Here I would like to help all those who have not seen this performance not to get in trouble. It is a classical problem: I did not get what I expected. You should not have any expectations!

I know it sounds hard, but I will explain soon. In theatre we usually expect to show us a well-built, understandable story, which should have a moral lesson too, from which we can learn and we have it after the performance too. The actors should impress us with their performance, help us get into another dimension, so that we can concentrate on the happenings.

This performance we should watch differently! Enter the theatre as you are entering a world of dreams. Your eyes should be open of course and watch the details carefully. Every objects, movements and song have its own importance. But do not try to learn them! Let them have their effect on your mind and subconscious! Mélisande’ falling blue hair or always changing crone will mean something different for you than to the one who is sitting next to you.

Maurice Maeterlinck’s tale The Blue Bird was the favourite one in many of our childhood: the story of Pelléas and Mélisande can be too if we can watch it with eyes of a child, in an innocent way.

The story is as simple as a soap opera, it is a love triangle. If something is un-understandable somewhere than as in the case of operas, the music will help us open the story. Mélisande is the secret object of desire, Golaud found her in the forest and married her. Pelléas is Golaud’s half-brother and he falls in love with the strange girl, and Mélisande returns it. The performance begins and ends that Mélisande is killed because of jealousy. It is not clear who saves her, Golaud or Pelléas, and who has killed her before – as both of them love the fairy-like, unworldly girl. Both of them have done it: they save and kill her.

Mélisande communicates by snapping her tongue all through. Maybe she comes from so far, (from the bottom of the lake, or of the forest) where they do not need words any more. Her lovers understand her anyway and Gabriella Varga snaps so passionately that the viewers start understanding her. She speaks first when she confesses her love to Pelléas, to her husband’s half-brother and competitor. Her first human words are: - I love you.

Actors’ performances are not limited to strict movements, to repeated monologues. Actors act as if they do not know the concept of space. They move only in two dimensions, they are the icons of themselves. In this stripped-down play everything is real, the life-like movements have greater significance. The characters are talking to each other. They play for themselves, they are going on alone in one direction, into the arms of death.

The people would be dreaming, the director shows many symbols to solve. But not to get confused by it! If we do not understand anything, we should do as if we try to solve a dream... Let it effects, we should interpret it according to our memories, experiences and dare to get away the original play.

Warning: if we do not do it, and sit into the play as we are watching a play by Shakespeare we will get disappointed!

Antropos, Kulturális Online Magazin, 2006

(translated: Veronika Fülöp)

As later the Thália Company, the Théâtre d'Art of Paris played where they were let in. The pretender, the young symbolist poet founded it: Paul Fort. He is still a secondary school student, he is 18 years old. He directed The House of Cenci by Shelley, the Faust by Marlowe, symbolist poets, who were said to be improper for stages, and dramatized poem by Poe, The Raven. He let Antoine’s actor, Lugné-Poë direct. He put on stage first and once the Pelléas and Mélisande on 17th May 1893, in the Bouffes-Parisiens, and lost 30 frank because of it. (Few days later in Brussel they solved their budget.) They played it in front of Vuillard’s painted curtain in Vaudeville Theatre. Maeterlinck’s one act play The uninvited guest (Intruse, 1890). (In the hall there was an exhibition from Gauguin’s paintings, the incomes were donated to help the painter and Verlaine. 100 franks came together. Verlaine got it all, Gauguin was already on Tahiti.)

The blinds (Aveugles, 11.12.1891.), The Family Circle (Intérieur, 1894) were put on stage in the 90s, in little theatres of literature in Paris. These are simply one acted plays, within sets of a room with only some actors. The death is wondering there under the gardens, or its steps can be heard from outside as chatting out a lot. In case of The Family Circle we can see the silent family through the window from the garden. Strange creatures are thinking outside, they would tell or put off the announcement of the happenings. On the stage of The uninvited guest the family sits inside, the blind grandfather can see as the Black Nun, who is approaching. “In an ancient forest of the North” The blinds are sitting and waiting hesitantly, there is a very old priest in his loose black cloak who leads them home into the safety institute. Six blind men, six blind women and a mad girl with her new-born in her arms. And the mysterious, motionless man. About the blind-leader priest we can learn in the end, that he has been dead for a while. The unsolvable-like order by an author – Not far from the priest a couple of Martagon lilies with long beams are blossoming unhealthy at night – refers to the fact that the French scenic masters and set painters were pushed out from theatre by the painters of Art Nouveau, by the workers of it. For the picturesque words, picturesque sets suit. Around the Théâtre d'Art and its descendant the Ouvre, the symbolist painters Maurice Denis, Bonnard, Vuillard came together. Their posters were made by Toulouse-Lautrec, Munch, and their other painter mates.

Maeterlinck’s early plays are absurd. Lugné-Poë put on stage also King Ubu by Jarry three years after the Pelléas. Maeterlinck seems like Samuel Beckett without any humour. Or Samuel Beckett seems like Maeterlinck without any Art Nouveau style. The rhythm of his early dramas cries on the same little toy.

"Then the miracle come: Pelléas and Mélisande. There is the gloomy fog of North and the archaic castle again. The characters are so soft as they would be the condensations of fog. The lights of ships flash far away onto the sea, then they disappear. They love each other and they are killed. Nothing else happens. Meanwhile. Something invisible happens somewhere." – as Béla Balázs adored about it in. György Lukács thinks that it is deep: "his silences are just there to hide the formulas, they just help to avoid the sharp expressions, but they are sounding there behind silence, and cast deep shadow on simple words. In these plays the fate is well defined and every people and things do not exist anyway, just »mean« something – meanwhile it is not said what they do.” (Nyugat, 01.06.1909.)

All modernist theatres have tried to put them on stage: in 1907 Meyerhold put on stage Pelléas in Saint Petersburg. In Moscow Stanislavsky and Sulersicky put it on stage The Blue Bird in the Theatre of Art (1908). They put it on stage also in Paris, at Madame Rejane (1911), their performance at home remained on stage for sixty years in the Theatre of Art as a weekend performance on Sundays, in a preserved version: Stanislavsky’s student, Vahtangov (Saint Antal’s miracle), in Pest during the formation meeting of the Thalia Company, in György Lukács’ flat, Sándor Hevesi offered the performance of The uninvited guest as one of the opening performance, then they were thinking about the performance of The Death of Tintagiles, but it was put on the stage only in the chamber hall of the Academy of Music in February of 1925 and Márton Keleti, the avant-gardist poet and theatrical person directed it.

The benefits of his career which was made of conjectures and passing secrets Maeterlinck could invest really practically. He was one of the most well paid poets. He got together with the 26 years old (careerist) actress-opera singer Georgette Leblanc – with the sister of Arsene Lupin, who was the writer of the criminal, detective novel series in suits -, who could never get divorced of her Spanish husband, and lived together for twenty-three years (1895-1918).

Instead of a marriage as a gift he wrote her the Monna Vanna (his most valuable play), they went on a honeymoon over the world, got the emptied American cashier’s offices of theatres there too. Maeterlinck turned toward big orchestras. The woman – the ghost of good and bad – found out, that they would perform Hamlet between the novel-like ruins of the Benedictine monastery in Saint-Wandrille of Normandy which was founded in 649, for a few invited guests. In 1907 they performed Macbeth translated by Maeterlinck, from Jenő Ivánfi we could have a very detailed description of this performance in the literature of our theatre history. He was a well-educated, intriguer actor and director of National Theatre, who starved together with the young Dezső Szomory in Paris, later he spent his summer times with learning and that way, he could make himself involved in the group of these well selected invited ones. At 9pm, servants in costumes from the period of the Scottish leader guided the viewers to their seats. On the field of the giant park, there are the witches around a smouldering cauldron. The main entrance is Renaissance. The temple outside is a ruin from the 13th century with columns fallen on the grass. The monastery next to it was built in the 14th century. There are also ceremonial halls, chapels, corridors with old wooden cover from XV. Luis’ era. The refectory is from the 12th century. Through the opening gate King Duncan and his followers were riding in on horsebacks. The Lady was starving for his crown in her red dress: the leader of the house, the translator’s wife, Mrs Maeterlinck. There are torches. There is a parade of horses. There are helmets, lances and shields. The housewife as a white shadow was going from room to room around. On thirty stairs she went down to the viewers. She stopped in front of the gothic like window with four openings. She was lightened only by light of the moon from outside.

In 1908 Pelléas and Mellisande was put on stage between the theatrical walls of a monastery with Gabriel Fauré’s music(1898). Probably Georgette Leblanc in the singing role made the performance fail. The modern French composers found texts in his plays close to their heart. Claude Debussy is the composer of Pelléas and Mélisande. Paul Dukas wrote an opera from Ariane and the Blue Beard (1907), from Monna Vanna Henri Février did it. Maeterlinck’s successes were prolonged as an opera scriptwriter.

Maeterlinck got the Scandinavian crowned Nobel Prize in 1911. He wrote his plays only for two accounted hours. The poet of the anxiety of death was a great enjoyer of life. In winter, he lived outside Paris, in the Château de Médan, in summer in his castle in Nice. At the age of 56, after eight years of acquaintance, he married to the 24 years old actress from Nice, to Renée Dahont (1918). In 1932 King Albert made him an earl of Belgium. Because of the war he moved to the United States (1939-1947). In New York he wrote for his new wife his drama about Jeanne d'Arc, in twelve scenes (1940), but it was published only eight years later, and only in 1210 copies.

Maeterlinck could live over himself. In 1949 he died of heart attack in his castle, named Orlamonde in Nice. Today it is transformed into a luxurious hotel, the Hotel Palais Maeterlinck.

It is symptom like, that Zoltán Balázs after Ionesco, Ghelderode, Genet, Weöres with the symbolist of the late 19th century tries to find a way out of the mechanised, routine-like, full of average, thirdly epigone theatre of today. Put the ratio away! We have got enough of the theatre which plays according to the “ideas”. Let the gloomy come! The sensual theatre, the theatre of ceremonies. Do not sit so wisely on the auditorium. Open your senses! Try to accept the colours, smells, heartbeats, music and personality of the performance!

Ionesco raised my interest in the Parliament of Gypsies. His direction of Ghelderode amazed me in Szkéné Theatre. The Black by Genet in the Bárka Theatre was wonderful. I was enchanted by Theomachia from Weöres. I did not become interested in Pelléas and Mélisande.

Balázs as the member of a new generation brings new practices. He does not always form sentences against the untalented and amateur ones, but against the talented fathers of theatre, who began similarly to occupy Kronoses who raised them up with the flag of the showing of reality of the social opening. If fate does not rush my cerebral sclerosis faster, and does not eat me up before time: I will see as young Turkish people rebel against Balázs’ generation. The relay baton goes in a spiral way. The new generation does not have to deny it but make sentences on.

