“The most depressing thing is that we have to live our profession in a very divided theatrical world. This is almost a task for Don Quixote” - said actor and director Zoltán Balázs, founder and director of the Maladype Theatre, with whom we also talked about aristocratic ancestry, childhood pranks and theatrical perceptions.

- When I saw Hamlet with you in the starring role, Maia Morgenstern was sitting next to me. She was just as impressed by what she saw of you as any of us, average spectators. It’s been over ten years, but looking through your career, I still haven’t been able to figure out who this amazingly versatile young man is and what he’s up to in this world. Do you usually think about this?

- I prefer to focus on the present. Anyway, I’m so glad you’re starting our conversation with your Hamlet experience at the Bárka, because almost every week someone stops me on the street to tell how decisive my Hamlet was in Tim Carroll’s legendary directing. The truth, of course, is that I met the then chief director of the Globe Theatre in London at a good time, in a good place and, above all, in very good condition. The success of the “board game”, which is unusual in all respects, was also significantly influenced by my great partners. During the performance, which was based on improvisations, the biggest challenge was that as a Hamlet I had to exist at that moment at the same time and plan ten to fifteen minutes in advance. It was only after the many performances that the human and artistic power of the diversity of the interplay based on different acting solutions became clear to me. Because of the energies released by my self-burning acting presence

It also happened that I got tired, so I stopped and asked the viewers for a few minutes of silence. After the “public shock”, I reassembled Hamlet’s thoughts word by word, restoring the spontaneous and personal nature of the role-playing problem. I knew it was “not appropriate” to do this in a classic theater performance, but an inner voice tempted me at times...

- I wouldn’t call that Hamlet a classic performance.

- It was novel in every way. Anyone who was able to break with the instincts of traditional Hamlet adaptations could experience amazing theatrical adventures both as an actor and as a spectator. Through the performers ’unique and unrepeatable suggestions for role and text interpretation, situation management, creative contexts of thought and action, the audience also became part of new insights every night. This ever-changing game required a stable nervous system, special acting condition, and widespread attention on everyone’s part.

- You said at the beginning of our conversation that you were always self- and public-dangerous.

- Birth defect. My path searches out of curiosity were also approved by my current environment, so I always went head to head against the wall as a “crash test dummy”. Everything that makes up my human, masculine, acting, and directing selves stems from my daring to risk and at times question certain canonized patterns of action.

- Who allowed you and what?

- Many, many things, in many different situations. If we go back to the beginnings, it is primarily my parents, my grandparents. I came from a generous and integrative-minded family, and their attitude toward the development of the childish soul was unparalleled. I grew up in the last period of communism, so we often experienced house searches and the black car would take my grandfather. Being a Transylvanian Hungarian in Romania was a disadvantage, but our family took on being Hungarian for granted in all circumstances. Even the most difficult moments were made livable by serenity, meaningful and sensitive explanations. Today, a great amount of people use being across the border as a shield, which I find extremely repulsive.

- Honestly, I didn't know you were Transylvanian.

- I am happy about this because for me this kind of a timidly imbued inner belonging and self-identity which is a natural legacy of my family. My childhood was not defined by ideological guidelines and images of enemies, my upbringing was not infected by scapegoating and nationalism. I learned from them that truth is always a good Plan B, and the point is worth looking for is in the silenced word.

I was interested in all kinds of adventures, so I often got myself and my narrower and wider environment into impossible situations. I am a descendant of a noble family, dog skin was also associated with obligations and rules, so my willingness to cross all kinds of borders was clearly coded in my renitent behavior.

- Give an example!

- Although we knew it was forbidden, me and my childhood friend once ventured into an abandoned mansion waiting to be renovated. But at that moment, the floor tore under us and we ended up in a deep stack. An hour, two hours, five hours, ten hours passed, then it became dark and no one came.

We guessed they were already looking for us, but we didn’t know when and how they would find us. While we waited, we came to the conclusion that now at least it will be clear how much they love us and whether our prank will have a relationship-rejuvenating power. We pondered on this until dawn and then they found us. It was an age of intact discoveries in pure intentions and clear actions. It lasted until I was twelve years old.

- And then what happened?

- We left home because my mother saw our situation as hopeless. Then I didn't understand why. My friends, my first love, remained on Maramures Island. We went to many places in Europe and America, but in the end we ended up in Hungary, and I continued my studies here. My mother and I have experienced “seven-pound” situations many times, yet we have laughed a lot. My mother’s energies to this day shame my dynamism, watched in amazement by many. I inherited this kind of vitality, the love of life from her. I don’t know and don’t want to live my life with a bitter taste in the mouth, although there’s a lot of it that I’m not happy about, either humanly or professionally.

- What do you mean?

- The most depressing thing is that we have to live our profession in a very divided theatrical world. This is almost a task for Don Quixote. Cultural policy identification processes are taking place that do not allow young career starters or professionally driven artists to do their job as members of a more caring theatrical society. Neither I nor the theater I have been running for twenty years are willing to take part in this. We do everything we can to preserve the origins of our thoughts about theater and our creative intentions in order to remain literally independent.

We have one point of alignment, the exponentially changing theater itself. Although many used to want me for themselves, they also offered theaters and positions, I preferred to follow my own path, which always led back to the diverse complex possibilities of doing theater; I chose to be the creator of the avant-garde, Maladype - which still has a name on the international stage today -, and the special lifestyle that comes with it.

- What do you mean by the Maladype lifestyle?

- Soaring freely. We never had to compromise on artistic issues, and our specific experiments in content and form also found a high degree of understanding and recognition in different theatrical cultures around the world. This is one of the reasons why we were able to survive at home for twenty years, because they know what Maladype is from Vietnam to America, from Iran to France. This theatrical thinking, nourished by many cultures, is the reason that Hungarian theatrical traditions, theatrical and dramatic foreshadowing did not project a shadow over my personality and method. I could be objective in my own subjectivity.

I didn’t undertake and do anything that would make me remorse, and there’s nothing I would regret because I missed it. When I started running a company, I had to learn to take responsibility for others, not just for myself. Since then, I have had to walk ten steps ahead of the members of the company, and it doesn’t matter what development path I set for them, the morally, ethically, professionally atmosphere I have created for their daily work. Everything behind us - and, I hope, even before us - stems from this dynamism and passionate conscious, risky thinking. With all of our performances, we strive to ensure that neither content nor form impulses repeat themselves.

Therefore, it is not easy to put Maladype into a box. By the time our theater was proclaimed by critics as ritual or physical theater, we were already searching in another creative universe for a style to fit that particular work and director’s concept. Contributing to this multipolar process was the fact that I quickly reached the international scene with my company and as an individual creator. My personal experiences at various festivals, theater workshops, and genre-specific citadels around the world have had a liberating effect on my creative approach and have given me tremendous strength to find my way daily in the spirit of freedom. We have also incorporated another core value, generosity, into our artistic strategy, our long-term operation.

- What do you mean by generosity?

- Recognizing the changing factors as part of the anatomy of creation and giving space to new impulses that will shape and recreate our worldview in the future. It will always drive me.

- That's why you're not old. Because of constant development. You didn’t tell me what Maladype’s sense of life was.

- The word maladype means encounter in Lovarian. A kind of instinctive, unexpected and joyful feeling of life that has united us all since the beginning. Our lives do not always consist of festive moments, so we need to pay more attention to ourselves in everyday life. Proper mental condition is essential for this. Maladype’s sense of life also includes artists taking pleasure in individual and collective redesign. They don’t panic if rehearsals or performances don’t go the way we planned, they perceive the momentary change and are able to turn what has happened to their advantage.

During an American tour, at an audience meeting following King Ubu, viewers said our production was a series of “happy accidents”. I find this very apt and expressive. However, only those who are in constant training and like to take risks can stay in the context of the performance after the unexpected events and react smartly and easily to the changed situation. This particularly complex attention-based acting presence is very rare among Hungarian actors and is highly sought after.

At Maladype, we have well-articulated rules of the game that, when used properly, have a liberating effect on both actors and audiences. This typically Maladype-style approach requires playmates who intend to explore the special quality of theater with exceptional commitment, who over time become key players in a particular creative era. Maladype’s current company is made up of actors who, without sparing their time and energy, use their talents to represent the thinking that characterizes our theater at home and abroad. I met them at the University of Arts in Târgu Mureş when, as an invited teacher, I directed them an exam performance based on Bruno Schulz's short stories. Looking at them at work, it immediately became clear to me that they would have great mediums for everything I wanted to define as the Maladype of the future, so I contracted the entire class.

- So you also take on pedagogical role.

- This goes hand in hand with directorial and artistic leadership roles. I also have a methodological descriptions called Golden-Bug and Five Gates, which I regularly share and consult about with the actors of the company. These aspects, of course, only work if the actors really want to meet a stripped-down stage copy of themselves and vote trust for themselves, their peers, and me. I don’t want to train theater workers who work diligently like ants, but have no idea what they’re building, so I think it’s important to share with them the causal intentions behind a given task or goal. Maladype’s artists have not yet been seen by spectators sitting on a couch with a glass of water and easily exchanging words about the banalities of life, their acting toolbox activating the complexity of polyphonic-edited games. Being able to talk, sing and move at the same time is part of this unusual stage existence.

