We’re a New York Original™ slice joint, firing up fresh pizzas daily. Today, we’re still a family-owned-and-operated pizza shop where you can find Amadeus calling the shots at any of our locations… Living that pizza dream. After too many days spent at the meat slicer dreaming about making pizza, Amadeus sets up his first pizza shop in Hell’s Kitchen in 1994. But the ends always justified the means – kick ass sandwiches the locals kept coming back for. It’s a long story filled with Amadeus stringing together the few English words he knew, some wild hand gestures, and a bunch of wacky sound effects to communicate with his customers.
#AMADEUS SERIES#
After a series of misadventures, he opens a deli in Soho NYC. It has gore, a pact with God, celebrity, a masked stranger, murder and some of the best music ever written.Like all great stories, we have a beginning: It’s the 1980s and Amadeus arrives in America. Amadeus weaves a beautiful, tragic fable, enchanting to children and adults alike. Underpinning all of this is a myth-like narrative of ambition, obsession and searing jealousy, for which we have Peter Shaffer (and ultimately, Pushkin) to thank. Eat your heart out, Brad Pitt, Julianne Moore et al. Abraham plays both the young and old Salieri, and never was there a more convincing handling of the same character at different stages of life. It is a brilliant, humanistic portrait of jealousy, guilt and, in the end, a kind of redemption. But just as central to the success of this film is the character conjured by F Murray Abraham, a performance that you feel deserves not just the Oscar it won, but several more on top. He certainly uses it to sublime effect: the recurring Don Giovanni chord, the aria Martern aller Arten, the first strains of the Lacrimosa. If the film weren’t so good in and of itself you could accuse Forman of cheating – of piggy-backing on the composer’s genius. Neville Marriner conducted the Academy of St Martin in the Fields in performances that must have introduced millions to the passion and intensity of Mozart’s symphonies, operas, and finally, his great requiem. It’s a slightly hallucinatory interpretation of late 18th-century Austro-Hungarian splendour, complete with vertigo-inducing wigs, flaming candelabras and heaving bosoms.Īnd the music. The production design, by Patrizia von Brandenstein, was rewarded with an Oscar. Parts of several operas are staged, lavish performances within a performance, with choreography by Twyla Tharp and sets by Josef Svoboda. The streets of Vienna are meticulously recreated and filled with a seemingly limitless supply of costumed citizens.
I was pleased to find it was just as exciting as before, still a feast for the eyes, ears and mind.īut the word “sumptuous” doesn’t quite do Amadeus justice. After that, I didn’t see it again until a screening of the “ director’s cut” in 2002. It was a feeling I became determined to cling to and after the broadcast, having badgered my parents to buy the video and the soundtrack, I watched it over and over again, wearing out the magnetic tape until the picture resembled an impressionist painting. And as with the very best childhood experiences of storytelling, Amadeus immersed me in another world.
#AMADEUS TV#
I was stunned, really, but once I had recovered, I realised I’d be glued to the TV for as long as it took for this tale to unfold.
But the man – Salieri, old and wretched – is being taken somewhere quite different: to a lunatic asylum.ĭespair, unintentional comedy, suicide and madness, shot through with the Sturm und Drang of Mozart’s Symphony No 25 is quite something for an 11-year-old to absorb. A dance is taking place where everything seems warm and bright and young.
#AMADEUS WINDOWS#
As he is carried on a stretcher through the freezing streets he glances up at the windows of a ballroom. Inside they find their master has slit his throat, blood spattered across his white tunic.
“Forgive your assassin!” He is answered, first by a great dismal chord from the last act of Don Giovanni, then by two servants, who are bringing the cream cakes they hope will shut him up, but end up breaking down the door. From somewhere inside a grand apartment a man screams “Mozart!” as the snow billows outside. The scene is Vienna, a winter’s night in the 1820s. The first four minutes of Milos Forman’s Amadeus – the credits, in fact – contain more drama and pathos than many directors manage in 120. There are films that take your breath away before they’ve even begun.
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