Péter Haumann has been a full member of the Theatrical Arts Section of the Hungarian Academy of Arts since 2012. He delivered his inaugural lecture, entitled A beszéd joga (The Right to Speak) on 10 October 2014. This lecture faithfully reflects the principles he professed regarding his career and reveals the working method he followed over the decades.
In his lecture, he examined the relationship between speech, the spoken word, and the meaning behind it, as well as how their role in a theatrical context has evolved in recent decades of Hungarian culture. Concerning the current state of theatrical speech, he argues that the actor, as the interpreter of words and the thoughts behind them, bears great responsibility. Since the actor does not speak his own words on stage, he can convey a text authentically only if he breaks it down and analyses it for himself – a process the audience must then reconstruct internally, extracting its meaning. This raises the question of whether the actor can truly represent what he utters and identify with the text he has learned. According to Haumann, this is precisely where the actor’s responsibility comes in: he is obliged to represent the intellectual content behind the spoken word authentically and must clearly and intelligibly designate its intended meaning.
He believes that contemporary theatre culture, influenced by the changing forms of modern communication, is less capable of representing the meaning behind the spoken word. Stage speech often follows rehearsed gestures and conventional techniques, regardless of any interpretation of the underlying content. Moreover, the written and spoken language used in everyday interactions tends toward brevity, employing abbreviations and devices that condense meaning. Haumann calls this the “age of saturated language”, which lends an aggressive tone to communication. However, he considers this a transitional state from which language users will eventually return to “calm speech”, a mode of expression that better serves the articulation of the meaning behind the word.
The proper mode of expressing the thought behind the word is essential, but equally important is the strength of that thought. The spoken word emerges as the final product of the author’s inspiration, embodying the author’s personal attitude and conduct. Only when the thought behind the word is sufficiently strong, clear, and crystallised can the intended meaning be transmitted appropriately. The actor must therefore follow the same process the writer went through: he must understand the larger whole behind the word and adhere to it, for only then can he generate the same meaning. Péter Haumann acknowledges that, alongside verbal expression, theatre naturally possesses a visual dimension that is capable of creating meaning on its own and is thus equal in weight to the spoken word. Yet even in this respect – regardless of artistic form – everything originates from the clear thought the artist wishes to express. It is this thought for which the artist must find the appropriate means and form of articulation. Within this relational triad (creator–actor–audience), the actor bears the greatest responsibility to interpret the thought correctly, because the spectator or listener can receive the writer’s intended meaning only through the actor’s mediation. As he stated in his lecture: “Everyone thinks in their own voice, and thought is a creative force. It must be. This force has the right and duty to manifest itself, especially if we are granted the privilege of being able to speak.” [1]
Already as a student at the Toldi Secondary School, Haumann was not only interested in theatre but also participated in poetry recitation competitions and performed at various events. As he also noted in his inaugural lecture, he considers poetry recitation a distinct genre in which the observance of the text’s rules (proper emphasis, punctuation) is of particular importance for the formation of meaning. Later, when the time came for his final exams, he nevertheless tried to secure his future in several directions: he applied to medical school, chose a vocational profession as a potential alternative, and auditioned for the Acting Programme at the College of Theatre and Film Arts. It was the latter that accepted him on his first attempt, and from that point on he devoted himself entirely to this profession. He studied at the College from 1959 to 1963, and its spirit laid the foundations of his career. He later reflected on this period: “We lived in hermetic isolation, almost as if in a laboratory. Of course, we learned many good things, but very little about what theatre is like in practice. We were given a single point of view from which to observe the world. This perspective changed over the years, but it was there that the foundations were laid in us of what is beautiful and what is good.” [2]
After his years at the College, he worked in the ensembles of two regional theatres: in Debrecen from 1963 to 1966, and in Pécs from 1966 to 1970. Although he characterised these two periods differently, they had a similar impact on his career. He struggled with the enclosed world described in his earlier statement about the College – a sheltered environment from which he suddenly found himself thrust into the real context of an actor’s life, where practical work differed from what he had learned, and to which he had to adapt. He initially found the atmosphere in Debrecen strict and impersonal compared to that of the College, to such an extent that he even considered leaving the profession. By the time he arrived in Pécs, he encountered a more relaxed environment; yet he later stated that the years in Debrecen lived more vividly in his memory, and that the knowledge and work ethic he had acquired there through struggle left a deeper mark on his career. [3]
The other difficulty – as for most young actors of the period, who were required to spend their first years outside the capital – was the sense of isolation that life in the provinces brought. He tried to regard it as an advantage that he was able to play many roles he would not have had the opportunity to perform in Budapest – where every role type already had its established actor –, and this very variety posed constant new challenges and provided a rich source of experience, it did not compensate for the lack of professional recognition. Even when he delivered outstanding performances, the professional community did not follow events outside Budapest, and thus he received neither recognition nor further invitations. He was also unable to gain a foothold outside the theatre, since Budapest was the centre of television films, feature films, and dubbing studios. There were occasions when he travelled to Budapest for a part, accepting that his fee would be less than the cost of the journey, simply to establish connections with other cultural professionals.
