There is always someone who stubbornly breaks the consensus. Who is unwilling to praise the creation, who signs out of the divine order, who steals fire for mankind, or walks on water – who with his decision changes the absolute power of life into a relative one, so who had reigned over „gods and demons / And beyond all the souls”, could realise at once: „Except one”. His divine power is not total anymore – as Sándor Weöres quoted from a poem by Shelley, which he translated, and chose later as the motto of his early masterpiece, the Theomachia. Because the world works that way probably, from the ancient times, before history, with consensus which were bravely said, then recreated by force – and with everything that comes from it: with fight, with victory, with fall and with the memory of these to prove the winners, and the losers too of course.

The memory, sacred in mythologies, will be formed in arts over the years, which many times – mostly necessarily – repeat the compulsory rules to make it difficult to separate the occasion of speech from its method, the subject from the object and to make the breaking of consensus a thrilling experience at once, not just the possibility of remembering or a historical illustration. Because of that the vivid memories even in other forms are there to help the mythical ones, they can turn the evoked turning point into present tense by sequence of actions which are repeated ritually and placed into a sacral place: with the ceremony, the beginning and the result of which is obvious without any doubts for the members of the community, all aspects of it are ruled, it has stakes, it is serious and determining: will the wished, essential – and „provoked” transfiguration happen? We can never take it for sure, it cannot become a routine, at least for the believers not. If it had been emptied anyway, it would questioned the validity of belief and power besides it – in those times when it was still seemed to be formable. All of it is created by the young Zoltán Balázs in the Fencing hall of the Bárka Theatre.

Youngsters find each other here: self-consciousness, power, the ability of acting and recklessness hardly become synonyms, the world is not only able to be rearranged but is needs to be rearranged – and they have work here, the impulse is strong, it is nearly, hormonal. Maybe this is the reason why it is not seemed to be a careless joke, when the director mentioned his award of „Rising star” which is for the young and promising theatre creators, in an interview as the award of „Rising virility” – and identifies that way the star with the rebellious, young masculinity. It is indicated here by the fact that on the created, archaic sky of the performance there are moving genitals – for example Kronos’ -, as during these ancient times, which are the time and topic of the performance, the omnipotent testosterone would have dramaturgical – so crucial – role.

To be able to feel all of it the archaic ancient Greek time, the divine fight for life have to be evoked, which began with the histories of titans, the greatest stake of which is that whether exists a greater rule than god, because these still keep the transcendent traditions before monotheism really articulately in present time. Between them – during their long fights – only power can bring order, during the use of which incest, filicide and other selected forms of cruelty could refer to those wide gods of the sky, „ who are still not covered by the law” – with the usage of Károly Kerényi’s beautiful words – and who can feel during their fights but cannot accept that their power cannot be unlimited. Kronos’ important adventure rises up from this bloody and colourful genealogy because he – as following his mother’s advice – dethrones Uranus (Karolyn Kearny knows it, thanks to Hesiod’s, that he cut his father’s masculinity – and threw it into the sea, from which as it is well known, Aphrodite was born, and would rate by this the romantic desire with thought-provoking irony even in its genesis), but as a good despot, the usurper young god would think that with him the history gets its aim, new generations cannot take his place, and if the prediction contradicted it, then he would preclude it.

Wearer’s dramatic sense is perfectly indicated by the fact, that in the divine opposition which was the inspiration of Theomachia, the elated self-consciousness and the „spiritual need” of it to stop the terrible family massacre (it is a divine endogamy what else: Rhea and her husband were born from the titans’ incest, and was Kronos, as well as Helios, Apollón, Okeanos or Selené) and enormous desire to stop the running time – for which, we have to add it, Kronos had at least an „inborn” right, even if he had not had enough power for it, can perfectly cover each other. This makes tragically obvious, that fate is stronger than god is. The Moirais break all his efforts, and after it everything which comes in raw and bloody desire, in divine cannibalism, in fear, in dread, in fights and in destruction are just the unconditional realization of ruling fate even above him, for the tools of which there are the blasted youngsters.

