I understand, I understand well the young Zoltán Balázs when he decides: he will adjust to the stage and to the possibilities of the Bárka Theatre, Sándor Weöres’ oratorio drama, Theomachia. After all everything is together in the fight of gods – from the Greek mythology and tragedy of fate through the metaphysical anxiety until the magic of poetry – which can move the talented actor-director’s fantasy who has wishes of totality. The beginning, Kronos’ cruelty, who eats his own children, and his madness because of the fear of the loss of power, has thoughts with multiple meaning. With some simplification it can refer to the dictators’ of the 20th century, to Hitler, Stalin, Mao, Ho Si Minh and the others’ story and terror.

From Sándor Weöres – as I think – the updating which uses clichés and tries to tell everything can be very far. At least he “lets” us associate from Uranos-Kronos-Zeus, the perfect divine trio’s fatal fight to the imperfection of the world and human beings, to their repeated madness. (Unfortunately, I could not think of a better cliché too.) Zoltán Balázs mentions in his reports the open and direct connection between the Kronos’ cult and the modern dictators. The spectacular, suggestive performance protested with its distance. Judit Gombár’ spacious red and black set, the costumes, the various dresses and robes emphasise the agelessness. We could find the rich treasure of motives and traditions of Japanese, Indian and Ancient Egyptian culture in the refined patterns, in the strange lines of belts, hats, floating veils, the frightened drawings of the wigs and masks. “The meeting of cultures” is quoted by László Sáry’s music, his strange and frightening “bum-bum” which is composed on percussion instruments and deep human guttural voices and the choir’s fantastic and diverse choreography.

Zoltán Balázs took Sándor Weöres’ oratorio as a starting point, from where he jumped high towards the stage of brave visions. In this strange world Weöres’ wonderful, expressive poem is divided into sighs, cries, shouts, whispers and simple sounds. At the beginning of the performance, as a choir the letters ó are rounded, the ú gets deep and bumming, the letter i cries and screams and the s letter are hissing. (For Endre Szkárossy and other followers of sound-poetry it would be an extraordinary pleasure.) When the drama reaches its top, the lines are told backwards, they sigh and cry. They try to indicate that: because of the dramatic happenings, which are raging in the gods, because of their pain, they cannot be approached by the normal order of sounds. (I think that way, maybe I am not right. This all can be pure provocation and mannerism.) According to the young director we can call his adaptation “meta-communicative theatre” or ”cactus milk and guinea fowl” too. The name is less important. We “take the words apart then we bubble like children, and try to put together again the parts of sounds, and find out new words...”

One thing is for sure: for the sound perfection and the unusual performing, the actors need enormous devotion and precision. Ilona Béres’ achievement supposes a great physical power too. For two hours, she is standing disciplined, in a demonstrating way, motionless in the middle of the stage in Kronos, the cruel ruler’s heavy costume, with his terrifying mask, and torn, heavy wig – and plays only with her voice. Her huge, deep voice with warm tone, sometimes rages with manlike aggression. It fills the area. When she tells backwards her monologue about loneliness and fall, she can save and express the musicality and beauty of Weöres’ poem. Andrea Spolarics – in the role of Rhea – also has hundreds of voices to express the pain of a mother, who has lost her child. Gabriella Varga, as the crying Mother of Earth plays, turns, swirls with her huge stick fantastically. Erzsébet Soltész are wandering like a dizzy and lost Puck, she is dancing as Kronos’ servant in the complete bikini-like, shining dress of the Siamese twins. The masculine reserved Okeanos, (Rémusz Szikszai) with perfect musicality gives sound to Weöres’ Alexandrines lines. He gives the truth at once.

Zoltán Balázs’ Theomachia-composition is really different from any traditional theatrical performances. Its visual world charmed me. Meanwhile when I got home, I happily opened again Weöres’ oratorio. How did it happen once, when one of the titans, Uranos and Gaia’s son, Kronos cut their father genital, pushed him from the sky, and put himself on the throne of the universe. He ate his children for nothing, he lost his power anyway. Through his youngest son, Zeus. Because “the life is going on, it cannot stop in the half way, / you cannot tie it with kisses or strings, /.../ It is that way. you can protest against it or not.” Weöres’ lines from his poem seduce me as always. Into a dreamless dream. However, they call me straight ahead, not backwards.

Ilona Gantner, Vasárnapi Hírek, 2003

(translated by: Veronika Fülöp)