- It seems to me that over the past decade, you have intentionally shaped the program, artistic concept, and your own career at the Maladype Theatre, having a clear vision of where you wanted to go. It's as though you embarked on a staircase, where each step had to be reached to arrive at the highest level. Is high awareness truly a characteristic of yours, or is it just the impression I get as an outside observer?

- I see it similarly, with the difference that when we started (my career preceded the debut of Maladype), we didn’t have the awareness. The team, which didn’t even have a name back then, experienced the encounter as an uninhibited adventure. After the success of our first work, Jack or the Submission, we found the name "Maladype."

"Maladype" is a Romani (Luri) word meaning "encounter."

- It precisely expresses the experience that brought us together and connected us through our shared playing. Our next performance, The School for Fools, was already performed under the name "Maladype Troupe" and was also successful. From there, the process could not be stopped—it was a story that wrote itself. From the coincidences and adventures, a more and more conscious theatrical thought emerged. I couldn't ignore the fact that the role of leader/guide increasingly demanded a more responsible attitude from me. Over time, as The Blacks was completed, more and more people joined us—civilians, critics, theatre people—who were watching our activities with growing interest. We couldn’t ignore the demands that came with this, which required more, more sophisticated, and unexpected things from the troupe.

- Is this connected to why you chose only works that did not fit, or barely fit, into the Hungarian theatrical tradition for a long time? I’m thinking of authors like Ionesco, Ghelderode, Genet, as well as Sándor Weöres’s Theomachia, Hölderlin’s Empedocles, or Wyspiański’s The Acropolis.

- There was no pre-established approach for these authors and their works in Hungary. It’s a bit of a cliché now, but still true, as Weöres Sándor pointed out, that our task is to make the invisible dimension of literary material, like drama, visible. This is a huge challenge because you have to create theatre behind it. Weöres didn’t give us any instructions in Theomachia; we only had the grand flow of words and thoughts, from which we had to extract the story and formulate its essence both visually and acoustically. The mentioned plays posed challenges to the troupe that required actors, directors, and creative partners with intuitive abilities and resources.

- The need for conscious thinking, mentioned earlier, might also require the occasional need for retrospection and summarizing. The troupe’s anniversary offers a good opportunity for this, with screenings, book launches, and gala nights that recall the first ten years of Maladype. How do you see what you have achieved over the past years? How close have you come to realizing your goal? Let’s look at the two ends: on one side, the debut works Jack or the Submission and The School for Fools, and on the other side, the performances created in the last three to four years, which are still on the repertoire.

- Let those who watch our works decide where we are. One thing I’m sure of—we’re still far from the goal. A few years ago, Orsolya Kővári asked me in an interview if there was a performance in my future plans that I absolutely wanted to create. I answered—and I can’t say anything else today—that there is an author, a play, a desired performance in my head, and there are actors who may someday reach the knowledge and quality required for that particular performance. But until then, we have to build the path leading there with enormous patience, concentration, consistency, and painstaking, hard work—the very staircase you mentioned at the beginning of our conversation. The most important thing is that I have constant playmates—first and foremost the actors and my collaborators—who work with great devotion, persistence, and commitment.

- How do you avoid the story becoming insular? To what extent do external impulses influence your work?

- External impulses, on the one hand, refresh our way of thinking; on the other hand, they make us uncertain and question everything we’ve done up to that point. This forces the whole troupe to formulate new, powerful, and valid answers. Everything that touches us is there to shake us up, refresh us, and push us to rethink the directions, intentions, and goals that have shaped our work until now. If necessary, we’ll erase everything in one motion and head in the opposite direction. We cannot exclude the concept of change from the workings of Maladype because, without it, what we’re doing would not just become insular but barren, dead, and sterile. That’s exactly why I asked Sándor Zsótér to work with the troupe three times, and why I invited Italian director Claudio Collova to direct Woyzeck—because I wanted to avoid insularity.

- In addition to directors, we should also mention actors who have worked with the troupe as guests: Ilona Béres appeared in Theomachia, Mari Törőcsik in The Marriage of Figaro, and Andrea Ladányi in In Inferno.

- It’s a great feeling that those artists who are already icons in their own field are happy to come to Maladype to perform. They trust the whole troupe, Sanyi and me, unconditionally, and are fresh and open, willing to take risks. Maladype actors learn a lot from them, and we deeply appreciate it that they like and respect our work.

- What factors determine your choice of plays, beyond ensuring they’re optimal for the troupe’s functioning?

