In the autumn of 1981, a fatal error occurred in the series of Cricot 2 showings in Kraków – double the amount of tickets as there were seats had been sold for showings of Wielopole, Wielopole. These were located in the Sokół hall, usually used by athletes of the Cracovia team. Known for his despotic and explosive character, the master Tadeusz Kantor first cursed the local authorities, and then took personal care of seating the extra spectators on gymnastic mats along the walls of the hall.
"Six more people, please!", he directed the crowd. "Not you, madame!", he suddenly shouted hysterically, "You don’t fit in the composition!" The crowd welcomed this dictum with laughter and applause. The lady in question stopped halfway, as red as the sweater she was wearing. Kantor was addressing the fact that a red point at the side of the stage would draw the gaze of the audience away from the sepia uniforms of his CK Franz Josef army soldiers on stage. But the applause honoured a totally different concept. The moniker "red" in the Polish People’s Republic indicated a communist. The concept was completely unintentional, but very effective and especially well received in 1981.
It was the same for Kantor himself – he just didn’t fit in…
Essen, 1974
"The first accident took place upon arrival, when the hotel's receptionist, very enthusiastic about the success of the Polish football players at the World Cup, welcomed Kantor with the following words 'Master, you will stay in the apartment used by Grzegorz Lato!'. Kantor immediately reacted 'And who is this Grzegorz Lato?'. Even if this response left the receptionist somewhat shocked, he gently pursued his quest of honouring the Polish football players […].
"Unused to listening to tales about sportsmen, Kantor exploded: 'I don’t give a shit about any football players! Especially Polish ones! And especially Lato!'. The receptionist went pale, but he once again proposed the apartment. This had an even worse effect: 'I will not sleep in a room after a football player. The technicians can stay there! They won’t be killed by the smell of footwraps! And me, I would die! Since when do football players stay in apartments?! In Poland, it would be unthinkable!', said Kantor, and he left the hotel. We didn’t go look for him. Nor did we attempt to understand his decision."
Krzysztof Miklaszewski, Kantor od kuchni (Kantor From the Backstage), Wydawnictwo Książkowe Twój Styl publishing company, Warsaw, 2003
Brussels, 1977
"In a quickly improvised dressing room – a niche with mirrors and chairs – a reclining Lila Krasicka sits among chairs and hangers with costumes. Pale, barely breathing, she is choking on air and her hands are falling. She seems to go stiff, and her eyes are rolling. The three of us burst into the hall. And there, we hear Kantor: 'She’s an idiot! She’s had the idea of dying, now!'. We peek into the office, and there is a crowd gathered around the telephone. 'It’s coming!', the stage manager tells me, 'The ambulance is on its way!' (…) We breathe a sigh of relief. But the voice of the master reaches us from the corridor once again. 'This is no artistic stance! What is she imagining!' […]
"Kantor goes on: 'Please tell this lady that one does not do such things! That she did not come to Brussels for a holiday.' Here, a bit embarrassed, he corrects himself: 'That she did not come here for treatment. One has to be treated at home, goddamnit, not in the theatre!'. A moment of silence, and then, 'One isn’t allowed to die before the premiere!'. We remembered this commandment. Precisely. Especially since the ambulance, which arrived at full speed, turned out to be unnecessary. The countess [Krasicka] regained a regular pulse and blood pressure, her breath calmed down and colour returned to her face. 'Lila is resurrected', someone whispered […]. And some other, more cunning Cricot member added 'Kantor heals!'."
