Móricz Zsigmond's realistic, crudely critical social background to the issues raised in his novel is poured out in dreamlike waves on the stage of the studio. They are wave-like sequences unfolding unconventionally, deliriously, in front of a huge fringed curtain, concealing the arsenal of mysterious preparations of the mise-en-scène. The set of furnishings is more suspected and glimpsed rather than shown. The set belongs to artist Bartha József and the excessively green costumes were designed by Kiss Zsuzsanna. Given the adaptation of the novel to the economy of dialogue in the performance, in addition to the director, the role of the playwright, Kali Ágnes, is essential.

(…)

Poor Pista, played with great dedication and scenic transformation by Viola Gabor, is caught in this evil web, like threads torn from the giant curtain of inter-family relationships, which are fatally damaging. The appearance of the actress Györgyjakab Enikő as Lina, Pista's wife, is pleasant and welcome. Bács Miklós vigorously underlines the portrait of a grotesque mayor, while the entourage, friends, relatives, financiers, citizens of the town, colored in unifying green, threaten the peace of the prosecutor, hastening his end. Alone or as a group, they act corrosively upon the spirit of the protagonist, who has become intoxicated by the idea of getting rich quickly.

Adrian Țion: Between critical realism and light onirism - Rokonok / Rubedeniile [Între realism critic și onirism lejer - Rokonok / Rubedeniile], liternet.ro, February 2023

A performance that takes into account all the elements of naturalism; the staging is on the edge of that realism so troublesome and intensely cultivated in the middle of the last century in Romania. It's a parodic key that the director puts at our fingertips and with which we can decipher the less obvious meanings of the show. But Rubedeniile remains, before anything else, a direct reference to reflection: we are just as corruptible as we were two or three hundred years ago, temptations make us weaker and dehumanization wreaks just as much havoc as before. A show you don't come out of untouched - simply shrugging your shoulders - but one you come out of pondering: we are so human in our imperfection that falling into the deepest pit of despair is shockingly natural. I'd revisit Rubedeniile if only because the cast is so well thought out that it raises the bar on the text itself.

Nona Rapotan: On the relatives you never want for dinner, but with whom you share your last penny [Despre rudele pe care nu le vrei niciodată la cină, dar cu care împarți și ultimul sfanț], bookhub.co.uk, 7 February 2023

Mockery inflicts wounds. Regardless of whether we are mocked or whether we mock ourselves.  What does it mean to get a promotion?  Are we promoted because of our merits, or because we are useful to someone, somewhere? When we are promoted, we often fall. The fall inflicts a wound. Some people stay on their feet. We envy them. Mockery is often envy. When we are mocked, we react. We get confused and fall.

Panama. How much easier it is to tear down a country than to build it up. Endre Ady, writing about a country in 1899, says that " in the future map of that country there will be a white spot in its place, with the inscription: it was a country, but it was embezzled. "

How many embezzled human lives are there in an embezzled country?   What can we do with our embezzled lives?

What happens to a person who suddenly wakes up and realises that what they dream of is possible? What happens to a person who is led to believe that great things are waiting for them? What happens to a small person whose dreams become embezzled? What happens to us when our faith can be embezzled for money and recognition?

Many periods of transitions for a single lifetime. Ideologies change, the how, the definitions. The language of power shifts with it. There was a time when, after revolutions, intellectuals used to think that they were the ones writing the language of power. There are times when the intelligentsia does not speak any language.

The language of money is no longer a question of power. Money speaks to everyone and goes to only a few.

We want greatness, if only we could try to figure something out about the acts of flying and falling.

"Since the present time

turns into an ugly memory.

And winks me in the eye

this forgettable.

This is forgettable.

This is forgettable."
 

Tamás Cseh