- What is most important to you in your current stage of life?

- Friendships based on authentic, honest, lived encounters. I am more and more impressed by the intricately flexible elephant memory and unwavering loyalty of the older generation of actors I respect and love - Ilona Béres, Erzsébet Kútvölgyi, Éva Almási. None of them forgets to mention their masters and what defining encounters shaped their careers and energized their artistic development. Listening to them, I feel the triumph of the bright spirit. Concentrating their experiences from many sources into haiku-like parables fascinates and inspires me, as a person and as a creator, to look even more for the point, the minimum necessary for the exact expression of what I would like to say.

- Your talent is a great gift, but as I listen to you, it is certainly a burden because you are particularly sensitive to the world around you.

- My sensitivity is also a kind of talent. I can live with it and abuse it. That is why I consider it important that, at a company level, we should nurture and develop our qualities consistently. The artistically advanced and well-powered company attracts real talent, positive and clean-minded playmates as a magnet.

- With what do you spend your time currently?

- I’m getting ready for Merlin’s premiere in Budapest and a stage adaptation of a contemporary piece by an Israeli author, Roy Chen, with Maladype’s company. With the graduating class of the University of Arts in Târgu Mureş, I am finally about to bring under the roof their exam postponed due to Covid, the Group Portrait with Lady. At the end of the season, I will be staging La Fontaine’s Animal Tales at the Odeon Theater in Bucharest, where we will soon be holding a plan-accepting reception. In parallel, I am working on Adam Mickiewicz’s romantic work Ancestors, which I will be staging in Poland next summer. The most important task, however, is for Maladype to find its own performing venue. If we succeed, we will finally be able to play regularly at home and we will be able to welcome our audience, our domestic and foreign partners under worthy conditions. We’ve put a lot on the table over the last twenty years, our results speak for themselves, which is why we have a hard time bearing the fact that we still work under unworthy conditions.

- How do you prepare to cross the second X?

- With work. Fortunately, the festival invitations started to flow again in the spring, but due to other things that have been congested in the meantime, they are not easy to implement. If we can keep up with the current pace and a new wave of the pandemic won't strike, our situation will consolidate pretty slowly. Plans for the anniversary season include a showcase-like review of our repertoire performances, roundtable discussions related to our anniversary premieres, conferences, a tour series, and the preparation of a book.

- What is your favorite city among the many you have visited?

- Ljubljana. I directed at the Mini Theater and loved it, it’s a wonderful city. For a long time, Paris was my favorite because I lived and studied there. Today, however, everything is connected to Budapest, this is my base, my home. I love nature, I love hiking, playing sports, I am fascinated by the sea, but lately, if I manage to take some time out, I feel really good at home, in my apartment. I love people, my family, my friends are important, but the experience of finally being able to shut ourselves off, take a book off the shelf and open it is quite special. I can’t wait to be retired and just read in a rocking chair for days.

Gáti Katalin Teodóra, Kultúra.hu, 2021

translated by Zsuzsanna Juraszek

He has been the founder and director of the Maladype Theatre since 2001, and regularly undertakes guest directings abroad. He consciously seeks out for the unexpected opportunities and irregular acting solutions provided by theatrical and non-theatrical spaces. In the fall, he prepares for another heroic venture: he sets the musical Nine on stage, a stage adaptation of Federico Fellini’s film 8 and ½ with Arthur Kopit’s libretto, and Maury Yeston’s music and lyrics. The premiere of the performance will be held on September 25 at the Budapest Operetta Theater. We talked to the Jászai Mari Prize-winning director Zoltán Balázs about the unusual performance.

- You have been interested in Nine for a long time. Why?

- Because it is an ensemble-building work and provides a wide playing field for all actors. Its complexity and unique structure do not allow the director and his co-creators to build their concepts on classical musical traditions. It is also an extra challenge for performers to be constantly present on stage. In this story which is running through many threads, the questioning of the nature of reality is guaranteed by magical realism. This style organizes the game, the use of space, manages time cyclically, and merges the narrative present of situations with unusual aspects. The “stratospherical” imagination, drawn from the protagonist’s memories, desires, and dreams, here desperately needs scenic solutions and visual effects that help move specific characters and events to another dimension.

- How was your encounter with the company?

- Our creative relationship deepened during the chaotic and crisis period of the pandemic, filled with curiosity and a desire to learn. This is also due to the fact that the artists of the Operetta Theater have retained their openness, their childlike spirit. They are just as insecure and vulnerable as members of any other company who want to give the best of themselves, the most, and they desire for trust, for artistic reinforcement. They are grateful if, as an expression of respect for their sovereign creative personality, the director initiates them into the details of his concept and understands with them the causal connections that move the intentions and actions of the given roles. They appreciate the organic attention of the director, the time devoted to analytical rehearsals, the workshop-like construction, and the need for analytical thinking.

- Where did the idea for the strange floating, rhythmic space come from?

- From Fellini's works. In almost every film, the Master features variations of spaces outside the locations of specific social life: symbolic mirrors of the spaces in which real life takes place. This kind of symbolic use of space reflects the protagonist’s state of mind, the atmosphere of the whole broken world. The lack of site identification causes different action pulses to occur between ever-changing landscapes and time zones. Also, the spa in which the story in question takes place is merely an allegorical venue for the protagonist’s external and internal transformations. Therefore, with Éva Szendrényi, the set designer of the performance, we tried to create a visual world, a space composition in which the gradually coming to life images of consciousness keep the viewer's attention in constant motion, inviting them to active participation. Nine’s rhythmic space combined with Japanese minimalism also evokes the thinking of scenic innovator Adolphe Appia, Edward Gordon Craig, and Josef Svoboda.

- How would you describe Guido's figure?

- I consider him extremely talented with every losing moment of his. He’s like a “crash test dummy” who goes with its head against a wall to draw attention to himself. Guido is both a perpetrator and a victim of his neglected actions, superficial and arrogant manifestations. The world he knew is disappearing; he is left alone, and the dark forces that have accumulated in him begin to devour his creative energies. There is nothing in it that opens the gateway to recognition. From the subjective consciousness of the director struggling with inspiration, despair brings to the surface bilocation experiences that allow him to find himself in two places at once: in his childhood as a child Guido and in the abstracted present as a 43-year-old guy. Encountering yourself is inevitable. You have to break to zero to be able to thrive again. Like any artist looking for new ideas, wanting to innovate, he must let go of frills, clichés, nerves. According to Fellini, a good idea has three components: efficiency, elegance, and robustness. Guido is looking for these three components. With her nine-year-old child-self, he explores these in a clear, magical, and inspiring world of his childhood.

- As an artist, do you go back to your roots?"

- I only feed on my childhood experiences. If we want to find back to something essential, we sometimes have to bathe in the lake of childhood. We must allow the joy of accepting simplicity, the beauty of our banalities, freshness, personality and playfulness to permeate us again. We need to remind ourselves of our frivolous selves and also dare to integrate theatrical solutions to be articulated in the spirit of naive art into our works. If we give up all this because “our oeuvre obligates us” and do not encourage the provocative and mischievous parts of our personality, we are saying goodbye to the fragile moments of recognition, the nervous system awareness of the anatomy of creation.

- Do you have any desperate moments like Guido?

- A lot. For today, however, I have accepted that these weary moments are also part of my human, masculine, artistic development, without these there would be no progress. I had to learn to use them to be valuable building blocks for a creative method based on heterogeneous dimensions.

Klaudia Nagy, Pesti Műsor, 2021

translated by Zsuzsanna Juraszek

Profile: Born in Cluj-Napoca, the 43-year-old actor, director, and company leader Zoltán Balázs moved to Hungary with his family in 1989. He studied in the drama program of Horváth Mihály Secondary School in Szentes and, in his final year, won an award in France for a performance in French. After spending three years at the National Theatre Academy, he was accepted simultaneously to the University of Theatre and Film Arts in Budapest (SZFE) and a prestigious drama school in Paris. Due to financial constraints, he was unable to attend the latter, but he participated in summer acting courses with masters such as Bob Wilson, Anatoly Vasiliev, and József Nagy. He began his studies at SZFE in Miklós Benedek’s acting class and, from his third year onward, also studied directing in László Babarczy’s class. Between 2001 and 2008, he was a member of Bárka Theatre. One of his most memorable roles was Hamlet in 2003, a part he was invited to play by the production’s director, Tim Carroll, then artistic director of London’s Globe Theatre. While still in his final year of college, he was invited to direct a production for a newly forming Roma theatre company, Eugene Ionesco’s Jack, or the Submission. In 2001, together with former collaborators but under a new name, he founded the Maladype Theatre, an ensemble experimenting with unconventional theatrical language (the word maladype means “encounter” in the Lovari language). Within a short time, the company became a regular guest at international festivals and collaborated with invited artists such as Mari Törőcsik, Andrea Ladányi, and Sándor Zsótér. Since King Ubu in 2009, the company had maintained a permanent venue, the Maladype Base, in a bourgeois apartment on Mikszáth Square in Budapest’s 8th district, which they lost in 2019 due to a housemate’s negligence. One of their most recent successes is Yvonne, winner of the Gombrowicz Festival Award. From Bucharest’s Odeon Theatre to Chicago’s Trap Door Theatre, Zoltán Balázs has been a guest director of prestigious companies.

