To See or Not to See: Amadeus

The National Theatre’s production of Peter Shaffer‘s classic Amadeus can be summed up in one word: big. From the 20-piece on-stage orchestra to the hoop skirts, wigs, and performances, everything about this new, exhilarating production is, well, big. And more often than not, that’s a marvelous thing, indeed.

This production is a homecoming of sorts for a play that has had a glittering, globetrotting life. First performed at the National Theatre in 1979, Amadeus has traveled from the West End to Broadway and, most notably, Hollywood, where the acclaimed film adaptation netted a slew of 1984 Academy Awards.

The play’s popularity can be attributed to the fact that it is a heartbreaking, humorous, and rich exploration of the mediocrity and genius, light and darkness that lurks deep within a human’s soul. At its basic level, the play is a story of rivals: Antonio Salieri is a rising musical star in the Viennese court of Emperor Joseph II in the 1780s. But he must confront the limits of his talent when he meets a bonafide musical genius: the young, arrogant upstart Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. Salieri laments that God has given so much talent to a vulgar man-child. After all, the name “Amadeus” literally translates to “love of God.” The play joyfully points out the contradictions of Mozart and paints him as being equal parts childish and brilliant.

This revival is a treat for both the eyes and ears, thanks in no small part to the National Theatre’s rich production values. This is a theatre that has used quirky, inventive stagecraft to stirring effect, like the masterful puppetry in War Horse. As it did in its brilliant, moving production of Coram Boy in 2005, the National Theatre uses music to amplify the play. And why shouldn’t it? This production puts music and musicians at the very center of a play about the politics of making art. 20 musicians, to be exact, from the Southbank Sinfonia have a presence on stage; and, when not playing, they become a kind of silent chorus whose bodies are used to underline drama. The sets were adaptable, and often transformed intimate drawing rooms into opera halls with ease. Professional opera singers were even used to perform snippets of Mozart’s operas.

But what really made this production work was the excellent performance by Lucian Msamati as Salieri. If the production as a whole was big, bold, and splashy, Msamati’s mesmerizing performance was all subtlety. He played Salieri with roaring anguish and chilling calculation, making the character seem more Shakespearean than he might appear in the hands of a lesser actor.

Unfortunately, Salieri did not have a worthy counterpart in Adam Gillen‘s obnoxious Mozart. In this play, Mozart, with his bleach-white hair and Doc Martens, is reimagined as a kind of bold, brash, and irreverent punk-rocker, as much a break from tradition in the 18th-century music world as the Sex Pistols were in the late 1970s. Gillen handles Mozart’s emotional and physical demise with tragedy and power, proving that he is a capable, sensitive performer. However, director Michael Longhurst led Gillen astray by demanding too much– Gillen’s Mozart comes across as simply too obnoxious, too childish, and too vulgar. While that is precisely the point, the same effect could have been achieved with a less extreme characterization.

Overall, this is a stellar production of a sophisticated, highly entertaining play. The music will stir your soul; the costumes will enchant you; the set and lighting will astonish you; and the performances will break your heart. To be moved, enchanted, astonished, and heartbroken: these are why we go to the theatre in the first place, and Amadeus does it all so very well.

Photo Credit: Marc Brenner/National Theatre