Amadeus or: Andrei Tarkovsky Ruined My Life
Summer 2025
Jamie Mendonça

Are you a Salieri, or a Mozart? 

This question is of course potentially offensive to the memory of Antonio Salieri, but I can’t help but be obsessed with the wider idea of it. Creative souls may secretly believe they’re blessed with the supreme title of ‘genius’ (no-one dreams to be average, do they?) but the harsh reality for the overwhelming majority is quite different. 

Amadeus (1984) is a film I’ve avoided all my life for two reasons: I was strangely intimidated by it, and as a Mozart fan I wrongly assumed a grand biopic would be a monumental disappointment. But then came the opportunity for us as a distributor to release the 4K restoration of the film in cinemas and I had the distinct pleasure and privilege to witness the film, finally, in the best possible setting: the (inexplicably-soon-to-close) Curzon Mayfair.

Perhaps it took a ‘genius’ to oversee and indeed bring this film to life; certainly someone with a genuine artistic sensibility and indeed a deep respect and understanding for classical music. Miloš Forman was clearly a magnificent and inspired choice; a choice he placed upon himself after watching Peter Shaffer’s play of the same name in late 70’s London, and forging an inspired partnership to create the screenplay.

Amadeus may appear a Hollywood blockbuster production from the outside but this seems more an extremely elaborate European arthouse film that took off and won an almost embarrassing amount of major awards. Shot on the streets of Prague – not Vienna – it was also something of a pilgrimage for the filmmaker, who never thought he’d return to the country of his birth after emigrating to the USA.

Is it acceptable to label the film a ‘masterpiece’ in this era of excessive labelling? I’m honestly not sure, but it’s my cinematic highlight of the year thus far. How could I have predicted what a riot it was going to be; utterly outrageous and all the more irresistible for it. I mean, the mere cheek of presenting an imagined rivalry that may very well have been a sort of reality, but with artistic liberty flourishing to a frankly insane degree. Or to put it another way: a film based on a rumour.

I often quip that Andrei Tarkovsky ruined my life in that once you encounter his films, there’s simply no going back. Almost everything seems distinctly unremarkable upon reflection; for example: how dare I – little old me – even contemplate making a film unless it’s even approaching such high artistic level? But this is a deadly trap, for how many Mozarts are out there in the world right now, who will not only live and die without an ounce of recognition, but may never even write a single note, or pick up a camera, or a paintbrush?

I now ask myself the question I posed at the beginning of this text. Deep, deep down I’m afraid I think I might know the answer. 

Nostalghia: Sickeningly Beautiful Sights
Summer 2017
Jamie Mendonça

“I am a bit worried as I feel like I am on holiday.” ANDREI TARKOVSKY

I must state that I’m not convinced any film made me, so I propose that Andrei Tarkovsky’s Nostalghia corrected me (cinematically at least). The transition process was triggered by an impulse purchase of the film many years ago. I didn’t watch it for a long time due to ‘not quite being in the mood for this just yet’. I think I knew what was coming. The same went for Wild Strawberries; a strong contender for the subject of this piece.

“My discovery of Tarkovsky’s first film was like a miracle.” INGMAR BERGMAN

As for the film itself; well it’s apparently about some Russian poet in Italy researching some Russian composer. These surface details are of little interest, yet I do resist exploring its hidden depths as I worry it will taint my memory of the film and worse: intellectualise it. I wonder if my devotion to Nostalghia is in fact based on nostalgia? Is there a desire to return to a former state (pun intended), or indeed to the moment of discovery when the idea of cinema as an art-form was revealed as being unequivocally true?

Upon discovering Andrei’s writings, I learned how during childhood his mother suggested​ he read War and Peace. He concluded that courtesy of Mr Tolstoy, he could never revert to junk. And so it goes that with compliments of Mr Tarkovsky, I’m eternally cursed. But profoundly grateful. I like to con myself that I don’t need to watch the film anymore as the images (and beyond) are so utterly ingrained; but it’s simply untrue. The film is always a new film for me and I feel hugely content that I’ll never master it.

“Art is very jealous. Very jealous. You must look for it at home.” TONINO GUERRA

Andrei, like his protagonist, was extremely homesick during this particular time in life. The documentary Tempo di Viaggio (Voyage in Time) is a crucial and revealing piece of work, which details the informal pre-production of Nostalghia; consisting essentially of Andrei and Tonino Guerra (co-writer) existing together for a short while in Italy, wrapped up in what I perceive as a deep sense of melancholy.

