Kolozsvári Állami Magyar Színház | Teatrul Maghiar de Stat Cluj | Hungarian Theatre of Cluj
Gyűlölök színházban első sorban ülni. Nagyszínpadi előadásnál kevésbé, de stúdióelőadás esetében simán benne van a pakliban, hogy a színészek egyszer csak a kezembe nyomnak valamit, szóra kényszerítenek stb. Még az is frusztrál, ha mélyen a szemembe néznek és elvárják, hogy hosszan tartsam a szemkontaktust. Személyes támadásként élem meg.
Amikor kézhez kaptam a Caravaggio Terminalra kapott jegyem, már késő volt. Első sor, első szék. Én voltam az alfa (persze ezt most lazán leírom, de akkor arra gondoltam, hogy jól kicsesztek velem). Baljós előjelként olvastam a hatalmas, átlátszó nejlonfüggönyt is, ami az első pár percben elválasztotta a színpadot a nézőtértől. A mellettem ülő néni gúnyos megjegyzése sem nyugtatott meg („Na, ahogy látom, vidám eseményeknek nézünk elébe!”). Még le sem tettem a Paysage inconnu terhét a lelkemről, máris ott álltak előttem a Caravaggio félmeztelen szereplői. Első ízben (ez szinte elkerülhetetlen) felmértem, hogy kinek mije hogyan áll vagy lapul, végigkövettem az anyajegyek, szépséghibák körvonalait, a pocakokat figyeltem, az ernyedt izmokat, egyszóval habzsoltam a látványt testközelből. (Valószínűleg ezzel nem voltam egyedül.)
Másodízben rájöttem, hogy az előadás szövege nem lesz könnyű falat.
Caravaggio, az isteni tehetség, szünös-szüntelen önmarcangol, vívódik, emészti magát, ugyanis keresve kutatja az emberi lelket, meg szeretné ragadni azt. Valami biztosat jelentene, ha a kezében tarthatná, ha megfejthetné a földi élet bizonytalanságának és a halálba való átlépés örökös kérdését: mi lesz a lelkünkkel a testi halál után? Ijesztő belegondolni abba, hogy nem marad utánunk semmi. Jobb esetben néhány festmény. Caravaggiónak azonban nem csak ezzel van problémája: nem akar rangot és nem akar az aranyláncos akadémikusok körébe sem tartozni.
Visky András szövegében szerettem az iróniát, a humort, de kimaradt belőle a játékosság, az a könnyedség, amellyel igazán élni tudott volna a színpadon. Sokan megírták már, de úgy tűnik, nem lehet elégszer hangsúlyozni, hogy a színházban nem lehet visszalapozni, mint például egy Nietzsche-könyvben. Visky szövege tömény és nehéz, véget nem érő kérdésekkel (főleg ami a Caravaggio monológjait illeti). De a jelenetek tempója nem engedi meg, hogy kérődzünk a szövegen. Woodruff rendezése erős és fegyelmezett színészi munkát követel, aminek a kolozsvári társulat eleget tesz.
Szép volt a színház a színházban kezdet, ezzel az indítással felvállalják a játékot, aztán a későbbiekben Caravaggio mint rendező komponálja képpé a testeket. Szent és profán folyamatosan keveredik. A rendezés többször aláhúzza azt a posztmodern életérzést, amely a perifériára rekedtség állapotát (Caravaggio utcalányokat fogadott fel modellnek a festményeihez) ragadja meg. Illetve azt, hogy nincs egy nagy egész, történetek vannak, széttöredezett helyzetek és érzelmek, melyeket nem szükségszerű összerakni. Talán nem is lehet.
Bár – magamhoz képest – hamar feloldódtam az alfa helyemen, most sem bírtam szemkontaktust tartani. Figyeltem a testeket. Ez, ugye, elkerülhetetlen. Figyeltem a lelkeket. Ez, ugye, szintén elkerülhetetlen.
Ha ezután összefutok valamelyik Caravaggio-színésszel, tudom, hol van anyajegye. Most ez kifejezetten nyomaszt.
ⒸBiró István
RO___________________________________________________________
La un spectacol de teatru urăsc să mă așez în primul rând. Mai puțin probabil în cazul spectacolelor din Sala Mare, dar spectacolele din studio includ riscul ca actorii să paseze brusc ceva în mâna mea, să mă oblige să zic ceva etc. De asemenea este foarte frustrant pentru când se uită adânc în ochii mei și se așteaptă să păstrez contactul vizual. Trăiesc momentul de parcă aș fi victima unui atac personal.
