Amadeus (2025) s01e05 Episode Script

1
The following programme contains
distressing scenes.
Mozart, your father has died.
I thought it might help to have
the news delivered
by a friendly face.
Is that what you are?
There, in that demonic
figure on stage, was his own father,
and in that poor, wretched
philanderer, Mozart himself.
And I knew where, in time,
I would place the final blade.
How long do I have?
I wouldn't linger.
The mood is changing.
You're a man out of time.
I'm enjoying it.
I found it rather, um tuneful.
I'd say the whole thing
is rather thin so far.
You're getting distracted.
You have to focus on the music.
You made me
realise everything I know about you
I've had to learn
through your characters.
And I wondered if you
If you could ever open up to me.
You can't stay with me.
It isn't good here.
There is always
a reckoning.
You told me to do this.
This can't happen again.
This was your idea, Mozart.
He was weak, broken,
and alone.
So, into the darkness we go.
REQUIEM ♪
Frau Mozart.
Yes?
Oh, thank goodness.
My name is Alexander Pushkin.
I've been searching for you.
I, um
I've asked around everywhere.
Cafes, bars, concert halls.
And then, finally,
I tried the post office.
I don't know why I didn't start
there, but, uh, here we are.
What is it that you want,
Mr Pushkin?
What is it that I want? Yes.
Well
Uh, I'm a writer.
You might have heard of me.
Uh, or you might not.
Anyway, I'm writing a play. Or
rather, I'm hoping to write a play.
Are you going round to everyone's
houses to tell them individually?
No, no, I came to find you
because I'm hoping
to write about your husband.
Oh. Which one?
I think you know which one.
And what are you hoping
to write about him?
Well, I
I want to write about his death.
He died of a fever.
People think his music should
have been some kind of a shield,
but he was flesh and blood,
just like the rest of us.
He got ill.
Mm.
I heard something different.
And what did you hear?
I heard it was murder.
-You heard that?
-Yes.
From who?
The old Hofkappellmeister,
Salieri.
He ended up in an asylum.
He lost his mind. Did you know that?
I did.
And presumably you heard
he died last year?
Yes.
And they say
he was ranting and raving.
Screaming like a baby
towards the end.
And they say in the weeks before he
died it was mostly incomprehensible,
Mostly nonsense.
Mmmm.
Except for one thing.
One thing he kept saying.
He told them
that it was he
who killed your husband.
Apparently, they say, he confessed.
And apparently, he confessed to you.
What do you think of that?
Because I can tell you what I think.
I think that would make
a pretty good story.
Ahhhhhhhhh ahhhh
Ahhhhhhhh ♪
"I state, merely as fact,
that I, on 5 December"
"in the year 1791,"
"Killed Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart."
Well, uh
What am I to glean
from all of this, Antonio?
You still don't believe it.
Well, it's lacking something.
What?
Specificity.
Oh.
How did you do it?
Poison? Strangulation?
You desire details.
Well, you have given me details
of every other damn aspect
of your life so far.
I apologise.
I thought I'd been providing
context.
Well, then, let's get to it.
Your confession.
You want me to let the world know
that you killed my husband?
I need to know how.
And I need to be convinced.
REQUIEM ♪
Where is it that you go?
I used to be more certain
of your indiscretions.
Is it his carnal desires
that he feeds tonight?
You were inflicting wounds on me,
but they were survivable.
But this spectre
walking through my house,
what am I to make of this?
I have known, Antonio.
I have known everything.
And every time I have looked at you,
I have seen a fallible, ruined man,
and that has brought me sadness.
Now I see no man at all.
The sins of the flesh
are at least human.
But what sins are you looking for
when you creep out of here?
I'll lock our bedroom door tonight
and hope you don't think
to look for me when you return.
A fever was cutting
through Vienna,
killing those who didn't have
the strength to fight it.
And so, night by night,
I returned
and weakened him further.
His spirit..
his body
and his mind
KYRIE ♪
I'd been playing this little game
inspired by Don Giovanni.
I stood outside his window
every night for a week.
The masked man,
come to drag him to hell.
It's remarkable, really,
how fragile the mind is.
How quickly it unravels.
Yes, that was him.
Unravelled.
Unsure.
And alone.
Mozart.
May I come in?
Please.
Sorry to call on you so late. I
Well, I've been worried.
You have a new commission?
Did you speak with the Masons
about The Magic Flute?
Ah. I did.
Um, I'm afraid
they've taken it rather badly.
The symbols were intended
as a tribute.
I know.
I explained that to them.
I must admit, I was surprised
by the force of their feelings
on the matter.
But don't worry.
They'll calm down in time.
I'm not sure I have that.
You don't look well, maestro.
I haven't been sleeping.
I try but I can't.
Why not?
Do you believe in hell, Antonio?
