A venerable theatre building, the legendary figures of its past, and the defining creators and artists of its ever-present moment may all, simultaneously, inspire in a young actor a sense of responsibility, a feeling of challenge, the desire for achievement, or a powerful urge to represent the fullness of an autonomous artistic self. Perhaps the last of these is the most difficult to attain, yet it may well be the very path that leads toward the cathartic experience of genuine artistic self-identity. “When I think about it, during my almost fifty-year-long acting career, the happiest moments came when a role allowed such transformation that, through it, I could reveal the freedom of my own will as well (…)”, writes Sándor Lukács in his inaugural lecture at the Academy. At the outset of this journey towards articulating his own will, he was confronted – even in so broad a field of artistic association as theatre, and especially in the characterisation of an actor – with the fact that the search for ready-made certainties often overrides the undeniably deeper and more time-consuming process of genuine understanding. Perhaps it was this that led many to designate him almost immediately as the ‘on-call’ romantic hero. Against the dangers of such typecasting, beyond his own contrary aspirations, it was as though the progressive theatrical vision of the Várkonyi era provided him with a form of protection. In addition to the many artists of the Vígszínház (Comedy Theatre of Budapest) representing diverse perspectives, whose presence enabled Sándor Lukács to explore different artistic tendencies within his profession, the quality of his performances gradually lifted him out of the stereotypical role of the ‘amoroso’. His aim – to filter within himself the truths of characters inhabiting different worlds through what he calls the ‘other dimension’ of acting – found appreciative audiences. The first major milestone in this long succession of leading roles arrived on 13 September 1973 with his portrayal of the protagonist in Max Frisch’s play Don Juan, avagy a geometria szerelme… (lit. Don Juan, or the Love of Geometry), alongside Tivadar Bilicsi, Ilona Béres, Rudolf Somogyvári, Nóra Tábori, Márta Egri, Gyula Benkő, Mária Sulyok, Gábor Nagy, Erzsébet Kútvölgyi, József Fonyó, Róbert Koltai and Gabriella Jónás. The critics immediately took notice. Let us cite a few lines from an article written at the time by György Spiró: “Don Juan is played by Sándor Lukács. As with Ilona Béres, it became entirely clear at the Szentendre theatre that he possesses virtually everything an actor needs today. In Szentendre we marvelled at his excellent sense of humour and extraordinary ability to condense a character into a single gesture, grimace or unexpected emphasis, adding, almost imperceptibly, his own opinion of the figure portrayed. Beyond his romantically ideal appearance, fine movement, and substantial vocal quality, this rare sense of humour predestined him to play the ironically conceived Don Juan. Yet the weakest aspect of his performance is precisely the irony; for this reason, we are compelled to take seriously what this irresponsible geometrician sings in praise of pure science, and the play’s parodistic features are thereby inverted. Lukács throws himself into the role with great vehemence; at times – not accidentally – we recall Latinovits’s portrayal of Romeo ten years earlier, and it is evident that this is not imitation but the result of genuine Latinovits-like energies straining within him. Although every line is carefully crafted, and he strives perceptibly to add ironic overtones to the part, this does not yet yield complete success. It is important to note this because Lukács appears capable of realising and fulfilling every directorial concept, and perhaps a conscious cultivation of irony could protect him from the greatest danger looming over him: being pigeonholed as a romantic hero.” (György Spiró: Don Juan, avagy tévéjáték a színpadon [lit. Don Juan, or a Television Play on Stage], Színház, December 1973) As he has often stated, he never felt the desire to leave the Comedy Theatre of Budapest. The reason lies partly in the fact that, in the 1970s, the Comedy Theatre of Budapest – through the creators invited by Várkonyi – offered its artists an immense range of opportunities to experiment across the broadest spectrum of contemporary theatrical practice, to acquaint themselves with new and exciting theatrical directions, and to collaborate with directors representing a wide diversity of artistic visions, thereby fostering their own professional development. Why would Lukács have abandoned this second, horribile dictu, often first home that gave him so much, and whose audiences he gifted with so many unforgettable performances? That same year, in March, he appeared as the Sheriff in the now iconic musical Képzelt riport egy amerikai popfesztiválról (lit. An Imaginary Report on an American Pop Festival), and in November he played Horace, the seducer, in Molière’s comedy A nők iskolája (The School for Wives). For him, 1973 held a dual significance beyond the roles themselves: it marked his first collaboration with László Marton – with whom he would later achieve numerous major successes (such as the 1975 documentary musical Harmincéves vagyok [lit. I Am Thirty]) – and it was the year he began sharing the dressing room numbered 104 with Iván Darvas. In 1974, for his portrayal of David in David Rabe’s Bot és gitár (Sticks and Bones), a contemporary American play written during the Vietnam War and depicting the inevitable conflict between civilisation and culture, he received his first professional recognition: the Gyula Hegedűs Prize. Soon another ring gained meaning in his life: he married Mária Maráczi in 1976, and they have enjoyed a lasting and harmonious relationship ever since. His best man, András Kern, could not resist his own characteristic humour: when the groom uttered the fateful “I do”, Kern muttered – half under his breath, yet ensuring the company could hear – “Well, that’s it, it’s over.” His career truly blossomed in the years that followed. Among many roles, he played the Inquisitor in Shaw’s Szent Johanna (Saint Joan) and Lucifer in Madách’s Az ember tragédiája (The Tragedy of Man) at the Szeged Open-Air Festival – both directed by Miklós Szinetár. He appeared in the literary evening “Arcomról minden csillagot…” (“Every Star from My Face…”) edited by László Nagy and Ferenc Kiss at the Literary Stage. Under the direction of Dezső Kapás, he appeared as Floriano in Lope de Vega’s Valencia bolondjai (The Fools of Valencia). In 1978 he played Luzsin in Dostoevsky–Lyubimov’s Bűn és bűnhődés (Crime and Punishment), staged at the Comedy Theatre of Budapest by the world-renowned theatrical creator. Spring 1978, however, marked a turning point in his life and career. Among his many acclaimed performances, he himself identifies as exceptional his portrayal of Petronius in János Székely’s drama Caligula helytartója (The Governor of Caligula). The production, premiered forty-one years ago at the Gyulai Várszínház (Gyula Castle Theatre), illuminated for him the legitimacy of doubt. It was as if he wished to be liked less and less. As if gestures gave way to the transmission of thought. Instead of sentimentality, he discovered the nuances of his own emotional scale; instead of polite conversation, he embraced the fertile force of intellectual duelling, words bouncing like ping-pong balls. The ideas of Székely’s drama, the authenticity of Lajos Őze, the guidance of György Harag, and the nightly surge of thoughts between the Gyula performances, all accompanied him throughout his career and shaped his artistic worldview and credo: “Write truthfully, act truthfully.” The personal, confessional tone of the work – which portrays the disillusionment and existential dilemmas of modern humanity, drawing upon a vision of the birth and dissolution of Christian culture – offered the young actor a worthy opportunity to internalise and express the moral conflicts of Petronius, a man of power whose anguished path of purification leads inevitably to death. His partnership with Lajos Őze, who played Barakiás, became iconic. In 1978, Lukács received the Mari Jászai Award; and in 1979 his son, Máté, was born. Later, he was again cast in two adaptations of works by János Székely (Hugenották [lit. Huguenots] – Gerard, Gyula Castle Theatre; and Protestánsok [lit. Protestants] – Gerard, Pesti