Când am realizat că biletul meu la spectacolul Caravaggio Terminal este în primul rând, pe primul scaun, a fost prea târziu. Eu am fost alfa (desigur acum notez fără griji acest lucru, dar atunci unicul gând îmi era că și-au bătut joc de mine). Am considerat semn de rău și draperia imensă și transparentă de nailon, care în primele minute ale spectacolului delimitează scena de public. Nu m-a liniștit nici batjocura doamnei de lângă mine ("Oh, după cum observ eu, ne așteaptă evenimente vesele!) Încă nici nu mi-am eliberat sufletul de povara spectacolului Paysage inconnu, deja s-au ivit în fața mea la bustul gol personajele lui Caravaggio. Pentru prima dată (lucru aproape inevitabil) am evaluat următoarele: cui, ce și cum i se scoală sau nu, am urmărit cu privirea conturul alunițelor și al micilor defecte, am privit burțile, mușchii molatici, într-un cuvânt am hăpăit vederea de aproape. (Probabil nu doar eu făceam asta.)
În al doilea rând am realizat că textul spectacolului nu va fi ușor de înțeles.
Caravaggio, talentul divin, se autotorturează neîncetat, se zbuciumă, se mistuie singur, deoarece cercetează fără oprire sufletul uman, vrea să-l captureze. Ar însemna ceva sigur, dacă l-ar putea cuprinde printre degete, ar ghici răspunsul la veșnica întrebare a incertitudinii pământene și a trecerii în etapa morții : ce se va alege cu sufletul nostru după moartea carnală ? Este înfiorător gândul că nu rămâne nimic după noi. În cel mai bun caz niște picturi. Aceasta nu este singura problemă al lui Caravaggio, el nu vrea nici rang, nu vrea nici să intre în rândul academicienilor cu lanț de aur.
Mi-a plăcut ironia și umorul din textul lui András Visky, dar a uitat de caracterul jucăuș de care s-ar fi putut într-adevăr folosi pe scenă. Acest lucru a fost menționat de mai multe ori, dar se pare că nu poate fi subliniat suficient că la teatrul nu se poate da înapoi pagina ca de exemplu într-o carte de Nietzsche. Textul lui Visky a fost concentrat și greu, presărat cu întrebări interminabile (mai ales în ceea ce privește monologurile lui Caravaggio). Dar ritmul scenelor consecutive nu ne-a permis să analizăm îndelungat textul. Regia lui Woodruff impune actorilor munca severă și disciplinată, cerință căreia trupa din Cluj i-a făcut față.
A fost frumoasă scena inițială de teatru în teatru, cu acest început și-au asumat jocul, apoi Cravaggio ca director a compus imagini din corpuri. Sacrul și profanul s-au îmbinat neîncetat, regia a pus accent în repetate rânduri pe acel sentiment de viață postmodern, care nu este altul, decât starea stagnării în spațiul periferic ( modelele lui Caravaggio erau prostituate). Respectiv a accentuat, că nu există o întregime, sunt mai multe istorii, situații și sentimente împrăștiate, și nu este necesar să le aranjăm (poate nici nu am putea) .
A fost frumoasă scena inițială de teatru în teatru, cu acest început și-au asumat jocul, apoi Cravaggio ca director a compus imagini din corpuri. Sacrul și profanul s-au îmbinat neîncetat, regia a pus accent în repetate rânduri pe acel sentiment de viață postmodern, care nu este altul, decât starea stagnării în spațiul periferic ( modelele lui Caravaggio erau prostituate). Respectiv a accentuat, că nu există o întregime, sunt mai multe istorii, situații și sentimente împrăștiate, și nu este necesar să le aranjăm (poate nici nu am putea) .
Chiar dacă -față de mine însumi- m-am obișnuit repede cu poziția alfa, acum nu am putut păstra contactul vizual. Eram atentă la corpuri. Ceva inevitabil. Eram atentă la suflete. Ceva inevitabil de-asemenea, nu?
Dacă de acum în colo mă voi întâlni pe stradă cu un actor dintre ai lui Caravaggio, am să știu unde are aluniță. Momentan asta mi se pare foarte frustrant.
EN___________________________________________________________
I hate sitting in the first row of the theatre. Less in the main hall, but in case of a studio performance, it is highly possible that at one point or another, the actors would put something in my hand or force me to speak, etc. I’m even frustrated of a deep look in the eye, from a long eye contact. I usually assume it’s a personal attack.
When I realized that my ticket for the Caravaggio Terminal was for the first seat in the first row, it was already too late. I became the alpha (it’s easy to say now, but then I kinda thought I’ve been royally screwed over). I considered the giant, transparent nylon curtain separating the stage from the audience in the first few minutes a bad omen too, and the nearby lady’s ironic comment just made it worse („Well, well, I guess we’re looking forward to some fun events!”). I didn’t even manage to get over the shock of Paysage inconnu, there stood the half-naked actors of Caravaggio, right in front of me. First (it’s usually almost unavoidable), I checked out how everybody’s stuff stood or stayed, I’ve traced the outlines of birthmarks and flaws, I’ve took note of the bellies, the floppy muscles, to be concise: I’ve insatiably admired the sight from up close. (I’m quite sure I wasn’t the only one.)
