The new miniseries Amadeus is a disappointing take on the life and music of one of the greatest composers in Western history, Wolfgang A. Mozart. If you’re going to adapt material based on a celebrated play and film that have captivated audiences for decades, you’d better bring something truly special and innovative to the table. Otherwise, you risk coming across as rather foolish.
Enter Amadeus, a six-part drama co-created by Joe Barton and Julian Farino. The series attempts to draw from Peter Shaffer’s acclaimed 1979 play and its cinematic adaptation from 1984, which featured standout performances by Tom Hulce as Mozart and F. Murray Abraham as his rival, Antonio Salieri. Regrettably, what we witness here are rehashed scenes that feel diminished and lackluster, surrounded by uninspired moments that fail to engage. The complex themes that Shaffer explored—such as the corrosive nature of envy, the endurance of faith in difficult times, and the enigma of genius—are watered down to mere shadows of their former selves.
In this retelling, the story unfolds through the eyes of an older Salieri, portrayed by Paul Bettany, who confesses to Mozart’s widow, Constanze. This choice shifts the narrative's focus from the spiritual reckoning seen in the original works to a more mundane act of unburdening his conscience, significantly lowering the stakes right from the start. When we meet Mozart—played by Will Sharpe of The White Lotus fame—it’s not in a grand or dignified manner. He tumbles out of a carriage and vomits at the feet of his future landlady's daughters, setting a tone that feels far more trivial.
Set in 1781, a decade before Mozart's death, he arrives in Vienna ready to make his mark, despite leaving a fuming father behind. His confidence proves to be well-founded; he quickly captivates the emperor (Rory Kinnear) and the court with his extraordinary talent, while Salieri watches in disbelief and growing despair. Salieri’s own tragedy lies in the painful recognition that, despite his efforts, he cannot compete with Mozart's genius. The bitter irony is that Salieri, who possesses the insight to see Mozart’s brilliance, feels crushed under the weight of his own mediocrity. He sees Mozart not as the refined figure he ought to be but as a "repulsive creature" unworthy of such divine talent.
As the series progresses, we witness Salieri’s increasing resentment and schemes to undermine Mozart, while the latter experiences a rollercoaster of initial success followed by financial hardship. A key scene that exemplifies the show's shortcomings occurs when Constanze presents Salieri with Mozart's original manuscripts. When Salieri asks to keep them temporarily, Constanze refuses, explaining their uniqueness. In the original play, Salieri's reflection highlights the intricate artistry of Mozart’s work, which is completely lost in this adaptation. Instead of a powerful moment that conveys the essence of genius, we are left with a simple visual pan from Mozart’s pristine pages to Salieri’s flawed notes, failing to capture the depth of the original dialogue.
Bettany delivers a solid performance within the constraints of a lackluster script, but he cannot compare to F. Murray Abraham’s iconic portrayal. Similarly, Sharpe’s interpretation of Mozart feels flat and uninspired; he is reminiscent of Richard Ayoade’s character Moss from The IT Crowd, presenting a version of Mozart that lacks both charm and complexity. This portrayal renders Salieri’s description of him as a "repulsive creature" almost ludicrous, undermining the gravitas of his existential crisis.
Ultimately, one can only hope that as we look towards 2026, the creative landscape will offer fresh ideas and original dramas, steering clear of unnecessary reboots—especially ones like Amadeus.
