Alceste has once again slammed the door shut on society, just as he did nearly four centuries ago. Our relationship with his Molière alter ego, who pops up every few years, is turbulent, as he is repeatedly abandoned, but we always forgive him, we need his bittersweet truth-telling. But sometimes it is good to be punished for the frailty of humanity though

Andrej Visky's rendition of The Misanthrope did not force me into a cage, I climbed in and closed it of my own volition. 

I was immersed in their reality, in the world around me, and what is more: we are meeting a cultural environment, namely our neighbours, the smaller and larger dogs of the film world, chosen by the British playwright Martin Crimp for the characters in his transcript. And the director is faithful to them. This self-reflexive and ironic directorial gesture made me an ally, and from then on I knew: a clash of words between creator and spectator was about to take place, but of course we must think of it as a friendly match, rather than competition.

The updated version thus adapts the following conflict to the age and social and cultural stratum outlined: the tragedy of this misanthrope (Zénó Faragó), a successful writer, is the unsaid hero of emotions and sincerities drowning in the world of show business, and the morally and ethically questionable alternatives of success and validation, more precisely the themes of pornography, freedom and bohemianism, i.e. the story of Jennifer (Míra Szilágyi), the emerging female icon of the film world, the reimagined Célimène. 

The performance subtly combines a general, universal formulation with moments of the personal and the small human. While it deals with the hypocrisy of society and the Homo Sapiens, already well articulated in the original text, as a two-legged paradox dressed in its goodness and badness, Alceste practices saying and showing the words I love you throughout, playing the gallows, dying a little for every letter.


Stan Lilla-Alíz

12 October 2024