Five performers jumps from one figure to the other one, in the same way as Lorenzaccio changes between the roles of the villain to the saviour in the play.

The poet of the French romanticism, Alfred de Musset in his dramatic play, which he wrote in 1834, presented the useless nature of great acts. In its own time, the ending of the performance was unusually pessimistic, but which did not fit into the passionate glowing of romanticism, can be in perfect harmony with the disappointment of today. Lorenzaccio performs a villain, to get closer to the Prince, and to be able to kill the tyrant of Firenze, however he feels and knows, that killing cannot bring a real change, he knows that his act will fail by the indifference of the world: only a new prince will arrive to lead the town, instead of a republic, which would serve the society. The idea of the cyclical permanence of the changings of power, which do not bring any change, can be very valid today. This play does not get on stage in Hungary rarely because of its modern view, but it face up with technical barriers. Musset’s epic structure brings up an apparatus of an epic poem: during sixty changes of scenes, four hundred characters appear in the play, between those kinds of instructions, as the one in the description of the fourth picture in the I. act. In it, in the crowd of the court of the prince Alessandro de Medici, the servants are taking horses for a walk. It can be hardly presented in a traditional staging, however Sándor Zsótér’s poetic staging can concentrate wittily and make theatrical the happenings. The five actors of the troupe of Maladype, do not just bring into one and half an hour-long period of the time, the five long acts of the play, but they can fill the gloomy story with very funny and entertaining theatrical moments.

It is evident in Zsótér performances that the exotic properties get meaning and connect to or become one with the text, and with the actors’ performances, but I have not seen so much fanny and ironic moments in any staging, I have seen so far. Which Júlia Ungár, the translator and dramaturg, does not throw away, but makes much more pure, she leaves more characters from the text, and enriches it with humorous illusions in its vision. When they mention cobblestone we can hear meows, during Lorenzaccio’s monologue to the moon, we can see a pale circle – as the rose of a tiny watering can, which the actor pulls on his finger. In the past, it can be surprising that this cold, formal theatrical language can express deep feelings, now I am shocked by the great amount of funny possibilities, which it can offer to the performers. For example, in the already mentioned forth picture, Zoltán Lendváczky makes one of the horses sneeze, while the prince is petting it while speaking, but the appearance of the horse is just the top on the cake, because the young actor can scale on the different shades of his different roles, during his concentrate artistic performance. He performs his roles with extremely sensitive and frenetic humour, whether we talk about the marchioness Cibo or the Filippo Strozzi. Sometimes he is lazy decorated with foppish looks, and then he is picky, wild and deceitfully careful, then he is sad and thoughtful or he hides the smile of knowing everything in the edge of his mouth. It is a virtuous work, not because of the transformations but because of the presence on stage. Ádám Tompa can breathe obviously in the roles of the owners of power too. There is something youngish, direct naturally with which he can make human like the intriguer Cardinal, and a simple young man, the cruel, skirt hunter Prince. Ákos Orosz, in the role of Lorenzaccio can shade the role with tiny movements, and as sometimes he is grinning wryly, above his mimic, which is tensed to be in good mood, his eyes cannot lie; the rays of desperation are shining in them. Their fast changings can keep the performance in a vibrant and vivid rhythm, their young cheerfulness and energy, as they are ready to the wild theatrical performance, can bring the romantic story close to the modern theatre. Their well-balanced trio is completed by Kamilla Fátyol’s power of her presence, and Zsolt Páll with his neat French beard and with his noble figure, which seems to come up from a renaissance painting. The five performers get from one role to the other one, as Lorenzaccio does it in the play from the role of one villain to saviour, while something always remains in him from the previous one. Theatricality becomes the operator of the world on stage that way, as on all levels, it is always about the play.

The action, which is presented pushed into the corner of the New Studio of Thália, does not even try to show any real or any kind of places: from the actors’ mouth, like Brecht-like marks, fly out the facts, that where we are. The colours of the stage, its costumes and set on the level of concepts create Firenze, which is in the focus. Mari Benedek puts the performers in reddish, mostly womanish dresses, who are mostly men of course. But the representatives of the stronger gender here takes gladiolus with themselves instead of sword, they are playing with balls of red strings, they are knitting and crocheting: so compromises are made in a too fine, little bit infantile and softie world and tricks are found out there too. The rosy red, lazy set appears also in the linguistic references of the nicknames, in the middle of which Mária Ambrus throws flows of shining red gloves, which are (also) sewed to one another, to the white table. The visual miracle, which can be used for thousands of things, is used for thousands of things too, as it is its basic characteristic: it can be used anyway, anytime and for anything. Finally, the new Prince is born from the hands too: meanwhile the king – as the marchioness tells it in the play – is nothing else than the arms of hundreds and hundreds of thousands of hands, but – the performance adds to it – the arm is the rules of the hand.

László Deme Sz., szinhaz.net, 2009

(translated by: Veronika Fülöp)