Zoltán Balázs graduated at the University of Theatre and Film Arts in Budapest with a degree in acting in 2002, followed by a degree in directing in 2003. He directed his first play while still in college (Pessoa: This Ancient Anxiety – Merlin Theatre, 1999). After college, he joined the Bárka Theatre as an actor, where his most important role was perhaps Hamlet in 2005, directed by Tim Caroll. He made his directorial debut with the Maladype Theatre in 2001 (Ionesco: Jack or the Submission). Originally established as a Gypsy-Hungarian theatre, the company gradually became an independent theatre with its own identity. Between 2004 and 2008, Maladype was a resident company at the Bárka Theatre, but in 2008 they moved to the Thália Theater’s studio stage. In 2009, they established their own base in a bourgeois apartment on Mikszáth Kálmán Square, while they perform at other venues as well. Meanwhile, Zoltán Balázs regularly directs abroad and holds courses and workshops.

“Could it be any easier?”

You have degrees in acting and directing, you've been a member of professional and independent theatre companies, you actively act and direct, you are the artistic director of the Maladype Theatre, while you also teach, lead courses, and write theoretical essays about your work. How can you summarize all these different activities? What do you consider yourself to be?

I would say that I am a pivot that holds the diverging axes together. I am a combination of a thinker and a creative person. I cannot afford to not see my different roles (actor, director, company leader) and tasks (organizer, strategist) as parts of a whole.

Wouldn't your life be easier if you didn't have so many tasks?

I find it hard to imagine what that would be like...

What would make things easier for you, what could you possibly give up or let go of?

Since I receive quite a few invitations from theatres abroad, I could organize my life in such a way that I would only work outside Hungary. As a theatre maker with my own method, I would also hold workshops and courses, which have a very high theoretical and practical value on the international cultural market; various festivals and theatres are constantly interested in them. I would take a maximum of one or two creative partners with me. If I chose this life, I would no longer have to worry about my daily livelihood, how to pay the bills, the fees of permanent company members and guests, and where to find the money for the various Maladype events. I wouldn't have to constantly worry about whether there would be a grant that suited all our plans, and if so, whether we could realize the program in question with the amount awarded. If I were free from all these worries, I might be able to focus more on my own personal development. Now I have to divide my energy and attention between the goals I have set for myself and the tasks I have undertaken with others. I also have to think about those who wish to achieve their goals through and with me.

“Chance to stay alive”

And why didn't you choose to be an international director traveling the world?

I ask myself this question every day. I still see a chance that we can achieve everything we set out to do with the founders of Maladype eighteen years ago. Somehow, we survived even the most difficult times... Somehow, we always overcame the crises and redesigned our work. We were able to develop; newer miracles were constantly born... In short, Maladype still has so much potential that it's worth doing. I hope that for a while it will still be possible to synchronize my work here and abroad. I have tried to organize the life of the company in such a way that while I am directing abroad, other directors work with our actors. If the story of Maladype must come to an end, I will accept it and let it go. I will not wait for disaster tourism to kick in during our final days, as is the case with other independent companies. If it really is over, we will leave with dignity, and I will try to prepare those involved in time.

What chances do you see for the company to survive?

The world does not favour our kinds of independent communities and theatres. In fact, the world does not favour theatres or the arts at all. At the same time, there are three factors that can give us a lot of energy for our daily struggles and survival. The first one is a sense of humour: the state when you can see the world around you with playfulness, irony, and creativity, and easily dissolve into the abstractions of everyday events. Another important factor is good company: meeting and working with creative people who inspire us. People who are good to be around because they also consider shared values important both in our work and our private life. I think it is crucial that everyone receives the amount they deserve for their work, as without this it is quite difficult to maintain enthusiasm over several years. In fact, a lack of money will sooner or later undermine faith and trust. The third factor is the central idea that holds together different intentions and defines each creative period. "Internal belonging" as an organic driving force that creates coherence can motivate us to act together. As long as these three factors are present, our work makes sense. This does not mean, of course, that we do not need reliable funds to plan our work. The problem is that many people cannot even imagine that the life of an independent theatre group can be planned...

“Like a kamikaze mission”

Does the plural form refer to a real community? Apart from Maladype, do you feel a sense of belonging with other independent companies as well?

