Amadeus: Review By B. Alan Orange

Code Orange Alert #27396: Amadeus

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. Blah, blah, blah...

"Thank God he's dead," My ass whispered into my ear.

This notation came with a sigh of relief. I nodded in agreement. Mozart had been wallowing in death throws for a good 70 minutes. By all accounts, that giggling b*tch should have died hours ago. Sure, the new Arc Light Theater on Sunset is built out of perfection; straight from the ground up. Yet sitting there, I couldn't help but wish I was watching almost anything else. It's not that Amadeus is a bad movie esthetically. It did win eight academy awards, for God's sake. The thing's just so tedious in artf*g explosions of drooping doom. Amadeus used to be couched at two hours and thirty minutes. Much like last year's Apocalypse Now Redux, this film's running length has been changed for the worse. It's long; more than three hours of wigs, and corsets, and piano-string concertos. No one "really" wants to watch that.

Sure, those old town socialites will feign enjoyment. Trust me, they're just as bored as we are. Look at their strained faces: Their fraudulent smiles are in place simply because someone told them, "This is good cinema. You 'have' to like this even though you're deriving absolutely no pleasure from it." Bogus; I want to be entertained regardless of a film's stated pedigree. Open-heart surgery is a necessary procedure, but that doesn't mean I have to like it...

Maybe you haven't heard of Arc Light. It surrounds the Cinerama-Dome in this towering structure that looks less like a movie theater and more like an ominous aircraft hanger. It's the result of years in research. The head of this foundation has gone out of his way to make sure you know this is the ultimate film-going experience. Everything involved in the building's construction is faultless. The color of the walls, the comfort of the seats, the magnitude of the super-sized screens, the distance the chairs are from the screen, the staggered layout of the stadium seating, the concession stand.

Standing before a podium, the General Manager of Arc Light all but punched me in the face with a dissertation on the aptness of his multiplex. That said; I don't might pointing out a couple of flaws. The place, in general, is rather sterile in grey and blue. The best film-going experience, I feel, is heading into a stand-alone theater not unlike the one seen in that ass-awful film The Majestic. A theater like The Rialto or The El Capitan has its own personality; it's colorful and dreamlike in a stately manner. Arc Light is stagnant in appearance and it lacks individuality. Next, the seats. You could wrap Amadeus' strips of celluloid around our planet twice. A 'perfect theater' would be able to comfort your ass and neck through the torrential length that is Milos Forman's masterwork. Those seats didn't follow through with that plan. I was in pain by the time closing credits rolled around. And lastly, this is an adult arena for the rich. Tickets cost an abrasive fourteen dollars. Why, then, with its righteous snack bar, are there no beer taps? An absolute, ideal theater would offer tasty pints. It's not illegal, and I can't imagine kids creeping into this droll environment. Give me alcohol or put your claims of greatness to rest. I desperately needed an Oilcan of Foster's to peak the arc of Amadeus. This is a film that belongs on the wall of an art gallery for a quick peek in passing, not back on our screens to bore. These are the kinds of films Arc Light is devoted to showing. Are they ever going to make their money back? Probably.

This last week, Universal kicked Steven Spielberg's E.T. back onto our screens. Have you seen it? F*ck, the new version is atrocious. The magic that is E.T. has been sucked off the screen by a grotesque cartoon version in CGI'd animation. It's a testament to those children on screen that we still believe in their performances, even with this spooky looking altercation messing up the atmosphere. Spielberg's an idiot. Look at the opening of this new version. He shows the alien. Sure, you could justify this in saying that we've already seen him and we know what he looks like. But by doing this, it takes away the mystery in set-up. There's no longer a need for the shots of E.T.'s fingers slowly creeping into a shot. There's no need to shadow him in the first reveal. Keeping E.T. out of sight for as long as possible was one of the film's charms. Now that charm is dead. I saw this Saturday night at one of So-Cal's busiest multiplexes, and the place was completely empty. How's that for replacing shotguns? At least Steven kept the "Penis breath" line.

Even though they messed up a great movie, I can see Universal's reasoning behind re-releasing E.T. It's an entertaining picture that should be seen with an audience. I can't see why we need a re-release of Amadeus. It's not really a movie that 'needs' to be seen on the big screen. Those who actually want to see it, for whatever bizarre, self-masochistic reason, could just watch it on VHS or DVD. Not only that, Milos Forman seems determined to continually remake this film time and again, and his next biopic should be re-release enough.