Despite all this, the surviving reviews from this period testify that Péter Haumann’s performances were exceptional, and he soon became a highly regarded actor. From the beginning of his career, he built his characters along the principle articulated in his inaugural lecture: placing emphasis on the meaning and thought behind the role. Among these early performances, his portrayal of Eddie Carbone in A View from the Bridge (8 November 1968, Pécs National Theatre, directed by Vilmos Dobai) was particularly outstanding – played at only twenty-seven years of age. In his approach, the issue of the character’s age did not arise at all, for, as he put it, it was not Eddie Carbone’s age but his personality that served as his starting point. “It never occurred to me how old Eddie was. Things like lumbering along, speaking differently… I tried to penetrate his way of thinking and – if I may say so without sounding presumptuous – his soul.” If I can approach that, then the movement comes naturally. Stage existence – as Stanislavski was so right to say – is the unity and continuous chain of thought, will, and action.” [4]
The reception of his performance attests to its success. Imre Demeter wrote appreciatively of the young actor in his review for Élet és Irodalom: “Eddie is portrayed by Péter Haumann with such dramatic force and such genuine passion that Miller’s true hero stands on the stage. He is a very talented actor with an original personality.” [5]
Alongside the above, thought-centred approach – which may also be regarded as a kind of artistic ars poetica – another essential feature of Haumann’s acting was his thorough, comprehensive understanding of, and respect for, the roles he played. When asked in an interview whether, for him, there existed such a thing as an unworthy or minor part, he replied that although actors naturally have dream roles, they nevertheless cannot take any part lightly, since even a few lines of text can contain an entire world. By way of example, he recalled that in his first season in Debrecen he played two smaller roles, the Scribe and the Second Murderer, in György Lengyel’s production of Richard III (10 April 1964, Csokonai Theatre, Debrecen). Years later, when one of his fellow actors “complained” about being cast as the Second Murderer in Richard III, Péter Haumann remembered his own performances in the following way: “I know how profoundly serious a role the Second Murderer is, or the Scribe, who crosses the stage and says how disgraceful an age this is, where judgments are prepared in advance. Nothing more – eight or ten lines in all – and yet the actor can bring on stage an entire era, an entire human life, the private opinion of the intimidated little man standing against great power.” [6]
He regarded the production of The Resistible Rise of Arturo Ui (20 February 1970, National Theatre of Pécs, dir. Ferenc Sík) as the turning point of his career. His performance in the title role gained considerable attention through the play’s festival appearances, which, in turn led to his invitation to join the Huszonötödik Színház in Budapest. His nuanced characterization was described in the following way: “Haumann’s finest scenes are perhaps those in which a faint touch of human quality seems to flicker – just a little, merely a hint of an inferiority complex, which immediately dissolves again, swallowed up by the tidal wave of self-importance swelling to the brink of madness. Haumann’s Ui possesses just enough intelligence to prevent him from turning against himself, while he is endowed with vanity in abundance.” [7]
At the Huszonötödik Színház he performed what would become his first emblematic role, The Apology of Socrates (28 October 1970, directed by Jenő Horváth), a piece he continues to perform regularly today on the Sufni Színpad of the Katona József Theatre. As he later explained in an interview, he was profoundly influenced by the personality and working methods of the director, Jenő Horváth. Although Horváth’s directing style was considered unconventional, his professional knowledge was exceptional. Haumann regards as formative the trial performance to which Horváth invited several university students majoring in philosophy, asking them to watch the piece and give their honest opinion of it.[8] As Haumann recalls, in order to make the comparison objective, the question put to the students was whether the stalls seat – ten times the price of a loaf of bread – was worth it in the case of this production. During the rehearsal, Horváth stopped the performance, and the students voiced strongly negative views on what they had seen. The criticism was devastating for Péter Haumann, but Horváth harshly scolded the students and, interrupting the rehearsal, sent them away. Looking back on this conflict, Haumann believes that the lesson Horváth drew for him from the incident had a defining force on his career: stepping onstage places enormous responsibility on the actor, for each member of the audience brings their own system of expectations through which they inevitably interpret what they see. At the same time, Horváth encouraged the young actor by adding that one failure, one negative response, is not a final judgment – “if the horse throws you, you must get back in the saddle”.