Known for his unconventional stage solutions, the artistic director is simultaneously preparing a futuristic production of the musical Nine and celebrating twenty years of the Maladype Theatre with the historical revue Merlin.

Did Fellini’s creative crisis and his ambivalent relationship with women inspire you to stage Nine, the musical based on the Italian director’s film 8½, at the Operetta Theatre?

Fellini’s intellectual legacy and artistic personality inspire me in many ways. There are numerous parallels between our lives: our Catholic upbringing and the lasting impact of youthful mischief. At the age of six, I too ran away from home with a traveling circus. Although I was brought back, I continue to draw heavily on the bizarre and fascinating world of the circus in my directing. I am attracted to unexpected and impulsive stimuli, risky solutions, and worlds shaped by the encounter of diverse cultures. Interaction and improvisation are natural components of Maladype’s productions. The novelty of formal and thematic relationships in our work often leads our actors to draw inspiration from the Italian master’s Satyricon, Amarcord, Orchestra Rehearsal, and Roma. As a director who experiments with many styles, I am myself searching for the essence of 8½’s original title—that “beautiful chaos.” I easily empathize with the cause-and-effect dynamics behind male reactions determined by circumstances, and I am well acquainted with the male psychology that attempts to cope with the unexpected eruptions of the extreme forces of female nature.

You have directed internationally from Chicago to Paris to Bucharest, and you studied with theatre innovators such as Bob Wilson and Anatoly Vasiliev. What would you bring from your international experiences into Hungarian theatre?

Above all, a childlike spirit free from clichés and prejudices. For a long time, Hungarian theatre has been held hostage by its own myths and trapped by its habits of psychological realism. It resembles a ghost, an emotion that has lost its shape, haunting us through airless and unartistic currents. I find it difficult to understand why our theatrical community clings so stubbornly to frozen patterns and stereotypes, to fashionable yet false impulses. If we want the walls of our theatrical system not to collapse under the weight of our internal tensions, we must use diverse building blocks and bind them together with common sense. It would also help revive stalled theatrical processes if professionally immature, small-minded creators stepped back a little and made room for those who genuinely seek to reconnect with the essence of theatre and are still capable of generosity. Most people today live in greenhouses and throw stones. Maladype and I have always represented the outsider tradition. You have called the current funding allocation system a discriminatory crime, pointing out that Maladype Theatre—one of Hungary’s most internationally recognized independent companies—has not received priority status for years. Just as professional advancement is not determined by knowledge, achievements, or shared values but rather by connections and political affiliations, the same applies to funding decisions. The amount of our operational support is not determined by curators in light of the company’s domestic and international successes. In many cases, grant calls have failed to adapt to the significantly altered theatrical reality created by the pandemic. Facts are stubborn things, and they do not cease to exist simply because we ignore them. It is also a fact that Maladype, like many other companies, cannot afford to provide streamed performances.

Could streaming provide a long-term solution for theatres?

I see it as a forced solution. When the coronavirus pandemic emerged, suddenly everyone became a poetry reciter. Terrible productions were created that set back the genuine art of poetry performance for years. At the same time, I do not want to be unfair to theatres that invested in the technical infrastructure necessary for streaming and made serious efforts to present their productions online at a high standard. There were some outstanding results.

Maladype Theatre no longer has a permanent venue. How is the company sustaining itself now that festival invitations have disappeared because of the pandemic?

It is a tremendous artistic and financial loss that we are currently unable to perform either in Hungary or abroad. At the moment the border closures were announced, we were in discussions with twenty-three festivals and were scheduled to appear at theatre events in several exotic countries. During the pandemic, we were ultimately able to honor only the invitation of the Gombrowicz Festival with our production Yvonne. At present, the rehearsal process for Merlin is what keeps our team together. I hope we will soon receive adequate support; otherwise, I will have no choice but to let our actors and staff go.

Your adaptation of Tankred Dorst’s ironic historical revue Merlin, or The Waste Land is scheduled to premiere at the Kisvárda Festival in June. Do you see the play as an opportunity to review the various creative periods and development of the twenty-year-old Maladype Theatre?

Over the past twenty years, Maladype has survived several crises and has most often been reborn by redefining itself. It was not easy, amid the games played by various systems, to endure what Ottlik called “the disgrace of vulnerability” and preserve our independence. We realized in time that it is not enough to exist outside structures; we had to create our own system. We also recognized that our plays should focus on interpreting reality rather than reproducing it exactly. We took seriously the collective and personal responsibility of those who write (theatre) history and never tried to escape difficult situations. We reflected on ideas that did not originate with us and sought to avoid didactic conclusions. Before certain theatrical truths faded, we searched with our audiences for new content and new meaning. These insights also shape the story of Merlin and its dual-consciousness dramaturgy. The play’s central question is this: How can a person live while in a constant state of falling? Will they catch on something before they hit the ground, or will their fall transform into a light, dreamlike floating?

Rita Szentgyörgyi, HVG, 2021

translated by: Zsuzsanna Juraszek

Many people were probably surprised by the news: Zoltán Balázs staged a musical at the Budapest Operetta Theatre. And not just any musical: Nine, by Mario Fratti, Arthur Kopit, and Maury Yeston, based on Federico Fellini’s autobiographical film 8½. We spoke with the director about his encounter with both the work and the genre, the application of his unique working methods in the context of operetta and musical theatre, and readers will also discover just how much Guido Contini resembles a real-life director.

– Let’s start with a tabloid-style question: what are your top three musicals and top three Fellini films?

– The Rocky Horror Picture Show, Sunset Boulevard, Chicago. Amarcord, Satyricon, Orchestra Rehearsal.

– What turns 8½ into Nine? Is it just the music?

– The music functions as a mediator and a fictionalizing force; it elevates the personal references embedded in the libretto to a metaphorical plane. The number nine, however, gains its true significance from the punctuation marks that correctly interpret our intentions. It depends on what we wish to say about ourselves and how we wish to say it—whether we emphasize our thoughts with a period, an exclamation point, a question mark, or a colon. The one-half signifies “half,” that is, half of something. The real question is how we interpret the image of a glass that is “half empty” or “half full”: whether we view it through an optimistic or a pessimistic process of awareness. One could spend a long time discussing the historical, psychological, and cultural associations of the number nine that define the musical Nine—its symbolic role in Germanic, Celtic, or Greek mythology. We could speak about the nine Muses or the nine-year siege of Troy. We could also discuss how, for the peoples of Bali or Siberia, this number symbolizes magic and the superlative, while in Christian culture, as the threefold manifestation of the divine Trinity, it represents absolute perfection. We might mention the nine fundamental rites of the Confucian tradition and the endless network of superstitious associations connected to the number. The conclusion would remain the same: nine is a powerful number, a universal symbol of birth, renewal, and the striving for perfection.

– Musicality has always been a strong feature of your prose productions. You have directed operas and created unusual, genre-defying musical performances, and you have even taught students at the Academy of Music. Yet this is your first encounter with the musical genre. What experiences could you adapt to Nine, and what represented completely new territory and challenges? More generally, how did this genre avoid you for so long?

– I had previously held discussions with the former management of the Operetta Theatre about directing a musical or operetta, but strangely enough, this shared intention only materialized now. I believe much depended on the courage of the current leadership. It is well known that I am drawn to works presenting unconventional formal and thematic challenges, and my approach to staging them is equally unconventional. My distinctive choices of material and unique working methods promise artistic renewal for a theatre company, but they also involve risks in terms of programming and audience expectations. Paradoxically, the very qualities that attract artistic directors considering inviting me are also the ones that can seem intimidating because of their atypical nature: my unconventional, reform-minded perspective, my carefully structured creative strategy, and my workshop-style approach to directing actors. Given all this, it is understandable that the musical genre largely passed me by. Both in Hungary and abroad, it is strongly shaped by established performance traditions and by rules clearly defined by the authors, which significantly limit the creative freedom of directors. It is no coincidence that Nine—the musical adaptation of Fellini’s autobiographical film 8½—ultimately became the ideal project. Almost all of Fellini’s films belong to the category of “works beyond classification.” His innovative, extreme, and deeply personal artistic language continues to inspire creators across disciplines. Arthur Kopit and Maury Yeston’s successful work embodies the same kaleidoscopic creative play, drawing from multiple cultures and genres. It demands from the director and collaborators an individual vision and stylistic versatility. For me, this work, which speaks in the language of total theatre, becomes truly meaningful and deeply human through the points of intersection created by personal impulses and its self-revealing, satirical mode of expression.

