The occasion: Milos Forman died. He was 86 years old. And his masterpiece Amadeus left such a lasting impression, belongs to those rare movies I can watch anytime anywhere over and over again. I feel the need to extoll its virtues and with it, the virtues of its maker.
I love Amadeus. That three-word sentence, so simple yet complicated in its strength in meaning. It’s a popcorn movie, adventure, a crime drama, it has heavenly music, it is history live – what more could you want?
When Mozart staggers home through the snow one dawn, you feel the cold seeping through the thin leather soles of his shoes. You feel the wind, whistling through the narrow streets, lifting the heavy wool of the mysterious mentor’s black cape visiting him, asking him to finish the requiem.
You feel the discomfort of flesh pressed into corsets and brocade coats, satin pantaloons and too tight embroidered shoes. You smell the sweat. These details, like the thousands of stiches needed to make a tapestry, each are crucial to the bigger picture. A masterful director, never losing sight of the canvas nor forgetting the lock of a powdered wig.
Needless to say, a fantastic cast and crew (each and every one) contributes to the masterpiece theater under the direction of one captain. Milos Forman.
Against the historical fabric of late 18th century Vienna, he gave us a pop star, a rock star who was funny, cool, erratic, endlessly talented, driven, tortured; your average genius. What a fabulous journey into the past brought into the present.
Thank you forever you wonderful wonderful man. Milos Forman.