Gábor Zsámbéki started a counter-revolution against himself a decade ago. (The expression is from Meyerhold, for whom it was important to renew his attitude of direction, world and his tools. Only his execution could stop him to become the member of the Academy.) A clever person of theatre who can see over himself, can reach great results – you can see the direction of Saint George and the Dragon which happened after many tries by Zsámbéki -, but people can rarely step over their shadows. Everybody has to react on the feverish answers of their youth. The best they can do: they can help the new pretenders to get into power.

The naturalist Octave Mirabeau could over thank Maurice Maeterlinck.

The modern ones of theatre from the turn of the 19th and 20th centuries put the Belgian writer’s name on their flag. Zoltán Ambrus defined him only as a “dedicated poet” and a “sober businessman” because he rewrote to himself one of the short story by Paul Heyse, by another Noble Prize winner, the Belgian Mary Magdalene (Marie-Madelaine). It can be said that he wrote it as a title role to Georgette Leblanc. Its World Premiere was held anyway in Kolozsvár in the National Theatre on 27th December 1909, the director was Jenő Janovics.

Maeterlinck, the Belgian lawyer’s plays – today we can see it better – are secessionist books of tales of arts and crafts. I am enchanted by Dezső Szomory’s clear view, who complained bitterly in Harry Russel’s letters from battlefield of Dorsan: “You know, dear Maeterlinck, that nothing can be more beneficial than if the poet has a real pain. (...) I would dare to add, that especially in case of the valued material of the pain it would be important that the poet could get inspiration from some kind of honest empathy and reality. As I am in a hurry I do not want to give details. I would like to signal my short impression that Pelléas and Princess Madelaine and the others are suffering from abstract and blurred pains, and however you like looking for the mysteries of human fate and sad endings, you have to see that these fates, endings, people and princesses as you handle them, from human point of view, do not have greater value than the descriptions of the greenhouses do when we are talking about a big forest. I know that you do not like Goethe and I do not argue about these feelings. But you have to see that this German is made great by that I can learn from him about the one and only ordinary person, who is suffering."

Péter Gál Molnár, Mozgó Világ, 2005

(translated by: Veronika Fülöp)

Can symbolism be separated from human being, and how can a symbol be naked? The French Pelléas and Mélisande Zoltán Balázs put into an orthodox surrounding in the Bárka Theatre. From Maeterlinck’ symbolist system of signs come the vision of stage with gothic world of forms, where the dark sets, heavy clothes, the ordering in the set, all become the part of the unknown ancient secrets. Balázs’ orthodox area is cold, he shows a masculine world to us, where Mélisande’s loneliness and vacuum become more evident than in the case of French fairy tale. The cruel surrounding ruins the lonely girl, meanwhile Balázs beside the love story, he shows the eternal fight of female and male aspects. The femininity needs space, and when it is over the softness and devotion end too. However Mélisande’s world deserves love and reflects energy of life, but it has no space in an area that turns away life, that is why Balázs’s idea to use Georgian and Armenian approach, as the patriarchal Orthodox culture handles femininity as it is subordinated to manpower.

Two main virtues of the performance are Judit Gombár’s set and costumes and Béla Faragó’s music. The three floors tall monastery is similar to the description of Aladdine and Palomides („and these many shivering arches in winter, the circular corridors that are turning into themselves... There are scales, which do not lead anywhere, and balconies, form where nothing can be seen”) – or we can call it a fortress instead – it is complemented with the forth-floor of the underworld, can be interpreted as the upper ego of Freud, ego or ego of instincts and as the subconscious visual images, as the trial unity of the Sky, the Earth and the human beings, which can get its final meaning with the help of death – the lower floor is the circle of sensual desires, the middle one of the material forms and the upper one belongs to the pure spirit. It is important to mention the symbolic numbers of the windows of the fortress too, as on the first floor of the doormen there are three, on the living space of Mélisande there are nine, on the highest level there are nine arches too. Both numbers are masculine principles in the numerology, in case of Balázs the masculine world is expressive. The number nine fulfils the absolute perfect, it is the number of initiation, but it can be the nine dignity of God too: this is the attribute of the goodness, the greatness, the eternity, the power, the wisdom, the will, the virtue, the truth and the glory. The nine levels of physical, mental and spiritual awareness can be similar to the nine months of pregnancy: during the first three months the mother is wishing for a baby, she has to fight with her ego and accept the strange body which is growing inside her, and her tool-like existence, the next three months are the time of growing, when desire becomes real, during the last three months the new life begins to come off, the connection between the two body is getting dissolved and the leaving happens.

So in the numerology, number nine is connected to the origin and death too. It is not an accident that Pelléas dies on the lower floor, in the ego of instinct, as Mélisande who is from another world in her own room, she dies in the middle of the nine arches. It is surprising that he puts the royal couple on to the top floor, they represent the ego of adulthood, but they are depended on the fate as well as the other characters too. That is why the marionette character of King Arkël (István Erdős) is strange too: if the supernatural power uses all people as puppets, why the old ruler is the only one who gets a puppet alter ego?

The multi-storey showing of levels makes s remember the painting traditions of 1400s, especially the votive painting of the unknown Check master, Jan Očko’s work, in which Maria in blue dress, with her new born baby in her arms, welcomes the three kings surrounded by the adoration of the bishops who are standing on a floor under. Mélisande is floating in the middle the same way, she is closed into the middle of the nine arches, she is similar to Maria on the winged altars, as the icon of the history of her own torture. In the frame scene the Armenian carpet of Mélisande’s window refers to the isolation of harems, in case of which we can have a view into the intimate space only through the holes of the carpet which comes up for a moment, where everything happens as they have not been, the lines of reality and illusion are mixed inextricably.

The other characters are similar to icons, that is why we can usually see only one person in an arch, only Golaud and Mélisande, and Mélisande with her child can get into the same photo, according to the old representation of the Saint Family. The harmony breaks here exactly: the man and the woman are similar to the Saint Family only from outside, but while the earlier one represents the life and happiness beyond the world, the later one embodies the desperation and wish for death.

The geometrical forms are not symbolic everywhere, the stairs to the cave of underworld and the stairs of the separate building do not express any truth of numerology, the doctor – Kristóf Horváth – who watches the happenings from outside can be the angel of death as well as the unknown power that cures wounds forever – incomprehensible but he has no connection with numbers.

The symbols interlace didactically the whole play: the ancient water thrown into darkness is the water of death, the only feminine principle, Mélisande’s figure is also connected to the water, as the vision of birth is connected to water in case of many mythology, and the girl is born of the spring or she is reborn of it. Water is the symbol of chaos, of the disorder before birth, later it becomes the symbol of returning to the chaos after death. Water means the eternal circulation and return, that is why Gabriella Varga can be reborn as Kamilla Fátyol with the help of the spring. The young girl is not the alter ego of the other one, but the manifestation of her earlier and later egos, and she is the adult ego of Mélisande’s baby daughter in the chains of fate without any change.

In the masculine world there is place only for one feminine principle, that is why Queen Geneviéve (Olga Varjú) becomes masculine. If she does not want to lose her life, she has to give her femininity to the next victim. The characters of Golaud (Zoltán Seress) and Pelléas (Artúr Kálid) are changed too, as the drama is not about a love triangle for sure, it can be interpreted as a multi-dimensional game of love, it is symbolic similarly to the Bluebeard’s Castle. The two men can be two aspects of the same ego, the one who wants to own and conquer, and the other one is the power that is tolerant and gives gentle support.

Balázs’ directorial merit is the framed structure, where the circulation is represented by Mélisande’s death and by the birth of her daughter mostly – as Pozzo’s words appear here from Beckett’s play, from Waiting for Godot: “the women give birth above the graves, in riding position, the sun is shining for a minute, then night comes again.” Meanwhile in case of Maeterlinck the sun is not shining even for a moment, even love cannot give relief against the only sure thing, the death, and Balázs expresses it perfectly. Death is not painful here, the passing away happens slowly and unnoticeably, while people melt into nature, and become one with it. The birth carries the base of end in it, that is why there is not any tragical collapse, only a determinate turning of fate. Motionlessness and movements have the same end, but the changing can be the forerunner of death. The characters motionlessly wait for the movements, which are forced on them.

Supposedly the music of water can be the inspiration for Balázs to create this clattering sound to Mélisande: it is an interesting sound, the wounded bird and the fountain appear at the same time (the bird can be the symbol of soul and the mediator between the sky and the earth, as Mélisande is standing in the middle between the alter ego and the ego of instincts), but there is something in her from the sounds of the underwater people of Gungan from Star Wars, but it is unenjoyable, especially during one and half an hour. In case of Theomachia it was a fantastic idea to make Kronos speak backwards at that moment when he vomited his children, as Kronos lost his power with it over the time that stands out of the linear and turns backward, in case of Mélisande maybe silence can be convincing, the mystery, the narration next to the others, as the mixture of silence and waiting. It is really didactical that she can speak on clear human voice only at the time of confessing her love, because according to Balázs this is the only point where two people’s soul can meet finally. Bertolucci shows this ancient desire in his film, The last tango in Paris, the two characters hide their inner world similarly and they only sometimes take a trip into the world of animal sounds. The intuitive behaviour and the deep animal like calm are obvious even if they appear rarely.

If it was not evident to anybody, Mélisande is a symbol of water, then her blue hair can make it evident. In the original play the girl is combing her long, blonde hair, which is in connection with the miracle of sun and the energy of life, but the director excludes all sun shine. Maybe that makes the performance unrealistic: if sun does not light the place, we can only follow the movements of the risen shadows for light in the cemetery at midnight.

The role of the servants have changed in the performance by Balázs: the three maids are replaced here by doormen, who are real doormen, they protect fate from the both sides of the door. With their silent presence they express knowledge and with the litanies they are begging for the salvation of the dying ones in advance. Their movements are square, the Armenian cycling gets Egyptian taste, or changes into the turning of the dancing dervishes. The most beautiful moment of Tamás Vati’s choreography is when during their turning the servants put their hands on one another, then open it again as they are holding the world in their palms for a moment. The servants are outside the happenings, but they are not watching like doctors, but they do the right things in the right moments – they are the servants of fate, nobody else has power above them. The reinterpretation is really acceptable from one point of view, as it can create the atmosphere of the whole performance but on the other side it brings the sense of lack, because Balázs needs to miss a scene, where the talkative maids sum up the happenings. This interlude can be left from the point of the story, but it is important, because it can ease the end. The drawback of the direction that characters are always on a level, there are not any pause or ease, and we have a feeling of watching one picture without any interlude during a double lesson of history of art.

