“Old sins cast long shadows”
“Lockdown is also good for turning inward and taking stock”
Zoltán Balázs, recipient of the Jászai Mari Prize, actor and director, was born in Cluj-Napoca. He was twelve years old when, after the Romanian Revolution, his family relocated to Hungary. He is the founder and director of the internationally renowned Maladype Theatre. Recently, his production of Gombrowicz’s Yvonne premiered at the Fészek Artists’ Club, but the coronavirus pandemic affected them severely as well. We also asked the artist whether, in the current crisis situation, new forms of rapprochement might begin within the deeply divided theatre profession. Is there any chance for positive change?
– When we arranged this interview two weeks ago, we were still living in a different world. Since then, the coronavirus epidemic has exploded here as well, and the government was among the first to close theatres. How has this affected the Maladype company?
– In January we premiered Gombrowicz’s Yvonne at the Fészek. We do not know when we will be able to perform it again. Several domestic and international guest performances have been canceled. Moreover, I was supposed to fly to Chicago now to direct Witkiewicz’s The Water Hen in the American stronghold of avant-garde theatre. But that too has been postponed.
– How long can you survive without income?
– We have already received our additional subsidy from the Ministry of Human Capacities, and we also had a small amount of savings left, so we can survive from our reserves until the end of May. Until then, the salaries of the company members are secured. What will happen afterward, I do not know. During nearly twenty years of Maladype’s existence, we have almost always been in financially grueling situations. We have grown used to needing various backup plans. But the ability to solve problems quickly is also essential if we want to move forward. Theatre must always be prepared for change.
– Yet misfortune has been hitting you repeatedly lately. Last April you lost your permanent venue, your base on Mikszáth Kálmán Square. What happened?
– We had rented a bourgeois apartment there for eight years, where we could host fifty spectators. Last April I was directing abroad while the company was on tour. They came home to find our base flooded with water; all our sets, costumes, and technical equipment were destroyed. Officially, the flooding was caused by “the negligence of another resident.” Since we lost everything and essentially became homeless, we could no longer perform 70 percent of the productions in our repertoire. Unfortunately, we also had to part ways with some of our actors.
– I imagine that was the hardest part.
– That is always the hardest part, though by now I have become experienced in letting go. The first time it truly affected me was in 2004, when we had to part from the Roma members of our company. To understand this, one has to know that Maladype was founded in 2001 after Dragan Ristic, a Serbian producer, approached me about staging Ionesco’s Jack, or the Submission at the Roma Parliament with Roma and non-Roma actors. Before that, he had asked several directors, but no one accepted because of the task’s “exotic” nature. At the time, I was still a university student studying acting and directing. They told Ristic that I would be his man because I was willing to take on any kind of madness. And so it happened. Our first production was such a success that we immediately embarked on the next one, which brought further acclaim. Suddenly I realized I was directing a theatre company, even though I had never had such ambitions. I very much wanted our Roma actors to remain with us because they were incredibly talented, but their own environment pulled them back. They were accused of “becoming white,” “turning gadjo,” being traitors. They were forced to choose between their families and Maladype.
– Currently Maladype consists of six young actors who graduated in Târgu Mureș. How did you find them?
– Two years ago I was invited to the University of the Arts there to direct a graduation production for the acting class. During the rehearsal process we grew so fond of one another that after they graduated I signed the entire class. Earlier I had already developed the FIVE GATES theatre-methodology and pedagogical system, which can help rediscover the foundations of acting creation. The Târgu Mureș group also became my permanent test group.
– Budapest mayor Gergely Karácsony promised assistance to troubled theatres in the capital, but he did not mention independent companies. Do you think that is fair?
– Not at all. We too are one of the defining companies of Budapest’s theatre life. Our international reputation extends from Asia to America, and everywhere we represent Hungarian progressive theatre culture. We do this without permanent state or municipal support. Although it has often been emphasized that there would be broad professional consultations with independent companies, this has not happened so far — or at least I know nothing about it. Spiritually speaking, we are absolutely independent: we have committed ourselves neither to the right nor the left, we are under no pressure to conform, and we do not follow fashionable trends. At the same time, within the theatre structure, the term “independent” has no real meaning. We are in fact highly dependent on grants, decision-makers, and current government regulations.
