Performing Arts

In front of the Kolibri Szinház are dozens of footprints of Hungarian film and theater acting legends, similar to the concrete impressions at the front of Graumann's Chinese Theater in Hollywood. These are set in bronze and they honor Hungary's greatest cinema and theatrical acting talents.

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Today we are looking at the impressions of Gábor Miklós, one of Hungary's finest theatrical talents and postwar film actors.

He was trained at the Hungarian Academy of Theater and Film Art and active in as a film and theatrical actor primarily from 1941 to 1975. Into the 1980s he worked in television and as a director in the Madách Theater and Budapest Chamber Theater.

His film career had an auspicious beginning with Valahol Europaban (Somewhere in Europe), a film which showed promise for the future of Hungarian moviemaking. A false promise, as it turned out; following the consolidation of power by the communists the film industry was subjugated to a propagandistic support role, and film project like Valahol were considered too bourgeoise for approval.

But in the years to follow Miklós would keep working, appearing as romantic lead in many Rakósi-era escapist-propaganda films like Állami Aruház (Government-Run Department Store). Into the 1960s, as state censorship in the Hungarian movie industry became more relaxed and relevant to popular tastes, Miklós became known for playing roles in films that walked the balance beam between the socialist censors and the influence of contemporary Western European films with their more sophisticated world view and complicated moral messages.

His most famous role outside of Hungary is one in which he stars but has few speaking scenes - István Szabó's Apa (Father). His casting in Apa was a poignant touch by Szábo - appearing as the husband of 30s-40s screen legend Tolnay Klári is an affectionate juxtaposition of the "Father" and "Mother" of modern Hungarian film actors alongside a generation of younger talents (Andras Balint, Judit Halász) that would eventually go on to great success taking their places.

Other films of note starring Miklós are Miert Rosszak a Magyar Filmek (rough translation: Why Are Hungarian Films Such Crap?), a parody of socialist bureaucracy that predates the classic political satire A Tánu (The Witness) by 5 years. In this bit of farce he plays a screenwriter who has an idea for a movie about an ex-con, and finds himself standing by while the project gets shredded into something unrecognizable. Also Az Idö Ablakai (The Windows of Time), a morality-themed science fiction yarn where Miklós plays one of five social outsiders who are thawed out from cryonogenic suspension following a nuclear war.

His time in Hungarian theater reached a high point in 1962 where he played a very fatalistic Hamlet, an interpretation that was powerful and recognized as such around the world. Other roles of note were Boy in Cocteau's Les Parents Terrible, Fool in King Lear, George in Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, and Richard III. He was also a director and respected author on the subject of theatrical theory.

Gábor Miklós died in 1998, four years after recieving the Hungarian Film Festival's Lifetime Achievement Award.

Gábor Miklós filmography

Made an interesting discovery at a vintage konyvesbolt (bookstore) in district V last month. After perusing the shelves looking for English translations of poetry from Josef Attila and Ady Endre and not finding any (so what else is new), I saw a little box by the register that had all these little books in it. I mean teeny tiny books, like they came in a box of Cracker Jack or something.

I was intrigued and bought a few without even looking at them. What the hell, they were only $3 apiece.



One book is just called Budapest. It has color photos of Budapest from the 1960s on the right hand pages, with excerpts from great Hungarian poets on the left facing pages.

Another is a little book simply titled Csepel. Csepel is an industrial town outside of Budapest, situated on an island in the middle of the Danube. Contrary to the pretty picture that may conjure up, Csepel is a particularly colorless factory town - so colorless that the idea of a picture book to showcase it is kind of hilarious.

The mini-book dates from the mid-70s and it is some kind of propagandistic souvenir. There are photo essays of factory workers with captions like "Man and steel" and "Automation of the spiritual labor". But the best part is the prologue - a classic of socialist shill copywriting from the typewriter of some party hack, poorly translated into English (a rarity) and set in 4 point type.

Check out this excerpt:

"Future is built on the production line of history, when the 5-pointed star of humanity is affixed to the factories. Our poet, Attila Josef, had not been for nothing in a land of dreams. People take factories into their possession - people are the owners. In the night of Csepel red stars gleam on the fronts of its factories. How imposing and difficult this fight is. What a wonderful age! And how many people could not live to see it; how many martyrs has Csepel. Our grateful generation keeps their memory in respect."

Honestly I don't even wanna think about how many martyrs Csepel had in the mid-70s. Sounds like a bunch of dudes with Three Dog Night hairdos in a dirty kocsma getting blotto on palinka after 10 hours on the sheet metal press.



The last book is the tiniest of all, measuring 1" high. It is Kis Képek Nagy Művekről (Small Pictures, Big Art) - a really cool accordion foldout book with color reproductions of the treasures of the Szépművészeti Múzeum.

I love these little guys. No idea why this became some kind of craze, this publishing of Stuart Little-sized books. Postwar interior space shortages perhaps?