The strangest character is the little Yniold, he is played by Rémusz Szikszai, who is not the precocious child of Maeterlinck but instead of he is the little Idiot from the parody of Gazette, from “Fellejársz and Mélaszundi”. I am always shocked when in an opera a woman soprano in her 30s sings a little boy, with her identity crisis it is similar to the old castrated opera singers’ voice, but it is the other way around: here the over masculine boy is frightening too.

Judit Gombár’s costumes are made in the style of the Armenian middle age, oversized trousers, body covering, long, decorated coats and fez can be found in the masculine world, Queen Geneviève without any genre wears them too. Only Mélisande wears female dresses: her blue dress represents her clarity, her coronet, made of flowers makes her similar to a ripped flower, like in Medea by Pasolini (Kolkhis was almost on the area of Armenia, that is why the blue woman’s dress is similar too).

Béla Faragó composes the music similarly to the Georgian songs and Orthodox masses, which the servants sing on their bass voices. The characters’ motionlessness and the movements around them are expressed by the ancient music, Kornél Mogyoró with his percussion instruments expresses the rhythm of life, mythical connections of fates and the unknown things. During the whole play they cannot ease the fear of death, the music by changing of the sad and happy parts can defeat the uncertainty.

In the performance of the Bárka Theatre the power which hits the world disappears, we only get feelings and pains packed in vacuum, like love in the bottle... ű

Balázs gets his visual world from Parajanov. But in case of Parajanov the life remains too...

Bea Selmeczi, Színház, 2005

(translated by: Veronika Fülöp)

(Jean Genet: The Blacks; Maurice Maeterlinck: Pelléas and Mélisande – Bárka Theatre)

Two characteristics of Zoltán Balázs’ performances appear at the first time. One is that they show more and more similarity with the modern opera. It has its undeniable history of course, as with Balázs Kovalik and Sándor Zsótér’s directions the operas can become theatrical experiences in Hungary too. Somehow similarly as Wagner thought about it, when he wrote about Gesamtkunstwerk – the ensemble of the text, music, the presence of actors and the world of vision can form a totally new language and word. However those performances which I am talking about are not definitely operas, Zoltán Balázs has created the fusion of theatre and opera – we can say that he uses many elements of opera, the language of opera according to the needs of his theatrical visions. The unit of ration, design and the emotional power of music melt into each other inseparably.

Another Speciality of the performance is that the creators with the help of symbols and rites build a net of meaning which works consistently as a sacral language all through the performance. For it the punctual use of the text is necessary, which Judit Góczán knows well and a vison is needed which can raise the place over reality – with the help of Judit Gombár’s designs of set and costume. The actors learn again every time with all their movements and words the language of the actual performance. The words, accents, movements of vision and melodies form together that world full of meanings in which the mostly pragmatic story can go on slowly.

Without our common sacraments and rites these are artificial words – their construction can be written down with the help of mathematics - , but the highness of music and the ceremonies release the foreseeable logic.

Jean Genet: The Blacks

Jean Genet’s play The Blacks is said to be clown act – of course it is not, meanwhile it is tragic as well; mainly because it would like to reach the catharsis with the help of repeated ritual actions. The definition of the genre of the performance goes on: black mass. If we like, it is a pun (a mass celebrated by the blacks, it is the mass of the blacks, it is a mass for the blacks), if we like it can be what it is literally: a ceremony that brings death and decay, which approaches the sanctity from the side of the Evil.

The audience arrives to an area similar to a stadium. The rows of the auditorium are going up sharply: the arena in the middle is just some steps wide. Our look falls back here all the time: there is something like a coffin there, and a white girl and a black boy in the beginning. Because of the small size of the “arena” and the steepness of the auditorium suddenly we realise that we, the viewers have become the part of it, the players of the game. It is supported well by the fact that the white and the black clan are standing on the upper part of the arena in front of each other: they simply close us into this magic circle. Perpendicularly to the white-black bi-pole, where we entered the area before, a boy and a girl are running in nude dresses, their faces are motionless, they schedule their power up until the end of the performance. They are the Running Village and the Running Virtue – so the pandans of the characters who will play the role of doers of the sacrifice (or murder) and the victims. Their colourlessness and physical effort seem to be the abstraction of the two characters – they are those figures who go into fight with their own body, being, power, and finality.

Of course, the two confronting groups take the main part of the action. Some of them from time to time gets into the arena, the others are similar to two opponent groups, they abuse each other and support the fighters like the supporters of a bullfighting or gladiator competitions. One of them is dressed in black: they are showing off on their side with black, tightened to their head, curly hair, with black lipstick, in black dresses – they are mostly similar to flamenco dancers as they are playing with their fans, with energetic movements. In front of them the whites are shining. Their dress has mannered baroque style, as well as their white wig and lips, the flying of their fans. The difference seems to be enormous, but if we have a second look the two sides are differed mostly by the black and white.

We are part of a ceremony: it is the ceremony of conflict, where victims are searched again and again, in a ritual way, with the hope of getting rid of loathing that way. It is a multi-complex, a play in the play, the game master – according to the play Archibald Absalon Wellington – gets an interesting role during the performance: the director himself sits there between the audience, in his civil clothes, with a microphone in his hand and he complicates and moves on the actions according to the supposed system of the ceremony. The game, which puts him inside and outside the performance at the same time, is similar to Tadeusz Kantor’s theatrical presence, to the role of conductor or ceremony master which is accepted by the director during the performance. Now he is working only with the help of words.

If the skin tone becomes an attribute which can be put on and taken off, then the genders and voices can be changed too, they can move freely in the area. The Sounds have their places in the highest part of the stadium (I gave them this name by myself), who come down at the beginning of the performance and sit down into the first row of the auditorium. The actors get the characters’ body, movements, gestures, all movements of their faces – and the movements of their mouth. The singing voices are given by the opera singers – László Sáry has written the score with the needs of an opera.

All elements of the performance are connected to this thought-provoking deconstruction. The sounds in the area – many times counter tenor or bass is connected to a female character and soprano to a male one. There are whites and blacks in the area – their roles can be changed, they can play each other’s role. The victims and doers are in the area – where the one who has to kill can become the prisoner of his victim. At the peak of the performance the Village who wants to kill, stops before the killing of the Virtue. Instead of killing the hated “white” girl, he confesses his love. He gets help to fulfil the ceremony: Artúr Kálid, who plays the ruler of the city of Saint Nazare in red shoes, red skirts, tries to make the desperate boy kill. Every circumstances are there to support the murder: the transvestite shining in red, the side who encourages the Village, and the dance between the flamenco and bullfighting. During these Nóra Parti who plays the role of the victim – Virtue – are hanging from above, swinging. It is a visionary, broken up world. Before the moment of stab suddenly complete darkness covers us.

Then the closing scene of the performance: the opponents change costumes, colour and role. And the chasing the ceremony of loathing starts again. It is unimportant whether the whites chase the blacks or the other way around. The sample is the same. Sounds, genders and roles are wondering in the area. The rite mostly automatically repeats itself circularly, changing up the roles and killing endlessly.

Maurice Maeterlinck: Pelléas and Mélisande

I cannot avoid to compare the two: the French daredevil, Genet, the hero of thieves, who combines the steam of brothels in his cruel but somehow raised, symbolic stories, was one year old, a pitiful one who had been already in orphanage when Maeterlinck the francophone, sophisticated, who was favoured by gods and grew up in a catholic family, got the Nobel Prize. But the dreamy world – interpretations which are coded in mostly mystical sign-system – whether because of the fury of exile or the fragility of over sophistication – in both cases have a very similar result.

The story goes in circle in the case of Pelléas and Mélisande by Maeterlinck too. The performance starts and ends with act of killing of Mélisande because of love. The other archetype is the repeated gesture, which is the girl’s saving from the lake, on the sticks of which Mélisande gets hung up by her long and blue hair. In the performance it is not obvious that who saves who, Golaud or Pelléas, and which one of them kills her – as both of them love the strange girl from another world. Both of them do it: they save and kill her. It is not obvious too if Mélisande wants to be saved and finally she is afraid of death. The only thing which is sure, that the weird girl brings love and jealousy into this palace. She brings to life fainted falling and power beyond (or under) humankind.

It is an easy, mystical tale; a soft system of symbols, which are grown up under a glass shade. The set can entrap cleverly our sight, senses: from one side it quotes the orthodox iconostasis in two dimension – which do not show things realistically, but they can sign, send message of saints here, in to the three dimension of everyday life. From the other side the flat motifs of arch are there on three levels – so it creates a playing area of three layers - , and they are connected by stairs in a way that we can see it on the drawing by Escher. In that way it opens secretly the two dimensions, even connects the ups and downs, makes it circular. And there is another invisible one, a secret downstairs: the bottom of the lake, from where the girl has risen.

I do not have to tell that the characters are moving as an icon comes to life: they know only two dimensions, they can only move in this flappable eternal legend, in this sacral area, which is alien for their everyday life but deep in their feelings and thoughts it is familiar – sometimes they are similar to the Egyptian grave drawings which can be naïve, but made by punctual observation, to its two-dimensional style. Nothing can happen which is not significant. The tremor of the sword, the throwing of the giant ring, the blue hair which appears in the window – all of them have existential weight, have effects on the characters’ fate.

Now the singing and the spoken language are divided strongly. On the program those three bass singers are signed as servants, who are walking on the floors as a Slavic polyphonic choir from time to time (if I remember well they will not appear on the highest floor). This small choir is the background of mood and feelings for the performance in reality: for us it is strange, but its attractive and harmonic sounding suggests that world, which is far from reality, as the set does, and the playing method and the costumes which are similar to caftans. Their song and slow movement put the story into this undefinable, mythical place and time, into this exaggerated and more swirling emotional trap, which can surprize the characters too. From the point of view of intensity the speech is not behind the songs: pictures and unconscious repetitions are there with the help of words – it seems like the characters are talking on the same register where the elevated choir is singing. Mélisande’s manner of speaking is brought up to the extremes: she answers to the others with the click of her tongue, as she would be too weak, too outsider, too abstract to speak the others’ language. She speaks articulated only when declares her love to Pelléas, to the half – brother and rival of her husband – and of course Pelléas is shocked by the speech itself not by the declaration as well as the audience is shocked by it. It could not be a light burden to compose the music after Debussy and Sibelius, who composed the opera version of the play. Látszló Sáry can compose melodies again, which are perfect for this performance; they do not cover aggressively the world of the performance which is divided into prose and songs according to the decision of the director, but they are strong and characteristic enough to overgrow the frames of theatrical background music and become live characters.

