Zoltán Balázs, artistic director, actor and director of Maladype Theatre, likes to experiment with crazy ideas during rehearsals that can last from morning until dawn. He is fascinated by the nature of dictatorship and the anatomy of power. He often plans the scenery based on paintings, as will be the case in the performance of Three Sisters, which will premiere on April 8.

The scenes in your production of Three Sisters will be brought to life in the style of various works of visual art. This fits in with your other experiments, such as when you presented all twenty-five scenes of Leonce and Lena in four different ways, or when you used different music for each performance of Egg(s)hell, which changed the situations accordingly.

Not only specific works of fine art will be brought to life, such as The Last Supper. Leonce and Lena, Egg(s)hell, or even Exercises in Style (in which the scenes were played by actors in the style of different film directors) were all a kind of variation game. Similarly, every scene in Three Sisters is expressed on a scale of fine art ranging from Rublev's world to the present day. It is as if Chekhov had written the play specifically for this purpose. The entire first act is like the Renaissance itself. The search for the new man, serenity, sunshine, light, humanism. The second act is the world of Baroque, Mannerism, Realism, Naturalism, and Romanticism. In the third act, fire practically sets the world around the sisters ablaze. The fourth act is one of clarity, minimalism, an imprint of the second half of the 20th century and the first half of the 21st, in which Lili Ország fits just as well as Malevich or Picasso. It's a wonderful game. Sometimes I have a strange eureka moment, as if Chekhov had written the play this way, when obviously he didn't.

During your lengthy rehearsals, you usually experiment with the craziest ideas. During rehearsals for another Checkhov play, Platonov, for example, the actresses walked up and down for eight hours, and in the end, only two intense minutes of this scene ended up in the production.

That's natural! Our playful experimentation never changes; I hope it will always remain our trademark. Thank God, I am currently surrounded by curious people. I am thinking primarily of the actors, but not least of my colleagues and creative partners, whose skills are very important, because they can and want to create worlds out of nothing—since our financial resources are close to zero.

When Attila Vidnyánszky worked in Beregszász, it was not worth asking how long rehearsals would last, because they usually lasted from morning until night. Apparently, you rehearse from ten in the morning until midnight.

Oh yes, that happens. But I am perfectly capable of rehearsing during the night as well.

Are your actors capable of that too?

Yes, because they are obsessive creatures. In a way, they have it easier, because I make schedules, so they get a little break while I work with two or three other actors. I haven't been teaching at the Academy of Music or the University of Theatre and Film Arts lately, but I took on a course in János Meczner's class. I staged The Mikado as a puppet opera with his former students. Now I'm rehearsing Ionesco's absurd play The Lesson every night with young students.

You have moved from ritual theatre to a completely different type of theatre. The performance of Three Sisters will obviously not have a sacred "charge."

God forbid! They always try to categorize us, to pigeonhole us. We've been everything: gypsy theatre, ritual theatre, movement theatre. The term "physical theatre" was first used in connection with us, after our production of Leonce and Lena. Later, it was applied to Csaba Horváth and the major he founded at the University of Theatre and Film Arts. Basically, it stems from my personality that I don't repeat myself or create eras, but rather pair a given theme, drama, or story with a new method of execution, form, idea, and guise. In this sense, I consider change to be my most exciting creative criterion.

Does this mean you don't want your productions to be recognizable even if we don't know that you directed them?

Look, you know this, but I think people can identify the trademarks of my thinking quite well. There are common denominators, for example, imagery has always been a very important motivation in my work. This was also inspired by Judit Gombár, with whom I was able to work for ten years.

Now you are dedicating this performance to her memory.

We miss her very much. She was a very important creative partner in my life: we had a fantastic "back and forth" relationship. With her, it didn't matter whether we worked at four in the morning or five in the afternoon. The important thing was to delve even deeper into the material at hand. Thinking in terms of imagery, symbols, and allegories came completely naturally to her. It is very difficult to find a creative partner with a similar mindset in the field of set and costume design. I am very happy that we are working with Mari Benedek again, because she is absolutely receptive to this kind of thinking.

How compatible is this almost monastic work with the natural exhibitionism of actors? Usually, they want as many people as possible to know them. Ákos Orosz, for example, left your theatres, which is one of the smallest in the country, for the largest, the Víg Theatre. There is a saying that this profession should not be done in secret.

I understand what you mean, but we're far from doing it in secret. Thankfully, Maladype is particularly well known both at home and abroad. We can't complain that we don't have an audience or professional attention. When our actors come to work here, they know what this lifestyle entails. It involves a lot of sacrifice, but also a lot of rewards. Personal responsibility must always be present in the life of an actor, a creator. They must know where they are starting from and where they are going. In Three Sisters, the different roles shine even more brightly. Just consider, for example, that each of Masha's scenes is rendered in a different painter's style. You have to show completely different phases of her development, her spirit, character, and soul, or even her downfall. This is a much more complex task than if the actor had to play one type of character. It liberates the actor and makes the performance more variable.

You didn't perform for nearly six years.

No, thank God.

Why thank God?

Because I didn't miss it. I didn't have good experiences after Hamlet. But that's a matter of perspective; I could also say that Hamlet at the Bárka Theatre was too perfect. For me, it was a huge discovery at the time to see the possibilities offered by a performance based on the serious, authentic, profound, courageous and free presence of the actors. I didn't always feel that in other performances later on.

You returned as an actor with a one-man performance, an adaptation of Viktor Kravchenko's book I Chose Freedom. It was clear that you really wanted to tell this ugly story about the nature of dictatorship.

It is indeed an ugly story, and after that came the nature of dictatorship, the anatomy of power, in Richard III, in which I play the title role, directed by Sándor Zsótér. So, I couldn't avoid talking about it.

This topic preoccupies you greatly...

That's right. I have always wanted to examine the relationship between the individual and power.

Could this be because you grew up in Transylvania under Ceausescu's dictatorship?

I lived in Transylvania until I was twelve. I experienced everything firsthand, as a primary experience. The black car came for my grandfather, they took him away, and arrested him. Perquisitions, fear, whispering, hushed voices, and silence were part of everyday life for us. Still, the greatest treasure was that my family was always able to handle things with humour, intelligence, and ease. That's why it didn't seem like a heavy burden to us children. Of course, in hindsight, I know exactly what that meant and what sacrifices and self-discipline it entailed. I think that this gave me a lot of strength later on to stand my ground even in impossible situations, to always be able to rethink my life and my creative processes. This is probably what inspires my constant interest in the game of turning things inside out, whether it be power, the role of society, or the relationship between the individual and the larger community.

During Maladype's eighteen-year history, you often had no money and were on the verge of closure several times. What is the situation now?

The same. There is a danger of disaster tourism. At the end of March, beginning of April, I still don't know what kind of money we'll be working with, if we'll be working at all, who we can invite based on the amount we've been granted, what plays will be staged, whether I can offer contracts to the actors or not, what I can say yes or no to, whether I'll be able to pay the rent. The usual game. I won't go into detail. It's a seriously nerve-wracking task every year. It's almost impossible to think in terms of a long-term strategy planned many years in advance. Once again, it's only possible to carry on with a sense of humour, good company, and the idea that organizes it all. And with miracles, luck, and the many, many people who are always around us. I trust that we will soon find out how much money they will grant us. It's a delicate game.

Gábor Bóta, Art7, 2017

Translated by Lena Megyeri