OPTIC: Helios-44-M-4, Jupiter-37-A
MüPa, Fesztivál Színház, premiere: September 23rd 2016, production of Gergye Krisztián Társulat
After premiere note:
I saw the show twice: on general rehearsal and on the premiere, and probably I would need another two or three. In the same time, there were spectators who felt once was too much. Their right.
Gergye demands. Of course, his oneirical, suffocating, perverted production can – but doesn’t have to – be enjoyed out of context, to some extent. However its true value lies in the idea, in the throughout understanding of time and place, personalities, stories, pictures. I’m usually the first person to brag about useless provocativeness in the theatre
– and if it was the case, I would probably hate this show.
But this was not the case. I love this show. Every scene was there for a reason. Every detail.
It makes sense, it’s raw, in the best possible meaning. It’s uneasy. The scenes overlay each other, and are usually built up from more planes. The cast is small, yet it seems crowded like a Paris public house at midnight. Almost overwhelming concentration of extreme emotions is alternated with striking void and loneliness.
Also, it’s poetical. And beautiful, though not in an obvious way. It cites Lautrec’s paintings and lithographs, just as it cites his complex personality and environment he created and lived in.
And there’s not only the vision, but the music as well, and voices. The music direction of György Philipp consists also of his own singing (I enjoyed all the numbers, Aristide was my favourite). However, the dominating voice was to be the soprano’s – and I don’t mean only the most obvious kind of voice emission that you would expect from an opera singer. Klára Kolonits
in an incredibly mellifluous way melts together breaths, sighs, purrs, whispers and spoken words in French and Hungarian, in addition to her – as usual – impeccable singing,
which here spreads from cabaret couplets or Satie’s Gymnopédie up to the coloraturas of the Offenbach’s Doll Song. The colour palette of her voice is at least as rich as the visual side of the production with its picturesque costumes, lights and make up.
Though I’m not dance specialist, I need it to tell a story – and here it told million stories. The ladies – Mahji Torres, Katalin Lőrinc, Anita Barabás and Marica Tárnok – each had their own distinct line and silhouette. They acted, danced and contributed to the soundscape as well. It doesn’t even make sense to distinguish whom I liked more or less, because all the cast was so incredibly melted into their roles, that they are virtually irreplaceable, they are all necessary, they all belong there. I have to mention though that I was enchanted by Mahji’s scenes.
She’s like a vulnerable china porcelain cup with a double shot of good whisky inside.
Full of contrasts and life. The musicians were in the constant movement as well, and the great puppet master of the show – Krisztián Gergye – impersonated Lautrec himself.
It might be similar form to a review after all, though I didn’t intend it to be one.
I just wanted to add something to these pictures, because Lautrec va danser is not only graceful photo topic, it’s much more. But it demands. It throws a glove. It’s not for everyone – I don’t think Gergye actually intended it for everyone – but it will have its way. Because – putting away the whole complex story, relations, pictures – THEATRE lives in it, THEATRE in capital letters, genuine and alive. And such productions will find their audience –
there is something very primal in the need of theatre and I think this show can answer this need.
For me, it did.
Thank you all, köszönöm, merci.