By Rashie Kase

Can a play be violent without showing any blood at all – no physical conflict, no punches, no guns? The National Theatre’s 2017 production of Amadeus lacked all those things, yet it may be one of the most violent plays I have ever seen. Amadeus is a two-and-a-half-hour massacre committed by words and music that, at its best moments, threatens to eviscerate the audience themselves.

Shaffer’s 1979 play first adapted the lives of Mozart and Salieri to the stage, both as persistently passionate musicians undone by one other’s talent (Mozart’s being his music, and Salieri’s being his social aptitude). Now, more than 40 years later, Amadeus returns to audiences through the National Theatre at Home’s pre-recorded livestreams. Director Michael Longhurst boldly guides the cast, creative team, and orchestra down a path lit by an uninhibited passion for music, paved by one thing Mozart, Salieri, and the audience all share: a heartbreaking awareness of human inadequacy. All aspects of this staged production come together with wonderful unity to produce dramatic conflict that both resonates and leaves us in awe.

The greatest triumph of this production would be Lucian Msamati and Adam Gillen’s performances as Salieri and Mozart respectively, which are nothing short of brilliant. Perhaps my judgement is swayed by my love for performances that seem to absorb one’s entire being, but I have complete admiration for Adam Gillen’s gutturally energetic performance. From the moment he takes the stage, his Mozart bursts at the seams with fervour, every word spoken with violent force. Gillen portrays Mozart as a misunderstood young genius, whose passion and talent is communicated through boundless physical and vocal energy. His excessive, uninhibited performance is the most accurate portrayal of Shaffer’s Mozart out of all previous portrayals. Despite the excess, Gillen still manages to make Mozart believable and real, and accordingly, allows the audience to understand Salieri’s frustration and envy. Karla Crone, who plays Constanze Weber, Mozart’s lover (and later wife) should also be acknowledged for her performance. Crone does a wonderful job grounding Gillen’s Mozart and casting him as more likeable. Her Constanze is down to earth, warm, and reasonable.

Lucian Msamati, whose stamina alone is remarkable, imbues Salieri with an odd warmth that differentiates his interpretation from previous productions. Salieri acts as a bridge between the audience and the play, testing the boundaries of the fourth wall throughout his performance. When things get ridiculous, Salieri exchanges glances with the audience as if they share in an inside joke. Msamati portrays Salieri as a judgemental, self-ascribed ‘moral’ man whose only crime is being subject to the cruelty of God. While Salieri’s emotional destruction of a younger Mozart is reprehensible on paper, it becomes part of his own – and the audience’s – heartbreak.

The lighting functions in tandem with the music, creating an experience of visual and auditory unity. Longhurst’s choice to have the orchestra perform onstage makes so much sense that it seems like the only staging decision that could have logically been made. The music envelops the audience (me included, watching online), allowing even the most uneducated individuals on music theory (again, me included) to understand the extents of Mozart’s genius, and his heart.

Of course, with all this triumph, naturally there are elements of this production that were less astonishing.

The costume design is beautiful, but not innovative, and is a reiteration of previous productions and the 1984 film. This is not where my main frustrations lie, however. While the orchestra is onstage, at times interacting with the actors themselves, they wear the default all-black performance clothing. This is an odd choice that hinders the immersive quality of Amadeus’ set. For a production that blends music so intimately with performance, it is underwhelming to have this shown in every way – sound, lighting, and staging – except for costume. Likewise, the set design is kept to a minimum, presumably to accommodate for the large orchestra. I would have loved to see more innovation in this area, for a production that for the most part completely revives the original 1979 play. That being said, the beautiful backdrops and minimal props allowed the audience to focus on the actors and the music.

Lastly, and perhaps controversially, is a note on the lack of modulation in both lead performances. Amadeus reads as loud and bright, but for an audience to truly appreciate these things, there must be contrast in quiet and darkness. Lighting achieved this to fantastic results, yet I would have loved more intimacy and fragility from the rest of the creative team, as well as the actors’ performances. Both actors portray their characters with great passion, but passion should never only be loud. The final scene between Mozart and Salieri would have been far more moving if a more sincere level of emotional intimacy was established between the two characters. What of Mozart’s realisation of betrayal? What of Salieri finally having the origins of all his malice laid out in front of him? Both characters experience these climaxes but do not counterbalance one other. Instead, their emotions run in parallel. In the end, I found myself heartbroken for Mozart, but not for Salieri or the lost potential of their relationship (historically, Mozart and Salieri had a respectful rivalry; Salieri even tutored Mozart’s son after his death). The beauty of contrast appears to have been underappreciated in Longhurst’s direction, which is a shame. How wonderful would it have been to watch a play that reads as Mozart’s music does – full of loud, frantic passion and quiet heartbreak all in a moment.

Amadeus is a violent, wonderful production that produces some gut-wrenchingly fantastic performances and makes an impression that will be difficult to forget. At its worst, the National Theatre’s 2017 production of Amadeus is good. At its best, it is incredible. Any criticism presented is a product of the exceedingly triumphant elements in this production that set the bar so high.

And so, the great Mozart and not-as-great Salieri are forcibly dragged from their godly posts in history, and reduced to nothing more than human beings, wrecked by their own overwhelming passions.

And it is glorious.

Amadeus was live-streamed as part of the National Theatre at Home series. Find more National Theatre content here.