- I've recently spoken to two young actors, Marius Repšys and Ainis Storpirštis; the latter said Kazlas was an “incredibly hard-working man”. He was told so by his father. Are you one of those people who, upon being offered a role, ask themselves: Will I be able to I do it?
- Well, if the Storpirštis clan joined ranks with the Repšys to give me away, I might as well go ahead and confess: Yes, I torture myself and others. Firstly, my dog at home, then my family members, fellow actors in the theatre, and then, for dessert, the director... No, seriously, I must admit that with years and each successive role I become overly pedantic in terms of my profession. A man is a venturesome creature, as they say, never at peace with what he has, always seeks perfection.
I've been working in theatre for over twenty years without interruption, so I think I'm in a rather good professional shape. And self-doubts are always there, especially when you tackle new material, but I do not fear any role or workload. As Nekrošius once said, “You do it, you do it, and you get it done.”
If someone gets the impression that everything comes easy to me and I don't need to put much effort, they are wrong. From the moment I accept a role, I get turned on like a vacuum cleaner, I silently suck things in, one dust at a time, everything that I think can enrich the role or the production. I walk, I rest, I don't sleep or I do, but I keep sucking. Everything helps: books I read, people, memories, personal experiences, and, of course, fantasies. Even now, I'm giving this interview, but the vacuum is on. I do not know how to turn it off. It works automatically.
- How much energy, physical or psychic, did the role of Dante claim? Have you uncovered new qualities of yourself as an actor while building it?
- You always feel confident with directors like Jonas Vaitkus or Nekrošius, since you know they'll help you bring the best of yourself, put you on the right track. Putting together a play and a role is always a collaborative job. As if you were bringing up an invisible body. When I was offered Dante's role, I knew I'd have to give all the energy I had, discover new colours and a different sound within me. In the end, you reveal something you hadn't imagined or suspected was in you.
An actor is a wonder and an anomaly of nature that makes any metamorphoses possible. It still remains a mystery to me what happens to an actor on stage. There are moments when you feel as if someone has temporarily taken off your armour. Everything becomes clear, transparent, fear disappears, you feel light-filled sadness. And there are times when that does not happen, even if you've done all the right things, it seems. Then you feel like a cosmic orphan, abandoned to the mercy of fate and indifference. And there are no guarantees it will work every time.
- What did you do to domesticate the role? Reading Dante's work, his biography, taking in the Italian culture?
- I think that in order to create something truly unique in theatre, you must distance yourself slightly from it. Perhaps if you wanted to fall in love with life anew, you'd also have to try living for some time as if you were only one foot in this world? You find a certain philosophical basis, a sense of temporality, tender irony, freedom, courage.
As for Dante's role, I'd say everything is more simple than one might imagine. Not entirely, though. The Divine Comedy is, first of all, the best piece of Poetry ever created by man. I felt the effect of the Book itself and I cannot explain anything further. We produced the play in nine months – it was like carrying a child. We started in late August and finished in late April.
From what I've heard, the portrait of Dante is one of the greatest injustices bestowed upon the poet. It's a portrait of a fierce, severe, punishing man with a hooked hawkish nose. His verses, on the other hand, say something entirely different. So we wanted to convey his free spirit, the flight of his thought, imagination, feeling.
- How did you react to reviews that came out after the première? Are you at all interested in what critics say?
- Why not? I do read them, I care and I rejoice in any kind of attention. From what I've noticed, someone who gets attacked and bashed most, is the one really worthy of attention. And anyone who gets steady praise for whatever and however he does, raises my suspicion.
I accept equally both the rare praises that critics lay on me and the frequent bashing that often descends into open mockery. I can say that such reviews neither improved nor downgraded my performances. I don't think the spectators pay much attention to them either. They are read by a very small circle of people and professionals.
However, these reviews linger on and that's the core of the matter. It has recently come to my mind that those who will be reading criticism about me and my work in 50-odd years, will probably think: “Why then was this... (I'll leave the characterizations out) given the most complex roles by the best directors, what was he awarded all these Stage Crosses and National Prizes for? Perhaps it was because he was a member of some elite group and was protected by powerful agents?”
I can only say that it is precisely because I am not a member of any brotherhoods or sisterhoods, I do not rub shoulders with anyone in parties, don't seek useful connections and agents in order to get better reviews, that's why I'm a loner without a backing at whom anyone can bark. In a civilized manner, of course, wrapping the content into intellectual form.
I think that theatre performances should be filmed – the footage would be the best visual proof to offset any criticism.
- Theatre people often talk about the crisis of theatre criticism as a genre. Can that be the reason why there are fewer and fewer people whose opinions matter?
- I don't even know how to respond – seriously or not... We produce a play very earnestly, while some critics make light of their profession and other people's work. To write a good, exhaustive, analytic review is a challenging task. Besides, one needs talent, thoroughness, absorption, objectivity to be a critic.
Sometimes you wonder – what could people who produced the play have done to offend the reviewer so much? It is often the case that the better the production, the more spiteful the review. Do we not see here a phenomenon described by a 20-century Swedish author: “A man wants to be loved, if not, at least admired, or at least feared, and if not even that – demonized and detested. He wants to incite any kind of feeling in others. A soul fears emptiness, it craves contact at any cost.”
