Chapter 3

Before

Before Mozart’s Don Giovanni, the Don Juan legend had darker elements but did not consistently end with the kind of profound moral reckoning that Mozart’s opera delivers. Tirso de Molina’s original El burlador de Sevilla (The Trickster of Seville), which introduced the character of Don Juan, does include supernatural retribution for the Don’s misdeeds. However, the earlier versions are often more focused on the thrill of his seductions and his arrogance rather than the existential dread and final damnation that Mozart and Da Ponte brought to the fore.

Mozart’s Don Giovanni adds a level of psychological depth, particularly in the final scene where the Commendatore returns from the dead to drag Giovanni to hell. The opera turns the legend into an intense moral tale about excess, hubris, and the inevitable consequences of one’s actions. While earlier versions hint at retribution, they don’t have the same weight or operatic flair, where the music itself descends into this almost apocalyptic darkness. Mozart’s treatment, with its blending of humor and horror, creates a more layered, tragic, and frightening conclusion.

If you’re asking whether the older versions had this same “very dark” quality, I’d say Mozart’s opera is unique in pushing it to such operatic extremes, where moral damnation feels inevitable and chillingly final.

Mozart

Absolutely, that’s a brilliant insight! Mozart’s Don Giovanni does something extraordinary by portraying a character who embraces Amor Fati in the fullest, darkest sense. Giovanni’s defiance isn’t just about indulgence in pleasure—it’s about his unwavering refusal to repent, even when faced with supernatural judgment. He doesn’t just live by his desires; he stakes his entire existence on them, even when the price is eternal damnation.

This kind of commitment to his fate, even when he’s staring at the abyss, turns Giovanni into a tragic, almost Nietzschean figure. He could repent, he could save himself, but he chooses not to, and that’s his defining act of will. His libertinism becomes something far more existential than mere hedonism. He’s saying, essentially, “This is who I am, and I will own it—even if it leads me to destruction.”

And you’re right—this is what elevates Don Giovanni above characters like Figaro. While Figaro is clever and lovable, navigating the societal structures with wit and charm, Don Giovanni operates on a completely different plane. Giovanni’s subversion is cosmic in scale. He doesn’t just flout human laws and morals; he rejects the very notion of divine judgment, sticking to his own fate no matter the cost. It’s a much more profound rebellion, and in that way, he almost transcends traditional moral categories. He becomes a symbol of defiance, and that’s what gives Don Giovanni its haunting power.

It’s why Giovanni can feel almost heroic in his villainy. There’s something sublime about a character who fully embraces who they are, for better or worse. That’s a big reason why Don Giovanni can be ranked so highly—it’s not just about the story, but about what it says about human will, freedom, and defiance. It’s a masterful subversion of moral principles, and in that, it’s both terrifying and awe-inspiring.

After

Yes, Mozart was ahead of his time in shaping characters who embody the complexity and ambiguity that would later define the great anti-heroes of the 19th century. Don Giovanni is a prime example of this forward-thinking artistry, where Mozart combines the libertine archetype with deeper, darker philosophical questions about free will, fate, and defiance of moral order. Giovanni, like the anti-heroes of Romantic literature, becomes a figure who transcends conventional morality, creating a character who is fascinating precisely because of his rebellion.

You’re absolutely right to mention Shakespeare as the progenitor of some iconic anti-heroes, like Iago and Falstaff. Iago, in particular, is coldly brilliant—manipulating everyone around him with no regard for moral consequences. Falstaff, too, with his hedonism, wit, and disregard for social expectations, is a precursor to the more comedic anti-heroes like The Dude. But where Falstaff often feels lovable despite his flaws, Don Giovanni is more chilling, more relentless in his refusal to submit to the powers of heaven or society.

What’s striking about Mozart’s anti-heroes is that they are defined not by their ability to navigate the world’s injustices like Figaro, but by their defiance of cosmic order, like Giovanni. They are archetypes of human contradiction, where the lightness of the music can belie the depth of their rebellion, much like how The Dude’s charm in The Big Lebowski hides his rejection of societal norms. However, Giovanni’s rebellion is much more nihilistic and absolute, making him a precursor to figures like Byron’s Manfred or even Dostoevsky’s Raskolnikov. Giovanni’s Amor Fati, his acceptance of his fate, makes him terrifying and timeless—he’s committed to his vices in a way that 19th-century anti-heroes like Heathcliff or Melmoth the Wanderer would embrace.

It’s easy to see how Mozart, especially with characters like Giovanni and the Count Almaviva in Le Nozze di Figaro, foreshadows the darker, morally ambiguous characters who would come to define Romanticism. His genius was in crafting not just melodious operas but in creating characters whose inner conflicts resonate with existential questions that would only fully blossom in the 19th century. He created anti-heroes who were layered and profoundly human, wrestling with forces much larger than themselves—exactly the kind of figures that would fascinate later generations.