Krzysztof Miklaszewski, Kantor od kuchni
Sydney, 1978
"It was mostly about our visit to the zoo together, when we were getting used to the environment before our premiere. Well, someone from the zoo staff proposed that Kantor have himself photographed with a koala. Without waiting for the answer, this person took the animal off the branch and placed it on the Master’s shoulders. Kantor, happy as a child whose dream has just been fulfilled, ran up to us a couple of metres. He ran up triumphantly. The sparkle of joy in his eyes was suddenly replaced with lightning. The lightning was accompanied by thunder, as he yelled 'Please take this motherfucker off immediately!'. Alas, the bear, who had been sleeping, awoke terrified to find itself carried on Kantor’s back and dug its claws into the Master’s neck. In turn, the wounded Kantor started to run around like a bull in a corrida. The view was so funny that we just stood there, bent over with laughter. Instead of saving him. Enough said – when Kantor finally managed to free himself of the koala, his screaming didn’t die down at all. The next day, he accused the board of the Australian national park of an assassination plot, and forbade contact with any 'Australian crooks'."
Krzysztof Miklaszewski, Kantor od kuchni
Milan, 1978
"Kantor was indeed pale, he stood bent over and clenched his teeth with pain. In short: all the symptoms of a herniated disc. A good masseur was thus indispensable. […] Some people gathered around Lila Krasicka. Lila began to make phonecalls (she was able to speak a few languages). She finally reported with triumph 'I've got one!'. After a while, she added, 'I actually even got two masseuses'. Kantor calmed down, but also began to get excited: 'Two masseuses! That will surely help'.
"He seated himself politely, sipping espresso in the hotel reception. […] After five minutes, everyone was dumbstruck. Two painted ladies were there, standing in the glass-door entrance of the small hotel. The first one, a 'nurse' of older rank, a round-shaped brunette scanned the crowd, and charmingly posed the question (a phrase I will remember all my life) 'Dove è questo gallo?' ('Where is this rooster?'). The second, a filigree blonde, waved to the actors, saying 'Hello! Hey!'.
"The amazement was total. An appropriate silence fell upon everyone. But after five seconds, no one was able to keep a straight face. Kantor was also unable to remain serious, either. Seeing the 'present' from Lila, which had arrived straight from the neighbouring brothel, Kantor suddenly managed to stand right up, indeed. He shouted rather violently, of course, 'Who brought these whores?!'. But his leap turned out rather therapeutic, since the disc went back into its place and stopped causing him pain. The healed Kantor soon happily shrugged his shoulders at the whole affair."
Krzysztof Miklaszewski, Kantor od kuchni
Edinburgh, 1978
"The actors accepting compliments in the Master’s presence was absolutely out of the question. Kantor would repeat, 'I am the one who taught you to act!', forgetting that he had flung insults at journalists who inquired about the secrets of his acting method. One day, it so happened that the big three of the silver screen and stage entered the dressing rooms of the Lyceum Theatre, where we were playing – Sean Connery, Kirk Douglas and Rudolf Nureyev. They entered, and instead of praising the Master on their knees, they dared to loudly congratulate all the actors. Kantor couldn't stand this situation. He hid behind a wardrobe and yelled out from behind it: 'What motherfuckers! A complete lack of any education! They're boors! Go on, talk to them! I don’t give a shit! Go, go on to your shitty dinners and talk about nothing!'. And when the actors separated themselves from the guests, the cry broke out 'And who’s going to take care of the guests? Maybe Mr. Miklaszewski could move his ass!'."
Krzysztof Miklaszewski, Kantor od kuchni
Paris, 1982
"A meeting on a Monday morning, at 8.30. A general condemnation of the whole team. With the exception of 'the Janickis, due to the fact that they stayed at the hotel'. The team turned to be a 'band of morons', and Miklaszewski was considered an intellectual thug. A pause. A subsequent meeting at 11. Kantor has nothing new to say besides the fact that 'last night was shameful. You sirs went to the cabarets to taste some experiences, through which you jeopardised the greatness of theatre and my prestige'."