The set has its own role too, and the gestures of actors, which project like shadows the actors’ movements: constant power of concentration which never lower can be felt on the stage. The audience gets the feeling that priests are celebrating: life, love, death, with such physical and emotional punctuality as all of their moves would affect the whole world permanently.

They treat the dream carefully; the place where all of us can find something saint.

Rita Sebestyén, Ellenfény, 2005

(translated by: Veronika Fülöp)

If André Antoine, the representative of a factory in the Liberal Theatre had not put the real half cut cows on a nail in the butchery on stage: Maeterlinck would not have been wondering with his mythical lovers in gothic castles. If the theatre had not wanted to put on stage the day as in a newspaper on all costs, Maeterlinck would not have been wondering in the middle age.

From one day to another instead of the modernity of naturalism the wish for death of the mysticism has become modern. Maeterlinck was thought to be a genius. "It is better than any masterpiece by Shakespeare” - Octave Mirabeau, the once popular naturalistic drama writer, became enthusiastic generously because of The Princess of Maleine (La Princesse Maleine) after it was published in 30 pieces in August of 1890 on the pages of Figaro. Mirabeau’s article affects as a bomb in Paris. Maurice Polydore-Marie-Bernard made Maeterlinck famous. With it began the Flemish poet’s world career.

In the movement of the Théâtre d'Art, which was founded by the symbolist poet, Paul Fort (existed for two years), Aurélien-Marie Lugné-Poë, who rebelled against the pope of the naturalism, Antoine, directed Pelléas et Mélisande. It had its only performance on 17th May, 1893 in Bouffes-Parisiens, in the earlier ceremonious place of Offenbach’s operetta. (In the ascetic building which was ruined till the bricks, however it was over-decorated in the time of III. Napoléon, nowadays Peter Brook has been working there). Lady Meuris played the main female role. Marie Aubry like a transvestite plays Pelléas, who was formed into a trousers’ role. Lugné-Poe choked from anger as an old king on the stage according to the review by Francisque Sarcey on 22nd May, 1893.

From those who are writing on French language, Maeterlinck is the most German poet. Instead of the French light, he brought into fashion his German gloominess and the mistiness of the Northern dramas. The uncertainty of existence gets the place of safety. Death is the secret hero of his dramas. It is covered in the middle age instead of the analysis of the present era. He did not get his stories form the criminal chronicle of newspapers, but form old folios, Flemish statements and mythical tales.

The Flemish one, who talked daily with death, was not a weak wise person. Béla Balázs was thinking about the photo from the poet’s childhood: This ten-years-old child is between those, who have remorse, after they have laughed well. In contrast to them, there is the Belgian civil person, who is fat, healthy, drinker, great eater and cheerful. He managed well the benefits of his poetry. Meanwhile he was dreaming about stone towers covered by fog, under earth ghostly corridors, dark castles with ghosts around them: between the sets, he bought, he performed open-air performance in the ruined building of Abbaye de Saint Wandrille.

Zoltán Balázs’ performances have already denied the naturalist theatre so far. Now from Maeterlinck’ evergreen love death-triangle János Lackfi celebrates a performance in the Bárka Theatre – mostly un-hearable because of the actors who played it – with a new translation. He did it without the usage of Gabriel Fauré’s opera music (1898), Claude Debussy’s (1902), Jean Sibeliusé’s (1905), and Arnold Schönberg’ symphonic poet. Béla Faragó made us remember the Latin and Orthodox masses. Which we could not understand from the text or the understanding of the director: the music could show us. It surrounded the performance, gave sound to the deep. The sounds make visible the invisible things.

Judit Gombár built a three floors high cloister of a monastery on the stage of Bárka Theatre. It is impressive, it gives opportunity to play it well and cross surprisingly. It stands solidly from scenic point of view on the stage. It does not shake. It does not wobble. It does not seem like usual sets in theatre to fly away with the first breeze. They fill the place and live it around. In its windows we can see the characters with ungraceful dignity like ghosts, like Uta and Ekkehardt would move there from the dome of Naumburg. The motionless walking using the middle of the foot is flat, it is almost a miracle on stage. Tamás Vati’s choreography melts slinky wild animals, creeping plants and albums of fine arts into natural decorated movements. Gabriella Varga enchants herself behind an Armenian carpet, then rolls it up. Like into a hedge, this girl from the forest, from the lake, or who knows from where, hides herself behind the carpet. Kristóf Horváth is on the right, at the top of the stairs, he is the frozen time, frightening threat, the presence of revision.

As in Balázs’ other directions, there is a well worked-out order. There are three floors and the forth part the opening trap is in front of the building, there are stairs into the deep, into the secret corridor, or into the sea, into the underworld, into the deepness of instincts. The director analysed clearly all through the senses and qualities of places. He does it purely for himself, why does Arkël, István Erdős, the puppeteer move like the marionette representative of himself the kind of Allemonde (while sounding horrific hissing voices) and why does Genevičve walk on the upper corridor like an upper self, Olga Varjú does it strongly. For the director it is also obvious why are Gabriella Varga as Mélisande with her croaking or sounds of a skylark and with her non-verbality, and her doubled partner, Kamilla Fátyol, who is with a floor under her, play their roles in a doubled way. Unfortunately, I am totally outside the interpretation. I admit that I could not understand it. If I did: I could not feel it. It does not have effect on me. Maybe I will stay alone with my opinion, but I can stand out only for myself. It has a meaning that Golaud the husband, and Pelléas the third one can be exchanged as Artúr Kálid and Zoltán Seress play them clearly, beautifully and in a strong way (as they are siblings, not only opponents in love). I do not understand why would Rémusz Szikszai got the role of Yniold, who in his baby dress and with his grey hair, similar to the mad grandmother of Frida Gombaszögi in The House of Bernard Alba.

Mélisande’ clicking rhythm and Pelléas who can keep in contact with her, with his gibbering like a wild man, in spite of its contradiction: theirs is the most well understandable dialogue. In the middle of a theatre which is mostly about literature the words cannot have effect, but the rhythms and the lights, the area and the movements can.

The three servants who are closest to us in understandability, are sounded on bass by Szabolcs Hámori, Antal Cseh, Gáza Gábor: they do it with strong individuality, mysteriously, but not in a dark mood, they can move frighteningly objectively with joy over good and bad between those who are sentenced to death.

The vision, the movements, the costumes, the dancing pantomimes, the background music form a real course of history of art, it is a high levelled lecture. Frozen knowledge and beauty. It is a multicultural revue: Latin and Orthodox masses, Scythian figures, Persian decorations, Kabuki compression and that graceful sacredness, something similar we could see only in the case of the theatrical genius, Vasilyev in Moscow.

Balázs’ performance put the best of them on stage, however with Ferenc Molnár’s words, the good ones would be enough. Theatre is not the place of reality. In case of the performance of Maeterlinck beside the sensuality its meaning means more, the speculation wins above the sexuality.

Péter Gál Molnár, Népszabadság, 2005

(translated by: Veronika Fülöp)

Maeterlinck Before and after the blue bird

In case of Maeterlinck the secrets of the universe and the human existence (and death) are in the deep. The surface is full of poetry and myth, because it is a minefield of artisan words and expressive symbols – from the point of view of stage it is for sure.

Maurice Maeterlinck’ (1862–1949) plays are pleasure to read, they are logical games, but it is not easy to direct them. It is not because of its ordinary tragedy from that – in a wider sense – we can find enough in his contemporaries, in Chekhov’s, Ibsen’s and Strindberg’s too, but while they usually hide secrets of families, in case of Maeterlinck the secrets of the universe and the human existence (and death) are in the deep. The surface is full of poetry and myth, because it is a minefield of artisan words and expressive symbols – from the point of view of stage it is for sure. „For him symbols are not pure sets, but deep sense of life”, as Antonin Artaud writes about him, and he summarizes the troubles of staging too. If we talk about the one-act plays of the 1890s (for example: The Blinds or The Uninvited Guest) and his marionette dramas (like Family Circle or The death of Tintagiles), we can explain their actions the most plastically with the help of Vladimir Jankelevitch’s philosophical term: I do not know what it is (je-ne-sais-quoi) and it is almost nothing (presque-rien). The texts are full of tension anyway, but we can read it not in the dialogues but in the authorial instructions. In other cases beside the atmosphere the elements of tales are over (The princes of Maleine, Pelléas and Mélisande, Alladine and Palomides and so on), which are as tricky as the “children poems” by Sándor Weöres.

Taking into consideration the whole dramatic career, it can be divided into three bigger parts. At the beginning the pictures tell more than the characters, in the middle part – where The Blue Bird, which was published in 1909, belongs too – the artistic set becomes a little bit fainter than the speech, in the third one, which is the longest too, the double optics predominate. In case of Maeterlinck the summary strangely began quiet early after the debut of 1898, in Aglavaine and Selysette (1896). We think about the fact that the introduced women characters, the “prototype” of Mélisande have started to repeat, multiply, more exactly become nuanced, which will appear in later plays too. The most exciting examples for it are Ariane and Bluebeard (1899), Sister Beatrice (1901) and later Princess Isabelle (1935) or Jeanne d’Arc (1943-45).

Some dates of performances can be interesting, as in case of Maeterlinck the keyword is that how these dramas of suppression or explicit philosophy can be put on stage: for Jeanne d’Arc we can find only one musical adaptation, surprisingly it was in 2006 (Claude-Henri Roquet, Théâtre du Nord-Ouest, Paris), the Isabelle has not been put on stage, however in both of them we can find an original spirit. The Ariane, as Pelléas too which was popular in its own time, in prose too, could thank a lot to the composers: the opera version of the earlier one (Paul Dukas) was directed by Olivier Py, who has led the Festival in Avignon for years, not a long time ago in Strasbourg (2015), the most interesting musical performance visually of the later one (Claude Debussy), can be connected to Robert Wilson (1997). In France Claude Régy has done a lot for Maeterlinck’s staging poetry (Family Circle, 1985, Paris and 2013, Japan; The death of Tintagiles, 1996, Paris, and in Canada Denis Marleau who found a perfect form for The Blinds (2006). Do not forget Christoph Marthaler who made a montage like Maeterlinck performance in Odéon in Paris in 2007. In Hungary The Blue Bird has been performed the most, once The Miracle of Saint Antony and Monna Vanna were popular (the prose and Emil Ábrányi’s opera are in turns) and sometimes Pelléas has appeared too. This list shows more or less the tendency in the world; to Maeterlinck’s plays directors with strong visual ideas could connect a strong formal language (Zoltán Balázs direction in 2005, his Pelléas and Sándor Zsótér’s The Blue Bird, which was not a youth play in Vígszínház) belong to here, or they work with the women characters that fulfil big dreams (the first wife of the writer, Georgette Leblanc kept the role of Mélisande for herself for a long time; in Hungary we can talk about Emília Márkus as Monna Vanna in 1902). But the connection of the two viewpoints can happen too, as Meyerhold in Saint Petersburg did it in 1906 in case of Sister Beatrice, the main role of it he gave to Vera Komisszarzsevszkaja, who was the diva of this time. She played the role in a composition of fine art, in a deep relief on stage.