It is typical for Weöres’ theatrical receptiveness, to tell it he did not choose some kind of classical-cotornus-like form of tragedy – however the history of literature offered him many samples like this, between them there were some masterpieces too - , but an „oratorio – drama”, as it is stated in the subtitle of his work: so the most ambitious one of the theatrical experiments of this period (this is the first half of the 20th century). For him the story did not choose the „mimesis” of stage or the conventions of psychological imitation, but of the drama, which is created by oration, for which naturally – and in case of Weöres this naturalness has a very determined meaning – connected the work, which is created by words, and its gorgeous musicality, the composition of choirs and solos, and the connection of rhymes and alexandrines – game and rite, magic and philosophy, that in case of the Greek pre-history all of it can talk about deep consciousness and political enlightenment, vulnerability and fate. Besides others.

Zoltán Balázs – as he said – formed very consciously an „oratorical ritual drama” from Weöres’ text, to go up against boldly the conventions that rule the stages in our country. He put into brackets not only the theatrical „mimesis” that has not changed a lot since Weöres’ young ages, the fact that here everybody „works from Stanislavski” – as the director said in one of his interview, who as an actor is also one of the disciplined subjects in Stanislavski’s empire. But Balázs also went up against that traditional interpretation of Weöres, which formed important performances during the last decades – whether we are talking about the earlier performances of The two-headed beast or the Boatman on the Moon, or the great performance of the Saint George and the Dragon in near past.

This breaking of the consensus will gain much importance: because Weöres’s talent, spirit, sensitivity and brilliant play-writing bravery with his own naive self-consciousness put into brackets – because he thought them to be invalid – everything, which could be really worthy and suitable on these stages. The meeting of talent and institute could happen then. Now – maybe –yes. For it, we needed the Bárka Theatre of course. Maybe we needed the seven seasons too with their crisis, fights, successes and disappointments, which could not be felt at its „launching” – we may have been afraid of it superstitiously, when the champagne bottle did not break on its wall, Árpád Göncz had thrown it, then Dorottya Udvros did it too, but it still did not happen. The past seven years, as well-known, „magic” numbers can test human relationships as well as the human organisms can change all of its cells: it is the same during its changing – and seven years after its opening the Bárka Theatre can make this performance after all. For it, they mostly needed Zoltán Balázs, with his artistic self-consciousness and humility, which makes him not only unusual but hardly scandalous too – but thanks to his experiences and attitude cannot think about theatre any other way, only that way, and he does not care about the creators and servants of consensus, inside and out the Bárka Theatre. In the „Ceremonial play” he handled Weöres’ text as a libretto, and that way he „spread it” into a more articulated – more dramatic – acoustic space, more than it could be done in case of the script of an opera.

He broke the division of the oratio and its conventions too, it must not be strange from Weöres too – using the traditions formed by Robert Wilson, as a starting point: to ensure autonomous meaning by their sounds to each sound, verbal consonances and dissonances. He found László Sáry as a perfect collaborator, who must be the most confident one in case of acoustic possibilities of theatrical orientation. So the text not only with its verbal meaning becomes the basis of the „ceremonial play”, but it is completed and counterpointed in its sounding and sound variations too: to give sound to that which is beyond verbal expressions from children rhymes through the sound effects of archaic poetry to the ecstasy of rites. All of it is not only familiar but inseparable part of a „sounding” of world which can be accepted differently, to get the widely understandable context into its elements and to recreate it too. The performance misses Weöres’ play not only from the style of the stages in Hungary – from the division according to spiritual reasons and from the interpretation built on it - , but shows us the complete archaic inside it, and the modern one which is sounded like a concert. Sometimes we can hear the text repeatedly, other times the stressed or repetitive rising of some group of sounds makes the simple „understanding” impossible, while the songs, rhymes and liturgical-like phrases have strange meaning and they try to „play” all which is given by the story of the drama. The real actions are partly told by recited dialogues, monologues and fragments of choirs and partly by movements which counterpoint everything. In that way the world itself is „emancipated” into action – that can be heard and what happens are not separated any more.

Love „happens” through words, as the fight between Kronos and Okeanos. This theatrical recognition has great importance because it is unknown on stage – however it is very offered – this usage, show, application and great effects of speech acts. Where else can become the verb into body so evidently, if it cannot on this stage? The word gets creative power that way – and in the Fencing hall we can see gorgeously what can aesthetic logos do.

