Cinematic style achieves magical theatricality

By Patricia Morris Buckley | Crítico de Teatro SDUN

While Peter Shaffer’s “Amadeus” is a stunning cinematic experience, the Globe’s version achieves a magical theatricality only possible on stage.

The Old Globe does theatricality extremely well. Director Adrian Noble outdoes himself by crafting seamless shifts in time and character. The result is a style that’s often called cinematic, but which film rarely achieves. Add to that a remarkable performance by Miles Anderson as 18th century composer Antonio Salieri and this is a production that really should not be missed.

“Amadeus,” which began its life as a play, tells the story of the cutthroat rivalry between Salieri and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, both gifted composers in the arts-minded court of Joseph II, the emperor of Austria in the late 1700s. Before Mozart comes to the court, Salieri is an accomplished composer who enjoys the career-boosting favor of the emperor.

The highly religious Salieri has begged God to allow him to be his musical vessel and has lived an exemplary life to be worthy of the honor. Then Mozart arrives and Salieri discovers that this now-grown-up musical prodigy is coarse, obnoxious and far more gifted musically—which causes Salieri’s faith to turn revengeful. Salieri comes to believe that by blocking Mozart’s ascension in court, leaving him to perish in poverty, that he has defeated almighty God.

When the story begins, Salieri is an old man and, preparing to die, he finally confesses that he killed Mozart. Without a costume or makeup change, Anderson easily transforms himself into the younger Salieri. (Anderson is, in fact, on stage for 95 percent of the play, as settings shift from the court, the opera, various homes of the elite and Mozart’s increasingly impoverished apartment.)

Set designer Ralph Funicello creates a false proscenium that moves backward and forward, complete with lush, working curtains—suggesting that for these musicians, life is always a theater and they are always acting, whether in court or on the stage. A harpsichord also pops up from the floor for certain scenes and disappears just as suddenly. It’s because of these touches, which represent different locales shifting quickly, that the play progresses at an almost frenetic pace—perfect for a tale of man who believes he will die within hours and wants to cleanse his soul of an evil deed before drawing his last breath.

Noble also plays with other visual metaphors. For instance, the gossiping, information collecting Venticelli (here played by women instead of men) have unusually long noses. Except for Salieri, everyone wears the powdered wigs and whitened faces of the time, although Mozart also finally sheds his—perhaps to suggest that he too has relinquished worldly ambition.

While not all metaphors are subtle, they add greatly to the theatricality of the production.

The exuberant Jay Whittaker makes Mozart a tall teen who never understands how his abrasive manner and giant-sized ego often overshadow his tremendous talent. Whittaker’s portrayal, with an underlying darkness and anger, bounces from silly man-boy to sullen, despondent genius in a manner that suggests a manic depressive disorder.

Winslow Corbett plays Mozart’s wife, Constanze, who is equally his playmate and mother. Corbett successfully straddles both sides of the role while showing a steely core when Salieri tries to blackmail her into being his bedmate.

The real joy of this production is the collaboration between Noble and Anderson. Together they have shown that this stage version of “Amadeus” is the equal, and perhaps superior, to anything Hollywood can produce.