He acts, directs, and his 15-year-old theatre company, Maladype Theatre, works with guest artists such as Mari Törőcsik and Sándor Zsótér. At barely 30 years of age, he has already won the Jászai Mari Award and the Order of Merit of the Republic of Hungary, yet he is slowly becoming better known abroad than at home. An interview with Zoltán Balázs.

You had a strong career start, winning a Jászai Award and several other prestigious awards at a very young age. Compared to this, your name is not so well-known. Why is that?

Perhaps because I didn't accept offers that could have given me greater exposure. My work abroad also took me out of the public eye a little, and I wasn't a guest at certain dinner parties where all kinds of "professional" matters are decided. The most important reason, however, is that over time I began to focus more on developing my own company. I learned that in order to ensure stable operation and the effectiveness of in-depth work, as the leader of the company I always have to be several steps ahead of the ensemble, whether I like it or not. If a leader focuses all their energy on these tasks, they inevitably give up on themselves, regardless of whether they are the person who most strongly defines the spirit of the theatre.

So, if I understand correctly, you don't want to be like Ervin Nagy or Sándor Csányi.

Why would I want to be? I am Zoltán Balázs. In professional circles, people know exactly who I am and what I am worth. Those who like me and those who don't alike recognize my talent and my achievements. They all know what values I follow and that in my choices and decisions I always strive for freedom, with all the risks that entails. Since the beginning of my career as a director, I have tackled topics and sought theatrical solutions that did not test the attention of the actors and the audience in the usual way; risk has always been present in my undertakings. Suffice it to mention our productions of Michel de Ghelderode's “The School for Fools”, Sándor Weöres's “Theomachia”, and Hölderlin's “Empedocles”; but I could continue the list with Wyspianski's “Acropolis”, which we co-directed with Sándor Zsótér for the first time in Hungary for Maladype. I know now that in the early 2000s, the Hungarian "theatrical nervous system" was not yet prepared for such extreme adventures, as there were no earlier productions of these works on Hungarian stages in 1962 or 1984, but I am convinced that they were important milestones in the development of Maladype and in Hungarian theatrical thinking.

Even after Acropolis, you did not follow the usual paths with Maladype.

Indeed not. In 2009, for example, for the first time in Hungary, we opened the entire rehearsal process of King Ubu, from the read-through to the premiere, to the public at our venue on Mikszáth Square, the Maladype Base, so that they could participate as co-creators in the rehearsals. Since we didn't hold "showcase rehearsals," the audience quickly understood their role and took advantage of the opportunity to actively participate. I felt it was important to make the audience understand that, as recipients, they can not only relate to the performances intuitively, but also have the opportunity—and the right—to understand, analyse, and evaluate their own relationship to the given creative proposal or work.

Did you want to build up your own audience?

Yes. I want to build our theatre's operation on an understanding audience. I count on spectators who do not base their opinions solely on one-off impulses and raw impressions, but who are able to interpret and convey their thoughts on the context of the creative work at a high level. The stimulus they experience during the play does not remain merely their own experience, but becomes precisely formulable and communicable to others; they are able to think in symbols, allegories, and metaphors. I trust that, as informed and discerning viewers, they will not be fooled in other theatres either, because they already possess the knowledge that helps them distinguish between false, "pretend" acting and directing solutions and genuine, authentic, and personal creative energies. I believe in direct and unadorned relationships and communication.

How would you describe Maladype's goal?

As before, change and redesign continue to organize our lives. The actors who perform here want to learn and develop, not just live off their existing talent and knowledge; they demand the attention of quality writers and directors. By becoming part of the global circulation, Maladype has made our actors freer and more confident, and their acting has become lighter and more direct in the spirit of "human acting." An important goal is to give them even more new impulses in the future. Creative and intellectual freedom is our path, advancing in our own value system, the intention to seek and explore – unfortunately under the forced conditions of financial dependence.

Since you brought up money: beyond fundraising, what are the difficulties in the alternative theatre scene today?

