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Амадей

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written,
my friends.
Salieri.
You are the brightest star
in the musical firmament.
You do honor to Vienna and to me.
Herr Mozart.
- It was good of you to come.
- How could I not?
Bravo, maestro.
Did my work please you?
I never knew that music like that
was possible.
- You flatter me.
- No.
One hears such sounds...
and what can one say but:
Salieri.
Everybody's here and we've got guests.
Bravo.
Well, I've got some more.
Stanzi, you remember my excellent friend Schikaneder.
Come in.
Don't be shy.
- This is a very nice girl, and this...
- Wolfie?
Yes, my love?
These gentlemen are from Salzburg.
Salzburg?
We were just talking about Salzburg.
Your father is dead.
So rose the dreadful ghost,
from his next and blackest opera.
There on the stage,
stood the figure of a dead commander.
I knew.
Only I understood,
that the horrifying apparition
was Leopold,
raised from the dead.
Wolfgang had actually summoned up
his own father,
to accuse his son before all the world.
It was...
terrifying and wonderful to watch.
And now...
the madness began in me.
The madness of a man splitting in half.
Through my influence, I saw to it.
Don Giovanni was played
only five times in Vienna.
But, in secret,
I went to every one of those five.
Worshiping sound I alone seemed to hear.
And as I stood there,
understanding how
that bitter old man
was still possessing his poor son,
even from beyond the grave,
I began to see a way,
a terrible way,
I could finally triumph
over God.
Herr Mozart?
I have come to commission
work from you.
- What work?
- A Mass for the dead.
What dead?
Who is dead?
A man who deserved a Requiem Mass
and never got one.
- Who are you?
- I`am only a messenger.
Do you accept?
You will be well paid.
Do you accept?
Work fast.
And be sure tell no one what you do.
You will see me again soon.
Wolfie?
My plan was so simple...
that it terrified me.
First, I must get the death Mass,
and then...
I must achieve his death.
What?
His funeral.
Imagine it.
The cathedral,
all Vienna sitting there.
His coffin.
Mozart's little coffin in the middle.
And then...
in that silence...
music.
A divine music,
bursts out over them all.
A great Mass of death.
Requiem Mass for Wolfgang Mozart.
Composed by his devoted friend,
Antonio Salieri.
What sublimity.
What depth.
What passion in the music.
Salieri has been touched by God at last,
and God forced to listen.
Powerless to stop it.
I, for once, in the end,
laughing at him.
The only thing that worried me
was the actual killing.
How does one do that?
How does one kill a man?
It's one thing
to dream about it.
Very different when you...
When you have to do it...
with your own hands.
Come in.
Don Giovanni,
I've come to dinner.
Dinner. Are you mad?
I'm a nobleman.
I only ever dine with people
of my own height.
Stop it.
Be careful. Be careful.
Hold tight.
I'm a famous
horseman.
And we're a famous horsy.
Give me a hoof, my darling.
And I'll give you my heart.
Take me to your stable.
And never more we'll part.
Kill me. Kill me.
We're going to make a soprano stew.
We're going to make a soprano stew.
And when you make a soprano stew.
Shut up.
I'm sick to death of that tune.
Give me some hay, my darling.
And I'll give you my heart.
Leporello. Some hay.
We hope
you're contented.
With what
we've presented.
And love our dove of peace...
- What did you think of that?
- It was wonderful.
- He liked the little people. Didn`t you?
- It's all in good fun.
I liked the horse.
I tell you,
if you played Don Giovanni here,
you would've had a wonderful success.
You belong here.
Not at the snobby court.
You could do anything you like.
The more fantastic, the better.
That's what people want: Fantasy.
You write a proper part for me,
a couple of catchy songs.
I guarantee you a triumph deluxe.
- What do you say?
- How much will you pay him?
Well. I see you brought
your manager with you.
Амадей Амадей

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