They discuss the impossibility of translation; a major theme of the finished work. I’m often haunted by the thought that I’ll never truly experience certain works in different languages and must rely on the assistance of a third party. I once left a cinema having been blown away by a particular contemporary film, only to overhear someone saying the subtitles were terrible. I felt like an idiot. But then again, what about absolute truth?

enthusiasms 7.1
Spring 2020
Jamie Mendonça

enthusiasm (1975-2003, six issues) was Andi Engel’s esteemed film journal; an Artificial Eye companion to say the least. A miraculous seventh issue appeared in 2017 as enthusiasms edited by James King/Jason Wood.
I continue the attempt to “promote those who work today without compromise” but in minimal digital form. During a brief, unfortunate moment I considered calling my contribution enthusiastic.

The cinemas are all closed.
Some won’t reopen.

It’s terrifying to contemplate the above message in terms of human life and death rather than a material space. But we’re here to discuss all things cinema – both the art form and the place that’s supposed to exhibit it – so I’ll proceed not forgetting what truly, deeply matters.
To think: a virus could come along and not only make cinema-going something to be frowned upon but ultimately prohibited. The very thing we obsess over suddenly became something that could harm people, forcing myself to question why I do what I do.

“Cinema is constantly changing, and that is just one of the exciting things about it, but in what sense will actual ‘cinema’ continue to exist? Will it still be a physical space where people gather together in the dark to pay witness to sounds and images or will it be a more solitary entity where films are consumed in isolation? The Online revolution has vastly increased access to a more diverse range of film and moving image, and bravo for that, but it should not be at the expense of what one of the major new industry corporations views as the romantic and antiquated practice of actual cinema going.” – Jason Wood, enthusiasms, 2017

Those of us lucky enough to currently have our health during this pandemic – and still a desire for motion pictures – face little choice but to turn our attention to the world of streaming and home ‘entertainment’. Boo hoo. It’s surely an acceptable temporary solution; my childhood-in-film consisted mostly of VHS and I had no complaints.
Saying that, The Sandlot Kids (1994) is a slightly different beast to Beau Travail (2000); I’ve only seen these titles at home (multiple times each; very different stages of life) and regarding the latter there has always been a voice in my head insisting Claire Denis must be so disappointed.

But there’s so much content.
I want all of it and none of it.

Do I patiently wait for that Satyajit Ray film to play at the pictures at the right place/right time, or watch at home before it’s too late? Why am I not experiencing an unseen Chantal Akerman work right now? Is it time to finally fix a personal anomaly: my first Kenji Mizoguchi?
For whatever reason, the answer to ‘what the hell do I view’ is confusing and almost inexplicable: watch something I’ve already seen.
Further, I find myself straying from Andi Engel’s policy of only featuring filmmakers whose work he was distributing and delving into non-Curzon Artificial Eye territory.
I therefore turn my attention to the uncompromising Mike Leigh and the first work of his I encountered as a teenager: Secrets & Lies (1996). It slipped my mind that this great film won the bloody Palme d’Or! I’ve never quite gotten over Marianne Jean-Baptiste and her Hortense. In my view, she is everything. Often, I’ve suggested when in a situation that feels fake/forced that all we need is A Secrets & Lies Moment; an unveiling of pure honesty which although will be painful, may potentially leave us enlightened.
In fact, perhaps I should have that moment right now with myself (albeit mild). The truth, Jamie, is that you don’t really want to write about Secrets & Lies specifically because some things are better left unsaid. You want to ramble on about cinema in a general sense because you’re rather lost but you also feel the need to insist on how brilliant Mike Leigh is as you’re a fan and want it known. You want to watch Secrets & Lies yet again and wonder how on earth Mike and the team did it; I mean, you know the process but still: wow! You want to somehow obtain a small part in Mr Leigh’s next picture just to witness it all firsthand, but then again you don’t want to act under any circumstance. What a mess.

No acting under any circumstance.
A Mike Leigh thing.

All his films are profoundly truthful – one of my greatest cinema experiences was Bleak Moments (1972) at the National Film Theatre (before becoming the BFI) which was both extraordinary and excruciating – and I can only imagine that if you either aspired to be an actor or were already established, being part of a Mike Leigh production is as good as it gets.
Regarding that truth thing, I don’t know about you but I can smell a rat when one is present and it stinks (no offence to rats, being one of those vegans). Very recently I was reading an interview with Frederick Wiseman and I appreciated a particular comment; although within the context of documentary filmmaking:

“most people aren’t talented enough to become actors. My bullshit meter registers if I think people are acting and, if that’s happening, I stop shooting. It doesn’t mean I’m always right, but anybody doing documentaries has to develop a good bullshit meter.” – pleasekillme.com, 2020

I’ve happened upon Mike Leigh several times in this here London we’re both seemingly infatuated with, but my favourite occasion was spotting him driving a fairly modest car (excuse me Mike) attempting to find parking outside the Royal Albert Hall for a Gilbert & Sullivan operetta. He circled the venue a couple of times, and this vision – along with the fact I’d been queuing outside for hours to obtain a £5 standing ticket – left me with a hopeful warmth inside, if not a little Topsy-Turvy. We both hailed from the north and here we were, strangers in a strange land, living our truth, our way.