Yes, I do.
Do you?
I remember
when I was staying in London
as a child.
My father became ill.
Bedridden for a few weeks.
There was one night where
his fever was particularly bad.
I could hear something
in the street outside,
A sort of singing.
I thought perhaps it was the angels,
come to take him away.
Of if not the angels,
then something worse.
That's the first time
I can remember having this feeling.
Like I was being shown
Death?
I can feel the end is close, Antonio.
I'm writing a requiem.
You just need to eat, Mozart.
Nourish yourself
with something other than wine.
I'll get you some food.
I'll be back soon.
Your vessel is weak.
Silence is coming.
Let's see if you can speak
without a tongue.
I can stop it.
I can, I can stop it. Let me.
Give up your stubbornness.
God, just
give me sign.
I'll end it all.
Alright.
Is this what you want?
Please give in.
Please.
Speak through me once more.
Let me stop.
Let me stop.
Let me stop.
DIES IRAE ♪
Hello?
Please, please.
DIES IRAE ♪
Father, please.
And what do you want from me?
I want to know.
The truth,
if there really was a confession.
If I'm to write it, um
condemn a man, even a dead man,
I want to know he was guilty
of the crime I'm attributing to him.
I don't want to be sued.
Thank you.
Did the Kapellmeister talk to you
about the death of your husband?
No.
And when was the last time
you saw him?
Salieri?
Mm.
Uh, it was after my husband's
passing.
He conducted
a memorial concert for him.
What are these?
Oh, old letters.
From Amadeus? Could I?
No.
It's a very nice apartment.
And you live alone?
No.
No, I live with my sisters,
Sophie and Aloysia.
It's a comfortable life.
Looks it.
But your husband never made much
when he was alive.
For a while he almost made
as much as he spent,
But then it dried up.
Don Giovanni,
The Marriage of Figaro,
The Magic Flute.
How does the man who writes
all of that end up penniless?
Sabotage?
What other reason could there be?
Wolfgang, where are you?
You feeling better?
You get the basket I sent?
The basket?
Basket?
Bread and eggs and milk.
I left it outside the door.
You didn't get it.
I've been a bit distracted.
Hello, Frau Cavalieri.
Yes, Katerina.
You remember Katerina?
I wanted to bring her
to see the great maestro again.
Hmm.
In fact, we're off to see
your opera.
-My opera?
-The Magic Flute.
Katerina hasn't seen it yet,
have you?
Uh, no. I
I've heard wonderful things.
Oh, it's really wonderful.
I thought the Masons were closing
it down.
Oh, no, no, on the contrary.
Once they saw
how lucrative it was,
they found a place in their hearts
to let it play on.
Why did nobody tell me?
Actually, you should
Where's your coat?
You should come with us.
No, I can't.
Oh, come on.
Three old friends and colleagues
sharing the joy
of your music together.
When might we get another chance?
Cellos were late.
I want to leave this place, Antonio.
I want to leave.
No, maestro. No, no.
You can't sleep, not yet.
The work must be finished.
Diminish the man, diminish the God.
There you are.
You took me there
so people could see what I've become.
I took you there
because I thought
it might raise your spirits
to see your great success.
May I?
Dear God.
I've always wondered.
With Figaro,
Don Giovanni,
the Masons,
it's always felt as though some
invisible hand
was steering me to the rocks.
Did I offend you so much?
Did the music offend you so much?
Yes, you offended me.
You're obscene.
Your nature, it's obscene.
But your music
No.
And for it to come
from such a creature.
How could I not take it
as an insult?
How could I not see
the provocation in that?
And all this time
it just comes to you.
It just comes to you,
it just flows out of you
like a like a stream
running down a mountain,
and you give nothing in return,
you make no sacrifice.
No sacrifice?
Look at me, Antonio.
Do you remember
when we sat on that stage
and you asked me
if I think music comes from God?
Yes, and you said when you write
it's not to capture
The voices of angels,
they're just instructions.
For an oboe player or something, yes.
But you were right.
I knew it.
That this thing
is bigger than us.
It's unimaginable.
I knew it then, but I was scared.
Scared? Why?
Why were you scared?
Because I don't understand it.
You must understand it. You must.
You must know how you do it.
I need to know.
I wish I could tell you.
-If only to unburden myself.
-Unburden yourself?
Yes, of the music.
For some peace.
It never stops.
Oh, my God.
If you could hear yourself.
You are unbearable.
I'm surprised
you can't hear it in this room.
I'm surprised
the walls don't shake with it.
I want to hear it.
For a moment, a minute, a second.
I would do anything
to have your gift.
You wouldn't want this.
You don't know how it feels.
You wouldn't know what to do with it.
I wouldn't know what to do with it?
You stalk me like I'm prey
but what would you do with this thing
that you covet so much?
