He writes novels and poems, but he is known worldwide for his plays. The visionary absurd, Dada Cabaret, by the Romanian author living in Paris had its Hungarian premiere at the Átrium Film-Theatre in a co-production by Maladype Theatre and Gábor Gábriel Farkas's band.

Zoltán Balázs and Maladype Theatre have adapted your writings several times. Do you have a tried and tested creative relationship?

I am quite familiar with Zoltán's work in France; he has adapted many of my texts with great understanding. He staged my play "How to Explain the History of Communism to Mental Patients" in Chicago with exceptional sensitivity. I greatly admire his artistry and the courageous, innovative performances of the Maladype company. They are able to create maximum artistic and emotional impact with very little money.

Romanian artists played a significant role in the Dadaist movement. Did this also play a part in your decision to write a play that was performed in several countries in the centenary year?

As a lover of the avant-garde, I wanted to pay tribute to the founders of Dadaism, many of whom came from Romania. In addition to Tristan Tzara, four young Romanian artists fled to Zurich in 1916. But more importantly, I wanted to talk about the idea of protest against the West's suicide attempt, which was World War I. Dadaism as an artistic form cannot be understood without the context of war, as it was a reflection of barbarism. It was not just a playful movement, but a painful artistic reaction. I wanted to highlight this political dimension beyond analysing it as a phenomenon of language destruction. The protest of Dadaist artists stemmed from the fact that the war exposed the failure of verbal communication. Speeches and proclamations were made about patriotism and sacrifice, while countries blamed each other for the slaughter. In a sense, Dadaism dealt a coup de grâce to this verbosity. Through unusual actions, manifestos, cabarets, and absurd poems, it sought to restore the significance of language.

How much do you consider our era to be "Dada"? What similarities do you see with the inconsequential, incomprehensible, and distorting verbosity of certain politicians?

There have been no world wars for seventy years, and language has somewhat regained its basic function of initiating dialogue to curb barbarism. Nevertheless, between 1992 and 1996, a war raged in the middle of Europe that carried with it the threat of a third world war. Today, we are witnessing a cacophony, or Dadaism reminiscent of the verbosity that preceded World War I internationally. Just think of the protracted civil war in Syria, or Iran, the Shiite world, Russia, and America.

How has the responsibility of writers changed?

It is our duty at all times to voice our opinions, to interpret and understand events with the help of words and artistic forms of expression. The statements of politicians are virtually worthless, the electronic media keeps people in a stupefying delirium, the written press is ineffective, political parties fight among themselves or revolve around themselves, and the candidates in the US presidential election campaign strut around like peacocks in front of the voters. Well, in such a situation, it is the task of the artist, the writer, the intellectual to break the flood of worn-out words and convey authenticity through their own use of language and thoughts, even provocatively if necessary.

In your grotesque plays, full of unexpected twists and turns, you often deal with social issues and current problems.

I always write about dramatic events. I have written three plays about the Yugoslav Wars, the women raped in Bosnia, the wild capitalism of the Balkans, and the impossibility of mourning in war-torn areas. I recently wrote a play about the refugee situation. It is called "Migraaaaants, or There's Too Many of Us on This Damn Boat". I try to use the means of theatre to explore and understand this humanitarian and existential catastrophe. We are all affected by this drama: refugees, victims, human traffickers, politicians, coaches, European citizens.

Your plays were censored in Romania for nearly ten years, but you are now the most performed playwright there.

When I emigrated to France in 1987, I already had about twenty plays behind me, which had entered the international theatre circuit. Immediately after the fall of Communism, my plays, which had previously been lying in the drawers of theatre directors, started to be staged. Since then, I have been returning to Romania regularly, and my plays are being staged by both independent companies and institutional theatres. I write them in French and then translate them back into Romanian. Every year I take part in festivals and international meetings; most recently I was invited to Cluj-Napoca. Romania gave me my roots; France gave me wings.

You once said that your true calling is to build bridges between East and West.

Indeed. I spent half my life under a dictatorial regime and the last thirty years in a democracy. Let's not have any illusions: Eastern Europe and Romania are still considered by the West to be Balkan countries. The experience of separation and backwardness is a historical tradition for both Romanians and Hungarians. We cast our restless gaze blindly toward the West, while we hardly know each other's values, even though we are neighbouring countries. I miss the communication between countries belonging to the same bloc.

Which Hungarian writers do you feel a kinship with?

Our shared history has given us similar sensibilities, and there is an unspoken camaraderie between us. Totalitarianism has instilled in us a knowledge of oppression and brainwashing. For example, I really like the works of András Visky, a writer from Cluj-Napoca, as well as the historical novels of György Spiró.

Rita Szentgyörgyi, Magyar Narancs, 2016

Translated by Lena Megyeri