I wanted the first review I wrote for this blog to be about an amazing production I recently saw that is running indefinitely. Unfortunately, most of you who read this will never get a chance to see it. That is precisely why I feel it is so important to write about.
 Hungarian Theatre of Cluj | This past December I was lucky enough to attend a week and a half long festival at the Hungarian Theatre of Cluj, Romania. I saw some spectacularly daring work by modern titans of the theatre world (including Andrei Şerban and Robert Woodruff), but one of the more interesting productions I saw was directed by my friend and colleague, Tom Dugdale. |
It was a Hungarian-language Death of a Salesman. As I made my way towards my seat, I ran into the company's Associate Artistic Director, András Visky. "This is one of your sacred texts," he told me with a huge grin on his face, "You probably know it by heart." He's right, of course, about Salesman being a sacred text for Americans, but "know it by heart"? No. For me, Death of a Salesman has always been sacred like the Sunday morning Church services I went to as a kid. I'd go because I was expected to, because I was told it was good for me; and there were always a few genuine moments of awe, but mostly I'd slog through and try not to look bored. However, I settled in and hoped for the best. |  Promotional image |
 (from left)Balázs Bodolai, Ferenc Sinkó, András Hatházi & Emőke Kató as the Lowman Family | I was curious to see how a group of actors who didn't grow up with "The Method" or Lee Strasberg's flawed ideas about "How to act American Realism" would handle Arthur Miller. I must say, I was not disappointed in the least. What I experienced over the next two hours (THAT'S RIGHT! 2 hours!) was the most honest and affecting Death of a Salesman I have ever seen (and I have seen quite a few). |
No exaggeration or hyperbole; the company at the Hungarian Theatre is filled with some of the best actors I have ever seen in my life. There is an incredible dichotomy in all of their work. They manage to be absolutely authentic while retaining an almost mechanical precision and theatricality of the highest order. Their repertory system is quite different from our own. Instead of running 2 or 3 shows continuously for a few months, they have over ten shows in rotation; each one being played once or twice a month. Some of these shows have been running for years with no sign of stopping. In the ten days I was there, I was astonished to see several actors performing in 5 or 6 shows over the course of the week. All this while rehearsing Hedda Gabler in the morning. It is a work ethic I cannot even begin to wrap my head around, and can only view with the highest form of admiration.
The play begins with the entire cast onstage (as themselves) with guitars and tambories singing a song of America. This utterly playful and unguarded moment sets the tone for everything that follows. As the actors exit, only Biff and Happy (Ferenc Sinkó and Balázs Bodolai respectively) are left on the bare stage; Fighting with towels, brushing their teeth, and rinsing their mouth out with beer.  Biff and Happy's towel fight |  Biff (Ferenc Sinkó), Happy (Balázs Bodolai) & Willy (András Hatházi) There is a lightness and joy here. Unlike most of the American Salesmen I have seen, these characters don't seem to know the outcome of the play. When the tragedy does arise, it is without the sturm und drang of actors who are aware that they are playing |
 Biff & Happy take their father out the "Great American Tragedy." Here, the pathos is never forced, but always present. There is an emotional honesty that can only come from a people who live everyday of their lives in the same conditions that Miller was writing about. There is also an athletic physical vocabulary that is absent from most of the theatre we see in America, particularly those that identify themselves at "realist". While the actors are well aware of Death of a Salesman's historical significance, it isn't embedded in their culture's collective consciousness the way it is in the States. In my opinion, this is a great advantage which allows them to approach it with the refreshing boldness and originality of a new play. |  András Hatházi as Willy Lowman |
 Charley (Attila Orbán) & Bernard (András Buzási) call out to Biff from the Stage Management booth  Uncle Ben (Loránd Váta) emerges from the fridge |  Linda (Emőke Kató) in the kitchen Under Tom Dugdale's masterful direction. the actors use every inch of the space. Along with the platforms and doors built into Ian Wallace's elegant set, the natural architecture of the theatre (doors, risers, even the stage management booth) is used to its fullest. The central platform is a simple cinematic strip containing the Lowman's kitchen. This works perfectly, as the kitchen's old refrigerator that refuses to stay closed becomes a fitting metaphor for the broken American dream. Like the sporting goods that appear as hand-props all over the stage (tennis rackets, kayak paddles and the like), the refrigerator represents the promise of American consumerism. This becomes highly evident when Uncle Ben- the ghost of Willy's brother who "walked into the jungle" at seventeen and came out rich- emerges from the refrigerator, with all the glamour and charisma of a rock star. |
Howard (Gábor Viola) shows Willy home movies
As an American, working abroad in a foreign language, Tom Dugdale has done something quite stunning in creating a production that is both quintessentially American and totally universal. He manages this by putting his whole heart and soul on stage. Whether it's the songs he composes for the actors or the childhood memories he recreates, Dugdale's psyche is all over the stage. This is nowhere more evident than in the scene where Willy goes into his boss' office. Howard (his boss) shares a fascinating new object; a reel-to-reel tape deck with a recording of his son's voice. Here, Dugdale replaces the tape-deck with a home-video camera; a symbol of his own childhood. Instant nostalgia for every one (like myself) who grew-up with their father's camera constantly pointed at them! But the thing that makes this so much more than simple plot-device is the intimate nature in which it is used. When Howard presses play, Willy (along with the audience) watches childhood home movies of Dugdale singing and playing in the bathtub. It is truly one of the most poignantly simple moments of an artist baring himself on stage (literally and emotionally) .
Willy urges the Woman (Csilla Albert) to leave when Biff arrives
I cannot say enough about artistic rigor and craftsmanship of this stellar cast (lead by the immensely powerful András Hatházi), but the real star is the lean and muscular adaptation (by Dugdale and dramaturg Eszter Biro). As I watched, the major thing I noticed was how briskly the action kept moving forward, never allowing the actors the time to wallow in their own misery. By the time we reached the climactic scene (where Biff walks in on Willy's adulterous encounter), I realized we had yet to take an intermission. I looked down at my watch and realized it had only been an hour-forty five and we were almost done. It was not until that moment that I realized exactly how much of the text must have been cut. I have to say, the cuts (as well as the rearranging of some flashbacks) made the plot sing in a way that I have never seen. The sad thing is, even though it works so much better, an American production could never take so many liberties with our "sacred text" without getting crucified by the purists. I would argue, that this production is more sacred than any you are likely to see on our shores, because in Cluj, the Salesman is alive.
RSS Feed