– You typically work intensively and over long periods with your own company, far beyond the standard six-to-eight-week rehearsal process. When you work as what we might call a guest director—especially on a musical and with multiple casts—how do you operate? How much room is there for experimentation? What compromises do you have to make?

– Because I have worked with many different ensembles around the world in addition to my own company, I learned quite quickly how to function as a guest director. In such situations, the only variable is the amount of rehearsal time available. The method, the tools, and the momentum remain constant because they are primarily generated by my personality. Regardless of genre, I have never had to compromise in applying them. The same was true of my work with the actors involved in Nine. I discovered collaborators who value collective thinking, deep engagement, and the understanding of complex relationships. During rehearsals, they freely and courageously contributed their childlike imagination to our creative explorations, without prejudice. The challenge of working with three separate casts never felt burdensome. On the contrary, it activated the variability of the characters as embodied by different actor types and expanded the range of relational impulses emerging between scene partners. My only task was to create the right atmosphere and working strategy for understanding the gradually unfolding network of relationships.

– Which of film director Guido Contini’s problems can a theatre director most easily identify with?

– Unfortunately, almost all of them. It is difficult not to empathize with the struggles of the protagonist in a work that examines both the anatomy of creation and the responsibility of the artist with such shameless honesty. I know what it feels like when certain circumstances take control of me. As a theatre director, however, I must answer a different question: how can all this become tangible for the audience? How can the subjective consciousness of a director suffering from creative paralysis be captured through theatrical means so that, through the chaotic swirl of memories and fantasies born under the sign of “beautiful confusion,” the audience can ultimately be guided back to the experience of the “blank page,” the purity of childhood? How can one speak authentically about Guido Contini’s relationships with women through the filters of dream and reality? How does the vortex-like descent built upon the “theatre within the theatre” motif acquire meaning within his divided consciousness, and how can the intricate mechanisms of his psyche be revealed?

– Which of Guido’s relationships was the most difficult to decipher, and which was the most straightforward?

– It is not easy to establish an exact diagnosis of the origins of the protagonist’s anxiety toward women. As a director, therefore, I prefer to offer audiences a deeper understanding of the causal relationships underlying his behavior. Truth, like art, exists from the observer’s perspective. So let the audience decide whether there is any “easy case” among Guido’s relationships.

– Nine was a major success in cinemas here as well, but Hungarian audiences had already encountered the musical through a production in Békéscsaba. György Szomor serves as a bridge between that production and the Operetta Theatre version, both as lyric translator and leading actor. How much attention do you pay to such connections? Do you build on them?

– Although my preparation always involves researching the circumstances of a work’s creation, its social and cultural background, the critical reception of various adaptations, and viewing significant productions, none of this influences the development of my own concept. While exploring the Hungarian history of Nine, I quickly arrived at the 2005 Békéscsaba production. I find it fascinating that after so many years György Szomor has the opportunity to play Guido Contini once again. I am certain that the life experiences he has gained since then will bring new emphases to his performance, and these will also be reflected strongly in the song lyrics he has newly adapted into Hungarian. What matters most to me is that the artists involved understand the personal motivations of their characters and engage in genuine communication with one another on stage.

– Audiences have not yet been able to see the production because of the pandemic, but the set design was already revealed in the Látványtér exhibition. How did this unusual floating space, designed by Éva Szendrényi, come about?

– The unity of the authorial and directorial vision is reinforced by the gradually emerging images of consciousness within the associative narrative. Starting from this idea, set designer Éva Szendrényi and I wanted to create a transparent and airy environment capable of natural transformations, where allegorical, symbolic, and surreal scenes could effortlessly give way to one another. Within the personal imaginative space of Contini’s mind, we entrusted the reordering of events and time to the concept of magical creation. We conceived the spa—the symbolic site of the protagonist’s external and internal transformations—as an organic whole expressed through rhythmic spatial composition. As a result, the production, which incorporates elements of futurism and fantasy, offers a seamless and continuous mode of storytelling that requires no map from the audience.

– When do you hope audiences will finally be able to see Nine?

– I sincerely hope that my Operetta Theatre production, which has already been delayed for nearly a year due to pandemic shutdowns, will not remain in rehearsal until my retirement, and that we will finally be able to premiere Nine at the end of September.

Interview by Tímea Papp, Papageno, 2021

translated by: Zsuzsanna Juraszek

Director and actor Zoltán Balázs is rehearsing both with his own company, Maladype Theatre, and with the artists of the Budapest Operetta Theatre. We spoke with him about his constant search for new paths, his perfectionist demands, and the situation of independent theatre, Hungarian theatre as a whole, and society at large.

– You are bold enough that in your latest production, Yvonne, a different audience member is chosen to play the title role at every performance. You clearly love improvisation. I suspect that both in life and in keeping your company together, you have needed a tremendous amount of improvisation.

– I live in a state of constant replanning, which requires both a strong nervous system and improvisational skills. I also have to make sure not to take myself too seriously. One must continuously search for loopholes—passageways leading toward the goals formulated either by myself or by the company. This requires constant readiness. We must not be afraid of new impulses; we need to learn how to integrate them effectively into our long-term plans.

– In theory, you are rehearsing two productions simultaneously: Merlin with Maladype and the musical Nine at the Budapest Operetta Theatre. But because of the COVID pandemic, rehearsals for both had to be suspended. Doesn’t that make you curse a little?

– Of course it does! This forced interruption is terrible. Both Tankred Dorst’s epic Merlin and Arthur Kopit and Maury Yeston’s Nine are large-scale works, with intricate stories and numerous characters. Both deserve to be imagined and realized in a single uninterrupted creative impulse. The creators of Nine were inspired by Fellini’s 8½, a work that unfolds along thousands of threads and possesses countless dimensions.

– But musicals generally simplify things considerably.

– This musical is unconventional in many respects. For example, the characters remain continuously present on stage. The piece examines the creative individual under a microscope. The protagonist is forty-three years old—exactly my age at the moment. In these times, when we are forced to reduce our momentum and accustomed pace to zero, we have the opportunity to reflect deeply on both the external and internal dimensions of the creative process.

– And what have you discovered about yourself?

– That searching for the way forward will remain a permanent motif in my life. Within my personality, curiosity is the most fundamental driving force. I will always be interested in where I come from and where I am heading. From time to time, however, I need to take inventory. To focus fully on what is most important in a given period, I must rid myself of excess baggage.

– Is the fact that you come from Transylvania still a defining aspect of who you are?

– Absolutely. I carry Transylvania within me. I come from there and lived there until I was twelve. But I do not brandish minority identity like a sword, and I strongly dislike it when others abuse it for their own purposes.

– What did you bring with you from there?

– Among other things, the realization that there are no absolutes in the world, and that truth and love do not judge.

– You once said that half your personality remained in Transylvania.

– My twelve-year-old self truly remained at the railway station in Sighetu Marmației. When I die, I will go back for him, and together we will depart into the unknown. I am the protagonist of a continuous inner journey that I hope is moving toward a form of enlightenment and self-awareness. Reality and imagination are constantly intertwined in my life. My face and my mask frequently exchange places. This is especially characteristic of artists, but it is true of everyone: behind the mask reflecting our social role lies our true self.

– Is your mask that of the obsessed alternative director who works day and night?

– For some people, perhaps. There is always an image of us reflected by our environment. You were there at the beginning of my career—you know how eagerly people attached the “enfant terrible” label to me. Thankfully, that title has now been passed on to Attila Vidnyánszky Jr., and eventually someone else will inherit it from him. There is always a designated savior, a little messiah whom people believe will shake up Hungarian theatre. Then both the chosen ones and those who choose them eventually realize that this is not a solitary game.

– Did you ever believe you would save theatre—or the world?

– No. What I believed was that what I represented through my own theatrical universe would contribute something to an open and diverse theatrical canon. I tried to achieve this with such “reckless” collaborators as Ilona Béres, Andrea Ladányi, Erzsébet Kútvölgyi, Mari Törőcsik, László Sinkó, and Károly Kuna. I hoped that productions such as Theomachia, Empedocles, The Blacks, The Duchess of Malfi, and Faust I–II—which approached sensitive subjects in unconventional ways—would inspire others as well.

– The people you mentioned only joined individual productions. In my opinion, the truly reckless ones were those who remained members of your company for six or seven years. They devoted that period of their lives almost entirely to you and to the work. Family life and private life hardly seem compatible with it. You rehearse day and night; it demands extraordinary concentration and considerable physical and emotional stamina.

