While Amadeus is only inspired by the lives and alleged rivalry of 18th-century composers Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart and Antonio Salieri, it manages to create two fascinating and indelible characters for the ages. I find myself immersed in the story, details, music, atmosphere, time period, locations, and revelatory moments each time I see it. Based on the Tony Award–winning play by Peter Shaffer, this film doesn’t mark the first time these two iconic artists have been pitted against each other for dramatic purposes. Rumors circulated right away around the untimely death of young Mozart, and the notion was popularized by an Alexander Pushkin play in 1830 called Mozart and Salieri. Rimksy-Korsakov’s operatic adaptation of the Pushkin play followed nearly 70 years later, yet few facts were retained in either. Flash forward another 90 years, and Shaffer focuses his impressions of this legendary conflict on the larger themes of jealousy, mediocrity, aspiration, inspiration, and God-given talent, then weaves them with a masterful eye into a devastating tale of revenge.

F. Murray Abraham as Antonio Salieri.

A relative unknown at the time, F. Murray Abraham gained instant notoriety when he delivered an astonishing, Oscar-winning performance as Salieri. He recounts the compelling events from several decades earlier, reliving the past through his own recollections. For the play, Salieri spoke straight to the audience in a series of monologues. In the film, the aging court composer attempts suicide during the opening scene and is brought to a gruesome asylum for the insane where a priest (Richard Frank) is summoned to hear his confession. The monologues from the play become his candid responses to the priest on screen. It’s a brilliant use of the source material and a perfect conceptual device to retain it.

Something seems fresh and different about this movie, and it might not be evident at first. In time, it becomes apparent that the principal cast for this story, set in Vienna, is largely American. And they speak with American accents, a conscious and somewhat unorthodox decision made by director Milos Forman (One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest). He wanted his Austrians and Germans to sound comfortably familiar to the largest movie-going audience. By contrast, the characters from surrounding countries adopt their appropriate regional flair. Even Mr. Abraham has a slight Italian lilt on occasion as Salieri. I’m not sure why period dramas in particular, no matter where they’re set, are nearly always populated with British accents. We’ve come to expect them. Perhaps it’s due to the many historical offerings from the BBC. Since none of these characters in Amadeus would speak English as a native tongue, there is no reason for this presumption. Forman understood this. And as a result, even the handful of British actors who play Austrians (Roy Dotrice, Simon Callow, and Barbara Bryne) get by with their best attempt at American dialects.

Tom Hulce as Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.

While the tale is told through Salieri’s aged eyes, the plot revolves around the life of Mozart (Oscar-nominee Tom Hulce). The renowned prodigy and gifted composer is presented as a brash, bawdy, reckless young man with a high-pitched laugh and little discipline, except when it comes to music. His unique talent is exploited at an early age as a curiosity, a freak of nature performing “tricks” for the royal courts of Europe. The way Salieri sees it, Mozart grows up to be a crude brat who has been touched by God. Why him? Why would God bestow one of his greatest gifts on such an unworthy creature? Salieri works tirelessly to achieve his own meager successes. But even heralded as the court composer of Vienna with many admirers, including the emperor himself (Jeffrey Jones), he also realizes his talent pales in comparison to Mozart’s, and the notion eats away at him.

Salieri’s jealousy isn’t limited to music. He lusts after Mozart’s bride Constanze (Elizabeth Berridge), a sweet young woman with ample bosom and a winning smile—and although Salieri pledges his chastity as proof to God of his undying devotion to writing music, he toys with Constanze when she pays him a secret visit to help her husband secure a royal teaching job.

It should be noted I’m watching the “Director’s Cut” on Blu-ray, which restores a full 20 minutes of footage to the running time. Some complain it slows the movie down, but I disagree. It adds key motivation on three occasions, two of which concern the primary women in Mozart’s life. For the theatrical release, Constanze’s behavior toward Salieri seems over-the-top and perhaps unwarranted. She is blatantly repulsed by his presence in their home as she discovers he is helping Mozart transcribe the Requiem. But in the Director’s Cut, we learn early on that Salieri attempted to seduce her. During that same secret visit described above, the scene continues, and Salieri asks that she return later that evening as payment for the favor. He goes so far as to demand that Constanze remove her clothing (the new footage elevates this film’s MPAA rating from PG to R), which she does with great reluctance but also an understanding that it will help her husband. Her love for Mozart is greater than her own self respect. With Constanze’s crumpled dress down around her ankles, Salieri summons a servant to escort her from the premises. It’s a stunning moment of abject humiliation, and it explains her open disdain for him later in the film. She knows who he is and what he’s capable of, none of which is clear in the theatrical release. The other two instances of embellishment concern Mozart’s beautiful mistress, the operatic diva Katarina Cavalieri (Christine Ebersole) in an extended dressing-room sequence, and the addition of a nouveau-riche character (Kenneth McMillan) and his wife, dogs, and talentless daughter. This tacky entourage was cut from the original release, but their tasteless presence shows what it was like for Mozart to have to teach people like this and how beholden he was to them for financial support.

Tom Hulce as Mozart dictates the Requiem to F. Murray Abraham as Salieri.

Salieri does his level best to destroy Mozart. He seeks revenge against God for denying him such talent. In the end, he succeeds by honing in on Mozart’s obsession with his own father’s acceptance, then driving him to the point of extinction with it. The incredible scene where an ailing Mozart lies on his deathbed while dictating the last pages of his Requiem to Salieri is one of the finest examples of an artist’s mind at work ever filmed. The creative process isn’t explained in dialogue but by doing. “I can’t tell you how this works, but I can show you,” in other words. Salieri’s mind is blown and rightfully so.

All aspects of this movie are perfectly rendered, from the glorious sets and costumes, to the natural source lighting used in every shot, to the uniquely stylized choreography by Twyla Tharp. Then there’s Mozart’s music, which speaks for itself throughout. Amadeus is a modern masterpiece, among the best screen adaptations of a stage play ever filmed, and one of my favorite Oscar-winners of all time.

Amadeus