Peter Shaffer, who died in June, wrote plays fuelled with theatrical adrenaline. They brand you with images. I have never forgotten the sight of conventional court composer Salieri consumed with envy for Mozart, so over-spilling with music, so potty-mouthed. Yet I have never shared the enthusiasm for the knockout hit, Amadeus. I think the play flatters its audience by making Salieri’s supporters such goons. Of course no one in the Olivier would have yawned during the first performance of The Marriage of Figaro. I am not convinced that envy is an affliction of the second-rate alone. And I really dislike the way the music is talked over while being revered.
Adam Gillen overdoes the acting as Mozart: crouching, bouncing, leaping, panting, but pulls off a terrific turn. Lucian Msamati is a wonderful Salieri: grave, almost carved, you feel him being corroded. Chloe Lamford’s design – marshmallow courtiers, gold tailcoats – is an explosion of opulence. Michael Longhurst’s production has some unnecessary opening fidgets but it’s impressive: lush, high-voltage. It has one marvellous innovation. The black-clad members of the Southbank Sinfonia move around the action as they play Mozart. It is as if the composer’s inky notes had taken human form.
