It is secret. It is ancient. It is old styled. It is childishly innocent. It is cleverly crafty. It is obviously easy. It is complicated, as a Chinese puzzle. It cannot be understood, however it is clear, as the raising daybreak by the side of the river.

They are playing in it. Four women: Éva Bakos started to get beautiful from inside to outside, her eyes are shining up and lighting, they are filled with happiness, she becomes a happy, shameless female creature. The Fátyol girls are playing too: Hermina and Kamilla. They are always wonderful. Anyway, they are not porcelain puppets. They are vivid. There is madness of love in her eyes at the same time. While their smile faces are orderly closed, but through their eyes, we can see into their mixed wildness. And Katalin Simkó, she is virginal, playful, she has not become a woman yet from the teenager girl, but there is vibrating appetite in her, the excitement and the desire to excite.

There are four women and four men (and there are thirty-two artificial flamingos between them). It is the enchanted tale mysticism of the swans’ lake. The virgins with white wings serve to the human love. Sometimes they intervene, as in theatre the artificial and mounted objects can be alive too, as well as the incompetence, it can think about itself anything: they are just wooden puppets, wires and paint. There are four men in suits, with ties and bare foot. We have to call Zoltán Papp as Zoltán Lendváczky from now on.

Too many people are around the sets with the name of Zoltán Papp. Poor he has to change it into Lendváczky, so that we can make a difference between them, as their personality would depend on it. But I can watch as Lendváczky the one, who I can see as Papp, even if I mustn’t do it. Like I would have to believe Pierre Bezuhov to be Kaucsiánó Félix from now on. I cannot do it. As to be Lendváczky I have to ask: who is he? Oh, Zoli Papp, then I have known! Zsolt Páll is the oldest one. He is a well-built woodsman, he has saved his childish ability to play up until his adulthood. The hardest one is Ákos Orosz, he jumps up against the other ones, he runs, searches for places, he is skilful, alert, he is ready to compete, he is moving like a line, if he finds an empty chair on the other side: he is there and gets it. Ádám Tompa’s eyes are in fire. As well as his partners’ eyes too. But Tompa has the most glowing ones. These are two pieces of coal, which are glowing because of passion. His eyes push him on his tireless road. While he is fighting seriously his fight of life, there is a naughty half smile at the edge of his mouth.

The Maladype Theatre can use the empty place of the New Studio of Thália Theatre, as György Katus has designed it. There are eight neo-Thonet chairs. They are fake. They are commercial copies of today. The eight of them are playing old child-game. Nobody leaves without a place, anyway they try to get into calming sitting, as the safety of their life would depend on it: whether they get a seat or not.

A stone comes up from a pocket. They give skilfully to one another above the girls’ heads; they are getting faster. Just when it falls down, and splats around, comes out that they were throwing an egg. They are playing with fertility. Tompa brings a blue and a yellow basket from aside. He cleans up the slimy puddle. The place is free again for the game. The flying eggs have got multiplied. They escape with them, getting into their mouth. They sit on them, and save them that way. They fly cigarettes. They blow it into the girls’ hair. Their hair is smoking. The performers are burning too with raising flame of love. Meanwhile they are circling around and searching for new places. These are growing games of concentration. The secret of their gracefulness, the never-ending concentration, the counting, where they will remain an empty chair behind them, which they can get. We can hear Ravel from good records, Spanish-like, Hungarian-like, Gypsy-like songs, and smaller piece covers with their graceful diversity the movements. They are musical leaders of lines. Finally comes the well-known Ravel’s music: the Bolero.

They kiss the egg into one another’s mouth. One of them got a hole on it. The liquid of life flows into their palm. They have become naked and half-naked. The women and men change their clothes. Besides the men’s black suits, János Brekl has dressed up the women into flowers of the field. As the nature would mate in the raising passionate madness. Ákos Orosz and Katalin Simkó are waltzing around the whole place without any stopping. They are cursedly together. As it would be a dance of death, however it is the dance of life. It is the celebration of the joy of life.

The performers do it with honourable stamina and incredible inner concentration for seventy minutes.

Zoltán Balázs directs this performance, which speaks a special language of movements, he choreographs it and makes the eight actors perform it.

Péter Gál Molnár, Népszabadság, 2008

(translated by: Veronika Fülöp)