There are few of us who work as truly independent companies with our own identity. Few companies have a permanent cast of actors with whom it is possible to maintain and develop the repertoire. The rehearsal and performance schedule, which is tailored to the various hosting theatres, does not allow them to think in terms of processes, nor does it allow the artistic director to work as an experimental, research-oriented creator.

Ultimately, why did you choose to be independent?

It was an instinctive choice, stemming from my personality. If I hadn't had a fundamental attraction to this quality of creative freedom, I would have avoided this way of life, as it offers no prospects, either structurally or financially. I can say with certainty that founding and running an independent theatre company is a crazy idea. It's like a kamikaze mission.

What does it mean to work in an independent company?

We need to have a very serious audience-building strategy in order to find and retain our own audience base. We need to have a clear idea of how we can reach out to, bring together, and engage those who are truly interested in our work. This audience integration process must be carried out with great care, with the participation of the company's actors. This additional task is organically integrated into our daily operations. When Maladype burst onto the theatre scene in 2001, I didn't have time to build a brand because we were doing our job, because we had something to say, because we were bursting with dangerously good energy, and because the Gypsy and non-Gypsy actors found each other on stage in a euphoric performance. We were swept away by our imagination, our desire for freedom, and our courage to conspire with rebellious authors (Ionesco, Ghelderode, Sándor Weöres, Genet, Hölderlin), who offered us unusual and unexplored plays. Exploring their worlds gave focus to our energies. Only with time did I realize that many people struggled to keep up with this pace. Those who initially found our theatre-making method attractive and novel soon grew tired, became complacent, and gave up on us. They invested less and less in understanding our internal processes, analysing our performances, and developing tools for decoding them for the audience. Since it proved too complicated to engage deeply with our performances, most people pigeonholed us into some category: ritual theatre, poetic theatre, movement theatre, etc. They would show up at our performances from time to time, as if they were exclusive, elite events, but after these unidentifiable experiences, they would disappear again for a long time. Meanwhile, interest in our work grew abroad. This is how foreign festivals and theatres representing different traditions and contemporary endeavours came into the picture. We were able to establish long-term partnerships with them, based on mutual interest. But this is something that very few companies are able to achieve.

“Risk factor”

Does this mean that you have encountered greater openness towards the theatrical ideals and aesthetics that you represent abroad than you have at home?

Yes, definitely yes. Even in environments where, due to documentary theatre trends and current political events, people are almost obliged to be more sensitive to the situation in Hungary. Most recently in Switzerland, where we performed our show Great Sound in the Rush to great acclaim. It was a huge revelation for the Geneva audience that in every moment of László Sáry's "half-serious" opera – which certainly cannot be described as a work that waves everyday events like a banner or a manifestation of degenerate social processes and socially sensitive fragments – they discovered the "human factor" based on doubt, which theatre makers slowly forgot while proclaiming "certainties." It is possible to "preach" based on tribal wars and internal political battles from the stage, but the essence of theatre is still only human. It was shocking and touching to see how the elitist Swiss audience – just as the Dutch audience accustomed to “delicatesse” productions at the Holland Festival in 2011 in Amsterdam, in response to our performance of Leonce and Lena – rediscovered within themselves the primary and very personal feelings induced by the performance. It was a gigantic confirmation of everything that we at Maladype have been searching for in the concept of the "human actor" for many years.

Can you define what the company's main goal is?

The most important thing is that audiences and creators, who have somehow "drifted apart" over the past decades, once again view theatre as an entity with its own identity. I often feel that theatre makers exploit and take advantage of the rich nature of theatre, using it to further their own creative and economic interests. They degrade it into an abstract concept or commercial tool, forgetting that theatre makers were once the humble and understanding medium of the complex nervous system of theatre art. Our goal is to approach theatre in a sensitive, human way, searching for its essence. I would like our theatrical processes to continue to be defined by change and diversity in content and form, rather than by what audiences liked or what critics loved. On the contrary! We must change, refresh our existing knowledge, redesign and rethink our previous achievements; tackle new topics and find new forms. This is our primary goal.

So safe operation is not the most important thing.

No, rather the risk factor. Looking back on Maladype's seventeen years, I can say that risk has always been at the centre of our theatrical endeavours. This is why so many people of all ages and cultural backgrounds love and follow us on our unique journey. Of course, we have done a lot to achieve this with our open rehearsals and programs featuring various people of value. In order for the theatre to truly be an integrative space where theatre creators and audiences can meet, we need bold and innovative ideas that can support the practical aspects of thinking about theatre from many angles. I also think it is important that we dare to put our intuitive insights into words and share them with others.

