Hungary

In Fair Verona Where We Lay Our Scene... or in this case: HUNGARY.

The first suggestion of a difference between Austria and Hungary’s reception of us is in the program for the festival we’re joining. This, whether through translation or genuine pride, makes clear that Globe Touring is incredibly privileged to have been invited. Serious stuff. We catch a lovely, lazy, soviet-era train over from Bratislava and the golden wheat-fields of Austria soon give away to the scruffy green mountains, of Hungary, festooned with hamlets that look like children’s play-sets.

Our stage certainly sends a lot of us reeling, and is perhaps the most individual we’ve seen yet. A small man-made island holds our camper-van and stage on the lake by Gyula Castle. The island’s backstage area is a pleasant confection of wicker walls. There is a good two dozen feet between our stage and a large seating rostra on the other side. Makes quite the change from picnic baskets under our noses. The first rumour I hear is that Paris may arrive for Juliet’s wedding on a pedalo, across the swarthy green water, and this makes me very happy indeed. At no point do I imagine this may be a slightly unrealistic act of upstaging.

As an introduction to the festival we are kindly given tickets to see a Transylvanian production of Richard III, which is certainly the most brilliantly bizarre Shakespeare I’ve ever seen. When an interpretation begins not with ‘Now is the winter of our discontent…’ but with an oiled up leather-bound vixen rolling around with the crown between her thighs, you can be pretty sure you’re in the vicinity of Eastern Europe. The production is good, though, innovative, unarguably. Where there is less reverence for the verse there is more elasticity in the story-telling. Which would Shakespeare, a wildly prolific, imaginative and often digressive writer prefer?

Performing for the first time over a body of water, the mosquitoes can be seen getting visibly excited at the prospect of comatose actors lining the stage. We re-rehearse scenes to bring them to the fore of the stage, instead of our usual three-sided performance. After a briefly glorious lounge in the mineral baths of the town, the heat soon makes bubbles where our brains should be. How do you perform in this sort of heat?

The other challenge is the fact that in Hungary they are very big on microphones. This is not something I have dealt with in theatre before, but it is insisted upon, probably sensibly. Mercutio plays around with using them until his mercurial articulation pops and explodes through the speakers. We are, however, further away from the audience than we ever have been. The compromise comes with a slight amplification, and not so that we are aware of it onstage. Entrances from the audience’s side now take on the strange form of listening to alien voices, louder than they should be. On the plus side they mean less yelling and therefore more colour, detail, and vocal well-being.

The sombre, tragedian audience that we expected and didn’t get in Austria certainly arrives here in Hungary. I think laughter occurs about three times throughout the whole play. But the rhythmical clapping at the end of the performance is kudos of the highest stature, or so we’re told. Afterwards there is a champagne reception and selection of local meats and cheese. Beginning to feel my arteries clog. These Europeans love their meat and cheese…

I get the impression that this part of Europe gets a lot of thunderstorms. At least we do whilst we’re here. One circumstance that we’ve not performed in yet…I think that privilege can wait.

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