In front of the Kolibri Szinház are dozens of footprints of Hungarian film and theater acting legends, similar to the concrete impressions at the front of Graumann's Chinese Theater in Hollywood. These are set in bronze and they honor Hungary's greatest cinema and theatrical acting talents.

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If a screen actor's greatness as measured by excellence of their performances, by their originality, by the quality of their filmography or by simple intensity in front of the camera... then by any of those benchmarks Mari Törőcsik is undoubtedly Hungary's greatest living screen actor.

She got her start in Zoltán Fábri's film Körhinta (Merry-go-Round, 1955), the first postwar Hungarian film of the socialist period that broke away from the conventions of mindless Rákosi-era propagandistic vehicles and found a unique humanist cinematic language. From this powerful debut she went on to leave her mark in almost every style of Hungarian film worthy of mention. From Fábri's Édes Anna (Sweet Anna, 1958) to the 21st century with films like Karoly Makk's A Long Weekend In Pest and Buda (2003), in four decades she has occupied a singular niche in the world of Hungarian cinema.

One film in particular, László Ranódy's Pacsirta (Skylark, 1963), has Törőcsik playing a surprisingly small role given her star status at the time. But in a single sequence with the legendary Zoltán Latinovits, she practically steals the picture by virtues of her luminous presence and physical intensity.

She is also known for appearing in Miklós Jancsó's avant-garde films of the 1960s and 70s. In particular, Szerelmem, Elektra (Elektra, My Love, 1974) captures the essence of her charisma. She moves her tiny (155cm) frame within the choreography of Jancsó's ensembles with frightening authority, the delicately beautiful face spouting lines with a harsh 1000-year old voice of doom.



Mari, now 73, was recently hospitalized for an extended stay, and had to cancel some engagements at the National State Opera house. But as of early January 2009 I hear that she is out of the hospital and apparently in good health. We wait for more from this mesmerizing woman.

O holy night, the stars are not so brightly shining. It is the night of the death of Megasztár, Hungary's most execrable TV show. A thrill of hope, a weary world rejoices.

Megasztár is a magyar clone of American Idol that combines all the most inane attributes of prime-time talent shows, reality TV and poll-based programming in a single show. Every second of it makes me wince with embarrassment.

You can't believe how oppressively popular this show is here. There is some reference to it on television here 24 hours a day. The onslaught of ads, interviews with those left standing, interviews with the embittered losers, behind-the-scenes exposés and 30-second network promos are enough to gag even Paula Abdul.

Also, while you are watching other programs there are constant crawls at the bottom of the screen flashing a phone number that you can use to SMS your "vote" for your favorite contestant on Megasztár. If you do vote, it costs you about a buck twenty-five. And no, nobody here has a clue that it's all rigged beforehand. In this Hungarians have proved to be as dumb and gullible as American Idol fans.

Yes, Megasztár is finally ending - the best Christmas gift I could have gotten this year. Fall on your knees! Oh hear the angel voices! And we pray they won't be singing a sterile version of "I Just Called to Say I Love You" in a dorky Hungarian accent.

Sunday night and a foray to the National Theater to see a performance of an English-language comedy, The Complete Works of William Shakespeare.

The concept: every one of Shakespeare's plays performed by three players in two hours. As you might imagine, some of the bard's larger themes get glossed over in this format. This play was written by some prog-rock sounding trio called Long-Singer-Borgeson and is performed at the Nemzeti by a dramatic troupe called the Madhouse Theater Company. Mike Kelly, Matt Devere and Andrew Hefler make up the cast.

And, as you also might have imagined by now - it's a comedic spoof.

I had heard about this play and its long Budapest run many times. But the main circumstance that put me in the seats was not a review or knowledge of the text. It was a chance encounter with cast member Matt Devere in a Budapest watering hole a few weeks ago that brought me there.

Some of my pals I was with at this bar know Matt and we were introduced. Turns out we are both motorcycle afficionados. We knew this because we were both wearing t-shirts with Triumph logos on them (Triumph the motorcycle brand, not the hairy Canadian 70s hard rock trio). When introduced, we checked each other's shirts out and sort of looked at each other like this for a moment:

(Matt's about 2cm taller than me, so I guess that makes him the one on the left.)

Matt and I chatted a bit, I lamented being without a Triumph in a cycle-friendly town, he bought me my fifth Unicum*, and I pledged to see his show within the month.

On Sunday I was good as my word. Navigating a convoluted system of Metro, trams and buses brought us to the National Theater (Nemzeti Szinház), a relatively new complex that also includes a second building for the Palace of Arts (Művészetek Palotája). The Palace of Arts building is quite handsome. I can't say the same for the theater building - a marriage of late-19th century neo-Hungarian excess and 21st century XIII district condominum.

But it's what goes on inside that counts. And the inside of the theater was packed, mostly with what I assumed to be rich Hungarian teens and their chaperones. A full house for a play that is not new on a Sunday night - very impressive.