– Another thing has shaken our theatre life recently: yet another scandal involving abuse of power. Several former and current colleagues accused Enikő Eszenyi, director of the Vígszínház Theatre, of psychological abuse and physical aggression. What do you think about this?
– Enikő also asked me to support her application for the director’s position, which I did before the scandal broke. I supported her because I consider her an exceptionally talented artist, and her efforts to renew the Vígszínház are undeniable facts. It is also not insignificant for us that when our company was in trouble, she was among the first to offer us help — something very few others did, and if they did, it came with conditions attached. Like Gábor Máté, I do not wish to participate in Enikő’s lynching, but I agree that the matter must be thoroughly investigated, because neither psychological nor physical abuse is acceptable in any environment, including theatre. If these things did happen, there must be consequences. Enikő resigned, and the Vígszínház will soon receive a new leader. Yet there is another aspect to this issue as well: the responsibility of the company itself and of professional advocacy organizations. It is incomprehensible how, parallel with the rise of the #MeToo movement, such serious professional and human grievances could remain hidden for so long.
– You know as well as anyone that advocacy organizations do not function properly. What should an actor do? Confront the director? The next day they probably will not need to come in anymore.
– We too were members of the Independent Performing Arts Association, but in 2005, together with other companies, we withdrew because we felt they did not represent our interests. However, we never remained silent about the grievances we suffered. Ilona Béres once told me that in the most vulnerable moments of an actor’s career, proper communication and style were their most important weapons. That is why it matters greatly by what means a director achieves that an actor extends the director’s creative intentions on stage. Through force and violence? Or through professional preparedness? And what is permitted in a theatre also depends on the given social and cultural environment.
– You have traveled widely around the world. Did you find that abuses of power are rarer in theatres in more democratic countries?
– No, in fact perhaps they are even more common. Many people think artistic freedom means they can allow themselves anything. But, for example, professional advocacy organizations in Romania and France are much stronger.
– You also studied in Paris under theatre masters such as Robert Wilson and Anatoly Vasiliev. At Budapest’s Bárka Theatre, the renowned British director Tim Carroll invited you to play Hamlet. Were these great masters aggressive too?
– I never heard them shout, nor even raise their voices. Yet they were fully capable of realizing their artistic intentions. All three were highly conceptual creators who knew exactly what they wanted. As both an actor and a director, I received the greatest freedom from them.
– You also lead a company. How would you characterize your own leadership style?
– You should really ask my actors about that. Ever since the #MeToo campaign, they constantly “photograph” me during rehearsals. They mean it as a joke — but not entirely. They observe me more sharply now, and I too have to pay greater attention to what I say and how I say it. I am not an aggressive director, but I am determined and energetic.
– Lockdown is also good for turning inward and taking stock. What should theatres use this forced pause for?
– We should rethink those bad professional and moral reflexes that seriously hinder the unfolding of artistic innovation. One of our biggest problems is the lack of professional investment. Students at art universities are not very interested in learning the traditions of their profession or understanding the storm-raising achievements of earlier great masters and stage innovators — let alone developing those ideas further. Above all, they learn how to maneuver and succeed. Whom it is advantageous to befriend.
– Do not be unfair! Most beginning actors are not welcomed with contracts, and due to overtraining they rightly fear that anyone can be replaced at any time.
– I do not blame young people at all, but facts remain facts. The theatre profession has many old debts and sins that finally need to be confronted. Because, as Poirot says in Agatha Christie’s novel: old sins cast long shadows.
– What sins does the theatre profession have?