Professional inconsistency, insularity and lack of solidarity and morale. But the constant headache is how to secure the additional resources needed to supplement the pitifully low operating budget allocated to us each year in order to keep the company going. In Maladype's case, this amounts to fifty-five million forints per year. We received the same amount as last year's grant, eighteen million forints, despite the fact that last summer we protested in a statement against the unprofessional decision that ignored all our achievements. Meanwhile, less than six years ago, we were granted thirty-four million forints. Grant opportunities have been reduced, various support platforms have narrowed, and private sponsors and companies are harder to mobilize. These nerve-wracking tasks make Maladype's staff multifunctional, but they also rob them of immeasurable energy and distract them from their essential tasks.

The main reason for this conversation is that you haven't been on stage for a very long time, but recently you have "returned" as an actor. Why haven't you performed for so long, and why are you doing so now?

After Hamlet, I didn't miss it. The rehearsal process led by Tim Caroll was so perfect, with the many different performances every evening, the audience's reactions, the taming of János Arany's language, the cleverly constructed improvisations, the liberated acting. I experienced a kind of happiness that actors very rarely get to experience on stage. Mari Törőcsik often says that she's had five beautiful evenings during her career. Hamlet made my acting career complete in every respect; after that, there were few similar impulses.

But you did continue to act after Hamlet for a while.

Yes, but none of those roles represented a step forward. Hamlet was decisive because Tim said that as Zoli Balázs, I would have the opportunity and the director's permission to deal with the problems of the role in front of the audience, in public. The in-depth exploration of Hamlet's problems and the first-person singular narrative style allowed the audience to join me in transforming Zoli Balázs, the medium, into Hamlet. I have never experienced anything like this since. The changes in Maladype's life also required 24-hour shifts, and the processes taking place around me reinforced my belief that I didn't have to perform at all costs; let the actors in the company do so. Then I came across the story of Viktor Kravchenko, and I knew immediately that this was what interested me.

I chose freedom – with that title, you could have written the book yourself.

Absolutely. What's more, Ariane Mnouchkine recommended the work in an interview as one of her five favourite books. We started our research in Russia, but it soon became clear that we were touching on a sensitive subject and that no one wanted to hear about Viktor, because he and the content of his book are still taboo. Then it turned out that we had to look for Viktor's legal successor, his only living son, Andrew Kravchenko, in Los Angeles, USA. The recording of the last Hamlet performance convinced him that his father's story would be authentically conveyed in my interpretation: "This is my father!" he said, and we got the rights. Preparing the theatrical performance required the translation and publication of the work in Hungarian, so after several years of preparation, we finally managed to publish this wonderful book, translated by Péter Konok and with graphics by István Orosz. We premiered the stage adaptation in November 2015, and it is always an amazing experience for me that today, when performances are enlivened by various effects, with all kinds of technical wonders flying and spinning around, the audience listens intently to Viktor Kravchenko's story for nearly two and a half hours. I don't stick on a moustache or wave a paper flag – yet people sit motionless and travel with the story and with me. It's quite astonishing.

The most important thing in theatre is still the human word. During the performances of Hamlet, I discovered the power of an actor who knows exactly what he wants to communicate, and now I am experiencing the same thing with the Kravchenko text. Then Sándor Zsótér came along, Richard III came up in our discussion, and I came up as a possible candidate. I thought, as an actor, who else could I trust after all these years but Sándor Zsótér? It was a fantastic rehearsal process. I felt the same way I did during Tim's rehearsals for Hamlet. They both gave me space to explore the essence and to communicate my inner changes to my partners and the audience without any mannerisms. Our Richard III does not wear a hump or use medical aids; he prioritizes intellectual pleasure and seeks ways to gradually infiltrate his environment.

Both you and Sándor Zsótér stated that you did not want to model Richard on any existing dictator. If this was not part of the performance's train of thought—what was the guiding thread, the "concept"?

