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Published: Thursday, 20 June 2024 at 16:46 PM


Every subject matter under the sun – and beyond – has found its way into cinema over the years, and classical music is no exception. Many of the great composers have proved a draw for directors, unsurprisingly so given the range of eccentrics, geniuses, depressives, tyrants and romantics that fill the pages of any composer A-Z. As such, the catalogue of films about composers is a reasonably prolific one.

But portraying them well is always a challenge, particularly when they’re in the process of making music – just as no amount of training can turn an actor into a major-league sports star, likewise music-loving film-goers have grown accustomed to watching wooden, arrhythmic conductors or, less forgivably, hands moving in one direction on a piano… while the notes we hear clearly move in the other.

Despite this, most of the ‘composer films’ around are rarely less than engaging, and in some cases actually rather good. Here, we’ve picked ten of the better-known ones and given them our marks out of five.

Best films about composers

1. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart: Amadeus (1984)

We’ll begin with the most famous composer biopic of them all – not the first, but perhaps one of the glossiest and most thought-provoking: Miloš Forman’s extraordinary Mozart biopic Amadeus. Its anti-hero, the composer and Mozart contemporary Antonio Salieri (played by F Murray Abraham) is shown as a physical and psychological wreck.

We learn about his guilty enmity towards Mozart through his confession to a priest: he holds himself responsible for the collapse of Mozart’s health and premature death, and is still eaten up with the realisation that, for all his own devotion to God and the Art of Music, he will never match the genius of the giggling and annoying Mozart (Tom Hulce).

Yet interspersed through all the silliness Peter Shaffer reveals, through the mouth of Salieri, genuine insights into the brilliance of Mozart’s music as he unfolds the glories of such works as the Wind Serenade: ‘On the page, just a pulse, like a rusty squeeze box, and then suddenly, high above it, an oboe – a single note hanging there, unwavering, until a clarinet took it over, sweetening into a phrase of such delight, filled with such unfulfillable longing, it seemed I was hearing the voice of God.’

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