– For example, ignorance, the lack of fundamental professional knowledge, and the indifference of actors and directors. I once met an actor already active in the profession who not only did not know Zoltán Latinovits, but had never even heard of Mari Törőcsik. Few know who Antal Németh, György Harag, István Paál, or Erzsébet Gaál were. Directors do not read enough; most of them — with due respect to the exceptions — have dramaturgs tell them the plot of the play, and then they project that onto the stage. I also consider the absence of true masters a sin. Artistic training classes are often led by teachers who, because of their own work, barely have time to attend classes. In reality, the students are taught by assistant instructors — professionally still boys and girls in their twenties and thirties. Yet students would need experienced masters who continuously support their development.
– You have already spoken about your foreign masters. Did you have Hungarian ones as well?
– Role models, yes. Before the Academy of Dramatic Arts I was a studio trainee at the old National Theatre. I could observe up close how actors like Gábor Agárdy, Ferenc Bessenyei, Ferenc Kállai, Margit Lukács, or Klári Tolnay rehearsed. At the National Theatre it became customary to subject young actors to initiation rituals. For example, during a performance, one of the great actors would try backstage to throw the self-conscious young extras off balance or make them laugh. Nine out of ten laughed back in order to win the favor of the giants. I told myself: “If I can endure this without laughing, I will stay in the profession.” It was not easy, but I endured it, and they respected me for it. As an actor, I always hated being exploited. If I enthusiastically improvise during rehearsal and show a director various versions of a scene, and then ask which version should remain, and all the director can say is: “Hmm, I don’t know.” That “I don’t know” is the death of cooperation between actor and director. A director must know what the goals of their concept are and what acting solutions serve them.
– And what can a young director do if the theatre manager comes in and rearranges the production?
– For example, refuse to allow the production to be presented under their name. If someone had done that to me when I was starting out, I certainly would have stood up immediately and gone public.
– Many people would accuse you of victim-blaming now.
– I merely claim that we are always capable of making decisions, and if we give that up, that is when we become victims. There is no contract obliging a director to agree to someone else rearranging their work. The problem in many cases is that creators are afraid, they want at all costs to seize the opportunity offered to them, and they do not know their rights. Just as audiences are not aware of their possibilities either — for example, that they have the right to artistic performance based on real knowledge and quality.
– What should a spectator do if they do not like a performance?
– Nowadays there are many forums where they can publish their opinions and tell acquaintances not to watch a bad production. Of course, it is not that simple. The spectator finally gets to the theatre, pays for the ticket, and sits down thinking: “I have five minutes — now show me catharsis!” Then they note with disappointment that it did not happen, but never mind, maybe next time. Yet in theatre there is no “next time.” There is only here and now. That is why every moment should be treated according to its own value. This is why we consider it important that spectators play an active role in our productions and that we talk with audiences after performances.
– In Yvonne, for example, someone is selected from the audience, invited onto the stage, and suddenly realizes they are the title character of the play. Is that not tricking the spectator?
– Why would it be? The spectator has countless opportunities to decide: whether to come onto the stage or not, whether to sit back down or remain there. They participate only in what they want to participate in. Perhaps the fact that no one has regretted joining the game so far, and no one has accused us of violating them, proves us right.
– Returning to lockdown: in this crisis situation we also see many examples of professional and social solidarity. In the deeply divided theatre world, is there a chance for rapprochement and positive change?
– There has to be. But in order to reorder our relationships and common tasks, all of us must give up something: our egos. This ego feeds within us the feeling of superiority and the temptation to judge others. In the name of theatre and in its interests, many things can be committed. Even humiliating and exploiting others while saying: “We are serving the sacred cause of theatre.” Or accepting that some people designate mandatory ideological points of orientation for others. Or accepting that the self-appointed Kelemen Mikes’ of our age send us messages from their voluntary exile about how we should behave properly. Or allowing narcissistic commentators to arrogantly make declarations in the name of theatre. We tolerate the fact that some feel entitled to call the actors of the nation cowards. Even though these wonderful artists — our national treasures — stood firm in historical eras we cannot even imagine, and still preserved their professional and human credibility. We should learn from them. If we truly want to reach common ground, we must not act out of anger or hunt for momentary success. We should rethink where we come from and where we are going, what values we wish to represent and convey in the name of theatre.