- The theme of the play primarily determines my choice. While compiling the anniversary publication, I realized that almost every play I’ve done revolves around the same theme, with the same questions recurring. Over and over again, I explore the relationship between the collective spirit of the community and the identity of the individual; in Theomachia, it’s through Kronos and the curates, in King Ubu, it’s through Ubu papa and his surroundings, and in Inferno, it’s through Dante and the damned souls' relationships with each other.

- The same applies to Ostrovsky's The Tempest, which, in contrast to your previous choices, is a realist drama.

- I picked The Tempest because for years it was pointed out to me that I wasn’t able to tell a linear story. The play’s everyday, gradually unfolding story wouldn’t have been enough on its own to satisfy me, so I tried to capture the essence of the story by transposing the main motif and climactic moment from László Németh’s Villámfénynél into Ostrovsky’s family drama, where the characters’ lives are briefly illuminated by a flash of lightning. Together with set designer Judit Gombár, we placed the story in a studio set: a ramp steeply rising before a vast painted panorama with doors cut at odd angles, evoking Russian Constructivist artists. Although the roles were developed using Stanislavsky’s psychorealistic method, the moving lights of cranes and trolleycars continuously flashing across the “studio” acted as a sobering effect on the actors’ presence—the machines, which illuminated the scenes up close, became another source of tension for the already agitated and confused characters. Ostrovsky’s "protected heroes" could thus never truly be alone. This Brechtian effect was amplified by the initial parallel, later disjointed use of Leos Janáček’s opera Katia Kabanova, where music and text almost came into Beckett-like contact.

- As an artistic director and director, you naturally have a strong influence on Maladype’s performances. But how do your actors affect you? Do you see them as co-creators, or more as executors of your concept?

- On one hand, as children whose essence is play, and on the other hand, as co-creators. A special relationship has developed between us: they are both my “children” and my friends. Of course, they don’t always agree with me, and we often argue, but this is essential within the troupe’s work. My job is to understand them and help in their development.

- I imagine that it’s not easy for your actors to adapt to your directing methods, at least they have to shed many things and rethink their approach. You’ve often said—and you alluded to it again—that your actors need to rediscover their childlike selves, the unrestrained joy of play. What kind of presence, attitude, and mental (and perhaps even physical) condition does this require of them?

- There’s no place for actors who seek an easy adventure, no matter how talented they are. Maladype demands basic abilities, professional knowledge, and proficiency from its actors, just like any other troupe, but our actors must also possess certain additional qualities. If an actor doesn’t want to constantly renew, change, and eagerly and greedily "attack" topics, tasks, situations, they’ll "starve" here. Most actors are set up for comfortable acting, so they use rehearsals mainly to fortify themselves with tools that ensure their safety.

- However, the opposite is happening at your company.

- At Maladype, the most important thing is that the actor creates their own safety in their head and prepares for unexpected situations during rehearsals. However, there is no single possible alternative or solution; the actor must always find and choose the most appropriate one. Their choice must never come from panic; panic must be completely eliminated from their performance. During rehearsals, they must prepare for the possible appearance of new and unknown elements. Let me give an example: in Egg(s)Hell, accidents can happen just like in any moment of our lives: an egg could break, someone could fall off a chair, the performers could accidentally hit each other, but the actor's reaction cannot be panic-stricken. It's similar to when a parent is watching their child on a playground, and suddenly the child falls off the swing. If panic appears on the parent's face, the child will become scared and start crying. But if the parent smiles, the child calms down. The same applies to the actor, who, if they can accurately perceive the reactions of their environment and publicly accept their failures, even think them through and incorporate them into their performance, will be successful; if not, they will become tense and full of anxiety. The gesture of generosity is essential in the functioning of Maladype. I must be generous with everything—my own vulnerability, my mistakes, my successful or unsuccessful solutions. This is all me. This is who I am.

- Your thought leads to the concept of the human actor, which is one of the foundations of your work.

- We tend to forget that actors were first human beings, and moreover, children, who for some reason longed to become actors. We have to return to that state, break down bad habits, shatter the idol of vanity, and rebuild the person in front of the audience's eyes. This, of course, is not simple and requires a special spiritual disposition and mindset. Most actors do not trust the power of spoken words; they want to assist the audience's illusion by expressing their emotions more forcefully. Yet, tension is not revealed in the moment of speaking the words, but before or after it. I am not worried about whether I can say the word "I love you" to someone, but whether they will respond with what I want to hear.

- You mentioned Egg(s)Hell, which was first performed in December 2008 at the Thália Theatre Studio. Many have tried to describe the play in various ways, including references to movement theatre and physical theatre. Undoubtedly, the play is unique in your efforts, yet it directly follows from Leonce and Lena. How would you define the kind of wordless acting you employed in Egg(s)Hell, using music, dance movements, and improvisation?

