Amadeus, Playing at the Wilma Theatre from September 19th-October 27th.

Jealousy is one of the ugliest elements of the human psyche and mediocrity the most terrifying fate for an artist. These are precisely the two horrors plaguing Antonio Salieri, a contemporary of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, as he has almost immeasurable desire and work ethic, but only a fraction of Mozart’s talent. His struggle to cope with his inferiority whilst simultaneously admiring Mozart’s extraordinary gift makes Amadeus a gripping and engrossing tale that is, at times, heart-wrenchingly beautiful and, at times, wickedly funny.

 

Peter Shaffer’s script is a conglomeration of parts that make it a period piece that manages to be timeless. Though much of the language is almost Shakespearean in its grandeur and expression, there are also healthy doses of modern day irreverence, crudeness and colloquialism that create a perfect juxtaposition between the erudite Salieri and the ragamuffin Mozart. As Mozart jokes about bodily functions and sexual deviance, Salieri’s frustration is palpable, as he knows and is disgusted by the fact that this simpleton dwarfs his talent with ease. Moreover, Shaffer plays with the conventions of a whodunit-style mystery, giving the audience a great deal to figure out whilst the story unfolds.

 

The Wilma, however, does not rely upon the strength of the piece they are undertaking to do the work for them. From the onset, the audience is greeted with an almost dreamlike set that is stunning in its gothic eeriness. The set places the viewer, not in 18^th Century Vienna, but in Salieri’s rapidly deteriorating mind, driving home the toll that has been taken on his spirit: period furniture is scattered throughout the stage, covered in cobwebs; the color scheme is almost entirely black and white, yet contains subtle imagery that conjures ideas of music, voyeurism and solitude. Minutes later, the rest of the cast bursts onto the stage in vibrant and elaborate costumes that are in stark contrast to Salieri’s bleak mindscape. Even the wigs worn by the cast seem to be made of ribbon and lace as opposed to Salieri’s more traditional hair, removing the action even further from reality and placing it more deeply into Salieri’s psychological confusion.

 

With an entire set and plot built around the mental state of one character, it was essential that the Wilma find an actor capable of carrying the bulk of a show. Fortunately, they found Dean Nolen, who does what can only be described as acting gymnastics on stage. Switching from elderly to young to mournful to proud from one moment to the next flawlessly, Nolen captures the complexities of Salieri beautifully. His mixed emotions upon hearing Mozart’s works demonstrate the breadth of his talent, as Salieri is torn between the ecstasy of hearing pure genius and the agony of knowing he will never achieve it. His performance is as delightful for the audience to watch as Mozart’s music is to hear.

 

Although Salieri has more than his fair share of dark, sly humour, Drew Hirshfield’s Mozart provides some much-needed levity to the play. Hirshfield plays Mozart with impish ignorance and innocence, creating maximum comedic tension between his character and Salieri, as time after time, he inadvertently insults Salieri and rubs his nose in his superiority. Mary Rasmussen also adds dimensions to the dynamics of the play as Constanze Weber, Mozart’s wife. Innocent yet more aware of the dangers surrounding her husband, Rasmussen makes Constanze both girlishly sweet yet smart as a whip when the situation calls for it.

 

Though some may fear that Amadeus will be too “stuffy” due to its subject matter, the material is easily understood and appreciated by anyone. The Wilma’s production is both intelligent and approachable with an equal measure of laugh-out-loud and hair-standing-up-on-the-back-of-the-neck moments to please anyone old enough to see it (children under the age of 12 are not permitted due to the adult nature of some subject matter). Like Mozart’s works, the Wilma’s production of Amadeus is, well, genius.

 

Amy Lewis