Amadeus
Mary Moody Northen Theatre at St. Edward’s University Running Time: 3 hrs“Ama-deus! Ama-deus!” bellows Salieri to the impregnable heavens, finally comprehending the full extent of a wicked wordplay, a devious twist of the dagger by a capricious god who has chosen as His Favored Servant Salieri’s rival musician, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. Salieri had pledged his life to all things good if only God would grant him the gift of musical accomplishment. But it takes hearing only a few notes of heavenly music by Mozart for Salieri to realize that God has passed him over for this emotionally immature prodigy. A few scenes after that outburst, Salieri is again raging at the heavens and again punching the “deus” of Amadeus. We got it the first time, thank you. Playwright Peter Shaffer seems not to trust that his audience can handle the depth of his posed dilemma, so he pontificates. Repeatedly.
Shaffer has made his career trying to excavate answers to Big Questions plaguing humanity: What is the nature of God? And of God on Earth? In trying to understand God, is it necessary to destroy him? Destroy his chosen ones? These questions are at the heart of his dramas Equus, The Royal Hunt of the Sun, Yonadab, and Amadeus, and at their best, they are moving, dramatic, highly theatrical, and intense. Great theatre. But at their worst, they are long diatribes of wandering sophistry and the occasional gimmick to keep the audience’s attention. To produce one of these plays and maintain a high level of intensity is a tall order. St. Edward’s had a go at Equus a few years ago, with some success. But for all its luscious designs and cast of fine actors who work exceptionally hard for the full three hours of this production, Mary Moody Northen Theatre’s Amadeus winds up more dull than daring.
Why is it ultimately so much humdrum theatrical philosophizing? Besides the playwright’s tendency to wax oratorical at great length, director Scott Thompson appears to have approached the production as if it were another Paramount-staged grand musical from his Austin Musical Theatre days. He crams so much stuff into so small a space that the human story gets lost in the sumptuousness of its surroundings. There are exquisite moments, to be sure, and the company, having to work through the incredibly detailed technical aspects of the show – numerous costume and set changes, dance numbers and an elaborate nonstop lighting design that demands hyperspecific blocking, the on-again, off-again use of microphones, etc. – is as tight and assured as any in a touring play you’ll see. But it’s all rather unsatisfactory. Thompson, like plodding Salieri, has given us everything – which ultimately proves painfully cumbersome and eradicates all feeling of spontaneity.
And while Thompson has paid so much attention to the look and feel of the production, how much attention has he paid to the actors? Peter Davies plays Salieri from start to finish as if every utterance is laced with grave import. His tone seldom modulates, and every sentence hangs in the air, heavy with meaning. Davies is obviously a good actor in need of a little character shaping; when he is silent and reacting to his environment, when he can immerse himself in the world of the story and not have to act as God’s duelist, he’s much more interesting. Tim McGeever’s Mozart, unencumbered with narrative duties, shows exquisite decay from juvenile stardom to destitute deathbed; McGeever seems to have been given free rein to make use of the space, other characters, and his own athleticism to create a multidimensional Mozart. The stage is peppered with mature actors playing the emperor and his courtiers, and Paul Norton’s Joseph II, Richard Byron’s Van Swieten, Huck Huckaby’s Von Strack, and Ev Lunning’s Rosenberg are all fine, engaged in the drama of Viennese court politics. The St. Ed’s students are essentially supernumeraries and dancers, but as Mozart’s wife Constanze, Rachel Ney shines with a strong, varied performance.
Mozart’s rivals accused him of using too many notes, composing overstuffed Viennese pastries – all flair and filling. But his audience and critics were unprepared for the incredible nuance and sheer emotion of his work that still demanded an imaginative leap. It came from his deepest self – or perhaps from God, as poor Salieri posits. Thompson has followed Mozart’s lead, but while this flair-filled effort is overstuffed and flashy, where is its soul? Where does it ask us to imagine?
This article appears in March 5 • 2004.