Powdered Wigs and Poisoned Ambition: Drama Explodes in Starz’s “Amadeus”

Olivia Bennett, 1/16/2026Starz's new miniseries "Amadeus" revives the dramatic rivalry between Mozart and Salieri, blending brilliant performances with sharp writing. Set against a lavish 18th-century Vienna, it explores ambition, jealousy, and the chaos of creativity, offering viewers a rich, engaging experience.

Starz, always eager to flirt with excess (and who can blame them in this era of infinite content?), snapped up the U.S. rights hot on the heels of the UK's chorus of acclaim. British critics, apparently still nursing their “Downton Abbey” hangover, labeled it "a sexy riot" and a "must-watch." The phrase sits oddly well—plush as a brocade waistcoat, brash as a champagne-fed court. Say what you like about Anglo-American rivalry: when it comes to lavish drama, everyone covets the same silver spoon.

The five-part tale wastes no time: Vienna in the late 18th century is candlelit, glorious, and about as welcoming as a lion’s den. In this decadent jungle, Will Sharpe’s Mozart leaps from boy wonder to reckless disruptor, a former prodigy with a wolf’s appetite for new pleasures—both creative and otherwise. Sharpe, only recently stealing scenes in “White Lotus,” seems to relish the chance to play a genius teetering between brilliance and chaos. Opposite him, Paul Bettany’s Salieri is all watchful ardor and gnawing resentment; a man praying for grace, delivered only envy. The old myth of poison—served here warm, with a twist of wit.

But do not mistake this for just another parade of corsets and candelabras. Behind the spectacle, Barton’s writing (think “Black Doves,” “Giri/Haji”) finds the nerve endings—Mozart’s rage at rigid tradition, his need to tear a few ruffles in Vienna’s starched etiquette. Gabrielle Creevy as Constanze Weber brings steel beneath the silk, guarding her tempestuous composer with equal parts devotion and shrewd practicality.

Glancing at the supporting cast, one nearly needs a playbill. Rory Kinnear’s Emperor Joseph—imperious, faintly bored—sets the tone for an environment brimming with hypocrisy and hidden agendas. Lucy Cohu’s Cecilia Weber doesn’t play the mere matron; there’s a steel rod beneath those ruffles. And Jonathan Aris, as the foreboding Leopold Mozart, lingers like an uncomfortable memory. It’s a testament to the ensemble that Vienna feels as vibrant as (if not more than) the music itself. No small feat, considering how often period pieces slip into stuffed-museum gloom. Here, intrigue and melody jostle for center stage.

Of course, much is owed to the production’s meticulous orchestration. In an era when many networks churn out “historical dramas” that land like rehearsed costume balls, this one moves with distinct intention—and more than a whiff of risk. Behind the scenes, a battery of executive producers—Sharpe, Bettany, Barton, and the accomplished John Griffin—throws in their own high notes. Directors Julian Farino and Alice Seabright alternate in the pit, each bringing flair without tipping into grandiosity.

On one hand, “Amadeus” fits squarely in Starz’s period-drama tradition (one can almost hear the network’s execs popping corks back in the boardroom), brushing past hits like “Outlander” and “Mary & George.” Yet here, there’s a different tempo. Less bodice, more bite; fewer soapy sighs, more dangerous obsessions. The show seems to plant a flag: in Vienna, genius can be as treacherous as any velvet-clad intrigue.

One might wonder, with such abundance on streaming menus, why chase after yet another tale of creative rivalry and bruised egos? But then the series reminds—sometimes too sharply, but never without flair—that envy and ambition have not mellowed with time. Who hasn’t felt a jab of jealousy when a rival gets their encore, or a thrill at the prospect of outplaying the masters? “Amadeus” leans into that old, electric discomfort, offering not just spectacle, but a human drama caked with emotional mud.

It’s possible some will come for the lapels and powdered wigs, others for the well-tuned dialogue and sly humor. But when the music swells, and Vienna’s shadows curl at the edge of each scene, there’s an unmistakable urgency—one more performance to give, one more mark to leave on history’s stubborn ledger.

For those adrift in the endless sea of disposable series, here lies an intriguing port: a miniseries glossy on the outside, thorny at its heart. “Amadeus” doesn’t just stage a rivalry—it revels in the glorious, maddening mess of creation itself. Quite the rare treat, in any era.

