The next connection point between Sándor Zsótér and the Maladype Theatre is Richard III by Shakespeare, which was performed first in May 2016, with Zoltán Balázs, the leader of the troupe as the main character. The common performing career started many years ago with Wyspianski’s Acropolis, which was followed then by Musset’s Lorenzaccio, then by Beaumarchais’ The Marriage of Figaro and Brecht’s Don Juan. In connection with this choice of play the question rises up: what kind of surprises can be shown with the devil-like projection of our present?

This time the devil-like evilness has not mentioned. Richard III in this performance – by the usage of Zoltán Balázs’ physical constitution – is charming and well built, and casual at the same time, he winks at the viewers, he explains them carefully, he is a so-called teacher. His figure has decided rationally by evilness, because of boredom and with educational purposes, he proves that by the beautiful forming of words, everything can be reached. In a cringing system we just have to communicate well and the victory is for sure.

The bloody-handed king’s drama is excitingly and humorously exaggerated, and becomes the chain of caricatured scenes. It keeps up attention in a mosaic-like way with sharp changing of styles and moods, overacting the dramaturgical beauties of South-American soap operas – friend, lover, enemy are changing from scenes to scenes. Then back to the beginning, as the basic story can be in an ancient Greek tragedy too: Margit, who is thought to be mad, curses the royal house, and all the characters fulfil it through two hours.

And how does not Ede Szigligeti’s translation become boring – gracefully said – which is not filled with slangs? Juli Ungár, the dramaturg makes the text easier with understandable cuts (for example, she leaves Richmond’s figure totally out), and the punctually set series of movements can result in a continuous fluctuation in the atmosphere of the room-like theatre of the Maladype Base, so the attention can be constant all through the performance.

The performance happens in a place but one-dimensionally. The expressive power of Mária Ambrus’ set (metal platform with two tee hinges) is surprisingly multi-coloured. The contrast of up-down, in-out can express the hierarchical relationships. The universal bakery table, which is covered with tin, is trapped in the middle, and it rises up the association of carving butchers. The cold atmosphere of metals, the coldness of feelings are counterpointed by the plush-furry curtains-blankets-like costumes. Mari Benedek’s colourful pieces make the movements harder, and makes us remember the playful hours of childhood: any materials can become skirt, cloak, vest – according to the method how we tie them on us. The nakedness and – in case of women – the decorative underwear are connected to it.

The playful and blind belief of childhood can connect the performance to be a whole one. The evil one decides to be evil, and the others give him a vote of confidence. Those properties, which are connected to the character (bubble wand, dinosaur figures, sword) can also strengthen the playfulness nature. However, the childish honesty is sentenced to death by a tiny gesture: we can see Richard as a stooped humped one only in front of the young princes, as they do not know the rules of the game and the language of flattery – and it causes their fall.

Neither the performers nor the viewers have an easy job. The actors perform more roles, which require punctuality and concentration from everybody. Márton Pallag, Zsigmond Bödők and Sándor Márkus are thriving with humorous vitality in the selection of side roles. The three divas (Kata Huszárik, Ágota Szilágyi, Erika Tankó) can keep tension with their passionate and razor-sharp dialogues. But the thick atmosphere cannot be born without Pál Péter Szűcs’ background music; he comments with English rap adds, he relaxes people by agitating them.

But all these are just play, who is Richard III anyway? A poor second son, who nobody loves, who is too clever to assist like playing a second fiddle, to his brother’s kingdom, so he stirs up the still water, but his madness turns against him. He cannot be hated, we can just support him, and watch him again; he may have a different end then.

Emőke Sárosi, Kultifilter, 2017

(translated by: Veronika Fülöp)