THE HEART OF CONTEMPORARY THEATRE / Theatre Transfusion

After five days spent next to the stage, I can say that Interferences is bringing to Cluj the heart of contemporary theatre, being a magnificent example of freedom of expression which is utterly multicultural and various.

During this period of time, I had in fact the occasion to attend shows very different from one another, each of them giving voice to a particular sensitivity and way of considering theatre in the current era. I am amazed by the international atmosphere everybody can breathe after stepping into the theatre hall. It feels like being in a Babel where languages such as English, French, Italian, Hungarian, Romanian and shows from Israel, Germany, Italy, and South Africa can be enjoyed.

The events I followed yesterday were stunning and enriching, the first one challenging in its semantic complexity; the second one romantic; the last one absolutely provocative and striking. What interconnects them is exactly this great freedom and innovative research which makes Interferences so contemporary and appealing.

The dialogue with the creators of the performance “Songs of Wilhelm”, directed by Josef Nadj, unveiled the fascinating multiplicity of autobiographical, philosophical and intellectual references that nourish the piece written by the Hungarian vanguard poet and playwright Ottό Tolnai. Josef Nadj expressed so much passion when he said: “I am thirsting for the performance, which I try to innovate, to speak from the stage”.

The following venue, the launch of the three books written by the eminent professor and essayist George Banu, was very interesting, and, for me, romantic, as well. Whilst following the presentation I had the feeling that memories, reflexion, personal research of meaning, great love for theatre and places, sincerity and honesty are the cardinal points of these pieces of writing.

In “Monologues of un-fulfilment”, George Banu tries to understand the reasons why he did not become an actor, a writer or a professor. More extensively, why “some men are not to become somebody and they find instead the way to become something else”. He actually used to be a university professor but a special one, calling into question the idea of teaching, trying to not “inflict ideas” to his students or giving them truth or certainties; while explaining this he beautifully quoted Oscar Wilde’s words “Nothing that is worth knowing can be taught”.

“The modern stage. Miniatures and mythologies” is a journey where Banu is our guide who illustrates the recurrent leitmotifs present in the work of some stage directors. The miniatures are here little essays about theatre. In the last book launched, “Personal Paris. Places and theatres”, George Banu draws a personal, emotional map of places illustrated by the photographs of Mihaela Marin.

Later in the afternoon I went to the Hungarian Theatre Studio to watch “Christmas at the Ivanovs’”, directed by András Urbán. I did not know this piece of theatre the title of which suggests, ironically, a reassuring and cosy atmosphere. When the lights were low, the stage was immediately filled by a series of aggressive characters who introduced themselves shouting. They were the seven children, aged one to eighty-two, of the Ivanovs couple. The murder of Sonya, beheaded with an axe by the nanny, determines a process ending with an illogic chain of suicides. During the play, statements against the state, religion and the institutions in general were repeated like in a revolution, it was a sort of temporary uprising where the destroying act of “the revolutionary” and even sexual equality were exalted. A flame of rebellion pervaded the stage while intense images - with at times explicit sexual content - were offered to the audience.

Apart from absurdity, it seems to me that violence is the dominant note of the whole play: in the actors’ bodies which are pretty much exposed to the eye of the spectator, in their movements, words and attitudes towards each other. I found this disturbing but very effective in the capacity to grab attention and emotional participation. When the light was on again, I could see at least three people crying.

Aleksandr Vvedensky (1904-1941), the author of this interesting piece, died in a Soviet prison in 1941. He was a representative of the Russian Absurdist movement and member of OBERIU (acronym for “The Association for Real Art”). In his view, reality was illogic and absurd and art had to mirror this condition. "Christmas at the Ivanovs" reflects indeed the absurdity of the world and satirizes not only the institutions, but also reason, language, sentimentality, story-telling and perhaps the theatre itself.

Theatre Transfusion

30th of December 6.45 pm while I am stepping on the National Theatres stairs, I feel my heart vibrating. As I walk in, big, white, massive stairs welcome me again. The stairs are like a woman train that climbs on a velvet and a warm body, all around is gold, that contrast with the black and white photos hanged on the wall. It looks like a step in the past. The ladies at the clock room are smiling as I have never seen before elsewhere, there is a long wooden bar on which people queues dragging their coats on it. At the back of the bar there are vintage hangers made of white painted iron, which reminds me the curly hair of Shirley Temple. I leave my coat, I go towards the red curtain, I move it, and here it is a precious, antique bonbonniére. The seats in the stalls are covered in red with a wooden frame that keeps them linked one to each other like a long line. The floor is covered with an old wood so that I have the sensation that I breath its past.
The theatre is crowded, UbuRoi is up to start. On the stage is an ochre and white living room. Nothing very unusual, but than suddenly the lights goes down and the magic starts. The play does not need to be presented, because many theatre lovers already know, that it represented an important U-turn in Theatre tendency and attitudes.

I am not used to easy enthusiasm, but this time I witnessed a great work, Declan Donnellan has given us a pure and visionary Ubu Roi. The scene breaks the simple border of the stage, by the use of a camera and the support of projections. The audience is taken behind the scene, in an intricate walk in a secret apartment. In a way the director has made true the curiosity of many about what is really hidden behind the scene. The first time I stepped in a theatre, with my grandfather and my mother, I was six years old, the play was Cactus Flower by Abe Burrows, and my curiosity was all about what was behind the visible, thinking and dreaming about the continuation of it.
In Donnellan's Ubu Roi, that dream has become true. The director use the image of a common bourgeois contemporary frame in which occurs a blackout, where the bourgeoise characters become the interpreters of Ubu Roi play. This trick has a strong strength in it and gives to the scene an extreme dramatic breath. The dialogues in the bourgeois frame are not hearable by the audience, but the volume in the actors' voice come back, when the scene switch to the Ubu Roi story. This escamotage catches the attention of the audience by creating tension and pathos at the same time. It deserves a considerable annotation the work the actors have made and the immense quality of their interpretation; the whole play is a perfect balance between the director creativity and the
actors skills.

Interferences is like Disneyland for theatre lovers, the program is very thick and rich, thanks to the performances, exhibitions, book presentations and of course plays. It is so rich that sometimes I really do not know where to go first. This big chance of choice instead of annoying me makes me happy, I have to admit with my great sadness that in Italy something like this is very unlikely to happen.

Today I was at Casa Tranzit for a book presentation, or better for a theatre dictionary presentation by Gábor Tompa. The book, Label curtain. A private theatrical dictionary, is not written as a usual dictionary, but it looks more like a fairy tail book. The font used and the illustration gave it a sort of soft and light identity, a book to be read without the heavy coat of imposing ideas.

I am writing this article in the bar of the Hungarian Theatre, waiting for the next show to begin. If I was happy to be in Cluj, now I have one more reason, I am having a great theatre transfusion.