High culture, and in New Orleans at that. This last Saturday, I wandered over to Freeman Auditorium in the Tulane University Woldenberg School of Art for a double lecture: the first on John Cage by a local composer, during which, by way of illustration, he composed a "dice piece" and had a French horn player with the Louisiana Philharmonic play the result; the second about Cage's influence on artist Ellsworth Kelly, given by a professor of the art school. Both lectures were outstanding. The one on Cage not only made the ideas comprehensible, but made you see why Cage felt the need to think them in the first place. I also reread Peter Shaffer's Amadeus. I had hated it for years as a piece of pretentious tripe. However, so many people on this list loved the thing so much, I wanted to see whether I had merely indulged my natural dyspepsia or given the play a fair chance. What struck me this time around was how theatrically effective the work is (I'm talking about the play, not the movie). The scenes move like a choo-choo train to the climax - a superior piece of craft. In a way, this highlights the intellectual and poetic poverty of the work - like seeing a Federal portico on a tar-paper shack. The play is, of course, the sickly heir of Othello, also superbly crafted, and I tried to figure out the reasons for the roar of Shakespeare's masterpiece and Shaffer's empty little pop. For me, the answer lies in insight into the characters. Salieri is easy to figure out; Iago less so, but several accounts of his motivation can be considered. Othello's character is similarly complex, while Shaffer's Mozart is simply an excuse to motivate Salieri. So Amadeus is really not a meditation on the ways of genius. It tells you nothing about it (in fact, doesn't even try to account for the complexity of Mozart's historical character), and, in fact, every time Shaffer goes near the subject, he covers his lack of insight with theatrical hand-waving - usually a Salieri diatribe against God. The focus of the play is Salieri's jealousy (because that's the only thing left), unlike Shakespeare's dual focus - Iago's hatred and the crumbling of Othello's personality. Again, however, Shaffer really doesn't seem to know much about it. Salieri has made a bargain with God: virtue in return for musical genius. Why does he think this? Does God make such bargains? Are great composers paragons of virtue? When he sees Mozart, he goes nuts. He tells a nice little ghost story (I think I saw a variation of it on a Twilight Zone episode) about how he was a superstitious, small-town boy. I can only assume, in spite of his travels and the exalted circles in which he moves, he has learned nothing since then. What an idiot. Why should anyone care about him? We are meant to care because of a trick: his victim is Mozart. That's the snob-appeal element. Shaffer need do no work whatsoever because he depends on our love of Mozart's music. Try this play before an audience of people who've never heard Mozart or change the names to Saltimbocca and Marzipan (ie, two names without such exalted associations), and I believe the play will lose much of its effect. Shakespeare makes Othello great. Shaffer depends on our knowing Mozart's greatness. In other words, Shaffer cheats. The play becomes a compendium of tricks, manipulations, and effects and contains about as much intellectual and spiritual nourishment as, unfortunately, that other little morality of jealousy and betrayal, Ian Fleming's Thunderball. Steve Schwartz