And the play did not disappoint the packed house. The Complete Works of William Shakespeare is not so much a theatrical piece but an elaborate comedy sketch. The script is loose and unfocused, but the production is amply held together by the charisma of the three players. There are a few moments (too few IMO) where the true dramatic talents of the players are juxtaposed against the slapstick of the material. I thought those scenes provided the most entertaining bits of the evening.

For the record, the play ends with Hamlet being done in 90 seconds - backwards. What a piece of work is a man! How infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and admirable! Especially when cross-dressing as Ophelia with buck teeth or running about the stage in reverse gear with a rubber knife through thine own cursed head.



*Don't drink five Unicums. I can say that for me, after three Unicums I'm in such a state of hilarity that the taxi driver who pours me home can count on another 500ft in gratuity for every Unicum I consume after #2.

Here are two Hungarian reklám (commercials) from the 1980s that I love. They're something from another planet.

TRAUBISODA

Traubisóda is a Hungarian soft drink that tastes something like Sprite. This insane animated ad was created by a state studio sometime in the mid-80s. Apparently, the denizens of the Traubisóda "duplabuborék" colony (and their creators, probably) were frying on some vintage LSD. Every time I watch this I expect to see the Beatles floating by in their submarine.

In preparing for my trip back to Hungary, I learned - with a great feat of memory - the entire Traubisóda song in this video. Great for impressing your pals at bars (and getting a free drink now and then).
The lyrics and translation (mine) are:

Amikor az ember még csak kis gyerek, akkor is nagy tudományos ismeret
A térmeszet ajándéka énnekem, minden cseppjét külön élvezem
Felfrissit a dupla buborék - Felfrissit de soha nem eléég!
Épp ezért a legkedvesem slágerem: Traubi Traubi Traubi Traubisoda!

When we are all just a bunch of little kids, it's the time that we all learn to see
That each and every bottle is a special gift, every one I'm loving separately
So refreshing, this bubbly stuff - refreshing but I just can't get enough!
That's why I'm singing my favorite song: Traubi Traubi Trabuisoda!

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SKALA COOP

The second video is for Skála Coop, an aruház (department store) founded by those wacky communists. What I believe to be Hungary's only vocoder was recruited into service by the party to give voice to Skála's loveable, unforgettable best customer.

The lyric is a play on words remarking on how you can get great discounts if you will just make the effort to enter the store:


Bemegyek,
Kijövök...
de milyen
jóóóóóól
kijövök
ha bemegyek!

I go in,
then I come out...
But how
gooooood
I come out,
if I go in!


The producer of this ad should have been hired to do a Grace Jones record. Viewed as either a classic of minimalist television or a great way to learn Hungarian verbs, it's a winner.

Made a stop today at the Alexandra Non-Stop Könyvebolt (24-hour bookstore) so I could continue my quest for Hungarian films on DVD.

As of this writing, there are only a couple of dozen Hungarian films that have found distribution to the UK/American market. Folks like me who are curious about this rich body of work are forced to scrounge for what we can get. However, this seems to be changing, and there is one company here of that seems to have the interest, the financial backing, and the will to release classic Hungarian films - the Magyar Filmek Gyüjteménye.

Magyar Filmek Gyüjteménye seem to have some special connection to the national archive, which controls almost the entire catalog of Hungarian film in the communist era (1946-1991), and as a result some of the best Hungarian films of the 20th century are now being made available. The quality is good, and English translations/subtitles are first-rate.

As a DVD label, you could describe them as a Hungarian version of Criterion - a marque that re-releases restored versions of unique films of high quality, at prices slightly higher than the hoi polloi can afford. Like the films of Criterion's catalog, while you may not love or even like all of them, you can't deny their originality or power.

So I picked up a copy of Budapesti Mesék (Budapest Tales), from Hungary's most famous director István Szabó (known mostly to Americans for his Mephisto and the Ralph Fiennes tour-de-force, Sunshine). Also got Két Félidö a Pokolban (The Last Goal), and Édes Anna (Sweet Anna) starring the incomparable Mari Törőcsik. Being a big István Szabó fan, I know something about Budapesti Mesék. But the others are a roll of the dice - I don't have a clue as to what they're about. However I have confidence in these navy blue labels (and in Mari Töröcsik) so into the basket they went.

Still keeping an eye out for a copy of my personal holy grail of Hungarian film - Almodozások Kora (The Dreamers) featuring my fave actor, András Bálint.

Also want to see Utazás a Koponyám Körül (Journey Inside my Skull) again, a bizarre story from legendary Magyar journalist Frigyes Karinthy that is directed in an appropriately Fellini-ish style by Gyorgy Révész. I saw this film on Hungarian TV once when I dragged home drunk in the middle of the night and it gave me strange dreams. Also features Mari Töröcsik and Zoltán Latinovics - an actor whose excellence compares favorably to that of any of the finest American film stars who came out of the Method in the Brando-Dean era.