A superlative film with an almost biblical resonance, ‘Amadeus’ is the story of two contemporaries – Mozart and Salieri – whose rivalry is so intense and deeply personal, it might as well be fraternal. Their relationship becomes the basis for lifelong envy, spiritual torment, and, ultimately, destruction.

F. Murray Abraham delivers an Oscar-winning performance as Antonio Salieri, the court composer to Emperor Joseph II of Austria. Salieri simply cannot fathom how a vulgar, immature figure like Mozart could be capable of creating music so transcendent it seems to come directly from the divine. Salieri, a man of moderate talent and supreme cunning, sets out to destroy the very genius he claims to admire – offering Mozart mentorship and friendship as a smokescreen for sabotage.

There’s something almost ‘Green Mile’-like in Salieri’s fate. Like the old man condemned to linger on in life, Salieri becomes a symbol of divine punishment – cursed to survive while the brilliant Mozart dies young, buried in a pauper’s grave. His life stretches on, hollowed by guilt, unable to reconcile the cruelty of a world in which true genius can be extinguished so easily, and mediocrity left to rot in regret.

The film brilliantly captures the nature of obsession, and the fine line between devotion and madness, paralleling themes seen in ‘One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest’ and ‘The People vs. Larry Flynt’, both of which deal with flawed, transgressive figures who captivate precisely because they push against societal and moral norms.

Shot in Prague, Amadeus has the texture of authenticity, even as the cast speaks in unmistakably American accents. There’s a grandeur to its staging that evokes the feeling of location shooting without leaning on historical realism. Like ‘The Last Temptation of Christ’, it isn’t trying to recreate history so much as explore mythic and moral questions: What happens when we long for greatness but fall short? Can we truly celebrate someone else’s genius if it only reminds us of our own inadequacy?

There’s also a devilish, Doctor Faustus-like undertone to the story. Salieri becomes a Mephistophelean figure – positioned as both rival and witness to Mozart’s divine gift, locked in a spiritual battle far larger than the court politics he manipulates. Their story is not simply one of talent versus jealousy, but of man versus God.

In the end, ‘Amadeus’ asks deeply relatable questions: What do we do when confronted with genius we’ll never match? Do we admire it… or do we try to tear it down?

The film’s most haunting image may be Mozart’s burial – a pauper’s grave for a man whose music still touches eternity, and which is a brutal reminder that greatness isn’t always recognized in its time… and that those consumed by envy may outlive their rivals, but never escape them.