Ágota Szilágyi previously enjoyed successes at the Csiky Gergely Theatre in Timișoara and the Novi Sad Theatre, and is now a member of the Maladype theatre company. She told us about her career and what she has learnt during her journey as an actress.

Why did you want to become an actress?

I think it's easier to understand in hindsight where that desire came from, or what was missing in my life that led me to acting. I didn't think about it for a long time. I just knew that this was what I wanted to do, and that was that. Actually, at first I didn't want to be an actress, I wanted to be a pianist. I took private lessons for seven years. Those who studied at music school were treated like precious eggs; they didn't even have to take gym classes. I grew up among "normal" kids in a housing estate, where we were free to climb trees and run around. I remember how much my classmates and I did in those days: we danced, wrote and directed plays, went to competitions, and all the while I had a constant nagging feeling that I should be practicing instead. Then, when things could have gotten serious, a year before the entrance exam in Debrecen—because according to my parents and my piano teacher, that could have been the next step—I closed the piano lid and never sat down at it again. To this day, I am amazed at the strength and perseverance with which I defended my decision in front of the adults, who, needless to say, were deeply affected by what had happened. Deep down, I knew that no matter how much I practiced, I would never be as good as I wanted to be, because I had started with a significant disadvantage, and I also knew that being a musician was only worthwhile if I had at least a chance of being the best.

When and how did you decide to become an actress?

There are no artists in our family. Neither among my ancestors nor among my relatives. I am only mentioning this to illustrate that I had no role models, and my knowledge of this world was limited to my own personal experiences. Recitation competitions, school events, drama club, a scene from Mihály Vörösmarty's play Csongor and Tünde that I directed, in which the innovation was that Csongor came in three times in a row with the line "I have searched in every nation"[1] in an increasingly despondent and disillusioned manner, followed by a festive installation based on Delacroix's painting Liberty Leading the People. Of course, I was Liberty, wrapped in a sheet I had brought from home... I was about 17 when I decided that this would be my path, and from then on I prepared for the college entrance exam with terrible seriousness, perhaps too much seriousness. Since then, I have retained this annoying trait of occasionally overachieving and overdoing things. That's when I started learning to sing and dance. I thought that if I wanted to get in, this was the way to go. No excuses. Returning to the beginning of our conversation, why do I think that people understand the reasons for their decisions in hindsight... I consider myself to be a fundamentally shy person. I think theater was a place where, despite my introversion, I could show what was bursting inside me and wanted to come out. I used to find it much harder to talk about myself. If the old Ágota walked through the door now, you would be very surprised, you wouldn't recognize me. I have become softer, more talkative, and much less cynical. Acting has opened small windows in me through which people can see into me and I can look out. When I am alone a lot, I feel these windows closing, so I try to spend as much time as possible with the people I love and admire—my friends.

“Gazing at the intersections / in this ring of magic splendour, / drawn by hope and lured by questions, / I am eager now to enter.”[2]

How did you feel at college?

Terrible, but it wasn't the college's fault. I was really looking forward to getting away from home and living the free life of a college student, but I was so inexperienced and sensitive that I had a hard time coping with the new situation. I was distrustful, and when I felt hurt, I closed myself off even more. After the first semester, I rushed home for Christmas, feeling like everything I wanted was lost. There were eight girls in the class, eight completely different personalities, and four boys. Eight women—you can imagine. I was shy, I could hardly make myself heard, it was suffocating. I suspect that the others felt the same way: everyone was keeping to themselves, so we couldn't listen to each other. With other classes, they got along very well at first but fell apart by the end of the quarter, but with us it was the opposite. We slowly grew fond of each other and became more comfortable around each other. We were hard-working and really put our hearts into our work. Our teachers liked us because they could count on us. In hindsight, I think we could have been much braver and maybe a little cheekier.