– You have summarized it perfectly. It is a way of life. Only those who wish to invest in their professional development at the beginning of their careers can truly undertake it as company members. For individual adventures, highly accomplished artists like those I mentioned often join us. It is worth doing only as long as it brings joy. Once someone begins to value family, financial security, a home, a car, or greater popularity more highly, then it is time to let go of Maladype. Yet that person’s talent and work become permanently woven into the company’s history. I need only mention a few names: Kamilla Fátyol, Hermina Fátyol, Artúr Kálid, Balázs Dévai, Erzsébet Soltész, Ákos Orosz, Zoltán Lendváczky, Ádám Tompa, and Zsolt Páll.

– There were times when your company was practically starving, trying to survive on minimal support. You even issued a public statement concerning the activities of the committee evaluating operational grants.

– Our operating support decreases year after year because there are preferences and entanglements between certain members of the committee and particular artistic workshops that are unworthy of our theatrical community. The committee should embody a spirit free from politics and insular professional groupings. Professionally committed curators and artistically successful ensembles should meet one another on grant platforms. It is enough to note that this year’s call for applications is virtually identical to those of previous years. It has not adapted in any way to the radically altered circumstances created by the pandemic. This means that nobody is addressing its impact; nobody seems interested. Presumably, this is because the “town clerk” and the “clerk’s wife” already know in advance who will receive how much. I continue to find this unacceptable.

– When there is no pandemic, does your company earn most of its income from international guest performances?

– Generally speaking, yes. The absence of touring opportunities now represents a huge vacuum in our lives. Even if invitations await us from Egypt to Peru, we cannot travel until we have received the vaccine and possess official proof of vaccination. We have no idea when we will be able to return to the international stage, but we are eagerly awaiting that moment.

– Many independent theatres will probably not survive. Support tailored to the current situation does not seem forthcoming.

– Many have already disappeared. And then they will be replaced by one little company or another.

– Do you mean companies that, like fake political parties, are primarily interested in obtaining funding while engaging only in superficial activity?

– Partly. I think it is important that new groups emerge and that they receive adequate start-up capital. What I miss is a long-term concept and strategy in their artistic and operational plans. In previous years, the curators repeatedly stated that six companies—including ours—should long ago have been granted special status. These ensembles, with serious achievements and years of proven viability behind them, should by now have been moved into a distinguished category. Well, that change is still waiting to happen.

– You once described professional solidarity within the theatre community as an illusion. Do you still think so?

– Unfortunately, yes. It would require generosity. It would require reconciling many different perspectives, truths, and arguments. Today, when the existence of artists is largely determined by which club they belong to, this seems impossible. Almost everyone has developed a compulsion to align themselves—to the right, the left, upward, or downward. I have always tried to stay out of that. My concern lies with the complex nature and mechanisms of theatre itself. There is enormous tension among the participants in our theatrical public life. Many are on the verge of explosion. This certainly does not make it easier to return either to the essence of theatre or to one another. If we are to free ourselves from the grip of this hundred-headed “virus hydra” and finally resolve our common affairs, we will have to forgive one another. We should begin with ourselves. If we prove incapable of discussing our views on a professional basis, then parties, clubs, and tribes will determine our lives.

– You have played Hamlet, Mack the Knife, and Richard III. Why have you not acted for quite some time?

– I continue to receive offers, but caring for my own company and directing abroad do not always allow me to accept them. I have lived on stage as Hamlet, Richard III, and Viktor Kravchenko, and I know that such roles demand the whole person.

– Kravchenko’s book was so important to you that Maladype published the Hungarian translation. Yet at the premiere, you felt you had failed to convey the text effectively. You announced that you would stop the performance and refund the audience’s tickets. Fortunately, you continued. Such things happen very rarely.

– Something similar happened when I was playing Hamlet. During the performance, I felt that my mental capacity had run out, and I asked the audience for a little time. It happened just before the monologue beginning “How all occasions do inform against me...” One voice in my head said: Keep going. They paid for their tickets. Continue the show. The other voice said: What are you pretending for? You are exhausted and want to fall silent. Obeying the second voice, I rested briefly and then reconstructed the opening thoughts of the monologue word by word, building Hamlet’s speech from the ground up. It possessed astonishing power.

– Your current company consists of members of an acting class that graduated from the University of Arts in Târgu Mureș.

– For three and a half years now.

– Most of them are not from Transylvania; they simply went there to study.

– Exactly.

I directed their graduation production, August. Seeing how talented they were and how sensitive they were to each other’s energies, I decided to offer them contracts.

– There has already been a trend of students from Hungary going to Târgu Mureș to study theatre. Do you think the events surrounding the University of Theatre and Film Arts in Budapest could strengthen this tendency?

– This year, significantly more people applied to Târgu Mureș than last year.

– In your view, where is Hungarian theatre heading?

– We need to find a new, comprehensive interpretation of our shared tasks. Mediocre, petty-minded, and professionally immature people should take a step back.

Interview by Gábor Bóta, 168 Óra, 2021

translated by: Zsuzsanna Juraszek

Zoltán Balázs—actor, director, and artistic leader of the Maladype Theatre—is among the fortunate artists who, even during the pandemic, have been able to continue creating despite the forced closures and intermittent reopenings of theatres. In parallel with public-health restrictions, the Jászai Mari Prize-winning director has been preparing two major stage productions to be premiered once theatres reopen. With the artists of Maladype Theatre, he is working on Tankred Dorst’s Merlin, or The Waste Land; with the company of the Budapest Operetta Theatre, he is rehearsing Nine, the acclaimed Broadway musical by Arthur Kopit and Maury Yeston, based on Federico Fellini’s Oscar-winning film 8½. An interesting coincidence is that Merlin and Nine are both celebrating the fortieth anniversary of their creation at almost exactly the same time.

How different is it to make theatre “behind closed doors” under the current circumstances?

In the case of an open theatrical workshop such as Maladype, it presents a particularly complex challenge. Our situation is further complicated by the fact that we are unable to stream our productions because we have neither the necessary technical infrastructure nor sufficient financial support. As a result, in accordance with pandemic regulations, the actors of our company are concentrating primarily on rehearsals for Tankred Dorst’s Merlin, which we intend to premiere when we can once again meet audiences in person after reopening.

What has to be done differently when directing a play compared to the usual process?

The creative process is currently determined by COVID regulations, and adapting to them is no small task. It is essential that this special rehearsal period be made safe for everyone through carefully organized rehearsal practices. Consequently, the actors’ performances—which are meant to realize the director’s vision—must be built consciously and with complexity within these constraints. An important consideration is ensuring that the quality of the ensemble’s interaction remains intact.

It is no coincidence that Maladype Theatre, celebrating its twentieth anniversary this year, has chosen Merlin as a means of reflecting on its unique history and various creative periods. What does Maladype mean to you? What do these twenty years represent?

The word Maladype means “encounter” in the Lovari language. Both the concrete and abstract meanings of the word embody everything that is essential to my understanding of theatre. For me, Maladype is the freest platform born from a chance encounter twenty years ago—a place where I can repeatedly experience the fullest, happiest, and most authentic form of existence.Over the course of our shared professional evolution, we have spoken about countless sensitive issues through the language of contemporary theatre and formed alliances with extraordinary collaborators who themselves sought the unconventional and the new. In these unusual adventures, our greatest accomplices have always been the audience. Their renewed attention and spirit of adventure are the true proof of these past twenty years.

What should audiences know about Merlin?

Merlin is a monumental synthesis of the historical and metaphysical experiences of twentieth-century humanity. It is a kind of “historical revue” that speaks about Europe’s past, present, and future. Dorst’s story, set in early medieval England, begins with the birth of its profoundly contradictory protagonist. Merlin is the famous wizard of Celtic mythology, the son of the Devil, conceived so that his father’s will might be fulfilled and humanity’s true nature—its innate evil—might be unleashed. Merlin, however, refuses to obey. Defying his father’s satanic plan, he creates an alternative social order founded on peace, equality, and justice: the ideal of the Round Table, which the young King Arthur is destined to realize. The central question that resonates across the ages is this: Will humanity ever be capable of creating an ideal, harmonious society?

Maury Yeston, the composer of Nine, contributed additional musical material to your production. That must be a major honor.

It is an enormous honor. Thanks to Mr. Yeston, three iconic songs from the film adaptation of Nine—Cinema Italiano, Take It All, and Guarda la Luna—will be performed for the first time in the forty-year history of the Broadway success in the Budapest Operetta Theatre production. The Hungarian lyrics were translated by György Szomor, who also portrays the film director Guido Contini, the production’s protagonist. Because Nine is being staged with three separate casts at the Operetta Theatre, the leading role is also shared by Attila Dolhai and Zsolt Homonnay. In this kaleidoscopic production, audiences will also see Ildikó Bánsági, Zsuzsa Kalocsai, Andrea Szulák, Ágota Siménfalvy, Veronika Nádasi, Zsuzsi Vágó, Kata Janza, Lilla Polyák, Anna Peller, and Ildikó Keresztes embodying the various female archetypes.

What should people know about Nine?

