The seven-eighths percent of the Maladype invites us to an asymmetrical game during some evenings of January. Of the “invite” is a poetic exaggeration: Zoltán Balázs and his troupe let me watch them. We can watch it. This – this time takes it seriously – unique performance, as Éva Bakos is “missing” from the group. The original pattern of four boys, four girls, breaks during the performances in January, and that way we can see for a moment, even from closer the inner structure of the Game with capital letters. That the castle of cards can collapse, which was built of invisible rules, surprises, improvisations, well used routine, raised instincts on the stage, if a piece of card momentary falls out. For example, the queen of clubs. I even go further: maybe, just maybe, it can be felt more strongly here, that are there any sets on the stage. Is there a frame of structure built of humour and honesty? Can a real construction be built from – strong bases – gesture-pillars, and elements of movements.

The title of the performance, Sándor Weöres’ one line long poem is a wonderful brand on the performance. Almost all articles, which have been written about it, accept the “critical temptation”, and at least in four lines they talk about the real fragile beauty of the scenes in poetic pictures. As it is very obvious to answer to its own stage language of the performance with quasi poetry, to the unusual theatrical magic of the movements without words, which tell a lot or nothing. It is real. Here are these seven wonderfully talented youngsters on stage. The universe hides in their eyes. But we cannot do not to notice, that nothing hides in their eyes too. We can see the comfortable-uncomfortable pale pink flamingo nest in their gaze and movements. And if we can escape from the forced poetic fixing of the “difference every evening”, we can get to extremely touchable problems. Where are the borders of the conscious usage of “here and now”? How can we handle the dissonance between workshop and the performance? How can the performers, movers, viewers, doers see the sharp difference between the choreography and the sequences of movements on stage?

Egg(s)Hell is an experiment of theatre of movements, it is a dance-like theatre, or something very similar to it, and the uncertainty of the definition is serious symptom too. But before we would analyse carefully this dissonancy of the genre, it is worth stating: in this performance there are many tiny, wonderful solutions and surprises, that the basic conception has “a classical Maladype-like character”, so that way it does not affect with the power of new. It does not make me surprised. We have seen similar things before. We have thoughts about its operation. Zoltán Balázs always draws with excellent feelings, pale rules as the plan of the performance, between which they can live through, experience the infinite freedom of performance and actors. He opens the place as a master of the performance – the place of the performance (too) of course – in front of his actors, who can live it and for it according to their visions this world, which is made of some fixed elements and many improvisational possibilities. Now he gives a structure of place, which (sometimes, not in the evenings for sure) can be reformed, and this structure is not anything else anyway, than a huge group of pink flamingos. The stage is ruled visually by horde of human sized birds, with feathers, beaks, vivid colours, which can be pushed back and forward, about thirty birds are watching with their glass eyes the performers, and drawing – as they like it – smaller and bigger places, circles, sides, corners, above and under places, here and there. There are eggs besides these. There are bigger and smaller ones. There are small plastic baskets, if the hells of the eggs break, and the white and yellow are flowing, they can be cleaned up with something. There are obvious properties of a sandbox. And there are sugar cubes too. There are cigarettes and lighters. The dresses are black (black and silk, colourful). There are black chairs, eight of them. These are the properties. And the music is given, in which Raven’s Bolero is the most fixed element. The performance is ended with it, meanwhile Latin songs, classical melodies, songs by Kispál és a Borz come one after another in a random order. These are the components. Seemingly, there is not any story, there are not characters of stage – just eggs, micro- scenes with improvisational taste formed around the flamingos, moving etudes, moving practices. That way, it can happen, that there is an evening, when the hell break all the time, flow the yellow one, the game turns to be a little bit burlesque. Zoltán Balázs this time – as he promises during his welcome – instructs the troupe. A noise “who knows what” structure is formed, the performance can be turned back and forward, we can re-watch some scenes faster and slower too, there is a parody of Zoltán Balázs, parody of modern dances (fantastic!), humorous parody of movements about a wedding, about a summer camp, about a travelling by bus. It is a hardly ruled “let’s put everything into it” – like theatrical chaos. It is poached egg(s)hell. Then another evening, there is a finer, more stylized, more counted performance, which we can see from the seven actors – with less egg yolk, more smoke of cigarette, with more lyric, more abstract, less narrative and instructed scenes. It is soft egg(s)hell well-seasoned, on porcelain.

