On the Verge of the Next Great Thought

In case you have forgotten, Amadeus is a magnificent film.

For a moment, let us forget how abso-freakin-lutely brilliant Tom Hulce is in it. I mean, that laugh alone takes moxie. And F. Murray Abraham, powerhouse that he is, plays the duplicitous and political antagonist like he was born to it. Hell, let's even forget the soundtrack which any idiot, film lover or otherwise, can appreciate.

Let's put all of that aside.

Above all else, Amadeus is a film about what it means to live a life dedicated to the arts, but to lack the talent to live up to that dedication. And, more than that, about what it means to know true talent, true genius, and having that knowledge only underscore your own mediocrity.

Salieri was a man living on the verge of the next great thought. He just could never quite get there.

This is the saddest condition in all of human existence. Or maybe just the most terrifying. And maybe I just mean for me.

Let's consider this for a moment.

If I want to be a doctor when I grow up, it means I take all the requisite courses and pass my exams and become a doctor. Now, I may not be naturally suited to being a doctor. I may be terrible at math. I may have to study ten times harder than any of my peers in labs. I may have to overcome a fear of touching blood or vomit or snot or any other of the human body's fluids.

But I can be doctor with enough work and perseverance. And whether I breezed through or earned it through sweat and grit, I will be recognized by others as a doctor.

But what if I want to be a writer? A sculptor? A musician? Sure, I can take courses. I can attend the finest art schools and live my life dedicated to nothing else. But that does not mean I will ever have enough talent to be recognized for my efforts. I mean, who amongst us hasn't known that "painter" who works at the locally owned coffeeshop?

"Jeremy? Right, the [insert finger quotes] painter. Think they'll ever sell that painting of his mother crying hanging near the men's room?"

How terrible is that? It's almost unbelievably so. Jeremy may love art more than the rest of us put together. He may live, breath, and sleep painting. But none of us may ever give half a damn because he lacks the talent.

And what's worse is that Jeremy may be more aware and better able to judge true talent in painting than the rest of us. When he looks at a truly talented painter, do you think he aches inside? Does part of him recognize his own mediocrity and cringe when faced with the work of a true master?

All I wanted was to sing to God. He gave me that longing... and then made me mute. Why? Tell me that. If He didn't want me to praise him with music, why implant the desire? Like a lust in my body! And then deny me the talent?

Why indeed, Salieri.