- Egg(s)Hell is a complex system, a series of exercises, and a set of possibilities that utilize and exhaust the acting abilities I’ve mentioned before. It doesn't want to tell a story, it doesn't want to be an "explanatory" performance. There, and then, as the art of the moment, it tries to dissolve into the joy of playing. The new members, Erika Tankó, Judit Ligeti Kovács, and Zénó Faragó, worked for a year before performing their first show. You can’t just step into Egg(s)Hell. The hardest part of this performance is that you have to notice when someone, at the same time as you, offers something stronger, and you must not be afraid of giving it up. An actor is inherently exhibitionist and self-actualizing, living for "me, me, and me." But here, we need "you, you, and you." This is just one example, but from this, you can already sense how much self-discipline and concentration this performance demands. There’s no recipe for it, so after the performance, I can’t tell the actors, “You should have done this or that...” We can only talk about possibilities and optimal solutions. Egg(s)Hell is like drawing a tree, which is destroyed after the performance ends, but the next day, we draw it again, and maybe it will be much smaller or more robust. Leonce and Lena, Egg(s)Hell, and later performances didn't come out of nowhere. If those incredibly strong, uniquely structured, unusual texts hadn't existed, those reflective thoughts that required distinct external and internal formulations, we wouldn’t have been able to loosen up and lighten our acting, and we wouldn't have been able to build this troupe.

- Staying with Egg(s)Hell, how does the composition and improvisation relate to each other in the play?

- There’s no composition. There are very difficult and precise exercises that I put together, but what happens in the moment, or how the partner reacts at any given time, cannot be predicted. Take, for example, the chair game, which everyone thinks is choreographed. It’s not. You can’t perform it the same way twice. It’s the same with the music; the actors don’t know what comes next, so they always have to be ready for quick changes.

- Leonce and Lena offers more scene variations rather than fixed scenes, and it seems there was a sharper shift in the company’s functioning around it. Can we talk about a standstill or crisis in connection with that?

- No, it was a completely conscious change, preceded by a horseback riding accident that kept me bedridden for three months. By then, I knew I had to make Leonce and Lena, as it was a troupe play that raised many generational, gender, and identity issues, which the members of the troupe needed to think about and discuss. I asked myself why I shouldn't show the audience what I think is most exciting in the actor's work? The moments when, in rehearsals, the actor brings out their most creative abilities. And so, the performance was born, in which the audience gets a glimpse of the actor's true workings by not seeing a single fixed, director-approved version but several variations of a scene on any given night. I believe a much fresher and more truthful Leonce came to life this way than if we had only locked in a single version.

- But this solution involved serious risks.

- We’ve performed it 86 times so far, and it has been very successful at several foreign venues. The possibility of new adventures has always strongly inspired me. I could have created eras for each performance, but I immediately moved on because I didn’t want to preserve it. That’s why my work might be hard to "pin down." I know that some critics withdrew back then because I didn’t give enough time. If I had done three more shows like The Blacks, they might have stayed with me. But I didn’t have the time for that. I decided early on that I would walk my own path and not try to please anyone. Of course, partners are needed for this, because no matter what I come up with, if they don’t accompany me on the journey, it won’t work. Everything that the actors have learned, whether in Egg(s)Hell or Leonce, is just the foundation for what they need to use in the upcoming Don Carlos/Egmont. We’ve reached a turning point, so we’ll be exploring different directions, but everything we’ve considered important so far will continue to accompany us: playfulness, directness, the everyday tone, and the presence of the human actor.

- How do you approach Schiller’s and Goethe's works Don Carlos and Egmont?

- I don’t want to tell Don Carlos and Egmont as a classical story. I want to examine the case of Carlos and Egmont in a trial setting. This idea came from the rehearsal process of Platonov and the Miskolc camp, which we also closed with a trial. Very strong arguments were made both for and against the rebuilding and complete dismantling of a factory system. Some performed well as actors but weren’t convincing, while others were excellent at arguing, but poor actors. The actors of Maladype must attempt to create a new form of play in which intellectual and emotional "manipulation" come together. The audience will watch the outcome of the case as if they were members of the jury.

- We’ve already mentioned that Maladype signifies an encounter, and indeed, the history of the troupe can be described as a story of encounters. But I would add one more word: dialogue, because you are constantly in dialogue with each other, with your creative partners, with the plays, and, of course—and perhaps most importantly—with the audience.

- I hope that we can take a step further in this communication. Many civilian experts are now joining our work, people knowledgeable in law, constitutional issues, and the media. The audience will increasingly participate in rehearsals, with a larger scope and presence. Earlier, during the public rehearsals of King Ubu, the audience could actively observe every aspect of the creation process. Most recently, in In Inferno, civilian participants embodied the "sinful souls."