This sense of responsibility became a defining element of his later career; his constant aim has been to preserve authenticity, which he represents with humility and consistently outstanding artistic quality. As he put it, actors must not only find the key to an authentic interpretation, but they also have the responsibility to communicate it as fully as possible to the audience at every single performance. Theatre, as the art of the present moment, demands continuous re-creation, since the spectator of a given evening will construct their own understanding of the play based on the performance they witness. He felt this authentic commitment to be especially crucial in The Apology of Socrates, a piece whose very foundation is the thought lying behind the spoken words. Over the more than forty-five years since its premiere, there were occasions when he did not feel his performance to be authentic, and he indicated this to the audience as well[9], while there were also performances he played to only three spectators, seated in a circle, in close personal proximity. [10] Each performance became different from the others, but on every occasion, he insisted on truthful, credible acting that could be worthy of the text’s substance.
Tamás Koltai described Péter Haumann’s performance as follows: “He performs without mask or wig, with a small beard. He makes no old-fashioned gestures, and there is no affected emphasis, yet his irony, wisdom, and sarcasm are those of a seventy-year-old. Sometimes he pauses in his speech, smiling in advance at what he is about to say: he takes physical pleasure in a logically precise sequence of thought. […] His performance style is light, elegant, and relaxed; his speech technique is flawless, and he plays with his voice and diction. His gestures are decisive and energetic, yet economical. Every movement characterizes the figure, even the way he pinches his toga. His portrayal is a model of discipline and concentration: meticulously constructed, yet capable of creating the illusion of improvisation, of the action and thought being born in the very moment on stage.”
Although his performance has evolved over historical and cultural contexts, it has not lost its impact over the years; he continues to perform to sold-out audiences, receiving critical acclaim. This is supported by two reviews written more than thirty years apart, both describing performances of equal intensity and significance. In 1979, Anna Nádudvari expressed her impressions as follows: “We were almost dizzy from the fantastic extremes of possibilities: to choose investigation, argument, insight, and enlightenment, or to side with the ‘crowd’, to slander and envy, not to reflect and, above all, not to discuss the ‘matters’ at hand. But where is the one who would fight so hard for our conviction, not for his own life, but so that we could become better, who would try so seriously, in so many ways, that we would finally be able to listen to him? At that moment, we felt: we wanted to listen to someone.” [11] In 2010, Tamás Tarján reflected on the story behind Haumann's performance and interpretation: “Forty years have not dimmed the monodrama, nor the slight smile on Haumann Péter’s lips: a tiny, concentrated sign of inward reflection, of hopeless yet not defeated moral reckoning, of generous, wise defence before false judges. And of his gaze: rather than searching for the spectators around the stage – the judges? witnesses? onlookers? – he seemed to seek the distance of earth and air, squinting slightly, as if allying himself with the two impersonal primal elements. In his economical, slowed-down characterisation, the restrained dynamic hinted at by the Socrates figure is rare.” [12]
In addition to his role as Socrates, which accompanied him throughout his career, Haumann delivered numerous significant performances. In Budapest, he performed at the József Attila Theatre (1972–73), before moving to an important stage in his career, the Madách Theatre, where he was a company member from 1973 to 1988. Seeking new theatrical forms and impulses, he then joined the National Theatre (1988–91), followed by the Arizóna Theatre (1991–93), and later the Radnóti Theatre company (1993–94). At the latter, he found a supportive community and an inspiring workshop environment. However, after one year, he was invited to join the Katona József Theatre, where he had long wished to be a company member, and where he has performed continuously since 1994. During this period, Haumann was greatly influenced by the work of directors at the Radnóti and Katona József Theatres and sought opportunities to collaborate with Gábor Zsámbéki, Gábor Székely, Tamás Ascher, and Péter Valló.