“To make theatrical language exciting”

Why do you find this important?

Because if we don't open up, our souls will shrink. It will become increasingly difficult, and eventually impossible, to express our thoughts and creative intentions. We will not be able to find the right words, our expectations of ourselves and our partners will become unclear, we will not be able to interpret our feelings, and our instructions, which we believed to be valid, will wear away. It will turn out that we have no common concepts, we cannot refer to them; fruitful debates will be missing, so we won't be able to engage the audience in our creative processes... In this context, I also consider it the task of theatre makers to get to the bottom of certain blocked theatrical processes.

What exactly do you mean?

Representatives of Hungarian theatre arts are still pursuing the Stanislavski method, and in the meantime, they don't have time to deal with other innovations in acting pedagogy. Even though there are occasional isolated attempts to introduce other methods that have already gained acceptance in different parts of the world, these continue to be regarded as "exotic aberrations" by the guardians of Hungarian theatre traditions. This is how we miss out on innovations in puppetry and circus arts, and our theatrical compositions become increasingly schematic and predictable. To make theatrical language exciting, we need a new vocabulary, new concepts, and new interpretation strategies.

In your own endeavours, do you find it important to utilize the achievements of puppetry and circus arts?

I strive to do so wherever possible.

Can you give some examples?

In Swan Lake, staged at the Budapest Puppet Theatre, I used fans as an animation tool, which posed a serious challenge for the performers. The "transformation" of the various fans required not only sensitive acting but also technical knowledge, which the actors did not have, so for a long time the fans could not come to life, become airy, obey the various tricks, and enchant the audience. That is why I believe that theatre directors—if they have the opportunity and want to provide their company with the richest possible means of expression— should plan ahead to ensure that actors can learn new techniques in good time, in the form of workshops or practical sessions, which will enrich their acting abilities and be available to a director who is working with the team on a new production to integrate new theatrical forms and tools. Thus, it will not be the task of the designated rehearsal period to develop the actors technically and accustom them to new means of expression, but rather a joint opportunity for the director and the actors to build on their existing knowledge.

So, a richer theatrical language (and wider theatrical knowledge) would be needed.

Absolutely. I would be delighted if there was much greater professional demand and audience openness for this.

“Finding the Gold Bug”

You say that most spectators are looking for the familiar; the tried and tested. Maladype, however, goes against this expectation because it performs unusual plays in unusual ways. Although your repertoire is quite diverse too. You perform classic plays that are always in the repertoire of Hungarian theatres. One example is Richard III, which you presented in an unusual chamber theatre format directed by Sándor Zsótér. On the other hand, you introduce contemporary authors who are hardly known in Hungary, such as Matei Vişniec, whose Dada Cabaret you performed in a completely surreal way. You had a book translated that is virtually unknown here, Viktor Kravchenko's I Chose Freedom, part of which you performed as a one-man play. These are all different kinds of theatre, requiring a different kind of audience attitude every time and offering different kinds of experiences. Is there a common intention in these performances? Or is it precisely this diversity that is important to you?

We strive for a unique style of "stylelessness." I try to free us from the temptation to didactically transfer anything from previously conquered content into our upcoming performances. This kind of awareness is also related to the Gold Bug method, which is based on analytical thinking and can be used effectively by actors, teachers, and even company managers...

What is the Gold Bug method?

A full description of the method can be found on our website. The Gold Bug is the title of a short story by Edgar Allan Poe about Professor Legrand's voluntary exile and his deciphering of the external and internal characteristics of the Gold Bug he found. Thanks to his analytical thinking, the professor discovers the only route to a treasure that was once hidden on the island by pirates. The Gold Bug is therefore knowledge itself. There are important and less important signs. Those who can distinguish between them can separate the essential from the non-essential, the useful from the useless. The four stages of finding the Gold Bug are observation, inference, combination, and finally, composition. The acting pedagogy method I have developed is also based on these four steps. Since the Gold Bug method mainly induces professional discoveries based on analysis and self-observation in those who are looking for valid internal processes in line with changes in their environment and new paths towards the "terra incognita" of the future, it requires a completely different way of thinking and attitude from the training participants than what they are used to. It requires the dual synchronization of their human and professional nature, so that familiar and unexpected impulses are simultaneously present in the actors' creative strategies.

