The Freedom of the Body – On Pál Frenák’s Latest Premiere
As technology advances, chance is increasingly pushed into the background, even though it is often unexpected encounters that shape our lives. What does it mean to remain human in a world where programming is gradually overriding instinct? This is the question explored in FrenÉsie – RoadMovi(e)ng, the latest work by Kossuth Prize-winning choreographer Pál Frenák. We spoke to him about creation, identity, the relationship between body and soul, and the uncertainty of the future.
The word FrenÉsie means frenzy, ecstasy, passion. What does it encapsulate for you?
I always look for titles that open up a thought rather than bring it to a close. What interests me about frénésie is not madness in the everyday sense, but an inner state. An energy that is at once controlled and irrepressible. We all live in this state:
Everything around us is moving faster, everything is in constant motion, yet finding our way back to ourselves is becoming increasingly difficult.
What interests me is how the body responds to all this, because the body cannot lie. Anxiety, desire, uncertainty and hope reveal themselves in movement. This is why the dancers exist in a constant whirl throughout the performance. It is as though some invisible force were drawing them towards a centre while they struggle to break free. This is an intensely physical state, yet also a deeply spiritual one. For me, this is what it means to be human today.
A scene from FrenÉsie – RoadMovi(e)ng (Photo/Credit: bobal photography / Liszt Fest)
The piece is both contemporary and futuristic. Why did you choose to approach these themes through the lens of the future?
It is not the future itself that interests me, but the present. Sometimes it is simply easier to look at the world we inhabit from a distance. Technology is transforming our thinking, our relationships and even our perception of the world at an incredible speed. More and more things can be calculated, planned and optimised, while chance seems to be disappearing. Yet it is often unpredictable moments that shape our lives. An unexpected encounter, a step in the wrong direction, a delay or a chance conversation can change the course of a life. I fear that if everything becomes perfectly programmed, these moments will be lost as well. This is why the present and a possible future run alongside one another in the performance. I did not want to decide where one ends and the other begins, because perhaps we are already living through this transition.
Humans, humanoid beings and robotic movements appear on stage. What interested you about this duality?
In my work, I am constantly searching for boundaries. That moment when something is still human, but no longer entirely so. Or the reverse: when a fragile, deeply human gesture suddenly emerges from a seemingly mechanical being. For me, this is a question of the soul, rather than technology.
What makes us human? That we make mistakes? That we feel? That we are capable of empathy?
Or that we have a soul? Of course, I have no answers, but I still like to reflect on these questions. FrenÉsie is the second part of a trilogy about creation. The theme is always stirring within me: it encompasses the mystery of divine creation, but also the human desire to bring things into being, to create in the same way. Today we talk about artificial intelligence and humanoid robots, but a question arises: what are we losing in the process? Could it be precisely that singularity, that inexplicable uniqueness that makes every human being special? This is one of the most profound dilemmas of our time.
A scene from FrenÉsie – RoadMovi(e)ng (Photo/Credit: bobal photography / Liszt Fest)
Once again, the visual world plays a particularly prominent role. What kind of space does the audience enter?
I like the space itself to tell a story. This time, we began with a rotating circular centre that both separates and connects: a universe of its own, governed by its own rules. The continuous rotation means we keep seeing the same scene from different perspectives. From the front, from the side, from behind. There is no single true perspective. The subtitle, RoadMovi(e)ng, also evokes this constant movement. Here, the road refers not to geography, but to an inner journey, which is why a large motorcycle also appears on stage. The rotation makes it seem as though it is speeding along, while in reality it remains part of the same circle. It is a powerful image for me, capturing how we often believe we are moving forwards at tremendous speed, while actually going round in the same circles again and again. This is accompanied by a musical world in which familiar melodies meet electronic, pulsating sounds. Just as the past and the future cannot be separated, these musical layers also flow into one another.
The relationship between body and soul runs through the entire piece. What would you like audiences to take away from the performance?
I do not see it as my role to proclaim the truth through my performances. I am much more interested in unsettling the audience’s certainties. I want people to go home with new questions about themselves. The body is also a repository of memory. Every movement preserves something of who we were, while already carrying the potential of who we might become. This is why the performance also features a figure whose body is painted in two distinct halves, evoking birth and death, the past and the future at once. As though all time existed in the same moment.
Perhaps one of the most important questions today is how we can preserve our sense of self in a world that increasingly pushes us towards sameness.
For me, the art of movement—as an expression of the soul—has been a form of resistance from the very beginning. The freedom of the body. Proof that we have not yet become entirely programmable. If, after the performance, audiences remember more than the imagery and take these questions away with them, then I believe a meeting has taken place. Ultimately, that is why we create performances.
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