He evokes his mother with the supreme god’s words, who tries to prevent the cyclic order forwards of life – so the changing of generations - , to tell him the truth about fate, which she has given him once, and which is waited for him too according to his worrying feelings. The thin, white-haired Gaia tells everything which she cannot by her speech, with the help of her gentle and powerful dance, besides his words: that it is terrible underneath, but the tolerance is a great master, and pains have eased in the gods too by time. They, with the pride of a grandmother, who ensures his son, after Kronos’ worrying question, that „my grandson lives happily and he is getting stronger” – and it seals Kronos’ fate too, who is hardly comforted by the idea that the depth will accept him intimately too. The recognised and unavoidable fate, the great monologue about the loss of power gets its deep meaning not only by the desperation of the rebellious who lost against his fate, but it is ominous according to the new, imagined era of the world: its beginning means the end of the „golden era”- after it, mortality, fight for life, work, pain and loss come. Even the catastrophe can stop it all, which will be the form of the divine death-song: flood to destroy all creature, the earth which is stepped into mud and eradicated groups – maybe the Boy (Kristóf Horváth): Zeus too will die with them. He will not. Then the father sends Typhon (Erzsébet Soltész) to tear up his son, and the dragon-snake can measure its strength with the new god in the archaic fight of giants – who is protected not only by the Curates but by Eros too, so the ingenious and obedient monster loses finally after a horrible fight. And Kronos loses too: „The arm, with which the motionless Three-One, the Moira reaches this world: this is me” – introduces himself the victorious Eros – „I am the changing, the key of existence.”

So we can see the fatefulness of the victory as the appearance of fate: this metaphysical paneroticism gets shaped as the reason and energy of every movement. With Kronos’ failure the ancient unit breaks up: the round of entirety splits in two, and opens up with a slow movement – after the break, its plain surface can be liveable, and then the winners will settle on it. From the god, after his failure, his black shell is falling down slowly – he offers his fallible life to the winner, takes off his enormous cloak, tears out in tufts his thick hair, buckles up in front of those who get into a solid hierarchy above on the divided round – with the Boy in the middle, who holds in his hand the emblem of the beginning of the universe and of the rebirth, like a giant egg. The balanced, young body of a man (the performance started with his coming down from above) through the Boy refers to the all-time male god, to the saviour who was reborn from destruction, while the symbol in his hand, refers to the metaphysical egg cell of the mythologies. The winners, who settled down next to him – like the earlier participants of the fights – in the meaningful clothes of the theatres of the far-east and with their mythical attributes, they would suggest a universal synonymy of the story. It is not strange to Sándor Weöres – especially to this period of his life, when he published the Theomachia too in Nándor Várkony’s newspaper - , and the educated editor is not the only one who asked about the overall analogy of archaic traditions. Which can be doubtful scientifically – it can be coherent and convincing artistically, so it can be authentic. The analogies of origin myths and divine fights over traditions are not the elements of hypothesis here, but they can become moving and dramatic sight.

The performance works intentionally and boldly with many – eminently theatrical – supplies of this strange „syncretism”: the main characters’ Japanese like costumes are really different from the Curates’ red, toga-like clothes, the guard creature (a Boy), who protects Kronos’ throne all through the performance, is similar to a dog-God – maybe to Anubis - , while Gaia’s „folk” dance is similar to the ones of the archaic Hungarian traditions, while the gorgeous movements of the dragon-snake with the Indonesian motives on its naked body, shows us further areas and world-explanations, meanwhile its mask refers to the heroes of Chinese conventions, and so on – someone has to be a professional theatrical historian to give the punctual stock of this productive and ingenious eclecticism. With its overall effect the performance can make alive those theatrical traditions – in the Far-East the theatre is still closer to the rite, myth and magic, like here - , which have not been effected neither by Stanislavski nor by the other, various forces of European conventions. That is why they can talk differently in those theatrical areas both about the time, and the relationships between characters, as the well-known and „spoken” theatrical languages have tried mostly to do on European stages (besides, of course, those important experiments from which Vasziljev, Wilson or József Nagy directors, can be seen as direct sources of inspiration).

All of these can make the performance really effective because the colours „shine through” this eclecticism: the white, the black, the red (and the flaring-up fire) will have a more powerful effect and meaning than the exact object or costume could have, and as the complicated variety of the sounding can arrange complexly the acoustic space, the object, the clothes, any tool – of different source – can become entirely useful to express universal impulses of the stage. The metals will counterpoint significantly this ruler trinity of colours: the sickles and scythes which flash many times threateningly – to suggest Kronos’ fate – or they form a strange horn on the head of the guard dog. Then the golden ornamentation, in which Tyhpon dances, suggests the power and fallibility of authority at the same time: threateningly and devastatingly – and give himself to his own death in the end. The fight told by the dance, the duel between gods are the turning points of the performance with awesome power: it is heavy in its ease, Erzsébet Soltész (the great Wizard Master of The School for Fools) can move with virtuosity the body of the dragon-snake, here dances with great proficiency, she is acrobatic and dramatic at the same time, she is womanish and a predator, she is fallible and seductive. The golden nakedness is the costume and fate of the brilliant monster – nothing can stop the indifferent fate: neither the dance, not the magic, neither the fight nor the despair have effect on the Moiras. All of these are just tools in their heavy hands. Maybe that is why the woman will come up from the fallen supreme god.