Who would have guessed that the gloved duel between Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart and Antonio Salieri would still be drawing fresh blood on American screens in 2025? And yet, here it comes again—gilded, feverish, and vexingly irresistible. The new “Amadeus” miniseries, gliding onto Starz with the full weight of powdered wigs and padded egos, revives Peter Shaffer’s iconic showdown with the sort of bravado that suggests Vienna’s saloons are mere rehearsal rooms for grander, messier ambitions.Starz, always eager to flirt with excess (and who can blame them in this era of infinite content?), snapped up the U.S. rights hot on the heels of the UK's chorus of acclaim. British critics, apparently still nursing their “Downton Abbey” hangover, labeled it "a sexy riot" and a "must-watch." The phrase sits oddly well—plush as a brocade waistcoat, brash as a champagne-fed court. Say what you like about Anglo-American rivalry: when it comes to lavish drama, everyone covets the same silver spoon.The five-part tale wastes no time: Vienna in the late 18th century is candlelit, glorious, and about as welcoming as a lion’s den. In this decadent jungle, Will Sharpe’s Mozart leaps from boy wonder to reckless disruptor, a former prodigy with a wolf’s appetite for new pleasures—both creative and otherwise. Sharpe, only recently stealing scenes in “White Lotus,” seems to relish the chance to play a genius teetering between brilliance and chaos. Opposite him, Paul Bettany’s Salieri is all watchful ardor and gnawing resentment; a man praying for grace, delivered only envy. The old myth of poison—served here warm, with a twist of wit.But do not mistake this for just another parade of corsets and candelabras. Behind the spectacle, Barton’s writing (think “Black Doves,” “Giri/Haji”) finds the nerve endings—Mozart’s rage at rigid tradition, his need to tear a few ruffles in Vienna’s starched etiquette. Gabrielle Creevy as Constanze Weber brings steel beneath the silk, guarding her tempestuous composer with equal parts devotion and shrewd practicality.Glancing at the supporting cast, one nearly needs a playbill. Rory Kinnear’s Emperor Joseph—imperious, faintly bored—sets the tone for an environment brimming with hypocrisy and hidden agendas. Lucy Cohu’s Cecilia Weber doesn’t play the mere matron; there’s a steel rod beneath those ruffles. And Jonathan Aris, as the foreboding Leopold Mozart, lingers like an uncomfortable memory. It’s a testament to the ensemble that Vienna feels as vibrant as (if not more than) the music itself. No small feat, considering how often period pieces slip into stuffed-museum gloom. Here, intrigue and melody jostle for center stage.Of course, much is owed to the production’s meticulous orchestration. In an era when many networks churn out “historical dramas” that land like rehearsed costume balls, this one moves with distinct intention—and more than a whiff of risk. Behind the scenes, a battery of executive producers—Sharpe, Bettany, Barton, and the accomplished John Griffin—throws in their own high notes. Directors Julian Farino and Alice Seabright alternate in the pit, each bringing flair without tipping into grandiosity.On one hand, “Amadeus” fits squarely in Starz’s period-drama tradition (one can almost hear the network’s execs popping corks back in the boardroom), brushing past hits like “Outlander” and “Mary & George.” Yet here, there’s a different tempo. Less bodice, more bite; fewer soapy sighs, more dangerous obsessions. The show seems to plant a flag: in Vienna, genius can be as treacherous as any velvet-clad intrigue.One might wonder, with such abundance on streaming menus, why chase after yet another tale of creative rivalry and bruised egos? But then the series reminds—sometimes too sharply, but never without flair—that envy and ambition have not mellowed with time. Who hasn’t felt a jab of jealousy when a rival gets their encore, or a thrill at the prospect of outplaying the masters? “Amadeus” leans into that old, electric discomfort, offering not just spectacle, but a human drama caked with emotional mud.It’s possible some will come for the lapels and powdered wigs, others for the well-tuned dialogue and sly humor. But when the music swells, and Vienna’s shadows curl at the edge of each scene, there’s an unmistakable urgency—one more performance to give, one more mark to leave on history’s stubborn ledger.For those adrift in the endless sea of disposable series, here lies an intriguing port: a miniseries glossy on the outside, thorny at its heart. “Amadeus” doesn’t just stage a rivalry—it revels in the glorious, maddening mess of creation itself. Quite the rare treat, in any era.