WINTERREISE:
KORNÉL MUNDRUCZÓ'S VISION OF MIGRATION

by Vincenzo Sardelli

VIDEO FOOTAGE FROM A REFUGEE CAMP AND THE MUSIC OF SCHUBERT:
THE HUNGARIAN PROTON THEATRE’S PERFORMANCE IS CARRYING OUT CIVILIAN TASKS

Viktor Orbán's Hungary does not exactly shine in the area of respecting human rights. This fact is not only well known across the European Union, it also gives us particular cause for concern in Italy, since the leaders of our national government maintain good relations with the Hungarian prime minister.

Amnesty International's reports consistently criticize misogynistic, homophobic and transphobic laws passed by the Orbán government and regulations restricting the freedom of peaceful assembly in Hungary, as well as rules restricting asylum for refugees and transit zones that appear more like prisons.

Since July 2015, there has been a fence protected by barbed wire along Hungary’s borders with Serbia and Croatia. This not only keeps out foreigners wishing to transit across to other countries, it also deters them from attempting to do so, evoking Cold War policies that we had hoped would remain only memories, and which open the government up to charges of racism, which in Hungary is directed especially at the country’s Roma citizens.

In this context, it is particularly remarkable that a Hungarian company should be dealing with migrants and making them the subject of one of their productions. In Winterreise, the internationally acclaimed film and theater director Kornél Mundruczó and his Proton Theatre explore what it means to be a refugee today.

For Winterreise, the performers and audience members are seated together on the stage of Milan's Triennale Teatro, entering the space from the rear through huge gates resembling the doors of a massive garage. This pop-up auditorium is like an inside-out sock, a worn-out piece of fabric with knots and strands of thread hanging out. We climb the steps of the auditorium in a slight state of confusion. The sound of our footsteps is amplified as they thump on the planks beneath our feet.

Appearing before is a set of cots and bunk beds, with people on them like souls condemned to hell. The floor is full of rags and clothes. Jugs full of water, basins and a toilet are also visible on stage. There is a sense of complete transience and neglect. A piano stands next to a shopping cart used as a suitcase. The presence of art dispels the sense of threat and triggers a catharsis. A night walk through the freezing winter.

Winterreise is a cycle of 24 songs by Franz Schubert, here beautifully performed live by pianist Károly Mocsári. Actor János Szemenyei sings with a – deliberately – uncertain accent. The distorted pronunciation spoils the harmony of the singing, reinforcing the feeling of strangeness.

Winterreise is an escape from the grief of unfulfilled love. It is the story of a wanderer in the midst of winter, wandering in the freezing cold through snowy streets and deep darkness. Evanescent illusions and frozen tears. Feelings frozen in winter sleep abound in Szemenyei's singing to counterpoint the video installation, the footage taken from a refugee camp in Bicske, Hungary. The cold appears in the stripped walls, the toilets blackened with dirt, the rusted hotplates used as stoves, the Arabic script on the dirty walls. A shoe without laces, drying against the wall. Worn out clothes hanging on the drying rack, curtains on the windows, just large enough to tame the light filtering through the glass.

Going to sleep waiting for the dawn that will not bring a new day. Gestures that try to preserve some kind of humanity: shaving after waking up, doing some abdominal exercises on the floor. Finding the cat's hiding place: only in this children's game is there still a sort of carefreeness that tries to resist the asphalt like a leaf of grass.

Winterreise is Purgatory falling towards Hell. The withering of the life force. Feverish delirium. The death of dreams and the desire for oblivion. A heavy heart. Peace is less likely the more we strive for it. A crow follows the traveler, already detecting the smell of death.

Mocsári’s playing is heavenly among the ruins of cursed humanity, as if he were the protagonist in Roman Polanski's film The Pianist. Szemenyei sings with a sense of imbalance in the chaos, while chewing on some food from a tin can. Music, folk singing. Cataleptic melodies. Realistic video installations in a work with strong political overtones. And a human-scale set – the work of Dóra Büki – which in itself is able to catapult the spectator into the drama of migration, the turmoil of a soul wandering among other lonely souls.

Duration of the performance: 55'
Duration of the applause: 3'
Milan, Triennale Teatro, 26 November 2022
5 stars