Színház (Theatre of Pest), both directed by Miklós Szinetár in 1980). He later portrayed King Béla the Blind in the eponymous drama, staged at the Comedy Theatre of Budapest by László Marton in 1982. The 1980s brought a succession of outstanding productions – to name only a few: Őfelsége komédiása (lit. His Majesty’s Comedian), Platonov, Szentivánéji álom (A Midsummer Night’s Dream), Don Carlos, II. Richárd (lit. Richard II), Veszedelmes viszonyok (Les Liaisons dangereuses), and Álomkommandó (lit. Dream Commando). His inner struggles, reflections on himself, his relationships, his profession, and the changing world around him, he also began to express in poetry from the 1980s onwards, offering glimpses into the thoughts that preoccupied him. His first poem appeared in 1985 in Élet és Irodalom, encouraged by László Lator and with a supportive recommendation by László Kálnoky. Following the change of regime, he was among the first to receive the title Érdemes Művész (Artist of Merit). In 1991, the early critical reservations about his then-developing but not yet fully unfolded irony lost their relevance: with unbridled humour, razor-sharp stylistic instinct and impressively effortless elegance, he played the parody of The Leading Actor as young Almády in Ferenc Molnár’s Játék a kastélyban (lit. The Play at the Castle). His partners were Enikő Eszenyi, Péter Balázs, András Kern and Pál Oberfrank; the production was directed by Miklós Szinetár. In 1991, the company awarded him, for the first time, the Andor Ajtay Memorial Prize in a secret vote (he received it again in 1996 and 2009). In 1993, in a secret vote as well, he was honoured with the Éva Ruttkai Memorial Ring. In the years that followed, he worked with some of the great theatrical ‘gurus’: Sándor Zsótér (Péter Esterházy’s Búcsúszimfónia (lit. Farewell Symphony) – Father, Miklós, 1996); Gábor Tompa (Shakespeare’s Lear király (King Lear) – Earl of Gloucester, 2001); Géza Tordy (Gyula Krúdy’s A vörös postakocsi (lit. The Red Mail Coach) – Eduard Alvinczi, 2004); and János Szikora (Péter Esterházy’s Rubens és a nemeuklideszi asszonyok (lit. Rubens and the Non-Euclidean Women) – Rubens, 2008). Remarkably, nearly twenty years after the 1991 premiere, he again played Almády in Molnár’s Játék a kastélyban (lit. The Play at the Castle) in László Marton’s revival – a production that continues to enjoy uninterrupted success and is approaching its tenth anniversary. In 2007 he received the Zsolt Harsányi Memorial Prize and the Prima Primissima Award for his decades of groundbreaking artistry. In 2009 he was awarded the Bilicsi Prize and the Pro Urbe Budapest Award. After receiving the title Kiváló Művész (Outstanding Artist) in 2013 and the Imre Roboz Art Memorial Prize in 2015, he was granted Hungary’s highest state artistic recognition, the Kossuth Prize, in 2016. Even in recent years, he has remained in constant demand. In 2014 he appeared as Woland in Bulgakov’s Mester és Margarita (The Master and Margarita), in Michal Dočekal’s astonishingly unconventional production. At the Petőfi Theatre in Veszprém he played Orgon in László Marton’s production of Tartuffe in February, and he currently performs in nine productions at his primary theatre, most recently preparing for the monodrama Kaddis a meg nem született gyermekért (lit. Kaddish for the Unborn). Until its premiere, he can be seen as Winston Churchill in Audiencia (lit. A Private Audience); as Inspector Sharp-Eye in Egy éj a Paradicsomban (lit.One Night in Paradise); and as Professor Marvel and the Wizard in Óz, a csodák csodája (The Wizard of Oz). In A Rendezés (lit. The Direction), he plays Sándor; he also appears as Vilhelm Foldal in Ibsen’s John Gabriel Borkman and as Robert Crannock in Földrengés Londonban (lit. Earthquakes in London). And of course, as Almády in Játék a kastélyban (lit. The Play at the Castle), he continues to ‘accept humiliating defeat’ – something that, unlike his artistic career, cannot be said to characterise him, as demonstrated by the diversity of his roles, the range of productions and directors with whom he has worked, the fullness of the life path he has traversed, and the unanimous admiration of both profession and audience.
[2019]