The Blue Bird is a separate case. From dramaturgical point of view, it is a kind of getting away of mysterious symbolism: the dream is not an atmosphere any more, but it is a frame, the objects, water, the trees and other living things are not pure symbols, but they get sounds too. Somehow like this: „It is time for the poets to recognise: the symbol is good to show the truths which have already been accepted or which we cannot accept or unable to face up with; but when the moment comes, that we would like to reveal this truth, it is better if the symbols disappear.” Maeterlinck asks not only in silence the backstage of the past and future, birth and death, but brings the characters behind them – as well as the readers in his essays in parallel with his dramas. The eternal Mélisande-like figure cannot miss from the tale or (real) fairy tales: for a moment she appears in the character of the neighbouring little girl. It is important to say, because The Blue Bird has a less well-known pair play ten years later, Les Fiançailles (The Betrothal), where Tyltyl who is at the age of getting married has to find, more exactly has to recognise the true one, the mother of his future children. Bérylune the fair leads him over the steps of his initiation again, similarly to the stages of The Blue Bird, the Fate follows him, who cannot change the end of things, and he becomes smaller and smaller funnily by the end of his journey. It is predestination, the Fate can just bring together those six characters and the veiled, sculpture like faceless (because it is forgotten) figure, from whom Tyltyl does not have to choose as his future first born will do it for him. And who else can be under the veil than that girl who Tyltyl made happy back than with his bird, by name she is Majoie (My Happiness). We can see that the logger’s children and this form of stations would not leave Maeterlinck alone: the third, last part of this “cycle” which remained only in handwriting is from 1940 (and/or 1948), it title is La Nuit des enfants (The children’s night), and many familiar elements are there not only from The Blue Bird – the writer makes his thought clearer again. The children, Patrocle – who is said to be the grandchild of Tyltyl but can be found in Mélisande’s past too – and Jocelle – whose name rhymes strangely with the name of Joyzelle about whom Mélisande wrote in 1903 – the two of them follow again the fairs together, who show the road together too, Bérylune, is the hope, Bérénice brings rebellion, and now the searching for happiness get a universal meaning – it is not strange as the war was coming. The trees, games, clothes, the kitchen workers are rebelling around us, the birds are flying silently above us...Meanwhile we learn that growing up will be a painful process, the fear of death can be dispersed.

The motives of tales and tools can be found in all three parts of the “cycle”, it is surprising that almost everybody sees The Blue Bird as a youth play. It is a rare example in theatre history, that the premier can define so much the tradition of performance. Even if this exact first one, the premier in September in 1908 can be connected to the name of a theatrical person, who is Stanislavski, and it was not his first theatrical performance from Maeterlinck by the way. It was so successful that Paris got it from Moscow too, then in 1909 London did, then in 1910 New York went on this road too. The film versions also put sugar layer on the topic of recognition of the average happiness of everyday small things which are not childish at all.

Zsófai Molnár, szinhaz.net, 2019

(translated by: Veronika Fülöp)

Zoltán Balázs, artistic director, actor and director of Maladype Theatre, likes to experiment with crazy ideas during rehearsals that can last from morning until dawn. He is fascinated by the nature of dictatorship and the anatomy of power. He often plans the scenery based on paintings, as will be the case in the performance of Three Sisters, which will premiere on April 8.

The scenes in your production of Three Sisters will be brought to life in the style of various works of visual art. This fits in with your other experiments, such as when you presented all twenty-five scenes of Leonce and Lena in four different ways, or when you used different music for each performance of Egg(s)hell, which changed the situations accordingly.

Not only specific works of fine art will be brought to life, such as The Last Supper. Leonce and Lena, Egg(s)hell, or even Exercises in Style (in which the scenes were played by actors in the style of different film directors) were all a kind of variation game. Similarly, every scene in Three Sisters is expressed on a scale of fine art ranging from Rublev's world to the present day. It is as if Chekhov had written the play specifically for this purpose. The entire first act is like the Renaissance itself. The search for the new man, serenity, sunshine, light, humanism. The second act is the world of Baroque, Mannerism, Realism, Naturalism, and Romanticism. In the third act, fire practically sets the world around the sisters ablaze. The fourth act is one of clarity, minimalism, an imprint of the second half of the 20th century and the first half of the 21st, in which Lili Ország fits just as well as Malevich or Picasso. It's a wonderful game. Sometimes I have a strange eureka moment, as if Chekhov had written the play this way, when obviously he didn't.

During your lengthy rehearsals, you usually experiment with the craziest ideas. During rehearsals for another Checkhov play, Platonov, for example, the actresses walked up and down for eight hours, and in the end, only two intense minutes of this scene ended up in the production.

That's natural! Our playful experimentation never changes; I hope it will always remain our trademark. Thank God, I am currently surrounded by curious people. I am thinking primarily of the actors, but not least of my colleagues and creative partners, whose skills are very important, because they can and want to create worlds out of nothing—since our financial resources are close to zero.

When Attila Vidnyánszky worked in Beregszász, it was not worth asking how long rehearsals would last, because they usually lasted from morning until night. Apparently, you rehearse from ten in the morning until midnight.

Oh yes, that happens. But I am perfectly capable of rehearsing during the night as well.

Are your actors capable of that too?

Yes, because they are obsessive creatures. In a way, they have it easier, because I make schedules, so they get a little break while I work with two or three other actors. I haven't been teaching at the Academy of Music or the University of Theatre and Film Arts lately, but I took on a course in János Meczner's class. I staged The Mikado as a puppet opera with his former students. Now I'm rehearsing Ionesco's absurd play The Lesson every night with young students.

You have moved from ritual theatre to a completely different type of theatre. The performance of Three Sisters will obviously not have a sacred "charge."

God forbid! They always try to categorize us, to pigeonhole us. We've been everything: gypsy theatre, ritual theatre, movement theatre. The term "physical theatre" was first used in connection with us, after our production of Leonce and Lena. Later, it was applied to Csaba Horváth and the major he founded at the University of Theatre and Film Arts. Basically, it stems from my personality that I don't repeat myself or create eras, but rather pair a given theme, drama, or story with a new method of execution, form, idea, and guise. In this sense, I consider change to be my most exciting creative criterion.

Does this mean you don't want your productions to be recognizable even if we don't know that you directed them?

Look, you know this, but I think people can identify the trademarks of my thinking quite well. There are common denominators, for example, imagery has always been a very important motivation in my work. This was also inspired by Judit Gombár, with whom I was able to work for ten years.

Now you are dedicating this performance to her memory.

We miss her very much. She was a very important creative partner in my life: we had a fantastic "back and forth" relationship. With her, it didn't matter whether we worked at four in the morning or five in the afternoon. The important thing was to delve even deeper into the material at hand. Thinking in terms of imagery, symbols, and allegories came completely naturally to her. It is very difficult to find a creative partner with a similar mindset in the field of set and costume design. I am very happy that we are working with Mari Benedek again, because she is absolutely receptive to this kind of thinking.

How compatible is this almost monastic work with the natural exhibitionism of actors? Usually, they want as many people as possible to know them. Ákos Orosz, for example, left your theatres, which is one of the smallest in the country, for the largest, the Víg Theatre. There is a saying that this profession should not be done in secret.

I understand what you mean, but we're far from doing it in secret. Thankfully, Maladype is particularly well known both at home and abroad. We can't complain that we don't have an audience or professional attention. When our actors come to work here, they know what this lifestyle entails. It involves a lot of sacrifice, but also a lot of rewards. Personal responsibility must always be present in the life of an actor, a creator. They must know where they are starting from and where they are going. In Three Sisters, the different roles shine even more brightly. Just consider, for example, that each of Masha's scenes is rendered in a different painter's style. You have to show completely different phases of her development, her spirit, character, and soul, or even her downfall. This is a much more complex task than if the actor had to play one type of character. It liberates the actor and makes the performance more variable.

You didn't perform for nearly six years.

No, thank God.

Why thank God?

Because I didn't miss it. I didn't have good experiences after Hamlet. But that's a matter of perspective; I could also say that Hamlet at the Bárka Theatre was too perfect. For me, it was a huge discovery at the time to see the possibilities offered by a performance based on the serious, authentic, profound, courageous and free presence of the actors. I didn't always feel that in other performances later on.

You returned as an actor with a one-man performance, an adaptation of Viktor Kravchenko's book I Chose Freedom. It was clear that you really wanted to tell this ugly story about the nature of dictatorship.

It is indeed an ugly story, and after that came the nature of dictatorship, the anatomy of power, in Richard III, in which I play the title role, directed by Sándor Zsótér. So, I couldn't avoid talking about it.

This topic preoccupies you greatly...

That's right. I have always wanted to examine the relationship between the individual and power.

Could this be because you grew up in Transylvania under Ceausescu's dictatorship?

I lived in Transylvania until I was twelve. I experienced everything firsthand, as a primary experience. The black car came for my grandfather, they took him away, and arrested him. Perquisitions, fear, whispering, hushed voices, and silence were part of everyday life for us. Still, the greatest treasure was that my family was always able to handle things with humour, intelligence, and ease. That's why it didn't seem like a heavy burden to us children. Of course, in hindsight, I know exactly what that meant and what sacrifices and self-discipline it entailed. I think that this gave me a lot of strength later on to stand my ground even in impossible situations, to always be able to rethink my life and my creative processes. This is probably what inspires my constant interest in the game of turning things inside out, whether it be power, the role of society, or the relationship between the individual and the larger community.

During Maladype's eighteen-year history, you often had no money and were on the verge of closure several times. What is the situation now?

The same. There is a danger of disaster tourism. At the end of March, beginning of April, I still don't know what kind of money we'll be working with, if we'll be working at all, who we can invite based on the amount we've been granted, what plays will be staged, whether I can offer contracts to the actors or not, what I can say yes or no to, whether I'll be able to pay the rent. The usual game. I won't go into detail. It's a seriously nerve-wracking task every year. It's almost impossible to think in terms of a long-term strategy planned many years in advance. Once again, it's only possible to carry on with a sense of humour, good company, and the idea that organizes it all. And with miracles, luck, and the many, many people who are always around us. I trust that we will soon find out how much money they will grant us. It's a delicate game.