From its founding in the 1980s, the Katona József Theatre fostered an innovative theatrical environment. Haumann has stated that the ability to renew oneself was crucial for him: rather than relying on conventional methods, he sought to build his roles in dialogue with the surrounding environment, discovering new challenges and, through them, new forms. He expressed this approach when reflecting on his mentor at the Madách Theatre, Ottó Ádám, and the professional skills and human attitude he acquired from him. From Ádám, Haumann learned that creating art is a daily process: instead of thinking only in broad perspectives, the work demands continuous concentration and consistent performance. [13] Under his influence, Haumann also realized that actors must constantly work on themselves; he considers obtaining a diploma not the full “possession” of professional acting knowledge, but rather the beginning of a lifelong learning and development process. [14]
At the Madách Theatre, he performed as the partner of László Mensáros in The Dresser, which was staged at the University Stage (5 December 1980, directed by Ottó Ádám). According to the critics, their coordinated work and their shared sense of comedy guaranteed the production’s success; for both of them, it was a true tour de force.[15] Ottó Ádám also directed the production of Pygmalion (20 October 1978, Madách Theatre), in which his partners included Mari Kiss, Mária Sulyok, László Márkus, and Péter Huszti. Through the role of Liza Doolittle’s father, he revealed a new side of himself, for although the range of his roles had always been wide, his acting persona had previously been associated mainly with intellectual characters. Anna Nádudvari wrote the following about this: “I could hardly imagine what Péter Haumann would be like as Doolittle. No matter how many shades he has, he still seemed fundamentally too refined to play a drunken dustman, I thought. Perhaps he’ll make the character into some grotesque, playful figure? But then he became coarse and raspy-voiced. The way he could look at his daughter – it never even occurred to him that he might have anything to do with her. And why then did he ask for five pounds for her? Just so. He felt it was his due.” [16]
He also achieved great popular success in musical theatre roles. He played Gus the Theatre Cat (Bustopher Jones) in Cats (25 March 1983, Madách Theatre, directed by Tamás Szirtes), through whom he unfolded one of the production’s most tragic stories – going against the common perception of musical roles as light entertainment – portraying the ageing and growing loneliness of a once-celebrated actor-cat.[17] He also played the legendary role of Artúr Somlay, the elderly conductor Simon Péter, in the production of Valahol Európában (Somewhere in Europe) at the Budapest Operett Theatre (9 May 1995, directed by Péter Horváth), which he again managed to make successful by shaping it into his own image. As the partner of Piroska Molnár, he also played Tevye in Fiddler on the Roof (7 July 2003, Eger, Agria Games, Líceumi udvar, directed by Attila Béres). In The Producers (2 June 2006, Madách Theatre, directed by Tamás Szirtes), his star turn as Max Bialystock included a memorable and brilliant highlight: he sings and dances through the entire story of the play in a single five-minute number. He also gave a sensitive performance as Albin/Zaza in La Cage aux Folles (20 September 1991, Budapest Operett Theatre, directed by László Vámos), in which he “plays not only his role – the deeply feeling lover and mother – but beyond that, above all, the life of an actor. The pain and bitterness of moment-to-moment transformation, the passion for performing, the personality carried into the role, that instant when, despite the light and magic of the stage, the actor can no longer escape from himself, from his own life […], and everything that constitutes the essence of acting. Haumann is magnificent. His external tools – his precisely crafted movements, gestures, the play of his hands – are just as perfect as his inner metamorphosis.” [18]
At the premiere of Szomory's Incidens az Ingeborg-hangversenyen (Incident at the Ingeborg Concert) (1 November 1974, Madách Theatre Studio, directed by Tamás Szirtes), the role of Ingeborg was played by Dezső Garas and the role of the Boatman by Péter Haumann. However, shortly after the premiere, the two actors exchanged roles in an unusual turn of events: neither Garas felt he could connect with the role he had already played earlier, nor did Haumann feel satisfied with his performance in the new part. The role exchange ultimately brought success and thus became permanent. “Two self-ironic Szomory formulas met in this magnificent clownish farce, which could be magnificent – and at the same time a clownish farce – because Haumann found his true role and Dezső Garas found his as well.” [19]