- Why do you think the constant presence and participation of the audience in the performance is so important?

- Because I love the audience. I trust them. Just as the actor is always right, so is the audience. An unwritten contract has been formed between us regarding something we call theatre.
The Mikszáth Square Base, where you’ve been working since 2009, seems particularly suitable for such an intense dialogue with the audience. You perform Lorenzaccio and The Marriage of Figaro there, and King Ubu was created there. How do the theatre spaces affect your directing work? Currently, your performances are seen in three main venues: the Base, the Thália Theatre Studio, and Trafó.

- They have a very strong influence. I was eager to finally work in spaces that weren’t sterile, enclosed theatrical spaces, surrounded by artificial lights and barriers. I wanted to stage works where actors and audiences could meet directly in an exchange of energy. The spaces we use offer a new kind of theatre experience: one that isn’t mediated by illusion or separation, but one where everyone works together in a common sphere.

- Let’s not forget that you also started as an actor. You played Romeo, Tuzenbach in The Three Sisters, Bicska Maxi in The Beggar’s Opera, and János Szász assigned you the role of Treplev in The Seagull. Important roles found you, but I believe the turning point was the title role in Tim Carroll's Hamlet production, which radically broke with previous theatrical stereotypes in staging the play. It is no small matter that you received the Gábor Miklós Prize for this role, but what’s much more important is how it influenced your directing work and later productions. What experiences did you gain from that work?

- For example, the experience I gained in Hamlet was very significant during the staging of Leonce and Lena. I got to experience firsthand, with my own body and nervous system, how limitless the actor’s communication tools are. There was one Hamlet performance where I stopped in the middle of a monologue and asked for a break from the audience because my brain was exhausted. That can’t happen—the actor must not stop because their job is to stay in the moment and finish the performance, no matter what. But I couldn’t continue because I would have been lying. I sat down for two minutes, went through the thought process in my head, and reconstructed the monologue word by word. There was stunned silence, and my partners were "shocked," as they weren’t prepared for something like that. It was only on my way home that I realized what I had done. I realized that I had been "interested" in solving Hamlet’s problem; I had truly used my brain, not just pretended to, and that’s why I was exhausted and needed to stop. I had normal symptoms because the actor, and the role they represent, is fragile, vulnerable, and easily fatigued—it can easily "drain." The actors of Maladype also stop during performances and tell the audience if something isn’t right inside. I am convinced that the audience is much more likely to embrace this type of actor than one who constantly shows that everything is fine.

- Let’s return to the current situation! Maintaining an independent company and securing the necessary funds has not been easy in recent years, and it is an even greater challenge now. Recently, the Performing Arts Act was amended, creating three main funding categories: national, prominent, and other. How does this affect your operation?

- That’s hard to predict. We automatically fall into the "other" category, the "scraps," which is essentially doomed to die. We can propose our classification, but if I were to put Maladype into the prominent category—nationally, it’s clearly not possible—the curators can override that, and the final decision is with the minister. Right now, the entire Hungarian cultural life is in a trap. It saddens me that a country is consuming and then spitting out its intellectual resources.

- What can be done in this situation? How can you ensure the survival of the troupe?

- Maybe we can count on some sponsors. But the most important thing is the loyalty of the audience. I still see opportunities in co-productions and foreign guest performances.

- If I understand correctly, you are focusing on creating more performances and taking on more guest appearances.

- Yes, you understood that perfectly. It’s all about work, nothing else. I don’t like to complain because so many others are doing it. Why should our voice be the one they hear?

- Does the constant struggle for survival consume a significant amount of your energy?

- It would be better if I didn’t have to deal with it, but I have no choice. One must work hard for their freedom.

- As the artistic director, you lead the work of Maladype. How much do your own artistic ambitions take a backseat? Do your personal directing goals still shine through behind Maladype’s work?

- They must be visible because I "stimulate" this team. My philosophy shapes Maladype’s operations. If I didn’t stay at least ten to twenty steps ahead of the actors, I couldn’t function as either a company leader or a director.

- Now, as we speak, Maladype is reflecting on its ten-year history. Do you see another ten years ahead for yourself and the troupe? What are the prospects, and how do you imagine the future?

- I can imagine anything, including the possibility that we won’t have another ten years. We might move forward, but we might also get stuck in a rut. One thing is certain: we must continue our work as we have, and our path will reveal itself.

Gábor Ménesi, Műút, 2012

Translation by Zsuzsanna Juraszek