The spontaneity and this special organised uneditedness is very exciting, but – to tell the truth – it is a strange, dual thing. The performers’ incredibly intensive concentration brings up intensive concentration in the auditorium too. There is breathless attention, which follows the way of the eggs. The mood of “they cannot know too, what would happen” brings up obvious sympathy from me too, from the viewers, like all these would be shown to me in the so-called intimacy of the rehearsal room and closely. The two planes of the idea and performance melt into one another: it is the informality of the rehearsal room with the responsibility of the situation of the performance. And here is the incredibly dissonancy. There is no use of the attention, deep interest, and workshop-intimacy. In spite of it – or because of it – some kind of impatient expectation is born in me. Because it is good, good, I enjoy it too, many times all of it is wonderful, it excites me, rocks me to sleep, makes me laugh ... but what is the bet? Does the performance have real bet, aim? Obviously, it has: but what is it exactly? Before I would answer the question (for which – I emphasized strictly – according to me answer can come only from a viewer), it worth thinking a little bit about the problem of its choreographed nature.

One of the exciting basis of the performance is the troupe’s improvisational ingenuity. Hermina Fátyol, Kamilla Fátyol, Ákos Orosz, Zoltán Papp, Zsolt Páll, Katalin Simkó and Ádám Tompa work on the stage with full heart and soul: with heath, soul, body, with impressively original and seemingly professional solutions, with innovative or even with less innovative artistic tools. But they can hold in hand just scenes according to their mood and conception. Obviously it (can be) is the director’s intention too, as the changing musical material is there to keep on its level the continuous attention of the actors. Anyway, this intensity, which is changing from scenes to scenes and the thinking in micro-units can recreate this strange and very captivating workshop atmosphere, which can generate again feeling of lack at the same time. This feeling is strengthened on the side of acceptance if the structure of the performance is not – as the troupe moves comfortably in a noticeable way, very confidently in the “here and now” according to Zoltán Balázs, they now what and how effects from the stage, in which they are good at, they have and we have known it since the Leonce and Lena, and they perform routinely with this super-present on the stage – the language, which is used on the stage is new for the troupe. More punctually, this situation gives birth to all ifs: the language, which they should use, is new. It would be new, if they were able to use it. To make it clear: some members of the troupe move perfectly, we can see the common, hard work, which has been before the Egg(s)Hell. But during the one and half hour of the performance, there is not any choreography, which can be born. It is not the positive or the negative side of the performance: it is a fact. There are actors in this performance. Actors, who cannot speak now, but move – they are not dancers, and this means a totally different attitude and relationship to moving. The fact is that these seven actors start all scales of movements from a figure, they would do it, if they had a character. But all constructed characters last only for a scene. The cigarette monster, the couple, who connect together during their kissing scene with a sugar cube, the tricky figure of the egg hunter, who crawls under the legs of the flamingos, the exhibitionist members of the male group, who jump against the wall, disappear simply, when the exact melody finishes and a newer picture comes, another picture, another scene, part, act to solve come. The freedom is too big, to be able to reproduce the movement of one figure from the stage, to build figures from the movements: so the playful repetition remains, the imitation, lazy connection of drawings and ideas of movements. The choreography is not born, it cannot be born, as the thinking in choreography does come from the actors’ characters in reality, but from a problem of movement. Katalin Simkó has – sometimes she has, than she does not – a wonderful, choreography-like scene. By the black wall, which closes the stage, she climbs, rises from one boy’s shoulder, hands, laps to another one’s shoulder and she is getting further and higher. Her legs never reach the ground, but she moves: towards the black podium, pedestal with more floors at the edge of the stage, on which she stands for a moment, like a happy statue, which reaches her destination, then finally laughingly fall into her partners’ arms. It is a high-level play of trust, but it is not the only one, which makes it beautiful. Then in one of the evenings of January, Katalin Simkó takes this road towards the podium from hugs to hugs. So she can find an element of movement, which she can do in pattern-like way during the scale of movements. First she steps over, then hugs, then leans on, then hides, grabs again, then fits tight and smooths. She performs the expected exercise, but then makes a real material of movements from elements of it for the beauty of movement. It is good to see this scene with dancing-like sensitivity. I have to state: I would not like to see the performance as a dance-choreography, as its strength comes from the fact, that this performance belongs to the actors, to the Maladype. Anyway this nature without choreography can be a kind of key, as the mood of the rehearsal room comes from it. As all my feeling of lack. What is the aim, where is the structure, the over-thought form (it can be theatrical form, or form of movements)? It is few for a theatre somewhere. Especially for dancing. But it is too much for a given phrase of a performing procedure, or for a workshop performance, it is thick, entertaining, exciting. The performance resonates a little bit differently in eight to eight rhythm – I will examine interestingly later – but the basic structure, according to me, is independent from the headcount.

The question is still given: what is the real aim of this performance? Is it that I can watch into an intensive togetherness of the troupe, which works as a so-called workshop illustration? As it can – by more and more beautiful moments – happen. Anyway, nothing else has happened. For the troupe this performance must be important, I believe, that they have learnt and are still learning a lot from it. It is (was) good to watch. But I miss the deep research, the structure, the direction, the decision next to/against something. Because this that way is just: sunny side up eggs deep.

Dóra Juhász, Criticai Lapok, 2009

(translated by: Veronika Fülöp)