Zsuzsanna Sándor, 168 Óra, 2020
translated by: Zsuzsanna Juraszek
Zoltán Balázs, recipient of the Jászai Mari Prize, actor and director, was born in Cluj-Napoca. He was twelve years old when, after the Romanian Revolution, his family relocated to Hungary. He is the founder and director of the internationally renowned Maladype Theatre. Recently, his production of Gombrowicz’s Yvonne premiered at the Fészek Artists’ Club, but the coronavirus pandemic affected them severely as well. We also asked the artist whether, in the current crisis situation, new forms of rapprochement might begin within the deeply divided theatre profession. Is there any chance for positive change?
– When we arranged this interview two weeks ago, we were still living in a different world. Since then, the coronavirus epidemic has exploded here as well, and the government was among the first to close theatres. How has this affected the Maladype company?
– In January we premiered Gombrowicz’s Yvonne at the Fészek. We do not know when we will be able to perform it again. Several domestic and international guest performances have been canceled. Moreover, I was supposed to fly to Chicago now to direct Witkiewicz’s The Water Hen in the American stronghold of avant-garde theatre. But that too has been postponed.
– How long can you survive without income?
– We have already received our additional subsidy from the Ministry of Human Capacities, and we also had a small amount of savings left, so we can survive from our reserves until the end of May. Until then, the salaries of the company members are secured. What will happen afterward, I do not know. During nearly twenty years of Maladype’s existence, we have almost always been in financially grueling situations. We have grown used to needing various backup plans. But the ability to solve problems quickly is also essential if we want to move forward. Theatre must always be prepared for change.
– Yet misfortune has been hitting you repeatedly lately. Last April you lost your permanent venue, your base on Mikszáth Kálmán Square. What happened?
– We had rented a bourgeois apartment there for eight years, where we could host fifty spectators. Last April I was directing abroad while the company was on tour. They came home to find our base flooded with water; all our sets, costumes, and technical equipment were destroyed. Officially, the flooding was caused by “the negligence of another resident.” Since we lost everything and essentially became homeless, we could no longer perform 70 percent of the productions in our repertoire. Unfortunately, we also had to part ways with some of our actors.
– I imagine that was the hardest part.
– That is always the hardest part, though by now I have become experienced in letting go. The first time it truly affected me was in 2004, when we had to part from the Roma members of our company. To understand this, one has to know that Maladype was founded in 2001 after Dragan Ristic, a Serbian producer, approached me about staging Ionesco’s Jack, or the Submission at the Roma Parliament with Roma and non-Roma actors. Before that, he had asked several directors, but no one accepted because of the task’s “exotic” nature. At the time, I was still a university student studying acting and directing. They told Ristic that I would be his man because I was willing to take on any kind of madness. And so it happened. Our first production was such a success that we immediately embarked on the next one, which brought further acclaim. Suddenly I realized I was directing a theatre company, even though I had never had such ambitions. I very much wanted our Roma actors to remain with us because they were incredibly talented, but their own environment pulled them back. They were accused of “becoming white,” “turning gadjo,” being traitors. They were forced to choose between their families and Maladype.
– Currently Maladype consists of six young actors who graduated in Târgu Mureș. How did you find them?
– Two years ago I was invited to the University of the Arts there to direct a graduation production for the acting class. During the rehearsal process we grew so fond of one another that after they graduated I signed the entire class. Earlier I had already developed the FIVE GATES theatre-methodology and pedagogical system, which can help rediscover the foundations of acting creation. The Târgu Mureș group also became my permanent test group.
– Budapest mayor Gergely Karácsony promised assistance to troubled theatres in the capital, but he did not mention independent companies. Do you think that is fair?
– Not at all. We too are one of the defining companies of Budapest’s theatre life. Our international reputation extends from Asia to America, and everywhere we represent Hungarian progressive theatre culture. We do this without permanent state or municipal support. Although it has often been emphasized that there would be broad professional consultations with independent companies, this has not happened so far — or at least I know nothing about it. Spiritually speaking, we are absolutely independent: we have committed ourselves neither to the right nor the left, we are under no pressure to conform, and we do not follow fashionable trends. At the same time, within the theatre structure, the term “independent” has no real meaning. We are in fact highly dependent on grants, decision-makers, and current government regulations.