Gábor Bóta, Art7, 2017

Translated by Lena Megyeri

How would you summarize the essence of Maladype Theatre, which you founded nearly 20 years ago?

Perhaps in the fact that our independence is not only a matter of our operational structure, but also of our spirit and our ideas about theatre. Over the years, Maladype has remained a company capable of constantly reinventing itself, viewing change as a natural part of the theatre-making process. We seek out the unexpected possibilities offered by theatrical and non-theatrical spaces, unconventional acting solutions, and immediate audience reactions that are free from traditional theatrical expectations and classical forms of behaviour. Maladype's unique theatrical language and thinking is based primarily on constant experimenting, intensive presence, and continuous communication with the audience. That is why I consider it important to develop the actors' analytical and synthesizing abilities, the natural tone of their expression, and the continuous conditioning of creative acting based on improvisation, which reacts immediately and vividly to events occurring in the shared space with the audience. We look for areas and situations in theatre where the cause-and-effect systems of our everyday lives no longer function, where new relationships are represented by new "structures," and where skill, chance, and the change of rules can all shape the game and the possibilities for the players. I am convinced that the excitement of the game can be heightened to the extreme when chance and the attention of two people come together. The framework for this game is provided by various playful logical, strategic, cooperative, and communicative tasks, which create new and unusual situations for both the team and the individual.

As an actor and director, you have won numerous domestic and international awards. What do you attribute this sustained attention from the profession and the public to?

In the many different theatre workshops I have been involved in, I have learnt to embrace diversity of thought and the idea that the only way to validate different creative ideas is through preparation, consistency, and a commitment to renewal. Ultimately, of course, one must find and assemble oneself—as Attila József says—from one's own "pieces of God," which can even result in different creative eras. I feel inspired when I can surprise myself as well as the audience with something new; I honour them with unpredictability and variety. In my upcoming performances, I expect knowledgeable civilian and professional audiences who do not base their opinions on quick impulses, but who, as appreciative and discerning viewers, are able to interpret symbols, allegories, and metaphors. The stimulus they experience during the performance does not remain merely their own experience, but becomes transferable to others.

The company has recently staged Jean Genet's play The Balcony, directed by Sándor Zsótér, who has worked with Maladype several times. How did the audience receive this rarely performed work?

They were very open to the unique visions of the author and the director, and the response was overwhelmingly positive! The audience appreciated the way Genet's characters exposed the "social parade." This world-famous play by Genet, who had a turbulent life and a deep knowledge of theatre, ruthlessly exposes the personality-distorting effects of social structures imposed by external forces an "the eroticism of power" through a process of purification. The clients of the "house of illusions" called The Grand Balcony are participants and witnesses of strictly confidential role-playing rituals, who, surrounded by authentic sets, costumes, and extras, can imagine themselves in roles that are unattainable for them in reality. Sándor Zsótér's 2016 production of Richard III is currently enjoying great success at the Maladype Base in Mikszáth Square, and I am confident that our newly premiered production of The Balcony will achieve similar success.

Pesti Műsor, 2017

Translated by Lena Megyeri

Actor and director Zoltán Balázs questions personal responsibility with a manifesto based on Viktor Kravchenko's book "I chose freedom." Viktor Kravchenko was one of the first to report firsthand on the workings of Stalinism, with the intention of shaking up the free world, yet it took decades for the Hungarian translation of his book to be published. However, actor-director Zoltán Balázs, founder and director of the Maladype Theatre, considers it a personal mission to use this story as a prism through which we can confront our own unspoken and everyday traumas. Most recently, he impressed—and liberated—his audience at the Zwinger in Kőszeg. We spoke before the performance.

You've been telling Viktor Kravchenko's story for two years. What is life like with him?

Intense. Although yesterday's performance in Budapest followed a longer hiatus. I don't say I played him, because it's far from acting in the classical sense; this "one-man show," which is difficult to define in terms of genre, is based more on communicating thoughts. I call it a manifesto, but not because I'm loud or I'm trying to force it down people's throats. I call it a manifesto because Viktor Kravchenko's important moments, dilemmas, and decisions—which he experienced from his birth to his defection—seem to be repeating themselves: around us, within us, through us. The kind of personal responsibility that the text conveys, and that is an essential part of our everyday lives, is always very precisely encoded, regardless of the age of the audience. Yesterday, for example, there were many students in the audience who, although they did not know this era apart from learning about it from hearsay or their studies, were still perfectly capable of adapting the story to their own lives, down to the functioning of the small communities in which they themselves exist. The most shocking thing was when, in the end — there is always a discussion after the performance—one of our audience members stood up and said that because I had interpreted this story so honestly, he considered it a personal gift, and in return, he would like to give me a personal gift too. Something he had never shared with anyone else. That his grandfather was a kulak persecutor, and that this is still an unprocessed fact for him; a trauma that needs to be talked about. That he also has ancestors similar to the characters in the Kravchenko story. It was shocking. We also created a theatre-in-education program for the performance, entitled The Kravchenko Case, which was supported by many people regardless of their worldview or political affiliation—something I am very proud of. Thanks to this, I was able to reach disadvantaged regions and students who don't often see theatre, especially on such topics. There was a project called the Freedom-tour: I visited important places in Viktor Kravchenko's life and recited the manifesto from Washington to Ukraine. A documentary film was made about the trip. But the crew didn't just visit the locations of Viktor's life, they also visited the locations of my childhood – my hometown is Cluj-Napoca. The end result will be a strange common denominator between our stories.

When can we see the movie?

Hopefully in the spring: it is being made in co-production with several partners. A lot of people are looking forward to it. The thing is, there is something else I can't talk about yet: there will be a major event connected to the premiere. I had a crazy idea that I would really like to make happen. It looks like there's a chance. So, this complex program has been going strong for two years. There is a constant demand for it. The world feeds it, keeps the topic alive. And the truth must be told. And as a freedom-loving person—that's how I was raised, that's how I'm genetically wired—I seize every chance to create opportunities for those who also define themselves through freedom to exchange ideas. Viktor's story is perfect for this, as is his personality. He is restless, energetic, creative, humorous, relentless, and unpleasant. At the same time, his family is strongly driven by a strange mixture of a desire for freedom, ideologies, utopian visions of a better world—and, consequently, great beliefs and great disappointments.

Restless, energetic, creative – as if you were describing yourself. I thought that even if I knew nothing about the background of the performance, I would not feel that anything was missing. The title says it all: I chose freedom – it could be the motto of your own life and your career as a theatre maker.

That's exactly what happened: that was the motive. Ariane Mnouchkine said in an interview that one of her five favourite books is I Chose Freedom, which I had never heard of before. Later, of course, it turned out that historians in Hungary knew of its existence; that it was published before Solzhenitsyn's Gulag, and was therefore one of the first to report on the distortions and horrors of the Soviet system. But when I read the Mnouchkine interview, I immediately thought that anyone who writes a book with such a title would interest me: both the author and the work. (It was also significant, of course, that a theatre director whom I greatly respect lists it among her favourite books.) We jumped into negotiations with the sole legal heir, Kravchenko's son Andrew Kravchenko, without knowing what we actually wanted to have translated and published. I just trusted that a work with such a title would be about what I suspected it might be about. So that's how I felt about the book—just as you may feel about me. But Andrew Kravchenko didn't agree for a long time. He only saw his father between two scrambled eggs at breakfast once every six months. Viktor Kravchenko, disillusioned with the Soviet system, had made it to America, but he did not find freedom there, or at least not in the way he had imagined it. He was constantly on the road, sometimes popping home to visit his current wife and his only surviving son; his sons left behind in the Soviet Union had been executed. Andrew had few real memories of his father, so for him, the portrait painted in the book was sacred. No one could even add footnotes to it. Andrew couldn't even begin to imagine what kind of stage production could be created from this story. And here comes the twist. After about three years of negotiations, when it seemed that I would have to give up and abandon the project, my colleagues sent Andrew a recording of my last Hamlet performance. He watched it and immediately wrote back, "Well, this is my father." My sanguine personality was in sync with his idea of his father. That's how Maladype Theatre got the rights, and that's how Péter Konok, himself a historian, produced his wonderful translation.

When I think of Zoltán Balázs, Hamlet is the first thing that comes to mind. That mercurial, fantastic kid brought to life in Tim Carroll's production. But on the other end of the spectrum, Balázs Zoltán is also associated with his production of Ostrovsky's The Tempest: full of music, grand visuals, and theatricality.

I think in terms of processes. From the beginning of my career, I have thought—as I have experienced in my family and with artists who are important to me—that change is the most exciting part of a creator's life. Not to preserve, record, or become insular, but to allow for the recognition or new encounters generated by the risk factor to happen. It is true that this diversity places a greater demand on our audience and on those who want to chronicle the history of Maladype. We are not characterized by predictability and the use of well-known codes, but always by something new. This is not always easy for my colleagues either. The process is organized by one thing: rethinking, redesigning, the unexpected. It is a constant kaleidoscope game that moves and drives us, with certain defining stations on the road. Hamlet was such a defining point in my life, influencing many things in my career and the further development of Maladype. Fast-forwarding, rewinding; this is very important. To have an objective and a subjective time, in which I can create a dialogue. Then we also need crazy people who support this way of life, who believe in it. I'm not complaining: we have a wonderful audience at home and abroad, but I don't make things easy for them, that's for sure.

Did the Kravchenko manifesto open up new paths, just like Hamlet did? What paths did it close? Although your activities are very diverse, there seems to be a solid foundation underneath that does not change.

The theme of freedom expressed in the Kravchenko story brought me insights that made me think not only as a man, a human being, a Hungarian, and a European, but also as a creator. Where is one headed, and when are those moments when certain decisions must be made? That we do indeed have to let go of some things that we believe to be inseparable from ourselves. What it means to start over courageously, freely, powerfully. The gesture of re-creation – that is what interests us. People recreate themselves in every situation. That is what is happening here, in the Old Tower in Kőszeg. And there is something else that connects all my performances. According to Bob Wilson, who was my teacher, there are two types of actors. One comes in to the theatre from seven to ten to be liked, doing everything with that motive. The other, less spectacular, comes in because they have something to do on stage: with the subject, with themselves, with the audience. If they receive love, they don't reject it, but it's not their primary goal. I consider the Kravchenko manifesto to be a particularly personal matter, and based on my experiences over the past two years, it has had a significant impact. For two and a half hours, people sit and listen, lending their time, attention, and energy to the story of a single person. Today, when everything is buzzing, spinning, and whirling, people sit here and listen to another person. This is a great gift.