I laughed to myself on the way to the screening. Maybe they added scenes of Wolfgang and Salieri in the bathtub? Maybe they re-digitized Tom Hulce's accent? I couldn't imagine they'd reconstruct the piece as a whole. I figured this was a straightforward print of Amadeus with nothing more than a cleaned and scrubbed negative to justify its remerging presence. I was wrong. As the poster clearly states, this is Forman's original cut, with twenty full minutes of never-before-seen footage restored. Before the movie started, its producer stood before the audience and explained that "close friends" recommended these extra minutes be trimmed. Originally, they were. But now they're back.

Who was screaming for this? Someone should have remembered the wisdom of those old friends. As it stands now, the movie is too long and too boring to do the new cut justice. What exactly is this lost footage? Who knows? We can't tell by watching the movie. The producer can't tell us, either. This isn't like Apocalypse Now Redux, where its four restored scenes where discernable from the rest of the picture. Nor is there a 'Han and Jabba' moment to be found. Basically, Forman just let frames run on for an extra second. You add an extra inch to every edit; you've got twenty pointless minutes and a very unnecessary retooling that's difficult to sit through. Why can't directors leave well enough alone?

The story itself revolves around a theme that is as important now as it was in its day. The script is focused on mediocrity in entertainment. The message: One should never compromise their art. Amadeus targets the film industry more than the music it supports. A great deal of the end is focused on Wolfgang's production of an Opera. We watch as it's changed and rearranged, and pages are torn from its script. The film plays like the backstage production of just about any project being made today. Wolfgang's vision is compromised to please the 'Studio Executives' (seen here as magistrates), and the outcome is less than stellar. All blame is placed on Wolfy. This thing is more a metaphor for artistic integrity than it is about Mozart, himself. Basically, Amadeus is about a sane man being driven crazy by the genius of an insane man. The fact that Wolfgang dies writing his own funeral dirge sums up the career of just about everyone working in Hollywood. The film's increased running time does not change the ideas and plot structuring set forth, yet it does destroy its once livable pacing.

One positive thing I can say about the film: Time has been kind to Amadeus. It looks as new here as it did in 1984. Of course it's a period piece; I wouldn't expect it to age like E.T. That doesn't change the fact that Jeffery Jones's ascot cruelly lulled me into a pacifiable sleep. I can see how Amadeus' speed was derived from the stage play it's based upon.

Much of the film is given over to F. Murray Abraham. As a kid, I always wondered why he was given the Oscar instead of Tom Hulce. After all, Abraham isn't the one playing Amadeus. My young mind had no idea about acting and its technique. Going back to the film at this late date, I understand the gesture. Sure, Hulce is captivating in his role of genius, but for all the wrong reasons. The laugh, since stolen by Sponge Bob, is funny at first, yet grows rather tiresome through the film's duration. And Hulce plays his musician with hints of So-Cal local. Mozart wasn't a beach bum. You wouldn't know that from eating Tom's performance as true history. And Alison Hannigan has stolen her whole screen persona from Elizabeth Berridge, seen here as Wolfgang's young wife. God, Liz is fetching. Luckily, for those of us going mad, the girl does drop her corset to give a good view of those supple breasts. The Manager of Arc Light wants perfection? He should look no further than Berridge's t*ts. Yum. Why aren't they serving these at the concession stand?

Look closely at Milos Forman's last couple of films. Man on the Moon and The People vs. Larry Flynt are essentially xeroxed copies of Amadeus, which was an evocative motion picture at the time of its release. All three movies are conceived and plotted the exact same way. Each step and dramatic beat follows the same progression. Milos bites the style of other creative artists, and from that esthetic, he creates his own artwork. All three projects are raked from the same palate, which shows a real laziness on Forman's part. As an auteur, he's much like Walter Hill, Frank Darabont, and The Coen Brothers. All of these 'gifted' administrators continue to make the same film again and again. It's a redundant gesture, and I don't dig it.

How much of Amadeus is true to life? There's a feeling here that great dramatic license was used to bring this film to life. Basically, Antonio Salieri is the affected representation of every other director making films today. He is mediocrity at its best. A good beat and follow through with this material would be to reenact it during the late 70s and early 80s. In place of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, we could have Martin Scorsese, whose exceptional films weren't accepted right away by a large audience. Tracking him closely, in the footsteps of Salieri, we could have Hal Needham, whose projects, like Smokey and the Bandit and Stroker Ace, were exceedingly awful, yet drew in the crowds. It would basically be a facsimile, though a bit more entertaining than what we have here.

This is the long run. If you're out and about with your date, looking to have some fun, your best bet is to buck this sorry excuse of a Director's cut. It's only good for making out, and since that experience never happens to me, Amadeus is useless. I could go the rest of my life without ever having to see this film again. Lets all pray that directors stop f*cking up their best juice just to earn that extra fin at the box office.

You can count me out of this one. Messa stayin' right here.