Later, he again performed alongside Dezső Garas in The Odd Couple (21 October 1994, Játékszín, directed by Lajos Balázsovits), where in 1995 he first temporarily took over the role of Felix from Iván Darvas, and later, in 1998, substituted for Dezső Garas in the role of Oscar. Both performances were highly successful. Shortly afterward, in The Sunshine Boys, he again played opposite Garas as the two elderly actors Willie Clark and Al Lewis (2 May 1998, Játékszín), once more under the direction of Lajos Balázsovits, following such predecessors as László Mensáros and László Csákányi (6 February 1986, Vidám Színpad, director: György Pethes), or the duo of Kamill Feleki and Samu Balázs (22 February 1974, Madách Theatre Studio, director: Tamás Szirtes). According to critic Gábor Bóta, Haumann succeeded in bringing out the tragedy glimmering beneath the comic text: “The way Haumann played it – his comedian’s split personality lying on the bed, his perpetually restless nature unable to bear illness, almost burying himself with a wry face – differs little, in terms of acting achievement, from the scene in Macskajáték (Catsplay) where Mrs. Orbán, the widow, prepares for suicide with theatrical gestures in her apartment on Csatárka Street.” [20]
At the Katona József Theatre he played a long succession of major dramatic roles over more than twenty years. One of his first was Harpagon in Molière’s The Miser, directed by Gábor Zsámbéki (17 December 1994). Although the directorial approach received several negative reviews, Haumann’s performance was praised for its detailed and sensitive execution, described as “a distorted image of obsessive suspicion and fear, composed from precise psychological observations.” [21]
This was followed by The Broken Jug (28 December 1996, Katona József Theatre, directed by Gábor Zsámbéki). His portrayal of Judge Adam earned him the Best Actor Award at the 16th National Theatre Festival in 1997, as well as the Critics’ Award for Best Actor of the Season. Tamás Koltai wrote of the production and of the performances of Haumann and Gábor Máté (who played Walter): “The best-developed part of the production is the way the two officials size each other up; Haumann’s Adam, fumbling, tries to grasp the required yet, for him, probably never understood concepts of legal interpretation and legality, while Máté’s Walter tests his man with jaded routine. A malicious moment comes when it turns out that even this obviously incompetent dilettante of power would be suitable – perhaps even more so than others, since his corruptibility makes him controllable – if only he could understand when to suspend the trial and trust his superior to protect him along with the authority of power.”[22] According to Miklós Györffy, “with this performance Haumann definitively entered the ranks of the great Hungarian actors. His Judge Adam is a lavish grotesque character study of a local potentate caught in a trap.”[23] In 1999 he played the title role in Tankred Dorst’s Herr Paul, directed by Tamás Ascher (January 22, 1999, Katona József Theatre), which again received positive reviews: “In Herr Paul, immense professional skill, a generous amount of hidden clown instinct, and exceptional acting stature are revealed.”[24] In Troilus and Cressida (4 November 2005, Katona József Theatre, directed by Silviu Purcărete), his performance as Pandarus was honoured with the Premier Award at the 2006 Pécs National Theatre Festival. He remarked that the production was about the senseless nature of wars, about how no goal or idea can become legitimate by destroying human life.[25] In The Wild Duck (19 January 2007, Katona József Theatre), he played the elder Ekdal. Following Tamás Ascher’s directorial concept, he had to portray a pitiful grandfather treated almost like a child by his family. In an interview Haumann said that although he considered Ascher a good director, he could not fully identify with this approach to the role, so he developed a kind of “compromise,” incorporating some of his own ideas into the character.[26] The result of this compromise was the grandfather who goes “hunting” in the attic –someone who, despite all his strange habits and peculiarities, understands more about the burdens and hidden sins weighing on the family than any of them. As István L. Sándor describes: “his performance is simple, precise, and testifies to deep knowledge of human nature.” [27]