It's as if the number three you mentioned earlier has accompanied you throughout your career. After graduating from college, you immediately signed a contract with the Csiky Gergely Theatre in Timișoara. Twice—in 2009 and 2010—you were voted Actress of the Season and received the Pro Cultura Timisiensis award. At the beginning of your promising career, which was already rewarded with awards, you left Timișoara after three years and went to Novi Sad. Once again, you were given significant roles and your work was honoured with professional awards, but you only stayed there for a little over three years: in 2014, you became a member of the Maladype Theatre company. Why did you leave Timișoara?

When I join a community or any new situation, people don't really know what to make of me at first. This was the case at college, in Timișoara, in Novi Sad, and I think at Maladype too. I listen carefully, I gather impressions, and I think this is confusing, and I need some time to calm down and start functioning normally. Then somehow, they always end up liking me, or at least that's how it's been so far. Zoli Balázs once told me that my chameleon-like nature is very interesting; that wherever I go, sooner or later I find my place, but I could try to confront people more often. Yes, I still have some work to do on that. I have a funny memory from my time in Timișoara. It happened at the first rehearsal of a play. I had just graduated from college, I knew nothing, but I really wanted to prove myself. So, with great enthusiasm and a desire to fit in, I burst onto the stage, the stage of my chosen theatre—it felt like a big deal—and every time we ran through the scene, I always gave it my all, until one of my colleagues, fed up with rehearsing with a Duracell bunny, said, "Darling! You don't have to lift the floorboards..." I often think about this, and it always makes me laugh, because this floorboard-lifting behaviour still hasn't completely died out in me. Why did I leave? I was hungry for adventure and wanted to develop myself. I didn't see myself spending the rest of my life in Timișoara, even though I was loved there and entrusted with many good tasks. To be honest, it was ultimately heartbreak that helped me break away, which caused me a lot of suffering at the time, but for which I am grateful to fate in retrospect. It had to happen that way. I was immature. I had to go.

Then you moved to Novi Sad, where you were first invited to guest in a play, and later became a member of the company. You spent a good three years there, almost four. Why did you leave Novi Sad?

My "acting childhood" was in Timișoara, my adolescence in Novi Sad, and I became an adult actor at Maladype. I was invited to Novi Sad by Sándor László, the theatre's director at the time, to whom I owe a great deal. He gave me my first major roles in Timișoara, which helped me gain confidence as an actress, and then the role of Margarita in Novi Sad. That's when I began to realize how much I was capable of, that I could handle tasks on my own, that I had a sense of humour, and that I was much more feminine than I thought. I went to Serbia with a car and a suitcase: I felt extremely cool and free. It was a period of revelry, during which I worked hard and, incidentally, made lifelong friends. After three years, there was a change of director, and many things changed. I stayed as long as I felt I belonged there and had something to offer. I had always wanted to work with Zoli Balázs. He first directed me in 2010 in Return of Ulysses in Timișoara, where I played Pallas Athena. The way Zoli treated us, with genuine attention, was completely new and confusing. I learned a lot in two months. You graduate from college, you want a job that you can't really imagine, and then someone comes along and you feel that this is it... That was when I first saw, for example, that a director pays attention to what the actors' backs look like on stage (notice that there are no hunched actors in Maladype) or how important it is to keep your face clear and not make faces on stage, because there's no need for it. I really wanted him to invite me to join his company, but the truth is, I wasn't ready for it at the time. I needed those four years in Novi Sad to learn to believe in myself.

On self-redemption

I read in an earlier interview that you have been in constant internal dialogue with Zoli Balázs since the Return of Ulysses in Timișoara.

Yes. There were many times when I would go over a role in my mind and wonder what Zoli would think about it. We exchanged letters from time to time, and I would sometimes go to Budapest to see their performances. I felt that he should see some of my roles, so when we performed in Budapest, I invited him to come and watch. He never came. Anyway, I am convinced that we get what we want when we have already given up on it, like Csongor, who says of himself, "Now I’m like a lonely leaf, / hustled in the stormy air."[3] One time, we were performing West Side Story in Budapest, which I wouldn't have invited him to see, and on top of that, I had a bad cold. I didn't know he was going to see it, but after the performance, when I went from the stage to the dressing room, I saw him waiting for me in the bar. That's when he invited me to join his company. I said yes immediately.

