Amadeus is worth watching for Paul Bettany and Gabrielle Creevy, who make artistic jealousy and its consequences hurt. Five episodes give them room, but also leave the central rivalry repeating itself when the music should take over.
Amadeus finds its strongest subject in Salieri: a composer who can hear precisely how far another man’s abilities exceed his own. That is a cruel predicament, and this five-part series is worth watching for Paul Bettany’s handling of it, with Gabrielle Creevy making Constanze worth following in her own right. Directors Alice Seabright and Julian Farino allow the performers plenty of space. Across five episodes, however, the exchanges between the composers begin to repeat themselves.
Bettany makes Salieri’s admiration as important as his resentment. His distress is convincing because he understands what he is hearing; the music gives him another reason to question the value of his own work and his belief in God. We found his torment unexpectedly upsetting, particularly the shame that accompanies his recognition of Mozart’s gift. Bettany keeps that shame present in the tense exchanges with Mozart, so there is something painful happening even when the men are simply discussing their work.
Will Sharpe’s Mozart is an effective partner for this, though the series is less persuasive about what makes him exceptional. Sharpe gives him emotional complications and an abrasive presence that prevent the part becoming merely a display of charm. The confrontations have energy, and neither actor seems to be waiting politely for his next speech. Yet when the programme asks us to believe in Mozart’s genius, it too often relies on the strength of Salieri’s reaction.
Creevy benefits most from the longer telling. Constanze has enough of a life here for the consequences of the men’s behaviour to matter beyond their quarrel, and Creevy makes that additional attention feel necessary. Her performance gives the series someone worth following even when the rivalry has begun to wear thin. The expanded attention to Constanze brings personal suffering into a story that can otherwise become absorbed in professional complaints.
Morgan Kennedy’s production design gives the series a richness that suits its theatrical manner, though the lavish surroundings sometimes distract from the conflict. Seabright and Farino are more successful when the performances command attention without competing with that display. The music is a greater frustration: Bryce Dessner’s contribution belongs to a programme that gives too little time to listening. Mozart’s work needs room to affect us before another conversation tells us how much it matters.
The comparison with the 1984 film is unavoidable, and five episodes give this version more time than it always knows how to use. Once Salieri’s jealousy is established, further exchanges can confirm what the actors have already made clear. Constanze’s fuller story is the strongest reason for taking the longer route, and the performances keep it worth following. For anyone drawn to dramas about artistic ambition, this is a good, uneven addition. If the music is your chief reason for watching, expect to spend a fair amount of time waiting for the conversation to stop.