Beyond his own company, he also appeared as a guest in several theatres, among which his performance in The Merchant of Venice at the Centrál Theatre stands out. The role of Shylock was a kind of trial for him; the respect owed to the play felt like an overwhelming responsibility. Yet Péter Haumann decided to interpret the part according to what he had learned in the “school” of Ottó Ádám. Focusing on Shylock’s complex personality, he built the tragedy of the role from the series of disappointments experienced by the character. “In Shakespeare’s hands, nothing is purely white or black. Shylock, too, has dark traits, but we should consider the constant humiliations this man endures – not only being spat upon and insulted, but losing his daughter and his money as well. And what’s more, his daughter adopts another faith, which for Shylock means that she has practically died.”[28]
A good summary of his career and artistic credo can be found in an earlier statement in which he spoke about how important he considered maintaining contact with the audience. After performances of The Apology of Socrates, he often stayed on to talk with spectators, to hear their thoughts about the text or about the production itself. This continuous dialogue – which was also his working method – together with an intellectual approach, contributed to his building a successful career in which he constantly set new challenges for himself and rose to meet them again and again. As he said, the acting profession is not about exhibiting oneself or maintaining a constant noisy presence, but rather about the deep work behind it – about the thought behind the word, as he recalled in his inaugural lecture at the Hungarian Academy of Arts. “We cannot achieve anything with anger, only with discipline – and not by hammering on others, but by disciplining ourselves. Only after that – and based on this inner discipline – can something like a stage direction or a theatrical production truly come into being.” That is why I do not understand why people speak only of, and remember only as ‘mission-driven’, those who are at odds with the world or leave it with thunder and fury. Are those who work quietly, with discipline, not also mission-driven?” [29]
Nothing demonstrates more clearly that this work truly leaves its mark than the many awards and decorations he received throughout his career, or the description written about him in a portrait that alluded to his roles in theatre, film, and dubbing: “A great actor can be recognized by the fact that Willy Loman and Harpagon, Tevye and Max (in The Producers), Gargamel and Safranek, Louis de Funès and Peter Fitz, the Katona József Theatre, the Tivoli and the Madách all come to mind at once when we think of him.” [30]
[2016]
[1] Péter Haumann: A beszéd joga (The Right to Speak). Inaugural lecture at the Hungarian Academy of Arts, Theatrical Arts Section. Delivered on 10 October 2014.
[2] Anna Nádudvari: Interview with Péter Haumann, 30 April 1979. In: Anna Nádudvari: Honnét lesz a tűz? (Where Will the Fire Come From?), Kozmosz Books, Budapest 1981, p. 267.
[3] Judit Kiss: Aki magában keresi a művészet lehetőségét (The One Who Seeks the Possibility of Art Within Himself), MiNap Online, 9 February 2012. http://old.minap.hu/news.php?extend.49282.5
[4] Erzsébet Hallama: Színészek – szerepek. Eddie Carbone – Haumann Péter (Actors – Roles. Eddie Carbone – Péter Haumann), Dunántúli Napló, 8 December 1968.
[5] Imre Demeter (untitled), Élet és Irodalom, 16 November 1968.
[6] Alinda Veiszer: Záróra (Closing Time), Pécsi Direkt Ltd., Alexandra Publishing, 2010, p. 325.
[7] Erzsébet Hallama: Állítsátok meg Arturo Uit! (Stop Arturo Ui!), Dunántúli Napló, 10 March 1970.
[8] Judit Csáki: Aki nem hiú, az nem is való erre a pályára (One Who Is Not Vain Is Not Suited for This Profession), Alexandra Könyvjelző, January 2007.
[9] “I managed to do it once, when I was still performing at the Huszonötödik Színház. It’s true, it was The Apology of Socrates… I was alone on stage, and suddenly I stopped and said: ‘Forgive me, I’m lying.’ There was a great silence, and then from the back a thin little voice said: ‘Yes’. So we stopped. We could do it because it was a small theatre, experimental. Then I went back to the dressing room and waited about five minutes, because I knew that if it happened again, that would be the end of me; I might as well give up the profession.” Alinda Veiszer: Záróra (Closing Time), Pécsi Direkt Ltd., Alexandra Publishing, 2010, p. 326.