- And yet all critics say in concert that this time, Nekrošius “did not master the material”. How does it look from behind the barricades?
- Nekrošius is more than a theatre director, a professional. I think that he, more than anyone else, has put forms, images, moods on stage that transcend the limits of theatre, art, play, or performance. And I'd like to address a question to those who hotheadedly criticize the director for this or his past works: Do you honestly think that the director is so naïve and absent-minded when he takes on a work like that? Hasn't he pondered many options?
And he certainly possesses enough time and patience for that. Perhaps after one reads the book (Dante's Divine Comedy) and reflect on it carefully, it will dawn on one that the director has chosen one of the best roads of scenic language? During rehearsals, while looking for solutions in every single scene, the director used to say that there were thousands of staging possibilities and we would try out at least ten before we'd keep, as if by magic, the one that retained embryos and possibilities of these thousands. He is a great master and and an entire school.
- You have recently returned from a tour in Italy, the homeland of Dante. Perhaps Italians could see better what Nekrošius' was going for with his staging?
- Honestly, the outing was very refreshing. There was some tension, of course, we felt extra responsibility in front of the Italian public to whom Dante is a sacred name. Coincidence or not, but both towns where we had to perform had experienced disasters on the eve. In Brindisi, there was a terrorist attack that took human lives, while Modena was shaken by an earthquake that, too, claimed many victims and caused much damage.
After our first performances in Brindisi we were more confident and taking stage in Modena, in a theatre bearing the name of Luciano Pavarotti, was pure pleasure. It was an excellent theatre with an impeccable stage, wonderful firemen behind the scenes, acoustics, and a full auditorium of grave, dedicated spectators. The performance, I daresay, was received very warmly, in my opinion. At least that can be inferred from their attention shown during the performance and applause afterwards.
I do not have the right to evaluate my own acting, but I was elated. Perhaps I was helped by an image of Dante supported by two flying cupids on the ceiling. I think, Audronis Rūkas gave a stupendous performance. I don't think Europe had seen an actor walking in circles like that. He performed with such faith as if he were Devil himself who broke away from chains. While he was walking, everything was quite in Modena, but as soon as we left the next morning, the earth trembled again. Everything's so strange.
- Lithuanian theatre season is nearing an end. What are your plans for the summer? Do holidays help endure the emptiness that comes after a premiere?
- What can you do when weather is what it is? I'll be falling into depression – it should be fun. What else? Perhaps, I was thinking, I should get a tattoo? It would keep me entertained for a month or so. Then another one and you won't notice before the summer is over. I'll need to give it a thought, it's not an easy thing to decide. Alas, depression is going away. One must occupy brain with sensible thought.
- Fellow actor Eglė Gabrėnaitė once said actors were reluctant to act anymore, some go into directing. There's no motivation, she says, since stage actors are rarely true titans anymore. Besides, it gets increasingly difficult to get to work with Lithuania's best directors who often go and produce plays abroad. It is therefore easier, she says, to direct something yourself than work with amateurs. Was she going a little too far with this?
- I understand those who do not want to do anything anymore. I also understand those who do something, who search. In any event, they are right at that particular moment. I can only say it will pass. Periods of grim moods will pass and you will need some movement for as long as you're alive. We are affected by moods, time, changes, so you have to endure it willy-nilly. You could stop making any plans and just do what you are meant to do. You simply have to listen to yourself. If you hear silence – enjoy, and if something is tiresomely insisting “get up and go to work”, then get up and go. Maybe the voice will stop then.
These are my indirect wishes for Gabrėnaitė, a wonderful actor, and other colleagues. And saying that an actor cannot direct a good show is like saying that a theatre critic cannot write a book on theatre. If he knows how to write reviews, he will easily write a book, and if he doesn't... Well, he'll write something which will be similar to his reviews. There are all sorts of critics. And actors too.
- And yet you do direct. Do you have a vision of a play you would love to direct?
- You know, I'm quite relaxed when it comes to this, I do not wish to prove anything at all costs, to shake the theatre world. No one in that theatre world is really dying to see my shows, maybe just a small group of people who liked my directing.
In autumn, we'll have a tour with The Divine Comedy, so we'll see. I have all sorts of ideas. I was tempted by opera and ballet. Perhaps, I thought, I should try and combine the two genres? But I would need someone with a voice of Vaidas Vyšniauskas and a body of Nerijus Juška. In that case, we could think of, say, the dizzying life dance of Zarathustra.
I'd also love to do something stylish with the horror genre, especially since vampires and zombies are back in vogue. Perhaps I should venture and revive the immortal personality of Transylvania's famous Vladislav Dracula? When Miltinis Drama Theatre from Panevėžys was touring in Vilnius, I was eating actor Albinas Kėleris with my eyes and I thought that he could deal with the role easily. After recent upheavals in Panevėžys theatre, I guess he'd be more than willing to cut someone's throat, even if only on stage.
So you see, there are ideas. Will there be theatres to use them? Time will show. I could probably take up something else, less spectacular and loud. Shocking is easier than convincing. There will be plenty of people to come up with trendy and shocking ideas even without me. There already are.
Nowadays, one can talk with humour, but one must work earnestly. The opposite is more often the case. I wish everyone a good summer and at least 15 good minutes a day.