This extraordinary musical, inspired by Federico Fellini’s Oscar-winning masterpiece 8½, was created in the early 1980s with a libretto by Arthur Kopit and music and lyrics by Maury Yeston. Fellini’s legendary film was not only the first truly autobiographical director’s confession in cinema history; it was also a brilliant and innovative work that profoundly influenced other artists. Nine premiered on Broadway in New York on May 9, 1982, achieving enormous success with both audiences and critics. It received twelve Tony Awards, including honors for Best Musical, Best Original Score, and Best Costume Design. The production ran for 729 performances and subsequently embarked on an international journey, being staged throughout the United States, South America, London, and numerous European countries. The score draws on a wide variety of musical genres, creating a rich and captivating soundscape that includes several well-known songs.

When did you first see Fellini’s film, and what was your initial impression?

I first saw the film as a student in the drama program in Szentes. I was completely captivated by the circus-like whirlwind that symbolized the vortex of creative processes unfolding within Marcello Mastroianni’s character. I loved the way the protagonist’s world was filtered through fantasy, dreams, and memory. As a child, I wanted to become a clown myself, so I could easily relate to Fellini’s fascination with the circus and effortlessly identify with the various archetypes. Of course, it took years before I could fully understand and appreciate the “complex simplicity” of the film’s unique language.

Have you previously had the opportunity to see either of these works on stage? Do you consciously try to avoid solutions similar to those used by other productions?

Although I have seen several different adaptations of both works, none of them influenced the development of my own vision. I usually encourage actors to watch every adaptation they can find and draw their own conclusions. A successful acting moment in one production does not automatically contain a universally valid explanation of the causal mechanisms behind a character’s behavior. During rehearsals, I strive to create coordinates within which actors can discover their own truth, beginning from their own personalities.

How demanding is it to oversee two productions of this scale simultaneously? How can it be done?

It requires the combined efforts of many people to stage two large-scale works under ideal conditions. Fortunately, both at Maladype Theatre and at the Operetta Theatre I am able to work with exceptionally prepared and professional teams for whom the success of the production is just as important as it is to me. The most important thing is that I place complete trust in the professionals around me who handle both the short-term and long-term organizational and practical responsibilities.

How difficult—or perhaps how easy—is it to reflect on current political and social realities through theatre? Is it even necessary?

Direct political references make it very easy to win the approval of audience members who come to the theatre primarily to demonstrate their partisan commitments, intoxicated by various ideologies and political convictions. Painting a nuanced and detailed picture of our public life is far more difficult—and far more risky. In a society filled with tensions, it is an especially challenging human and artistic task. In my productions, I try to identify those impulses of reality that, by virtue of their factual nature, neither judge nor discriminate.

How do you see the future of theatre? What is most important at the moment—for artists and audiences alike? What can we do?

Immediately after the outbreak of the pandemic, when people were voluntarily exiling themselves in their homes, I had the impression that theatre was missed by only a relatively small portion of the population. The longing for daily theatrical experiences and personal encounters seemed strongest among theatre professionals themselves. At the time, I felt that the pandemic would permanently alter traditional theatre-going habits and that, after quarantine, people would choose different forms of cultural consumption. By now, however, it has become clear that everyone has reached saturation point with online content. People are beginning once again to crave direct, human moments and communal experiences. Soon, theatre will once again have a mobilizing role to play, and I trust that it will fulfill that role with authenticity.

Interview by Gergő Császár, Budapest BEAT, 2021

translated by: Zsuzsanna Juraszek

We often hear that Hungary’s cultural administration is bleeding the so-called independent theatres dry and that, during the pandemic, many of them are facing extinction. It is therefore encouraging to report that work has not come to a complete standstill at Maladype Theatre, which will celebrate its twentieth anniversary next year. We spoke with the company’s artistic director, Jászai Mari Prize-winning actor-director Zoltán Balázs, about the present situation, touching briefly on the issue of the University of Theatre and Film Arts (SZFE) as well.

-“We’re trying to rehearse,” Zoltán Balázs stated, referring to his company’s production of Tankred Dorst’s Merlin, or The Waste Land. Dorst’s work is one of the longest and most complex creations in world dramatic literature—a highly unconventional piece that recounts the story of the Knights of the Round Table with a distinctive sense of humor. It is also a monumental summation of the historical and metaphysical experiences of twentieth-century humanity.

A Revue of Europe

– It is a kind of “historical revue” that speaks about Europe’s past, present, and future. The author originally wrote it for director Peter Zadek, who intended to stage it at Düsseldorf’s fish market in a performance lasting roughly nine hours. The world premiere ultimately took place in 1981 at the Düsseldorf Schauspielhaus. On the fortieth anniversary of the work’s creation, we are planning to present our own version, Merlin, in cooperation with the Goethe-Institut in Budapest and the Düsseldorf festival.

We are approaching this rarely performed dramatic epic in the spirit of what has become characteristic of us—“minimalist monumentalism”—just as we did with previous productions of similarly complex German authors, from Goethe to Hölderlin. Balázs added that the Hungarian premiere was planned for January. Meanwhile, most of the companies commonly referred to as independent—a label he admittedly dislikes—had become effectively unable to operate.

– I have no problem with terms such as alternative, avant-garde, progressive, or innovative. But the word independent is a misleading linguistic inheritance based on a false premise. It suggests “not requiring support from others,” which does not reflect reality at all. Structurally speaking, so-called independent theatres are not independent in the slightest. Their organizational forms and day-to-day operations are heavily determined by grant systems and funding mechanisms.

The independence of Maladype refers exclusively to its spirit and its conception of theatre. It means that we are able to pursue our own creative path and realize our autonomous artistic ideas. The director explained that maintaining a permanent company during the pandemic is almost impossible, particularly for touring ensembles such as theirs. Because of worldwide travel restrictions, they lost numerous festival invitations, and the disappearance of this important source of income represented a major financial blow.

– At the moment, it is impossible to make long-term plans. Nevertheless, Balázs remains hopeful that the internationally successful company, which will celebrate its twentieth anniversary next year, may finally find a permanent venue of its own—one where it can realize its theatrical system in a manner worthy of its achievements and professional successes. Speaking about this system, he emphasized that he considers himself a concept-driven director who acquired the knowledge of company leadership over many years.

The Magic of the Circus

Balázs began his career as an actor. At university, he completed studies in directing alongside his acting degree. He regarded acting as an adventure, the pinnacle of which was his portrayal of Hamlet in Tim Carroll’s production at Bárka Theatre—a performance built on improvisation and active audience participation.

I assumed that, as an artist born in Transylvania, his theatrical thinking had been shaped by the world-renowned Romanian theatre tradition during his youth. But that was not the case. He comes from Sighetu Marmației, on the banks of the Tisza River, where, in the relative isolation of the Partium region, the circus represented the greatest cultural attraction. It is these memories that he draws upon while directing Nine, the musical adaptation of Federico Fellini’s 8½ for the Operetta Theatre.

– My childhood experiences of the circus were decisive in bringing me close to theatre. And I arrived there through a very traditional path: first the drama department of Horváth Mihály Secondary School in Szentes, then the National Theatre Academy, and finally the University of Theatre and Film Arts.

Given that Balázs graduated in both acting and directing, later taught courses, and worked as an instructor at other institutions, I had to ask him about the transformation of SZFE.

In response, the actor-director emphasized that he has strong opinions about the long-running developments surrounding the issue. However, he would prefer to express his thoughts in a longer interview devoted specifically to examining the matter in detail. Capturing the bitter irony of the situation, he concluded by quoting a brief exchange between Agatha Christie’s famous detective duo: Hastings says to Poirot: “It seems this case is becoming more and more complicated!” Poirot replies: “Which means the solution will be astonishingly simple.” The real question, Balázs suggested, is what kind of solution that simplicity will ultimately produce. – Whether it will work or not is something we cannot judge from where we stand today. He encouraged everyone, regardless of which side they belong to, to stand up courageously for their own cause and their own truth.

Capricious and Complex

– My cause has always been theatre. For me, theatre is not merely a concept or an object—it is a person, a living being. It is capricious, complicated, and multifaceted. One should approach it with respect, humility, and genuine curiosity. It must be tamed every day. Its sensitivity and professional integrity must be nurtured and protected. Reflecting on the past two decades, he noted that the Maladype ensemble undergoes a natural transformation roughly every seven or eight years. – I do not feel any need for actors to grow old alongside me. I consider it perfectly natural that a lifestyle built upon intensive collaboration, professional development, and constant renewal will eventually give way to the desire to start a family, achieve financial security, and create more predictable working conditions. I asked him who would perform the older roles if the company was constantly renewing itself. – Fortunately, over the years we have had the opportunity to work with many actors of what I would call a “predatory nature.” He then began listing names: Ilona Béres, Angela Császár, Mari Törőcsik, László Sinkó, Erzsébet Kútvölgyi, Gyöngyi Blasek, Károly Kuna, Olga Varjú, Zoltán Seress, Éva Vándor...