Three years have passed again. Do you feel the need for change again? How do you feel?

Not for change, but for continuous progress, yes. When you leave college, you think for a long time that you will have encounters that will "redeem" you, that you will meet people who will tell you what you need to learn to become a good actress, and that once you learn that, you will achieve your goal. Over time, I had to realize—I think everyone knows this deep down, but hopes it's not true—that no one is going to redeem me, no one is going to "turn me into an actress"; everyone has to do that work themselves. There will be good encounters, collaborations in which we understand each other—which is very fortunate—but no one will ever save me. The only thing that matters is what I put into my life, my career, and my opportunities for development. Of course, it is very important who is guiding me on this path, or what kind of world they represent. Six months after I joined Maladype, there was a period in the life of the company that took its toll on all of us. The question of how to move forward hung in the air. This period ultimately resulted in the performance Out-let with Erika Tankó. It was a kind of self-healing process for us.

This is interesting because you played many female lead roles at Maladype: you played Margaret of Parma in Goethe's Egmont, Lady Anne in Shakespeare's Richard III, and Olga in Chekhov's Three Sisters. How was Out-let different? What new experiences and insights did it give you?

Outlet was like taking stock. I had to figure out what was important and what wasn't for me. What are the values that sustain me? What did I never say out loud, or only said when I shouldn't have? It meant a lot to me to be able to write... to be able to talk in my own words about my most personal experiences, such as the duality of falling and rising that keeps our lives in constant circulation. Richard Rohr wrote a book about this called "Falling upwards". It's very important. I think about it every day. It's part of my personal philosophy, as is the idea that my weakness is actually my strength, and that we can build on our shortcomings if our faith is strong enough.

The latest production directed by Zoltán Balázs provides an obvious opportunity for this, as you play the role of Csongor as well as Tünde.

According to the director's concept – and by mutual agreement – Tünde is the main character. This is the story of Tünde, who waits a long time for Csongor, who never arrives. Therefore, Tünde takes action and, through her own desires and dreams, defines for herself who Csongor is, because how can we get what we want if we don't know exactly what it is? Tünde takes the missing and therefore only imagined Csongor on a fairy-tale journey: she puts obstacles in his way so that he has to fight for her. For me, this is a tale of coming of age, which ultimately reveals whether the two lovers will truly meet by overcoming their challenges. Moreover, the text itself justifies this, as there are hardly any scenes in which the two engage in dialogue, since Csongor usually falls asleep or loses his alertness. They cuddle rather than talk, which is why they cannot achieve happiness: they are not yet ready to accept it.

How did Csongor and Tünde help you process your "acting childhood and adolescence", and formulate your mature adult acting career? Where are you headed in your career now?

In an actor's life, there are roles that come too early or too late. This play came to me just when I needed it, when I was ready for it. For the first time in my life, I didn't care how good I would be in it. I was more curious to see how far we would get with this task, and I felt a sense of immeasurable calm and certainty—in the second half of rehearsals, when I had already mastered the material—that something important was happening and that the "theatre gods" had given their approval. What's more, the story of Csongor and Tünde is also my personal story. Where am I headed? I've been in the business for exactly 10 years. Now everything I've learned so far is starting to fall into place in my head. I can see that pretty much everything is heading in one direction. I see only one path ahead of me: continuous development, or "falling upwards". I have noticed that as soon as I lose my vigilance and start to relax into the thought that I am now ready, I am done, I've figured this out, something immediately has to happen, and usually something does happen that knocks me out of this state: a minor or major "shock effect." This is frightening, but also reassuring, because it suggests that perhaps we are not so alone after all. I think that the world we are heading towards will need compassionate people above all else, and theatre can teach us just that.

M.Sz., szinhaz.org, 2017

[1] Mihály Vörösmarty: The Quest - Csongor and Tünde. Translation by Peter Zollman

[2] Mihály Vörösmarty: The Quest - Csongor and Tünde. Translation by Peter Zollman

[3] Mihály Vörösmarty: The Quest - Csongor and Tünde. Translation by Peter Zollman