Lívia Ölbei, Vas Népe, 2017

Translated by Lena Megyeri

Zoltán Balázs graduated at the University of Theatre and Film Arts in Budapest with a degree in acting in 2002, followed by a degree in directing in 2003. He directed his first play while still in college (Pessoa: This Ancient Anxiety – Merlin Theatre, 1999). After college, he joined the Bárka Theatre as an actor, where his most important role was perhaps Hamlet in 2005, directed by Tim Caroll. He made his directorial debut with the Maladype Theatre in 2001 (Ionesco: Jack or the Submission). Originally established as a Gypsy-Hungarian theatre, the company gradually became an independent theatre with its own identity. Between 2004 and 2008, Maladype was a resident company at the Bárka Theatre, but in 2008 they moved to the Thália Theater’s studio stage. In 2009, they established their own base in a bourgeois apartment on Mikszáth Kálmán Square, while they perform at other venues as well. Meanwhile, Zoltán Balázs regularly directs abroad and holds courses and workshops.

“Could it be any easier?”

You have degrees in acting and directing, you've been a member of professional and independent theatre companies, you actively act and direct, you are the artistic director of the Maladype Theatre, while you also teach, lead courses, and write theoretical essays about your work. How can you summarize all these different activities? What do you consider yourself to be?

I would say that I am a pivot that holds the diverging axes together. I am a combination of a thinker and a creative person. I cannot afford to not see my different roles (actor, director, company leader) and tasks (organizer, strategist) as parts of a whole.

Wouldn't your life be easier if you didn't have so many tasks?

I find it hard to imagine what that would be like...

What would make things easier for you, what could you possibly give up or let go of?

Since I receive quite a few invitations from theatres abroad, I could organize my life in such a way that I would only work outside Hungary. As a theatre maker with my own method, I would also hold workshops and courses, which have a very high theoretical and practical value on the international cultural market; various festivals and theatres are constantly interested in them. I would take a maximum of one or two creative partners with me. If I chose this life, I would no longer have to worry about my daily livelihood, how to pay the bills, the fees of permanent company members and guests, and where to find the money for the various Maladype events. I wouldn't have to constantly worry about whether there would be a grant that suited all our plans, and if so, whether we could realize the program in question with the amount awarded. If I were free from all these worries, I might be able to focus more on my own personal development. Now I have to divide my energy and attention between the goals I have set for myself and the tasks I have undertaken with others. I also have to think about those who wish to achieve their goals through and with me.

“Chance to stay alive”

And why didn't you choose to be an international director traveling the world?

I ask myself this question every day. I still see a chance that we can achieve everything we set out to do with the founders of Maladype eighteen years ago. Somehow, we survived even the most difficult times... Somehow, we always overcame the crises and redesigned our work. We were able to develop; newer miracles were constantly born... In short, Maladype still has so much potential that it's worth doing. I hope that for a while it will still be possible to synchronize my work here and abroad. I have tried to organize the life of the company in such a way that while I am directing abroad, other directors work with our actors. If the story of Maladype must come to an end, I will accept it and let it go. I will not wait for disaster tourism to kick in during our final days, as is the case with other independent companies. If it really is over, we will leave with dignity, and I will try to prepare those involved in time.

What chances do you see for the company to survive?

The world does not favour our kinds of independent communities and theatres. In fact, the world does not favour theatres or the arts at all. At the same time, there are three factors that can give us a lot of energy for our daily struggles and survival. The first one is a sense of humour: the state when you can see the world around you with playfulness, irony, and creativity, and easily dissolve into the abstractions of everyday events. Another important factor is good company: meeting and working with creative people who inspire us. People who are good to be around because they also consider shared values important both in our work and our private life. I think it is crucial that everyone receives the amount they deserve for their work, as without this it is quite difficult to maintain enthusiasm over several years. In fact, a lack of money will sooner or later undermine faith and trust. The third factor is the central idea that holds together different intentions and defines each creative period. "Internal belonging" as an organic driving force that creates coherence can motivate us to act together. As long as these three factors are present, our work makes sense. This does not mean, of course, that we do not need reliable funds to plan our work. The problem is that many people cannot even imagine that the life of an independent theatre group can be planned...

“Like a kamikaze mission”

Does the plural form refer to a real community? Apart from Maladype, do you feel a sense of belonging with other independent companies as well?

There are few of us who work as truly independent companies with our own identity. Few companies have a permanent cast of actors with whom it is possible to maintain and develop the repertoire. The rehearsal and performance schedule, which is tailored to the various hosting theatres, does not allow them to think in terms of processes, nor does it allow the artistic director to work as an experimental, research-oriented creator.

Ultimately, why did you choose to be independent?

It was an instinctive choice, stemming from my personality. If I hadn't had a fundamental attraction to this quality of creative freedom, I would have avoided this way of life, as it offers no prospects, either structurally or financially. I can say with certainty that founding and running an independent theatre company is a crazy idea. It's like a kamikaze mission.

What does it mean to work in an independent company?

We need to have a very serious audience-building strategy in order to find and retain our own audience base. We need to have a clear idea of how we can reach out to, bring together, and engage those who are truly interested in our work. This audience integration process must be carried out with great care, with the participation of the company's actors. This additional task is organically integrated into our daily operations. When Maladype burst onto the theatre scene in 2001, I didn't have time to build a brand because we were doing our job, because we had something to say, because we were bursting with dangerously good energy, and because the Gypsy and non-Gypsy actors found each other on stage in a euphoric performance. We were swept away by our imagination, our desire for freedom, and our courage to conspire with rebellious authors (Ionesco, Ghelderode, Sándor Weöres, Genet, Hölderlin), who offered us unusual and unexplored plays. Exploring their worlds gave focus to our energies. Only with time did I realize that many people struggled to keep up with this pace. Those who initially found our theatre-making method attractive and novel soon grew tired, became complacent, and gave up on us. They invested less and less in understanding our internal processes, analysing our performances, and developing tools for decoding them for the audience. Since it proved too complicated to engage deeply with our performances, most people pigeonholed us into some category: ritual theatre, poetic theatre, movement theatre, etc. They would show up at our performances from time to time, as if they were exclusive, elite events, but after these unidentifiable experiences, they would disappear again for a long time. Meanwhile, interest in our work grew abroad. This is how foreign festivals and theatres representing different traditions and contemporary endeavours came into the picture. We were able to establish long-term partnerships with them, based on mutual interest. But this is something that very few companies are able to achieve.

“Risk factor”

Does this mean that you have encountered greater openness towards the theatrical ideals and aesthetics that you represent abroad than you have at home?

Yes, definitely yes. Even in environments where, due to documentary theatre trends and current political events, people are almost obliged to be more sensitive to the situation in Hungary. Most recently in Switzerland, where we performed our show Great Sound in the Rush to great acclaim. It was a huge revelation for the Geneva audience that in every moment of László Sáry's "half-serious" opera – which certainly cannot be described as a work that waves everyday events like a banner or a manifestation of degenerate social processes and socially sensitive fragments – they discovered the "human factor" based on doubt, which theatre makers slowly forgot while proclaiming "certainties." It is possible to "preach" based on tribal wars and internal political battles from the stage, but the essence of theatre is still only human. It was shocking and touching to see how the elitist Swiss audience – just as the Dutch audience accustomed to “delicatesse” productions at the Holland Festival in 2011 in Amsterdam, in response to our performance of Leonce and Lena – rediscovered within themselves the primary and very personal feelings induced by the performance. It was a gigantic confirmation of everything that we at Maladype have been searching for in the concept of the "human actor" for many years.

Can you define what the company's main goal is?

The most important thing is that audiences and creators, who have somehow "drifted apart" over the past decades, once again view theatre as an entity with its own identity. I often feel that theatre makers exploit and take advantage of the rich nature of theatre, using it to further their own creative and economic interests. They degrade it into an abstract concept or commercial tool, forgetting that theatre makers were once the humble and understanding medium of the complex nervous system of theatre art. Our goal is to approach theatre in a sensitive, human way, searching for its essence. I would like our theatrical processes to continue to be defined by change and diversity in content and form, rather than by what audiences liked or what critics loved. On the contrary! We must change, refresh our existing knowledge, redesign and rethink our previous achievements; tackle new topics and find new forms. This is our primary goal.

So safe operation is not the most important thing.

No, rather the risk factor. Looking back on Maladype's seventeen years, I can say that risk has always been at the centre of our theatrical endeavours. This is why so many people of all ages and cultural backgrounds love and follow us on our unique journey. Of course, we have done a lot to achieve this with our open rehearsals and programs featuring various people of value. In order for the theatre to truly be an integrative space where theatre creators and audiences can meet, we need bold and innovative ideas that can support the practical aspects of thinking about theatre from many angles. I also think it is important that we dare to put our intuitive insights into words and share them with others.

“To make theatrical language exciting”

Why do you find this important?

Because if we don't open up, our souls will shrink. It will become increasingly difficult, and eventually impossible, to express our thoughts and creative intentions. We will not be able to find the right words, our expectations of ourselves and our partners will become unclear, we will not be able to interpret our feelings, and our instructions, which we believed to be valid, will wear away. It will turn out that we have no common concepts, we cannot refer to them; fruitful debates will be missing, so we won't be able to engage the audience in our creative processes... In this context, I also consider it the task of theatre makers to get to the bottom of certain blocked theatrical processes.

What exactly do you mean?

Representatives of Hungarian theatre arts are still pursuing the Stanislavski method, and in the meantime, they don't have time to deal with other innovations in acting pedagogy. Even though there are occasional isolated attempts to introduce other methods that have already gained acceptance in different parts of the world, these continue to be regarded as "exotic aberrations" by the guardians of Hungarian theatre traditions. This is how we miss out on innovations in puppetry and circus arts, and our theatrical compositions become increasingly schematic and predictable. To make theatrical language exciting, we need a new vocabulary, new concepts, and new interpretation strategies.

In your own endeavours, do you find it important to utilize the achievements of puppetry and circus arts?

I strive to do so wherever possible.

Can you give some examples?

In Swan Lake, staged at the Budapest Puppet Theatre, I used fans as an animation tool, which posed a serious challenge for the performers. The "transformation" of the various fans required not only sensitive acting but also technical knowledge, which the actors did not have, so for a long time the fans could not come to life, become airy, obey the various tricks, and enchant the audience. That is why I believe that theatre directors—if they have the opportunity and want to provide their company with the richest possible means of expression— should plan ahead to ensure that actors can learn new techniques in good time, in the form of workshops or practical sessions, which will enrich their acting abilities and be available to a director who is working with the team on a new production to integrate new theatrical forms and tools. Thus, it will not be the task of the designated rehearsal period to develop the actors technically and accustom them to new means of expression, but rather a joint opportunity for the director and the actors to build on their existing knowledge.

