In the nice darkness by light columns of Mikszáth Square, we can see our breath. The viewers, who are coming together now, are looking longingly towards the base on the upper floor of the Maladype Theatre, which is inviting with sterile lights. Then we are allowed in. At the entrance, we are walking past a ton of newspapers (it is the set of the previous performance of the troupe), we throw fast out coats on the hangings, the chair and benches are all filled. The viewers of forty-fifty people, can sit down by forming four square like islands. The cross like stage is marked by these islands. The performance starts with the careful measuring of the longer corridor. In the morning of his wedding, Figaro (Ákos Orosz), the bridegroom, is looking for the place of their marriage bed, and the room of the civilian flat changes fast into the empty hall of Count Almaviva’s castle, in the place. He finds the right place in the middle, and in this way he marks not only the middle of his fulfilled love, but the performance too.

Beaumarchais’ comedy – the text of it Júlia Ungár, the translator-dramaturg refreshes it, by keeping most of its turns, and cuts just some parts of it – is happening around the ruler right of the first night. In spite of the juicy topic, The Marriage of Figaro performance of Maladype Theatre does not remain anyway a cheating story of getting to bed. Instead of being erotic, it becomes a teasing and creatively intellectual comedy. All characters of the staging by Sándor Zsótér, has weight and aim. All of them start unravelling the mixture, according to their own motifs, energetically. The first knot of this mixture was made by the ruler of the place. The Count, himself deleted the right of the first night. on his own wedding, it was a love testimony to his stolen wife and as a memory of his own love. But it happened three years ago. But the instinct of seduction has not lowered during his marriage, the count is cheating and jealous at the same time. Lately, he has found his servant’s, Figaro’s bride, the Countess’ maid for himself.

Ádám Tompa’s performance accurately shows the colour of the storm, which is the count’s heart, to which owning of power, the fame, the honesty, the humility and libido can give a shade. Tompa is a cruel leader, then a cheated frightened one, the vulnerable husband, who asks his wife, then he is a wild lover, or a boy, who asks for a date shyly. He is the gigolo in striped silk coat, he is the owner of life and death, but he cannot rule his desires and instincts. His neglected wife, the Countess is afraid of him, saves him and loves him and desires him. Judit Kovács Ligeti can move sensitively between the roles of the shy naïve, the flirty lady and the broken woman. She is afraid of losing her husband, but she accepts lovely the courting by the small squire too.

Figaro is the count’s servant and teacher too. He would like to have two things: a wife and portion. And because it is possible, he tries it on, as far as he can get his benefits. (The portion in a multiplied version too.) He is not a great man, but a big soul, genius intriguer. Ákos Orosz gets from the cynical lazy talkative one until the doubtful, brooding bridegroom, than back. Mari Törőcsik, who performs Marceline, takes a long way too. One moments, she is still talking for her love, and an old lady, who is stamping, than a shouting grace, who wants things, then a silently, nicely whispering, protecting mother. She is fresh and biting as her partners, whom she performs together with, who perform together with her.

I am most amused by the place using of the performance. The corridor, which is let free by the place of the viewers (it is not an auditorium, as it is the part of the place of the play) can become a fencing strip during Suzanne and Marceline’s fighting by words, then a meeting room with stifled atmosphere, it can be runway, and in the end of the play, it seems to be a main part of a church. The doors, which open from the big room, sometimes mean changing rooms, rooms, places of servants, the windows have view to the land of melons, and blue neon lights mark, that we have stepped into the greyish of Andalusia. The room, which is lack of set, can form a very symbolic and real place at the same time. The narrow place, which can bring very close to us the characters’ doubts. We are made to be the listeners and insiders of their plans. This intimacy, the lack of sets, the simplicity of costumes and properties, can make us more take attention on the versatile and intensive artistic performances. We can take home faces, pairs of eyes, movements, glow with us from the flat theatre, so from Count Almaviva’s castle.

A creative troupe performs a creative, ordinary person’s story. It was a pleasure and reward for them to be able to perform together with Mari Törőcsik. It was a pleasure and reward to us that they perform in front of us. Going out into the coldness of the Mikszáth Square we can whisper gratefully: You just get married, happy Andalusia!

Norbert Vass, Apokrif Online, 2011

(translated by: Veronika Fülöp)