music…the murder…everything you’ve heard is true!” Hulce’s own genius resides in conveying a sort of timeless aura of puckishness, the high-pitched cackle of a virtuoso, dominated by his ego and drunk on his own success, contemptuous and condescending to all those who dare question its legitimacy. Mozart’s awkward inability, his unwillingness to assimilate into the culture of court life and engaging in ribald ‘blue-humored’ parlor games that would make even a lowly scullery maid blush, much less the rigidly cultured boors who populate Joseph II’s court, generates a queer lack of empathy for this musical protégé. And yet, Hulce shows great restraint with this performance. It so easily could have devolved into cheaply orchestrated ridiculousness, pantomime and/or rank parody.

The more subtly nuanced is, of course, F. Murray Abraham’s Salieri, a sustained blend of simmering wrath and glowering tolerance of the comedy played at his expense. Like all truly magnificent villains who endure in our collective memory, Abraham’s court composer is mischievous as ill-advised. His evil blossoms from a core of a very sad, intensely unloved and isolated individual. We can truly empathize with the way the cocoon of authority he has struggled to construct around himself is almost immediately dismantled by this infantile upstart. Here, in Salieri, is a man who desperately prayed to God for his talent – limited as it may be, compared to Mozart’s – but to have it recognized as such. For this wish, Salieri has sacrificed much and will, ultimately, give everything over to a devil as his devotion is turned asunder to avenge God’s betrayal of this promise he wholeheartedly believed was made in good faith and exclusively to him. Mozart’s death seals two fates – God’s little dynamo on earth destroyed – and Salieri’s chance to ever be redeemed into the gates of heaven. It is this sobering self-destruction that continues to linger as the houselights in the theater come up. It is also largely for this reason that Amadeus – the movie – has endured.

Milos Forman’s skilled direction of these dramatic sequences is counterbalanced by cosmetic interludes in lavishly appointed musical excerpts from Mozart’s operas, including whole portions from Don Giovanni, The Magic Flute, The Marriage of Figaro and Abduction from the Seraglio. Far from simply interrupting the story for an orchestral respite, the music inserted augments the emotional arc of the drama they bookend. Amadeus was a prestige production in an era unaccustomed to the concept. It is also a movie for which its more superficial accoutrements far outweigh, and even eclipse the reality it pretends to investigate. Miroslav Ondricek's cinematography is a vibrant tapestry that typifies the stately grandeur of Vienna. Patrizia von Brandenstein's production design is a minor miracle, immeasurably aided by Theodor Pistek's costumes. Amadeus may have absolutely nothing to do with reality. But it remains a superb revision of that life, as well as a superior adaptation of the beloved stagecraft on which it was based.  

Warner Home Video’s 4K of the theatrical cut of Amadeus is welcomed, as it marks the first time since VHS that we get to see the movie audiences saw in 1984 and not the studio-sanctioned re-cut, to include 23 additional minutes of girth Forman willingly edited out (and never intended to be seen) but was thereafter reinstated by the studio and branded as ‘the director’s cut’ when Forman always preferred the theatrical edit. In 1984, Forman, perhaps, understood that any story about classical music was a stretch in the first place, and, the unlikeliest of candidates to catch the public’s fascination. The irony, of course, is that Amadeus did just that, raking in more than $51,973,029.00 in the U.S. alone. For those desiring the extended cut of Amadeus, hang on to your old Warner Blu’s, for it is nowhere to be found herein.

Graded with HDR, Amadeus looks extraordinary, showing off every last bit of its production design to its fullest advantage. Colors pop, fine details abound, film grain appears indigenous to its source and contrast, even during the subtly nuanced, candle-lit scenes, could scarcely be improved. In short, there is nothing to complain about here…or is there? A note to consider, but then, set aside. The opening titles are a soft and muddy mess, with extremely muted colors. Alas, even in 1984, this was the case. Uncertain precisely why this is, but it is, and should be acknowledge, perhaps, as a condition of primitive optical printing methods of the era. Whatever the circumstances, what’s here was baked into the OCN long ago, and there is absolutely nothing to be done about it. Once the titles subside, the image attains a level of clarity and perfection that will surely astound even the most discerning home enthusiast.

Moving on: the 5.1 DTS audio is a bit of a misnomer as only 5 channels of audio are actually used. That said, this sounds solid, but strangely lacking in a deep, rich and enveloping bass. Could Amadeus have benefited from a new Dolby Atmos track? Possibly. Great pains were taken in the recording of the score. And theatrically, Amadeus was given a 6-track mag stereo presentation in 70mm. Setting aside the prejudice for a complete remastering effort, Amadeus in 4K sounds pretty darn good, exhibiting exceptional clarity throughout. Extras include the 2002, hour-long documentary, and a newly produced, almost half-hour featurette with new interviews from surviving cast and crew. It’s a genuine pity Warner Home Video did not take the pains to include the Forman/Shaffer audio commentary. This was recorded for the ‘extended cut’ but could have been paired down to conform to the theatrical cut with just a bit of massaging. We’re also missing the theatrical trailer.  Bottom line: Amadeus was always a unique and entertaining experience, though particularly so in a decade more prone to producing ‘T' and ‘A’ driven comedies, B-budgeted horror movies and A-list sci-fi adventures. Viewed today, the picture continues to hold its own, and, is a rarity for its supple blend of fact and fiction, wrapped in the enigma of a revenge tragedy turned sour on its avenging angel. What could have made it better? A remastered Blu of the theatrical cut, another 4K of the ‘extended cut’ and the restored extras absent herein. Nevertheless, it’s hard to fault ‘mastering’ perfection. Amadeus in 4K is a winner!

FILM RATING (out of 5 - 5 being the best)

5+

VIDEO/AUDIO

5+

EXTRAS

2