Maya Hakvoort and the grammar of complexity
It's interesting how the story and the shades of meaning change with the actors who play it. Maya Hakvoort is one of the most famous and beloved performers of the role of Elizabeth, and my favorite performer. She's wonderful. I could talk about her for hours. I just adore her. But here's what I noticed. Unlike the other actresses in different productions, Maya doesn't play a depressed woman. I don't think that's a coincidence. Not only because it was a choice that she probably found interesting, and the director of the Vienna production supported it. But also because it has a very special meaning.
Look, when we talk about Elizabeth or any famous woman, what do we usually think about? Let's put it this way – what do we hear about? Do we get to know their interests, thoughts, ideas, habits, emotions? Maybe we learn something about their fears, decisions, or dreams? Let's remember a few examples.
Evita is a whore (possibly a nymphomaniac). Marilyn Monroe is hysterical. Princess Diana is an upstart (probably a borderline personality).
It's so obvious. So clear. We have become so accustomed to these definitions that we almost believe that they are real. That it is true. Every famous woman can be assigned a ready-made stamp or diagnosis. Convenient and safe.
But Maya Hakvoort doesn't want to do that. She asks us to look at Elizabeth not through the lens of a diagnosis, no matter how true or logical it may be. Look, she seems to say, even if Elizabeth was depressed a hundred million times, even if she had a record in her medical records, why should we look at her that way? Perhaps there is another way?
I got it when, re-watching Wenn ich tanzen will, I suddenly realized that she was teasing Death. All the other actresses in this duet seem to be talking to themselves. Death intervenes in this conversation and inexorably reminds Elizabeth that her triumph is, in fact, his triumph, because nothing has changed, and her excessive joy is the flip side of eternal melancholy.
This is very clear in the pair Pia Douwes and Uwe Kröger, where Pia, taking a step forward and smiling triumphantly, suddenly stumbles and frowns in confusion, as if a drizzling rain had started in the middle of a sunny day. That is why the duet of Pia and Uwe turns out to be so conflictual. It is difficult not to conflict when you have to shout at your partner through the wall that she has built around herself.
Maya Hakvoort is the only actress to play Elizabeth who talks to Death. She comes to him, challenges him, tells him of her triumph, and does not so much triumph over him as celebrate with him. She is incredibly vital and open, she is full of energy, and this captivates and angers and pleases and surprises, makes you dance with her in the dance of life. Máté Kamarás picks up her mood, accepting Maya's input – Elizabeth is not depressive, she is not a set of symptoms, not an idea, not a diagnosis. She is a living woman. She can and wants to love. This is the woman Death fell in love with. Perhaps she does not fit into someone else's framework. Perhaps she seems strange for her era. But this does not mean that she is ‘abnormal’.
I love how Máté Kamarás, in various productions, but especially in the Viennese one, plays not a detached, all-powerful being who condescends to pathetic people, but a disappointed man who is repeatedly rejected by the woman he loves, and does not understand why. In a duet with Maya, this becomes obvious – because as long as he tries to figure her out, she does not open up. Too many have tried to figure her out too roughly. But as soon as he stops trying to seduce her and just shuts up for a second, she finds herself in his arms and literally confesses to him what she has experienced and how she wants to free herself from the past.
In the last scene, Maya's Elizabeth is not a tired woman who has carried a sack of her life's burdens to the end, not a restless, stubborn child who has dropped her mask, not a dream maiden. In the last scene, she remains herself, – and Death accepts her as such. Because he has always seen her as she was. He loved her like this. And he loves her. That is why their ending is happy.
I love the Viennese production very much, not only for this happy ending. But also for how accurately and beautifully it shows: we are not a set of qualities, not our ‘mistakes’, not our wrongness, or illness. We are incredibly complex creatures who are looking for ourselves, learning about ourselves, and discovering an incredibly complex and beautiful world.
Complexity is not a pile of meanings. It is the ability to doubt and ask questions.
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