Climax of Milos Forman's "Amadeus" (1984). On his deathbed, Mozart composes his Requiem as Salieri, his rival composer, takes dictation. Death's approach is echoed in the furious strings and the racing horses of "Confutatis Maledictus" (consigned to flames of woe), while the ethereal beauty of the "Benedictus" promises eternal peace.

Literature Film Quarterly (2004) on Amadeus:

Three of the film's biggest scenes foreground diegetic and nondiegetic music in ways that throw Salieri and Mozart's complementary characters into sharp relief-Mozart's improvisation on Salieri's "Welcome March," Salieri's stunned encounter with Mozart's manuscripts, which Constanze has brought him, and Mozart's deathbed "dictation" to Salieri of the Requiem's "Confutatis Maledictus."

The first displays a diegetic display of music as performance, when an irrepressible Mozart effortlessly tosses off brilliant variations on Salieri's stodgy little tune, to the amusement of Joseph II and his audience, and to Salieri's growing discomfiture. The second scene constructs an interior diegesis, when, after Salieri examines the miraculously error-free manuscripts, he "hears" in his head their heaven-sent sounds and erupts in a vengeful rage against the cruel providence that bestows such gifts upon a seemingly naughty yet innocent child.

The third scene, not present in the original play, may well claim to be the most arresting and vividly remembered moment in the whole picture-as the scribbling Salieri desperately tries to catch up to the dying composer's "dictation" of the "Confutatis Maledictus." Layer by layer, the voices and instrumentation sounding in Mozart's head are communicated by some strange sort of psychic transfer to Salieri. Mozart first sets the male chorus' declamation, then the trombone instrumentation, the underlying tympani, the female voicings, the agitated ostinato passages in strings, and finally the plangent "Voca Mei" for high voices. The scene ends as Mozart, pale and drawn, falls back on the pillow, exhausted. "Let's stop now," he says, "we'll finish the Lacrimosa later." Not since Frederick Delius's musical dictations to amanuensis Eric Fenby were depicted in Ken Russell's Song of Summer has such an exciting, almost visceral moment of creation been captured on film. In the present writer's opinion, no Hollywood chase scene can rival its breathless urgency.

The three scenes bind the film together in a graceful arc -- from Salieri's initial amazement, to his growing anger (he thrusts a crucifix into a fireplace at the moment of his decision to murder Mozart), and, finally, to his humbling recognition of the music's transcendence over his petty jealousy and envy. At the same time, Mozart is transformed from a prankster, to an unseen musical mystery, to a divinely inspired voice of God.

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