“Dada, Kravchenko”

Let's talk about some specific performances! Why did you want to stage Dada Cabaret?

I didn't. It wouldn't have occurred to me if Matei Vişniec hadn't sent me the play two years earlier. At first I put it aside, but two scenes kept bothering me, so I reread it. I realized that there was a lot of potential in the material. Matei Vişniec's instruction, which he wrote at the bottom of the copy he called "fragments of text," helped me a lot in my final decision: the director can re-edit the play according to his own Dadaist ideas! Erzsébet Kútvölgyi immediately came to mind for the role of Lenin - she's someone I had long wanted to work with. She had seen our production of School for Fools years ago, which prompted her to change her mind about leaving the profession, much to everyone's delight. Studying the character of Lenin, I felt that it required an actress with a "predatory nature," similar to Ilona Béres as Kronos in my production of Theomachia or Andrea Ladányi as Vergilius in Dante's Inferno. There are actresses who do not feed on salad leaves. The Dada Cabaret really stirred my Dadaist imagination, and I also saw an opportunity to use the character of Tristan Tzara to carry out a kind of “cleaning out” of the “theatrical relics” that had accumulated over the years. I was able to think through the period from 1914–16 to the present day, all kinds of isms, and the artistic and human endeavours of various eras. In Dada Cabaret, as in another Vişniec play I staged at Chicago's Trap Door Theatre (How to explain the history of communism to mental patients) or in the one-man play based on Viktor Kravchenko's bestseller, I was interested in the metamorphosis of freedom. The murderous nature of utopian and dystopian games. The responsibility of the individual and the community. The mechanisms of manipulation. Dadaism helped me get rid of a lot of unnecessary things that I had been carrying around for years. That's why I got rid of my previous repertoire, and that's why, after Judit Gombár's death, I started designing the performance spaces for my shows myself. At the same time, it was a great opportunity to work with Gábor Gábriel Farkas and his band, so that the actors of the company could try themselves at a completely new field, which meant learning, mastering, and representing the criteria of musical theatre at a high level.

And why did you want to adapt Kravchenko's book to the stage?

Because it was something I needed to get off my chest. Because of my childhood, my upbringing, my grandparents. Where I come from, freedom was a fragile national value, but a strong family value. The dilemma that Kravchenko's father expresses as "We are either pigs or people" deeply shaped my attitude toward freedom. I sought out Viktor Kravchenko's book after reading an interview with Ariane Mnouchkine, who mentioned this work among the five most important books of her life. Mnouchkine's credibility and the title of the work—I Chose Freedom—twisted together inside me like a double helix of DNA, and I couldn't rest until, thanks to my persistent colleagues, we found Andrew Kravchenko, the author's only living son. We managed to obtain the rights and have Péter Konok translate the work, and then I was able to make my own adaptation from the original 866-page book. Viktor's story wanted to be told through me, and I was happy to interpret it. Each performance—including guest performances across the border and in Washington—is a special inner journey, because it cannot be performed any other way than personally, in the first-person singular. It is not only for those who survived that era, but also for young people who can relate the events in the book to the social and human events that shape our everyday lives and the increasingly distorted political processes. It is my intellectual duty and responsibility to tell Viktor's story and to speak out in my "one-man manifesto" against phenomena that seem to be repeating themselves.

“Richard III”

Why did you want to present Richard III?

Sándor Zsótér was interested in the play and the anatomy of power, and I was interested in the character's flexibility, his intellectual modulation, and the unique technique with which the Duke of Gloucester is able to infiltrate other people's minds without them noticing... Ede Szigligeti's 130-year-old translation contributed greatly to this undertaking, where the plasticity of ideas, the skilfulness of the wording, and the sophisticated packaging of words open up completely new channels for both actors and viewers, which is further enhanced by the intimate, direct space created by Maladype Base. These circumstances relieve me of any responsibility associated with the stereotypical character of Richard III; I don't have to be evil or use various medical aids in my performance. Thankfully Zsótér did not burden me with such things, so the rehearsal process was very liberating. The last time I had such a great rehearsal experience was with Tim Caroll in the production of Hamlet. Sándor saw that performance several times and loved it. Perhaps it was due to this experience that we took on Richard III. I hadn't acted for a long time, and if I hadn't come across Kravchenko's book, I wouldn't have returned to the stage as an actor. But I trust Sándor so much that I know he knows what he wants to direct and why, and that there is a reason behind his casting. I am happy to be playing in his directorial concept, because an important condition of my acting is giving, reflecting the thoughts and intentions of my partners like a solar panel. As an actor, it is a serious challenge to exist almost imperceptibly and carry out my agenda. When we were rehearsing and looking for the source of the ugliness and deformity of Richard, the character I play, we realized that compared to a soap bubble, which is the most perfect form, everyone, even the most beautiful woman or man, is a gnome. So, we identified points of reference that shift the familiar emphases elsewhere.