– Another thing has shaken our theatre life recently: yet another scandal involving abuse of power. Several former and current colleagues accused Enikő Eszenyi, director of the Vígszínház Theatre, of psychological abuse and physical aggression. What do you think about this?
– Enikő also asked me to support her application for the director’s position, which I did before the scandal broke. I supported her because I consider her an exceptionally talented artist, and her efforts to renew the Vígszínház are undeniable facts. It is also not insignificant for us that when our company was in trouble, she was among the first to offer us help — something very few others did, and if they did, it came with conditions attached. Like Gábor Máté, I do not wish to participate in Enikő’s lynching, but I agree that the matter must be thoroughly investigated, because neither psychological nor physical abuse is acceptable in any environment, including theatre. If these things did happen, there must be consequences. Enikő resigned, and the Vígszínház will soon receive a new leader. Yet there is another aspect to this issue as well: the responsibility of the company itself and of professional advocacy organizations. It is incomprehensible how, parallel with the rise of the #MeToo movement, such serious professional and human grievances could remain hidden for so long.
– You know as well as anyone that advocacy organizations do not function properly. What should an actor do? Confront the director? The next day they probably will not need to come in anymore.
– We too were members of the Independent Performing Arts Association, but in 2005, together with other companies, we withdrew because we felt they did not represent our interests. However, we never remained silent about the grievances we suffered. Ilona Béres once told me that in the most vulnerable moments of an actor’s career, proper communication and style were their most important weapons. That is why it matters greatly by what means a director achieves that an actor extends the director’s creative intentions on stage. Through force and violence? Or through professional preparedness? And what is permitted in a theatre also depends on the given social and cultural environment.
– You have traveled widely around the world. Did you find that abuses of power are rarer in theatres in more democratic countries?
– No, in fact perhaps they are even more common. Many people think artistic freedom means they can allow themselves anything. But, for example, professional advocacy organizations in Romania and France are much stronger.
– You also studied in Paris under theatre masters such as Robert Wilson and Anatoly Vasiliev. At Budapest’s Bárka Theatre, the renowned British director Tim Carroll invited you to play Hamlet. Were these great masters aggressive too?
– I never heard them shout, nor even raise their voices. Yet they were fully capable of realizing their artistic intentions. All three were highly conceptual creators who knew exactly what they wanted. As both an actor and a director, I received the greatest freedom from them.
– You also lead a company. How would you characterize your own leadership style?
– You should really ask my actors about that. Ever since the #MeToo campaign, they constantly “photograph” me during rehearsals. They mean it as a joke — but not entirely. They observe me more sharply now, and I too have to pay greater attention to what I say and how I say it. I am not an aggressive director, but I am determined and energetic.
– Lockdown is also good for turning inward and taking stock. What should theatres use this forced pause for?
– We should rethink those bad professional and moral reflexes that seriously hinder the unfolding of artistic innovation. One of our biggest problems is the lack of professional investment. Students at art universities are not very interested in learning the traditions of their profession or understanding the storm-raising achievements of earlier great masters and stage innovators — let alone developing those ideas further. Above all, they learn how to maneuver and succeed. Whom it is advantageous to befriend.
– Do not be unfair! Most beginning actors are not welcomed with contracts, and due to overtraining they rightly fear that anyone can be replaced at any time.
– I do not blame young people at all, but facts remain facts. The theatre profession has many old debts and sins that finally need to be confronted. Because, as Poirot says in Agatha Christie’s novel: old sins cast long shadows.
– What sins does the theatre profession have?
– For example, ignorance, the lack of fundamental professional knowledge, and the indifference of actors and directors. I once met an actor already active in the profession who not only did not know Zoltán Latinovits, but had never even heard of Mari Törőcsik. Few know who Antal Németh, György Harag, István Paál, or Erzsébet Gaál were. Directors do not read enough; most of them — with due respect to the exceptions — have dramaturgs tell them the plot of the play, and then they project that onto the stage. I also consider the absence of true masters a sin. Artistic training classes are often led by teachers who, because of their own work, barely have time to attend classes. In reality, the students are taught by assistant instructors — professionally still boys and girls in their twenties and thirties. Yet students would need experienced masters who continuously support their development.