Attila Ditzendy, Magyar Nemzet, 2020

translated by: Zsuzsanna Juraszek

The METTRIN Arts Centre performs on 26th June, Can Themba’s classic The Suit, directed by Zoltán Balázs. Adrián Kovács is the composer of the Hungarian premiere. The new musical work, which blends elements of jatt with classical opera traditions and is based on adaptation (Mothobi Mutloatse) and libretto (Balázs Zoltán) of a short story by one of world literature’s best-known South African authors, is a collaboration between the METTRIN and Maladype and will serve as the opening performance of the Louis Armstrong International Jazz Festival. Following its premiere in Bánk at the end of June, this multidisciplinary production will also be presented in Gyula at the World Literature Classics Festival and in Budapest as part of the Városmajor Open-air Theatre, Szemle Plusz competition program.

Zoltán Balázs directed Faust with rich fantasy: he put on stage Goethe’s dramatic poem, which deals with dimensions of existence, as a visionary poetic performance in the Puppet Theatre of Budapest. The connected performance of actors and puppets results in ritual theatre of vision that is turning into fantasy.

The director and the dramaturg of the performance, Sándor Zsótér has made a fragmental, a little bit overedited and compact version from the two parts of the giant tragedy; that way, more than three hours long stream of text is flowing in the performance. The noble styled diction of the theatre of words and its diversified structure of motifs make is hard to understand by adult and the teenager viewers: the following of the turns of actions, the structure of mythological references expects extraordinary attention and some kind of knowledge of the play. (The programme does not mention translators, maybe Zoltán Jékely and László Kálnoky’s little bit archaic text is the basis of the performance.)

At the beginning of the performance, we are in a green subway car, Faust and Mephisto sign a contract for life and death with each other, as passengers, who are wearing black dress, white shirt, black ties, at the beginning of their common long journey. Their tiny alter egos, as small marionette puppets, repeat, watch, comment their actions and thoughts. As the performance is going on and getting into deeper and deeper (metaphysical) places, the stage is getting filled with fabulous creatures of fantasy, smaller and bigger, human sized or more giant puppet figures. Not only puppets appear, but some mythical-playful-surreal creatures, as the figures from Hieronymus Bosch paintings or from modern sci-fi films would get alive in front of us.

Zoltán Balázs uses maximally the scenic possibilities: in the big space the performers climb or lean into the inside of the subway car through the window, or slide down on high red poles; much bigger and bizarre magical creatures fill the stage, and the movers of the puppets play and live brilliantly together with them. One of the funniest one of them, is a small person of strings, who shows the playfulness of a chirping child, his active and fast moving and holding, his acrobatic tricks.

Judit Gombár, the designer of set and costume has created a lavish visual world for the performance. The flexible, active, worm-like or anthropomorphic figures are poetic in spite of their monster-like nature too, and they are not totally independent from the Goethe-like texts. “Here you down, are looking for phosphor light: / it is a soul, Psyche, it has wings, / you can tear it out, and then just a worn it is” – we can hear Mephisto’s chant that way, and those places of the text, which fix special images, are mostly uncountable in the play.
The tangible creatures of imagination “live in” the depth and height of the stage. At one of the elevated moments of the performance, a giant, half-cut giant statue of a female face is rolled in at the back part of the stage, behind its moving jaw, people are climbing out. Other time, tiny, flappy, bird-like creatures are flying in the height. Finally, at the symbolic appearance of death, black dressed women are coming up onto the stage (the allegorical figures of the Problem, the Trouble, the Need, the Burden) with giant colourful butterfly wings on their backs. They are standing around those, who are about to leave life, the other performers are coming too, and they create together the melancholic poetic vision of thinking about passing, about life and death.

This kind of harmony of text and vision is not always created in the performance: sometimes vision becomes independent, and it leaves the monotonously sounding text. And if the puppets start living their independent lives, the space of association widens infinitively, and the signs are away from the meaning. The artistic pictures are there not only to show dramatic actions, but the projection of soul and psyche too.

Balázs’ staging has a special arc and waving movement. The actors are sitting almost motionlessly in the opening scene, and they tell very silently, in static way Goethe’s lines. The act, with its two hours long performance, seems to be infinitely long. The second act is the space of more active actions, and it has thicker dramatic material. István Erdős performs the old Faust. He shows an ageless, resigned, wise thinker, who sums up the experiences of an active life in his monologue. Later he appears in a younger body, as Mephisto and Margit’s figures are doubled too. The transitions and multiplication of characters are between the pillars of the director’s ideas, as well as the figure of Helena the beautiful , who embodies sensual beauty and love, and she appears more stressed in the performance. The dreamy female figure can be seen through the painted veil, the performer, Márta Szakály pulls the veil on herself and covers with it: the young and old faces are copied on each other.

The pink, fish-like monster is on the stage all through the performance, it “comments” on the happenings and the passing of time with the moving of its caudal fin. It walks like a human or rushes over the stage. The real bet of Zoltán Balázs’ performance is the sensual showing of time. Of the passing time, of the symbolic time of stylized actions.

Dezső Kovács, Revizoronline, 2009

(translated by: Veronika Fülöp)

More critics have been published about Faust, which is directed by Zoltán Balázs, than about the whole term of the Puppet Theatre of Budapest. That kind of newspapers have dealt with the performance (Magyar Narancs, Élet és Irodalom, Népszabadság), which do not write about performances of troupes for children. About the puppet theatre version of Faust, we publish a critical review now.

The version of text

Many critic emphasize the braveness of the try. According to Judit Csáki it is a “brave choice” if they would put “any version of Goethe’s Faust on stage”. To it László Deme Sz. adds that “the genre of puppet art gets out more and more boldly from the box of the theatre for children”.

According to Tamás Tarján the play is “one of the masterpieces of the world literature”, “the most importantly worked out theme of travelling”, for “its rank, its length and the dignity of its weight are also connected. So the one hundred and ninety minutes long beautiful performance of the Puppet Theatre of Budapest in reasonable.” “However some disadvantages come from it too” – he adds to it. (The length of the performance is mentioned in any way by almost all critics. For its second term, the performance has become shorter a lot, so it does not last up until 11pm, but finishes at 9.45pm.)

Tamás Koltai has another opinion about Goethe’s play: “Faust is the book, which is known by everybody, but nobody has read it. It is an exaggeration. The students of the German courses have had it. Especially in German” – he wrote. (“Maybe it is performed in the Puppet Theatre in German...It can be, it would not disturb the understanding, only a little bit more struggle would not mean a lot” – he added to it ironically.) He mentioned the most important problem in connection with the critical acceptance of the performance, by name, that how much the performance is understandable and followable.

The performance interferes in to the original text by Goethe a lot. Obviously, it is necessary as the printed, at least 500 pages long version of the complex play can hardly be staged in its original version. But in case of Faust we cannot talk about simple cuts. “The director and the dramaturg of the performance, Sándor Zsótér has made a fragmental, a little bit overedited and compact version from the two parts of the giant tragedy” – Dezső Kovács wrote it. “Into the first one, which was created in the heat of the Sturm und Drang, into the “close looking” one of his young life, he works into many parts of the wide second one, which was made in the name of world harmony, that way they not just connected monumental and most inner human problems, which Goethe “secretly made into” (by Goethe’s own words) the Faust-legend” – Judit Csáki added to it.

According to László Deme Sz.” the most important change according to their dramaturgical structure compared to the original one is Helena’s figure, who appears earlier and more times, while the Margit-motif slides backward. With is the remaining parts of the two parts of the tragedy are connected to one another more organically, and the desire of love is more emphasised and the exposure of human longing becomes more balanced and complex.” According to András Sztrókay: “the performance – as Faust himself does too – commutes between the two women’s worlds.”

About the traceability of the new version of the text, the opinions are divided. Dezső Kovács, who wrote appreciatively about the performance, mentioned too that “the turns of actions, the structure of mythological references expects extraordinary attention and some kind of knowledge of the play”. Judit Csáki says that the director and the dramaturg with the connection of the taken scenes from the two parts of the play “make their own work harder, then we have not talked about the actors’ tasks. We have a hard work too – if we accepted to go along the road, which Zoltán Balázs cut in a hard way.” Tamás Koltai anyway – in that sarcastic tone, which characterises his whole writing – calls the complication of the two parts a pure mistake. (“Zoltán Balázs – freely after Polonius – might have thought that Goethe would not be hard enough for the actors – and for us – must be good to make it harder.”) According to Koltai the text, which serves as a basic material for the performance is too ideological and abstract (if I understand well his ironical references). First he has referred to Claus Peymann and Peter Stein’s Faust performances, the earlier one made a “blasphemous comedy” the later one a “spectacular performance of popular theatre” from the play, in a perfect order, the first part and the second one, but they worked for the doltish Germans, for whom well-knowingly the complicated and even ideological thinking is strange. But here the viewers want abstraction, especially in case of performance for youngsters, I know, I have seen many of them lately.”)