[10] “Never before had I been able to follow so clearly from the glances, the flashing and movement of the eyes, the widening of the pupils, whether I was in the right place in what I was doing, whether I was doing it well or not. From such close proximity, with such detail… So then – which is better?” Alinda Veiszer: Záróra (Closing Time), Pécsi Direkt Ltd., Alexandra Publishing, 2010, pp. 331–332.
[11] Anna Nádudvari: Interview with Péter Haumann, 30 April 1979. In: Anna Nádudvari: Honnét lesz a tűz? (Where Will the Fire Come From?), Kozmosz Books, Budapest 1981, p. 267.
[12] Tamás Tarján: Egy kicsit kontrában. A nemzet színésze: Haumann Péter (A Bit in Counterpoint. The Actor of the Nation: Péter Haumann), Revizoronline.hu, 26 September 2010. http://revizoronline.com/hu/cikk/2684/a-nemzet-szinesze-haumann-peter/
[13] Judit Kiss: Aki magában keresi a művészet lehetőségét (The One Who Seeks the Possibility of Art Within Himself), MiNap Online, 9 February 2012.
[14] Orsolya Kővári: Érdemes kicsit jól élni... Beszélgetés Haumann Péterrel (It’s Worth Living Well for a While… Conversation with Péter Haumann), Kék belváros. Lipótváros, January 2006.
[15] Valéria Nádra: A zokogó színház avagy Közjáték Lear királyhoz (The Weeping Theatre, or Interlude to King Lear), Színház, February 1981.
[16] Anna Nádudvari: Interview with Péter Haumann, 30 April 1979. In: Anna Nádudvari: Honnét lesz a tűz? (Where Will the Fire Come From?), Kozmosz Könyvek, Budapest 1981. p. 267.
[17] Katalin Róna: A macska-macska. Musicalbemutató a Madách Színházban (The Cat-cat. Musical Premiere at the Madách Theatre), Színház, June 1983.
[18] Katalin Róna: A ripacs magánya (The Loneliness of the Ham Actor), Pesti Hírlap, 24 September 1991.
[19] N.N.: Szerepcsere a Madách Kamarában (Role Swap at the Madách Chamber Theatre), Magyar Nemzet, 13 December 1974.
[20] Gábor Bóta: Bulvár konkurencia (Tabloid Competition), Criticai Lapok, June 1998.
[21] Miklós Györffy: Bútorhalmozó Harpagon (Furniture-Hoarding Harpagon), Magyar Nemzet, 27 December 1994.
[22] Tamás Koltai: A korsó igazsága (The Truth of the Pitcher), Élet és Irodalom, 31 January 1997.
[23] Miklós Györffy: Realista jellemkomédia (Realistic Character Comedy), Magyar Nemzet, 18 January 1997.
[24] Tamás Koltai: Új Oblomov (A New Oblomov), Élet és Irodalom, 12 February 1999.
[25] Orsolya Kővári: Érdemes kicsit jól élni… Beszélgetés Haumann Péterrel (It’s Worth Living Well for a While… Conversation with Péter Haumann), Kék belváros. Lipótváros, January 2006.
[26] Gábor Bóta: “Színészként még nem érzem magam nagypapának" (“As an Actor, I Don’t Yet Feel Like a Grandpa”), Pesti Műsor, 1 February 2007.
[27] L. István Sándor: Színészenciklopédia, Katona József Színház 2006/2007 (Actor Encyclopedia. Katona József Theatre 2006/2007), Ellenfény, June 2007.
[28] Éva Bársony: Shakespeare nem fekete és fehér (Shakespeare Is Not Black and White), Népszava, 18 October 2008.
[29] Anna Nádudvari: Interview with Péter Haumann, 30 April 1979. In: Anna Nádudvari: Honnét lesz a tűz? (Where Will the Fire Come From?), Kozmosz Könyvek, Budapest 1981. p. 267.
[30] Orsolya Kővári: Örök szólista. Haumann Péterről (Eternal Soloist. About Péter Haumann), Színház, August 2012.