Beaumarchais’ comedy is easier and more transparent than a real, handmade, white, silk scarf. At least for the first sight. If we think, that love, and overwhelming sexual desire, which can show misleadingly similar symptoms, the feeling of loneliness, humiliation and helplessness are all very airy buffoonery.

With Sándor Zsótér’s staging, and the very characteristic recognisable performing method, which the troupe of Maladype has, The Marriage of Figaro is easy and not. As here even humour has a weight. In some cases, it has such a weight, as people almost fall down of the chairs because of it. Then other times similarly big weight is on my heart, but it is also necessary for the balance.

The big room of the Base of Maladype serves the set of the performance, and we, the viewers are divided into four groups as the wall of the maze of life, we familiarly blink above each other’s shoulder, as that great amount of innocent, harmless souls are wandering around us. However, feelings are real but according to Zsótér’s interpretation, everybody can be just loved. Little sins can be forgiven, and they forgive them too. Figaro does not need to speak with deep voice, about the hardness of the play, which is life itself, he is the game master of this bustle instead.

Ákos Orosz is an adorable clown. He is forgivingly smart, loveably sly, respectfully witty, while during some caught moments, he is charmingly naïve. Because in reality, this performance is not controlled by men. Ádám Tompa, as the Count Almaviva, is charmingly bohemian, he just hopes, that in spite of the first night, which he deleted himself, can get somehow first, Figaro’s bride. Zénó Faragó’s Cherubin is not led by his brain, he adores all shown members of female gender, as a dolt one, who is waiting for miracle, as well as Zsolt Páll, who performs doctor Bartholo, as a seemingly hard, but a very sensitive one, he is only the viewer of the intrigues by his female partner.

Erika Tankó’s Suzanne takes the lead, as behind her clean and virgin-like personality, there is a hidden, misleadingly witty one, who can keep her lover that way, and even multiply her dowry too. The other leader is the Countess, whose pains and weaknesses, Judit Kovács Ligeti can show with such captivating elegancy and fine femininity. Even Kamilla Fátyol’s Fanchette is just seemingly a silly, naïve one. In reality, she is cleverer than anyone else, as she performs the puppet with empty head, but in the end, similarly to the other, she gets what she wants. Meanwhile, Zoltán Lendváczky in his character role can entertain us as the main source of humour in the performance.

However, Mari Törőcsik’s name is a good brand in its own, she is fine, silent and honest, from the realist performing method, besides the exaggerations of the comedy, she hangs out with her loudness, and sometimes her overwhelming voice can almost brake the walls. It is lucky, than in some silent moments, she makes us remember, with a meaningful grimace or smile, why she is such a great actress.

The quality ease should be something like this. However, Figaro’s sometimes too long monologues can let my hand go for some seconds, but Júlia Ungár’s translation can balance so easily between the classical and contemporary phrases that it would be hard to find some real boring moments in the performance. As entertainment is necessary, but if it is possible, than on this almost advanced level.

Krisztina Szepesi, Pesti Műsor, 2011

(translated by: Veronika Fülöp)