So, a richer theatrical language (and wider theatrical knowledge) would be needed.

Absolutely. I would be delighted if there was much greater professional demand and audience openness for this.

“Finding the Gold Bug”

You say that most spectators are looking for the familiar; the tried and tested. Maladype, however, goes against this expectation because it performs unusual plays in unusual ways. Although your repertoire is quite diverse too. You perform classic plays that are always in the repertoire of Hungarian theatres. One example is Richard III, which you presented in an unusual chamber theatre format directed by Sándor Zsótér. On the other hand, you introduce contemporary authors who are hardly known in Hungary, such as Matei Vişniec, whose Dada Cabaret you performed in a completely surreal way. You had a book translated that is virtually unknown here, Viktor Kravchenko's I Chose Freedom, part of which you performed as a one-man play. These are all different kinds of theatre, requiring a different kind of audience attitude every time and offering different kinds of experiences. Is there a common intention in these performances? Or is it precisely this diversity that is important to you?

We strive for a unique style of "stylelessness." I try to free us from the temptation to didactically transfer anything from previously conquered content into our upcoming performances. This kind of awareness is also related to the Gold Bug method, which is based on analytical thinking and can be used effectively by actors, teachers, and even company managers...

What is the Gold Bug method?

A full description of the method can be found on our website. The Gold Bug is the title of a short story by Edgar Allan Poe about Professor Legrand's voluntary exile and his deciphering of the external and internal characteristics of the Gold Bug he found. Thanks to his analytical thinking, the professor discovers the only route to a treasure that was once hidden on the island by pirates. The Gold Bug is therefore knowledge itself. There are important and less important signs. Those who can distinguish between them can separate the essential from the non-essential, the useful from the useless. The four stages of finding the Gold Bug are observation, inference, combination, and finally, composition. The acting pedagogy method I have developed is also based on these four steps. Since the Gold Bug method mainly induces professional discoveries based on analysis and self-observation in those who are looking for valid internal processes in line with changes in their environment and new paths towards the "terra incognita" of the future, it requires a completely different way of thinking and attitude from the training participants than what they are used to. It requires the dual synchronization of their human and professional nature, so that familiar and unexpected impulses are simultaneously present in the actors' creative strategies.

“Dada, Kravchenko”

Let's talk about some specific performances! Why did you want to stage Dada Cabaret?

I didn't. It wouldn't have occurred to me if Matei Vişniec hadn't sent me the play two years earlier. At first I put it aside, but two scenes kept bothering me, so I reread it. I realized that there was a lot of potential in the material. Matei Vişniec's instruction, which he wrote at the bottom of the copy he called "fragments of text," helped me a lot in my final decision: the director can re-edit the play according to his own Dadaist ideas! Erzsébet Kútvölgyi immediately came to mind for the role of Lenin - she's someone I had long wanted to work with. She had seen our production of School for Fools years ago, which prompted her to change her mind about leaving the profession, much to everyone's delight. Studying the character of Lenin, I felt that it required an actress with a "predatory nature," similar to Ilona Béres as Kronos in my production of Theomachia or Andrea Ladányi as Vergilius in Dante's Inferno. There are actresses who do not feed on salad leaves. The Dada Cabaret really stirred my Dadaist imagination, and I also saw an opportunity to use the character of Tristan Tzara to carry out a kind of “cleaning out” of the “theatrical relics” that had accumulated over the years. I was able to think through the period from 1914–16 to the present day, all kinds of isms, and the artistic and human endeavours of various eras. In Dada Cabaret, as in another Vişniec play I staged at Chicago's Trap Door Theatre (How to explain the history of communism to mental patients) or in the one-man play based on Viktor Kravchenko's bestseller, I was interested in the metamorphosis of freedom. The murderous nature of utopian and dystopian games. The responsibility of the individual and the community. The mechanisms of manipulation. Dadaism helped me get rid of a lot of unnecessary things that I had been carrying around for years. That's why I got rid of my previous repertoire, and that's why, after Judit Gombár's death, I started designing the performance spaces for my shows myself. At the same time, it was a great opportunity to work with Gábor Gábriel Farkas and his band, so that the actors of the company could try themselves at a completely new field, which meant learning, mastering, and representing the criteria of musical theatre at a high level.

And why did you want to adapt Kravchenko's book to the stage?

Because it was something I needed to get off my chest. Because of my childhood, my upbringing, my grandparents. Where I come from, freedom was a fragile national value, but a strong family value. The dilemma that Kravchenko's father expresses as "We are either pigs or people" deeply shaped my attitude toward freedom. I sought out Viktor Kravchenko's book after reading an interview with Ariane Mnouchkine, who mentioned this work among the five most important books of her life. Mnouchkine's credibility and the title of the work—I Chose Freedom—twisted together inside me like a double helix of DNA, and I couldn't rest until, thanks to my persistent colleagues, we found Andrew Kravchenko, the author's only living son. We managed to obtain the rights and have Péter Konok translate the work, and then I was able to make my own adaptation from the original 866-page book. Viktor's story wanted to be told through me, and I was happy to interpret it. Each performance—including guest performances across the border and in Washington—is a special inner journey, because it cannot be performed any other way than personally, in the first-person singular. It is not only for those who survived that era, but also for young people who can relate the events in the book to the social and human events that shape our everyday lives and the increasingly distorted political processes. It is my intellectual duty and responsibility to tell Viktor's story and to speak out in my "one-man manifesto" against phenomena that seem to be repeating themselves.

“Richard III”

Why did you want to present Richard III?

Sándor Zsótér was interested in the play and the anatomy of power, and I was interested in the character's flexibility, his intellectual modulation, and the unique technique with which the Duke of Gloucester is able to infiltrate other people's minds without them noticing... Ede Szigligeti's 130-year-old translation contributed greatly to this undertaking, where the plasticity of ideas, the skilfulness of the wording, and the sophisticated packaging of words open up completely new channels for both actors and viewers, which is further enhanced by the intimate, direct space created by Maladype Base. These circumstances relieve me of any responsibility associated with the stereotypical character of Richard III; I don't have to be evil or use various medical aids in my performance. Thankfully Zsótér did not burden me with such things, so the rehearsal process was very liberating. The last time I had such a great rehearsal experience was with Tim Caroll in the production of Hamlet. Sándor saw that performance several times and loved it. Perhaps it was due to this experience that we took on Richard III. I hadn't acted for a long time, and if I hadn't come across Kravchenko's book, I wouldn't have returned to the stage as an actor. But I trust Sándor so much that I know he knows what he wants to direct and why, and that there is a reason behind his casting. I am happy to be playing in his directorial concept, because an important condition of my acting is giving, reflecting the thoughts and intentions of my partners like a solar panel. As an actor, it is a serious challenge to exist almost imperceptibly and carry out my agenda. When we were rehearsing and looking for the source of the ugliness and deformity of Richard, the character I play, we realized that compared to a soap bubble, which is the most perfect form, everyone, even the most beautiful woman or man, is a gnome. So, we identified points of reference that shift the familiar emphases elsewhere.

“I didn't want to be an actor at such a price”

Why didn't you want to act for a while?

Because I had some bad experiences after Hamlet. And I have really good actors in Maladype...

What kind of bad experiences?

I participated in plays and performances where I didn't feel the kind of creativity, personality, courage, and risk factor that Tim Caroll's Hamlet opened up for me and which I experienced during its performances. I noticed that even though I was given an important role, one with which I could easily find common ground, during rehearsals Treplev or Macheath began to realize the directors' ideas and expectations, squeezing out the personality of Zoli Balázs. Let me give you an example. During rehearsals for The Seagull, I asked the director to allow me, Zoli Balázs, who was often called a “theatrical daredevil” at the time, and whom he had rightly chosen for the role of Treplev, a character searching for new forms, to direct Nina's theatrical performance, in which she bursts into flames during the play, in the way I thought about theatre at the time. But I was not given the opportunity. I am convinced that I will fight for my truth differently if Treplev's character is covered by Zoli Balázs's rebellious personality and unconventional theatrical thinking. Whether it's good or bad, I take responsibility for it, I will fight for Treplev's truth until my last breath. I will rebel against my mother, Arkadina, and I will fight for my love, Nina. Since the director would not allow it, I had only one option left: as Zoli Balázs, I assisted the director in realizing his theatrical ideal for Treplev, which had nothing to do with my own theatrical ideas. This way I couldn't stand behind the Treplev problem the way I wanted to. As a result, the character's dangerousness, personal rage, and the radicalism of his actions and words were missing from the performance. Zoli Balázs was pushed into the background, and Treplev became dull and harmless. I had the same problem when, in the same performance, I wanted to knock Trigorin down on stage as Treplev, but the director stopped the scene and steered the situation in a non-conflictual direction, saying: Treplev wouldn't do that... I didn't read such an instruction in Chekhov, and I would have considered the conflict valuable in terms of the relationship between the two characters and their shared story, but this went beyond what the director had imagined for the role. I would have let the role emerge from me, but this remained only a possibility... After Hamlet, it was very difficult for me as an actor to take on less personal roles. I felt that I didn't want to be an actor at such a price. In the meantime, Maladype had become a great company of actors with whom we did groundbreaking performances (Leonce and Lena, Egg(s)hell, King Ubu, etc.), and I focused all my energy on them; I didn't miss acting at all. In light of this, I consider it an even more wonderful gift that I can play Richard III today.

But am I right in thinking that you don't play the role of Kravchenko, you rather say his words?

Well, I exist. I hope so. There are no special effects...

Actually, it's just the text that matters, isn't it?

Yes, it is.

Not the character behind it.

The issue that I want to represent during the performances is his problem. When I embark on the nearly two-and-a-half-hour journey, I strive to have an agenda with the story, myself, and the audience. This commitment organizes my evening, whether it's Kravchenko or Richard. It is important not to push myself in front of the text, but also not to fall behind. It requires a very good sense of proportion and a wide-ranging, relaxed attention, a constant connection with internal and external events.

“I am angry, not frustrated”

Aren't you frustrated with the current state of theatre?

I am angry, not frustrated, because of the constant struggle to survive. Very angry. I feel that our situation is unfair, and I am outraged that none of our achievements at home or abroad are of any value to those who confidently decide our fate. There are many people and companies in the same shoes, and everyone tries to remain faithful to their own chosen values; there is no other point of reference. Perhaps this harsh situation makes it easier to attract like-minded creators with similar values.

István Sándor L., Ellenfény, 2017

Translated by Lena Megyeri