– You have already spoken about your foreign masters. Did you have Hungarian ones as well?
– Role models, yes. Before the Academy of Dramatic Arts I was a studio trainee at the old National Theatre. I could observe up close how actors like Gábor Agárdy, Ferenc Bessenyei, Ferenc Kállai, Margit Lukács, or Klári Tolnay rehearsed. At the National Theatre it became customary to subject young actors to initiation rituals. For example, during a performance, one of the great actors would try backstage to throw the self-conscious young extras off balance or make them laugh. Nine out of ten laughed back in order to win the favor of the giants. I told myself: “If I can endure this without laughing, I will stay in the profession.” It was not easy, but I endured it, and they respected me for it. As an actor, I always hated being exploited. If I enthusiastically improvise during rehearsal and show a director various versions of a scene, and then ask which version should remain, and all the director can say is: “Hmm, I don’t know.” That “I don’t know” is the death of cooperation between actor and director. A director must know what the goals of their concept are and what acting solutions serve them.
– And what can a young director do if the theatre manager comes in and rearranges the production?
– For example, refuse to allow the production to be presented under their name. If someone had done that to me when I was starting out, I certainly would have stood up immediately and gone public.
– Many people would accuse you of victim-blaming now.
– I merely claim that we are always capable of making decisions, and if we give that up, that is when we become victims. There is no contract obliging a director to agree to someone else rearranging their work. The problem in many cases is that creators are afraid, they want at all costs to seize the opportunity offered to them, and they do not know their rights. Just as audiences are not aware of their possibilities either — for example, that they have the right to artistic performance based on real knowledge and quality.
– What should a spectator do if they do not like a performance?
– Nowadays there are many forums where they can publish their opinions and tell acquaintances not to watch a bad production. Of course, it is not that simple. The spectator finally gets to the theatre, pays for the ticket, and sits down thinking: “I have five minutes — now show me catharsis!” Then they note with disappointment that it did not happen, but never mind, maybe next time. Yet in theatre there is no “next time.” There is only here and now. That is why every moment should be treated according to its own value. This is why we consider it important that spectators play an active role in our productions and that we talk with audiences after performances.
– In Yvonne, for example, someone is selected from the audience, invited onto the stage, and suddenly realizes they are the title character of the play. Is that not tricking the spectator?
– Why would it be? The spectator has countless opportunities to decide: whether to come onto the stage or not, whether to sit back down or remain there. They participate only in what they want to participate in. Perhaps the fact that no one has regretted joining the game so far, and no one has accused us of violating them, proves us right.
– Returning to lockdown: in this crisis situation we also see many examples of professional and social solidarity. In the deeply divided theatre world, is there a chance for rapprochement and positive change?
– There has to be. But in order to reorder our relationships and common tasks, all of us must give up something: our egos. This ego feeds within us the feeling of superiority and the temptation to judge others. In the name of theatre and in its interests, many things can be committed. Even humiliating and exploiting others while saying: “We are serving the sacred cause of theatre.” Or accepting that some people designate mandatory ideological points of orientation for others. Or accepting that the self-appointed Kelemen Mikes’ of our age send us messages from their voluntary exile about how we should behave properly. Or allowing narcissistic commentators to arrogantly make declarations in the name of theatre. We tolerate the fact that some feel entitled to call the actors of the nation cowards. Even though these wonderful artists — our national treasures — stood firm in historical eras we cannot even imagine, and still preserved their professional and human credibility. We should learn from them. If we truly want to reach common ground, we must not act out of anger or hunt for momentary success. We should rethink where we come from and where we are going, what values we wish to represent and convey in the name of theatre.
Zsuzsanna Sándor, 168 Óra, 2020
translated by: Zsuzsanna Juraszek