Word theatre, diction

in connection with the version of the text we should not talk about the connection of the two parts of Faust, but about the technique of abbreviations and cuts. But the critics have not mentioned these. However the performance is characterized by that process, which is common in contemporary theatres, that it eliminates all elements, which would create context, it does care about the traditional building of scenes (about with Goethe still did), it does not sketch out situations and does not open the characters’ relationships. Instead of it, with the emphasis of the most important places of texts, it gives the essence of the happenings of the play. (Maybe that is the reason why Koltai thinks that this version of the text is ideological.) That way, the reduction of the text turns our attention more towards the verbal statements, rather than the actions. Obviously Judit Csáki wrote because of it that “mainly the text is what is happening.” Tamás Tarján in connection with the performance talks about the reign of word theatre “which was condemned many times in the era of post-dramatic theatre”.

But according to Dezső Kovács “the noble versioned diction of the word theatre...gives a hard exercise” to the performers too. Many critics have mentioned the diction as one of the biggest problem of the performance. “Mainly during the first part there are many problems with the diction, the followability of it, and its understandability. The actors tell with humility, in disciplined way, but mostly hardly understandably – and many times seems to be: they can hardly understand it – Zoltán Jékely and Zoltán Kálnoky wonderful lines” – Judit Csáki wrote it. M.G.P. is stricter: “It is good that they do not rolling the poem, but the voiced consonants are ill, they sound on voices, which are corroded by sodium hydroxide.” Tamás Tarján talked about the “consciously accepted monotony of the tone” and about the punctual, colt articulation”, which are obviously in connection with the director’s ideas. “The lines and rhyme-pairs are shown more than the longer parts. The play needs about twenty minutes to find its own volume. The quietness is an aesthetic aspect here, but the over lowered voice is annoying.” Koltai has made sarcastic remarks in connection with the actors’ performances too: “I appreciate the actors’ performances and even bow my head in front of them with honest admiration – and with sympathy – they have learnt a lot of texts, and they do disciplined what has been told to them.”

The changings of roles

Many mentioned, that not only the complexity of the version of the text, and the problems of diction it is hard to follow the performance, but because of the “figural changes” (Tarján) too. “First of all the viewers would be interested in: who is who in the crowed of performers on the stage anyway – M.G.P. noted it – “It is not easy to answer it: there are men and women in black suits. Many of them play one role.” “The director multiplies Faust, Mephisto and Margit: an old, a young and a puppet Faust, five Margits and at least the same amount of Mephisto are changing one another. The actors are all performing in suits, those who play the same roles do not wear any distinctive signs of costume, so we cannot follow all the time, that who play which role” – Sztrókay said it. According to Koltai “another level of hardness, not to be able to know precisely who is who, because then we can connect the texts to characters, it would not mean any good, maybe we understand what they want to tell.”

Anyway according to Dezső Kovács “the transitions and multiplication of characters are between the pillars of the director’s ideas.” From it he emphasized that at the beginning of the performance “István Erdős performs the old Faust. He shows an ageless, resigned, wise thinker, who sums up the experiences of an active life in his monologue. Later he appears in a younger body, as Mephisto and Margit’s figures are doubled too.” “The contract happens with the ceremonious eating of an apple, which is the symbol of Fall, but they do not begin the Margit-line, but Helena appears as old too, Márta Szakály plays her. After it, they start the happenings of the first part of the original text, more exactly that way the so far young Mephisto becomes the young Faust” – László Deme Sz. wrote it. At the place of the young Mephisto, who is performed by Norbert Ács, the similarly young Gergő Pethő steps, who takes into “dark depth” the figure, “and gives cold inner side to the devil” (Nyulassay).

Dezső Kovács has thought the changing of ages and their copying on one another to be an important motif: “as well as the figure of Helena the beautiful, who embodies sensual beauty and love, and she appears more stressed in the performance. The dreamy female figure can be seen through the painted veil, the performer, Márta Szakály pulls the veil on herself and covers with it: the young and old faces are copied on each other.”

The game with ages goes on in case of the female main character too. “Margit stands in front of us, performed by many actors, in changing showing” – Tamás Tarján said it, but none of the critic has analysed that the director makes actresses with different ages (and habitus) perform the different stations of lives of the figure in the changing of the Margit-roles. Attila Nyulassy sees only the beginning and the end of this road (Bori Karádi performs the young, wonderful and virgin Margit, Gyöngyi Blasek emphasizes the prudence and true love from her character). Csáki emphasized just the final phase: “in this second part, Faust’s and the prisoned Margit’s scene is in the middle: the mother’s psyche, who killed her child, is almost broken, and she throws herself into her reappeared lover’s arms with desperate reluctance. Gyöngyi Blasek’s Margit and Norbert Ács’ Faust find each other once more.”

Puppet- and visual world

In the performance the multiplying of the characters are made to be more complicated, that the figures’ “their tiny alter egos, as small marionette puppets, repeat, watch, comment their actions and thoughts.”(Dezső Kovács) “The real characters’ marionette partners function sometimes as the characters’ souls, then as simple (if it is liked: puppet-theatre-like) source of humour” – Sztrókay said it. Most of the critics mentioned the person of sticks as one of the most memorable parts of the performance, but nobody has mentioned that it is about Homunculus’ embodiment.

Many writings refer to the fact that the performance of it in a puppet theatre is not far from Faust’s story. M. G. P. refers to the puppet traditions of the topic, but he emphasizes that “the Faust by the Puppet Theatre of Budapest is more graceful than its predecessor on the market.” According to Csáki “the puppet-form is the natural surround of the Faust story... but in this performance anyway “the diction and the text should play the main role” and not the puppets.

The performance becomes more vivid any time the puppets get bigger stress than the saving of text – M. G. P. stated it. Tarján noted that the numbers of the puppets “get bigger to the second part...their sizes get bigger”. M. G. P. mentioned that “Judit Gombár got the puppets from the puppet performances of different cultures (wayang puppet- and shadow play, marionette) and from the traditions of fine arts.” Dezső Kovács said that “As the performance is going on and getting into deeper and deeper (metaphysical) places, the stage is getting filled with fabulous creatures of fantasy, smaller and bigger, human sized or more giant puppet figures.” According to Csáki “Judit Gombár creates an imaginative and undefinable puppet-world.” According to her “the puppets can help show us another perspective of the travelling of life, of Faust’s happy story of suffering, who is chasing knowledge and passion in the shadow of the contract, which he has signed with the devil.” Dezső Kovács stated that “not only puppets appear, but some mythical-playful-surreal creatures, as the figures from Hieronymus Bosch paintings or from modern sci-fi films would get alive in front of us.”

This fine-artistic way is mentioned in many critics. László Deme Sz. also talks about “puppet creatures over the reality” and about “gothic mutants from the hybridization of the hellish creatures of the Walpurgis-night and Hyeronimus Bosch”. He added that “Zoltán Balázs’ staging leaves as much the traditions of natural puppet art, that he puts at once the puppet-like elements into the stylized and overturned, but hard to encode world of the most contemporary theatre, and he builds around with surreal gestures.” From Dezső Kovács’ point of view the widening of the genre of the puppet theatre can create complex genres in the performance: “Goethe’s dramatic poem, which deals with dimensions of existence, as a visionary poetic performance in the Puppet Theatre of Budapest. The connected performance of actors and puppets results in ritual theatre of vision that is turning into fantasy.” According to him “Judit Gombár has created a lavish visual world.”

In contrary to it Tamás Koltai thinks that all of it is “just decoration, it cannot be seen and (the different puppets) were not get into the process of the performance too. According to Sztrókay “Zoltán Balázs suppressing the action and diction and directs a totally static picture.” László Deme Sz. added to it that “in spite of all its beauty the world of stage is so much constructed and organised” that “the enjoyment of meeting up with them, are so much hidden...A vision is put on stage, which operates as some kind of sensual machine, and not as visions of human moods.” (In connection with it Tamás Paár starts his writing that “I could write a praising critic (about the performance), if I did not take into consideration its enjoy-ability.”)

Summary

It seems that Zoltán Balázs’ Faust version in the Puppet Theatre divides the critics very much. Some of them have rejected clearly the performance, they find it to be boring, abstract, inconsistent. Others are on the opposite side: they have talked about a “Faust variation with rich fantasy”. But there are more of them, who have their opinion between the two. “In spite of the difficulties of acceptance there are many effective moments in the performance” – one of them writes it. “It is hard to follow, easy to get lost in it, but you mustn’t give it up” – tells the other one. Then adds to it: “the second part of the performance is more mature and cleaner too.” Others agree with it: “Which is felt to be mannered minimalist staging during the two hours long first part, it becomes tensed sub-textual and sub-picturesque during the second part of the performance. It reports abundantly without telling anything.”

Kristóf Bíró, Ellenfény, 2009

(translated by: Veronika Fülöp)