Secondly I realized that the text of the performance won’t be easy to digest.
Caravaggio, the innate talent keeps on mauling his soul, he is torn, because he’s in search for the human soul, he means to take a hold of it. Holding it would mean something certain, it could be the solution for the question of earthly uncertainty and passing on to death: what happens to out soul after the physical death? It’s scary to think that nothing is left behind us. Ideally, several paintings. This isn’t Caravaggio’s only problem: he doesn’t want titles and he doesn’t want to belong to the gold-chained academics.
I liked the irony and the humour of András Visky’s text, but somehow, the playfulness was left out, that kind of lightness that would have made it live on the stage. Though many people before me have emphasized this, it cannot be said enough times: in the theatre, you can’t turn the pages back like with a Nietzsche book. Visky’s text is quintessential and heavy, with never-ending questions (especially in Caravaggio’s monologue). But the fast-paced scenes didn’t allow us to be stuck on one fragment. Woodruff’s directing expects very strong and disciplined acting, but the company from Cluj has measured up to it.
The theatre in the theatre-type beginning was nice, they had picked up the game with this intro, later on, Caravaggio has composed the bodies into an image as a director. Sacred and profane have kept on mingling, the directing has emphasized the postmodern feeling of life many times: it grasped the situation of the ones stuck on the periphery (Caravaggio has hired street-walkers as models for his paintings. And also the fact that there is no one big whole, but stories, fragmented situations and feelings that aren’t required to be placed together (maybe they cannot be placed together).
Even though I managed to relax quite quickly – compared to myself – at my alpha seat, I couldn’t keep eye contact. I’ve watched the bodies. This is unavoidable. I’ve watched the souls. Also unavoidable.
Should I run into any Caravaggio actor anytime in the future, I would know where their birthmarks are. And this pressures me.
When I realized that my ticket for the Caravaggio Terminal was for the first seat in the first row, it was already too late. I became the alpha (it’s easy to say now, but then I kinda thought I’ve been royally screwed over). I considered the giant, transparent nylon curtain separating the stage from the audience in the first few minutes a bad omen too, and the nearby lady’s ironic comment just made it worse („Well, well, I guess we’re looking forward to some fun events!”). I didn’t even manage to get over the shock of Paysage inconnu, there stood the half-naked actors of Caravaggio, right in front of me. First (it’s usually almost unavoidable), I checked out how everybody’s stuff stood or stayed, I’ve traced the outlines of birthmarks and flaws, I’ve took note of the bellies, the floppy muscles, to be concise: I’ve insatiably admired the sight from up close. (I’m quite sure I wasn’t the only one.)
Secondly I realized that the text of the performance won’t be easy to digest.
Caravaggio, the innate talent keeps on mauling his soul, he is torn, because he’s in search for the human soul, he means to take a hold of it. Holding it would mean something certain, it could be the solution for the question of earthly uncertainty and passing on to death: what happens to out soul after the physical death? It’s scary to think that nothing is left behind us. Ideally, several paintings. This isn’t Caravaggio’s only problem: he doesn’t want titles and he doesn’t want to belong to the gold-chained academics.
I liked the irony and the humour of András Visky’s text, but somehow, the playfulness was left out, that kind of lightness that would have made it live on the stage. Though many people before me have emphasized this, it cannot be said enough times: in the theatre, you can’t turn the pages back like with a Nietzsche book. Visky’s text is quintessential and heavy, with never-ending questions (especially in Caravaggio’s monologue). But the fast-paced scenes didn’t allow us to be stuck on one fragment. Woodruff’s directing expects very strong and disciplined acting, but the company from Cluj has measured up to it.
The theatre in the theatre-type beginning was nice, they had picked up the game with this intro, later on, Caravaggio has composed the bodies into an image as a director. Sacred and profane have kept on mingling, the directing has emphasized the postmodern feeling of life many times: it grasped the situation of the ones stuck on the periphery (Caravaggio has hired street-walkers as models for his paintings. And also the fact that there is no one big whole, but stories, fragmented situations and feelings that aren’t required to be placed together (maybe they cannot be placed together).
Even though I managed to relax quite quickly – compared to myself – at my alpha seat, I couldn’t keep eye contact. I’ve watched the bodies. This is unavoidable. I’ve watched the souls. Also unavoidable.
Should I run into any Caravaggio actor anytime in the future, I would know where their birthmarks are. And this pressures me.
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