“I didn't want to be an actor at such a price”

Why didn't you want to act for a while?

Because I had some bad experiences after Hamlet. And I have really good actors in Maladype...

What kind of bad experiences?

I participated in plays and performances where I didn't feel the kind of creativity, personality, courage, and risk factor that Tim Caroll's Hamlet opened up for me and which I experienced during its performances. I noticed that even though I was given an important role, one with which I could easily find common ground, during rehearsals Treplev or Macheath began to realize the directors' ideas and expectations, squeezing out the personality of Zoli Balázs. Let me give you an example. During rehearsals for The Seagull, I asked the director to allow me, Zoli Balázs, who was often called a “theatrical daredevil” at the time, and whom he had rightly chosen for the role of Treplev, a character searching for new forms, to direct Nina's theatrical performance, in which she bursts into flames during the play, in the way I thought about theatre at the time. But I was not given the opportunity. I am convinced that I will fight for my truth differently if Treplev's character is covered by Zoli Balázs's rebellious personality and unconventional theatrical thinking. Whether it's good or bad, I take responsibility for it, I will fight for Treplev's truth until my last breath. I will rebel against my mother, Arkadina, and I will fight for my love, Nina. Since the director would not allow it, I had only one option left: as Zoli Balázs, I assisted the director in realizing his theatrical ideal for Treplev, which had nothing to do with my own theatrical ideas. This way I couldn't stand behind the Treplev problem the way I wanted to. As a result, the character's dangerousness, personal rage, and the radicalism of his actions and words were missing from the performance. Zoli Balázs was pushed into the background, and Treplev became dull and harmless. I had the same problem when, in the same performance, I wanted to knock Trigorin down on stage as Treplev, but the director stopped the scene and steered the situation in a non-conflictual direction, saying: Treplev wouldn't do that... I didn't read such an instruction in Chekhov, and I would have considered the conflict valuable in terms of the relationship between the two characters and their shared story, but this went beyond what the director had imagined for the role. I would have let the role emerge from me, but this remained only a possibility... After Hamlet, it was very difficult for me as an actor to take on less personal roles. I felt that I didn't want to be an actor at such a price. In the meantime, Maladype had become a great company of actors with whom we did groundbreaking performances (Leonce and Lena, Egg(s)hell, King Ubu, etc.), and I focused all my energy on them; I didn't miss acting at all. In light of this, I consider it an even more wonderful gift that I can play Richard III today.

But am I right in thinking that you don't play the role of Kravchenko, you rather say his words?

Well, I exist. I hope so. There are no special effects...

Actually, it's just the text that matters, isn't it?

Yes, it is.

Not the character behind it.

The issue that I want to represent during the performances is his problem. When I embark on the nearly two-and-a-half-hour journey, I strive to have an agenda with the story, myself, and the audience. This commitment organizes my evening, whether it's Kravchenko or Richard. It is important not to push myself in front of the text, but also not to fall behind. It requires a very good sense of proportion and a wide-ranging, relaxed attention, a constant connection with internal and external events.

“I am angry, not frustrated”

Aren't you frustrated with the current state of theatre?

I am angry, not frustrated, because of the constant struggle to survive. Very angry. I feel that our situation is unfair, and I am outraged that none of our achievements at home or abroad are of any value to those who confidently decide our fate. There are many people and companies in the same shoes, and everyone tries to remain faithful to their own chosen values; there is no other point of reference. Perhaps this harsh situation makes it easier to attract like-minded creators with similar values.

István Sándor L., Ellenfény, 2017

Translated by Lena Megyeri