This is their story: the important matriarchy’s – because besides Gaia and Rhea and Typhon the omnipotent Moiras are women too. Ilona Béres is an incredibly Kronos: she is giant, sensual and insensitive, she is power-conscious and vain, she is cruel pragmatically and sensual hedonistically. She can suggest in blood-curdling way all the attractions and abominations of this divine fate with her deepened alto, strange intonation, and modality which can rearrange the stresses; in her passion there is power, but there are faults too – and because of it the feeling of upcoming fate too. When she realises it, the world goes backwards for her – and as she exists mostly by her words, the ideas of reality will turn back with her words. She will tell everything backwards from now on. Like children, like the magicians, like the lines read on the mirror. Everything is seemed to be the same: her voice, the weight of her motionlessness, her attachment to power, only the word turns backwards meanwhile. Béres watches and shows all these expressionlessly, and when she sees that her fate has been sealed, she leaves the pedestal, and she is leaving while she is almost „breaking down” herself too.

And here something very important happens with her character again – and through it too. As Béres has meant the successful – for generations – and gorgeous femininity, she has almost become its synonym – and here this actress turns her personality inside out, she shows impressively its „awry”, to make herself the servant of a theatrical mentality which breaks the conventions, searches new ways, and really different from the viewpoint of her earlier career. And not for the first time: form the Greek by Sándor Zsótér to Borisz Godunov by Balázs Kovalik up until the new direction by Zsótér, she is presented with renewable energy, with that kind of devotion and talent on which – as it happens here too – the whole performance can be built on. Béres would remain of course the celebrated and satisfied one – but she had the power to choose the breaking of forms boldly, accepting the risks of it, and this decision could multiply her artistic power. It is also a smart, ironic gesture that this woman became the scary man god, Kronos, who as the object of much desire – whether she wants it or not – would know a lot about the features and qualities of these desires. Now she shares this knowledge with us, that all of it has some painful beauty and dignified reconciliation. The loss of power is not followed by neither lightning nor by the cosmic catastrophes of crashing orbs – but by the character’s tragic, unstoppable metamorphosis: her falling attributes and the creature that comes up under them.

That Kronos’ masculine mutilation cannot be imagined that way, it can cover some deeper – however it is hard to follow – artistic intuitions. As the inconsistency of the fact, that they bake a baby for the greedy god in the end, then they put the precisely grilled baby on a silver tray – get satisfied with it. The Curates throw fresh bread to the god’s guard dog, and this bread is really concrete and crumbling, in a performance which tries to avoid these kind of things. Sometimes the over styling of the costumes can bother the acceptance – the winner half-gods are similar to astronauts, or at least fashionable disc-jockeys, and between the traditional motives there are some bothering, more modern tools too.

From the performance we miss Eros painfully – Okeanos, who takes over his role, cannot do that, which the ancient god could: that the avoiding of power can mean the strengthen of it. Here maybe the dramaturgical consolidation of roles predominates against the importance of the drama. The two stages of the cosmic triad, which is divided punctually by the director, - just here – collapse unfortunately.

All these directness, which flash up from the thick fabric of the performance, are as bothering as the trainers are on the Curates. The performance itself can become extraordinary because of its overthought and punctual composition: gets freed of the ruler traditions and shows us this oratorical and dramatic tradition as a valid one – Weöres’ play can be a perfect example for it - , the lack of which had serious consequences from the point of view of the fate of the modern theatre.

Here at last a new theatrical language and mentality is formed easily, boldly and convincingly, which can form this place according to their ideas, after other important performances of Maladype. On the fading sky of theatre art, Theomachia can appear as a comet. Or maybe a different metaphor should be found – as comets usually disappear after their appearances. After all, as the director defined it, we should stay by testosterone. As it can mean hormones, continuity and progress, cannot it? Maybe the performance is all about it, isn’t it?

András Nagy, Színház, 2004

(translated by: Veronika Fülöp)