It would kill you,
like it's killing me.
What would you do with the silence
I've suffered through?
It would drive you mad.
I couldn't stop thinking about you.
I couldn't stop thinking
about you writing your requiem.
And so I kneeled down
and I prayed to a God
I hadn't spoken to in years
to speak through me one last time.
And if he did,
in return I would offer him
My own requiem for my own death.
First, I offered him my love.
Then I offered him my hate.
And then, finally,
I offered him my whole life.
And you know what I heard?
I heard nothing.
I've heard nothing.
Oh, God.
Oh, God.
Come here.
Come here, Antonio.
Come.
Come.
Hold my hand.
Close your eyes.
Introitus.
C minor.
Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine.
Start low.
Grant them eternal rest, O Lord.
Your requiem, maestro.
Offer that to God
and see what he says.
You need a doctor, Mozart.
It's too late.
What did I do?
Why did you not let me stop?
He doesn't listen to us, Antonio.
For a moment,
I was the only man on Earth
who knew
Who knew that we had lost the finest
composer to have ever lived.
God's tongue cut from his mouth
and only jealous Salieri
there to mourn him.
My confession
claims murder.
And it's true enough.
I'm responsible for his death.
Without me
he would have lived longer.
But I loved him.
We wrote together.
You wanted the details.
You wanted the specifics.
Well, there they are.
The rest you know.
LACRYMOSA ♪
Wolfgang?
Wolfgang? Wolfgang!
Wolfgang?
Wolfgang!
REQUIEM continues
REQUIEM continues
REQUIEM continues
REQUIEM continues
REQUIEM continues
Amen ♪
Amen ♪
Well, there we are.
What a story.
What are you doing?
I'm going to go home, go to bed.
No, you can't.
It's late and I'm old. I'm tired.
But what about my confession?
What do you want me to do with this?
Run through the streets
proclaiming your lies?
You didn't kill him.
You didn't compose with him.
And you certainly didn't love him.
I will leave you in peace now.
Leave me in peace?
Everybody's left me in peace!
Do you know what it's been like
to watch myself disappear,
to see my name and reputation fade
as your husband's has grown?
But there it is.
This entire story
has been a pathetic attempt
to tie your name
to my husband's legacy.
I'm asking to be remembered.
Just remembered.
I have sat
in your husband's shadow,
And it is cold and it is dark.
I have lived long enough
to see myself become extinct.
Forgotten.
Salieri, his life, his music,
all gone.
They won't remember your music.
If this confession gets out,
you'll live on, immortal,
trapped in a story
you do not control,
told by people
who do not care about the truth.
Is that really
what you're asking me to do?
I'm begging you.
To be forgotten is a gift.
I looked up
Wolfgang's burial records.
His funeral was a modest affair.
Minimal mourners.
You didn't go.
It was December, Herr Pushkin.
There was a storm.
I said goodbye to Wolfgang later,
my own way.
Some people did go to the burial.
Did you know that?
Yes, friends went.
Yes, Herr Sussmayr went.
And did he ever tell you
who else was present?
No.
Well, records show six mourners
present at your husband's funeral.
Sussmayr, Von Strack,
three junior members
of the Viennese Opera,
and one Antonio Salieri.
You didn't know?
What drove him there,
do you think? Love?
Hate?
Guilt?
God, I don't know.
And what about Salieri's funeral?
I wasn't invited.
No. Well, sparsely attended,
I believe.
Not many friends in the end.
But a much more lavish affair.
The old Hofkapellmeister
still demands a grand send-off.
He'd even prepared
his own composition.
His own requiem to be played.
Taken from the conductor
at Salieri's funeral.
Played only once.
At his request.
Have a look.
Why are you showing me this?
Just keep looking.
REQUIEM ♪
Do you see it?
Both their hands.
You knew these two men
better than anyone, Frau Mozart.
What is the truth?
You can tell your story, Mr Pushkin.
How Salieri killed Mozart.
But the truth of it?
The real truth?
That will die with me.
I hope your audience enjoys it.
Dawn has come
and I must release you
and myself.
One moment's violence,
then it is done.
You see, I cannot accept this.
I did not live on this Earth
to be his joke for eternity.
I will be remembered.
If not in fame,
then in infamy.
One more moment
and my battle with him is won.
I shall be immortal after all.
For the rest of time,
whenever men say Mozart with love,
they will say Salieri with loathing.
And now I go
to become a ghost myself.
But I will stand in the shadows
when you come here to this Earth
in your turns.
And when you feel
the dreadful bite of your failures,
when you hear the taunting
of an uncaring God,
I will whisper my name to you.
Salieri.
The patron saint of mediocrities.
And in the depth
of your downcastness
you can pray to me.
I will forgive you.
Vi saluto.
REQUIEM ♪