Although our narrow and broad world produces plenty of examples that show Richard III's manipulative behavior, almost everyone falls into the trap of thinking that this cannot happen to them. Richard recognizes this vanity factor and quickly prepares the ground for advancement. Behind his intentions lies a concrete plan that those "at risk" cannot see through because they are all preoccupied with their own petty affairs.

I think I detect some parallels.

This is true in everything, whether we are talking about theatre or politics. People are so preoccupied with their daily livelihoods that they do not perceive the greater picture. By the time these processes affect their small lives, they have become completely incapable of fighting them. Although Richard III powerfully touches on certain issues that characterize our lives, and after the performance the audience has plenty to think about, talk about, and argue about, it is still, as Sándor says, just a fairy tale compared to real life.

It happens that the company leader plays alongside their actors, but it has not happened to you before. What is the experience like?

It is reassuring that I did not catch myself watching the Maladype actors from the inside during rehearsals. I was a little afraid of this because I had never been in a similar situation, but the feedback confirmed that they didn't notice anything like that. In fact, the members of the company said that they were shocked by how humble I was as an actor towards the director's instructions. This is valuable feedback for me because it confirms that I have not been deformed over the years and that I still think of myself as an actor today in the same way I did six years ago.

Are you planning to continue acting?

I have so many commitments at home and abroad for the next season that these two tasks are enough for now, but a director I have worked with before is coming to us, and I hear that he is considering me as an actor, so I will have to decide whether I can handle it and whether I am really indispensable to the production. As a director, I will be working on Matei Visniec's play Dada Cabaret, which is being produced in collaboration with Gábor Gábriel Farkas and his band, and will be performed at the Átrium Film-Theatre on October 20. And to my great delight, after Platonov, I will be directing Chekhov again; Three Sisters will premiere in March at the Maladype Base.

Is there a theatre artist you would really like to work with, but haven't had the chance to yet?

Erzsébet Kútvölgyi and I have been planning to work together for a long time, and now I've managed to get her to join Dada Cabaret in the role of Lenin. Erzsébet, like Ilona Béres, László Sinkó, Andrea Ladányi, Károly Kuna, and Mari Törőcsik, is a wonderful "predator." They are not vegetarian actors; when they smell blood, their hunting instincts are awakened.

You have travelled a lot, and recently you directed in the United States. What could be brought back from there in terms of theatre culture?

Above all, the fundamental need for theatre production. That criticism carries serious weight, that what is written has an impact on the life of the performance and the company. If the seven-member team of critics who watch the premiere does not recommend the production the next morning, then that's the end of that performance. But if they do recommend it, the number of planned performances increases, it gets nominated for awards, and so on. Of course, there can be a trap in this, because who knows what the tastes of that group of critics are, or how credible and reliable they are, but the fact is that the rules of the game are clear.

Now there's Richard, which is about dictatorship, before that there was Kravchenko, which was also about that, and you had a production in America that was about that too. I see a kind of trend here.

In fact, Lenin and Stalin will also appear in Dada Cabaret. I think that coming to terms with the past, the distorted utopias that grew out of revolutions, and the question of our collective and personal responsibility are dangerously relevant to theatre-making as well; but the most important thing is that human destinies are at the centre of these stories. The protagonist of my American premiere is Yuri Petrovsky, a writer who arrives among the patients of a mental hospital with the impossible mission of making them understand the history of communism. Later, when the radio announces that Stalin is dead, he is forced to change his plans because, at the request of the hospital administrators, he must tell the patients that Stalin is not dead in order to calm them down. At this point, according to the author's intention and the director's instructions, the actor playing the writer had to express himself in such a way that his partners and the audience could hear the danger inherent in denying Stalin's death, namely that Stalin's spirit and "legacy" were still alive. The Americans understood perfectly well that this Stalinist absurdity is still with us today, waving from the podium. Only now it's called Donald Trump, or something else.

Is there a danger of dictatorship?

Always. Systems have eaten themselves up.

Judit Lola Bodnár, 24.hu, 2016

Translated by Lena Megyeri