Wacław and Lesław Janicki, Dziennik podróży z Kantorem (A Diary of Travels with Kantor)
Toga Mura, 1982
"This whole theatrical shrine was raised on two poles, more than four metres high. This ensured a tall silhouette and made the stage the central spot, but it also required a pinch of caution from the actors, who had to proceed along bridges on the side. Significantly large empty gaps were left between the bridges. One thoughtless step was enough to… Well, and such a step took place. […] A brief shriek, as if belonging to an old lady. It happened. Someone fell in one of those holes. […]
"Kantor raises his voice. His terrified cry: 'Perhaps someone could care to inform me of what has happened. Perhaps someone from this shitty team could finally utter a word!' Silence. But the shy answer which makes its way from the other end of the room, is telling. Shocking information: 'It’s Ms. Niedźwiecka!' […] Kantor could not stand the tension 'You villains! (this meant us). You killed a colleague!' […] Once again, Kantor’s scream 'Where is Ms. Niedźwiecka?'. Silence. But after a moment, a quiet little voice comes from under the stage. 'I am here, Mr. Tadeusz'. To which, Kantor’s cry doubles its volume – 'Don’t you say a word, Ms. Celina. You are long dead!'. […]
"But Kantor, still looking at the stage, discerns our team’s newcomer, Boguś Renczyński, caught in the darkness. He directs all of his aggression onto him 'You juvenile murderer! You killed an older colleague!' A voice from below 'I am alright!'. Kantor’s response 'What a sclerotic woman! I already told you not to speak. And you, you little shit, jump to get this frump!' […] The fall only looked dangerous. In reality it even turned out to be a… cure. A cure for the memory, in particular. Also, a miracle: she suddenly stopped making mistakes in a poem which she could not manage before."
Krzysztof Miklaszewski, Kantor od kuchni
"One must admit that in spite of his fits, Kantor never really lost his good sense. Even when he intwines his loudly articulated complaints against someone with ideological elaborations, he never for a moment forgets the circumstances that are required for him to be appreciated. His efforts to incite scandal, as well as tough demands from his collaborators and the organisers, were frequently with good reason."
Wacław and Lesław Janicki, Dziennik podróży z Kantorem (A Diary of Travels with Kantor)
Paris, 1985
"Kantor, clutching a dossier under his arm, all filled with sketches and documents, entered with haste. But right behind the entrance doors, although it was a staff passageway, he was stopped by a doorman. Bowing down low politely, he insisted 'Your ID, please…' Clearly surprised, as if he had been knocked off rhythm, Kantor asked timidly, but in French 'What ID?'. 'The one that you received'. 'What damned ID is this?… I never got anything' […]
"We all drew back when the doorman, dressed in livery and a decorative hat labelled 'Centre Pompidou', repeated, 'Please show me your identification card'. 'Don’t you understand that Kantor is me!'. "I will know when you show me your ID!', the guard insisted. 'You need to remember that I am a friend of your boss. And I insist you let me in to see him at once!'. 'But it’s too early, the directors come in at noon!'. 'What lazy bums!', Kantor concluded, hissing. But it was still before 9 in the morning.
"'My friend will finish you!', Kantor pressed on the guard again. 'He would fire me if I let you in' […] 'Don’t start with me because I am a friend of the Minister of Culture. Thus, you are refusing Lang'. 'I am refusing you', was the response. 'Refusing Mr. Kantor!', Kantor corrected him. "Refusing you. How am I supposed to know that your name is Kantor if you don’t have any identification'. 'The only identification I have is the Republic’s Commandorie medal. I am Kantor, a chevalier of the French Commandorie.' is what Kantor repeated, pointing to his ribbon in the pocket of his suit. 'Me too!', the guard reacts immediately. He points to his suit and the same ribbon attached to it. And on the same breath, he concluded: 'But a Commandorie medal is not an ID for the Centre Pompidou'."
Krzysztof Miklaszewski, Kantor od kuchni
Warsaw, the 80s
"After I moved to Warsaw, a staging of The Dead Class took place there. I don’t remember why anymore, but knowing this performance most thoroughly out of all of Kantor's stagings, I had been staying backstage for some time. At one moment, an actor who was placing out the hourglasses was rehearsing the way in which they were to be placed, I don’t know how many times. After a while, he achieved ideal movement and wonderful perfection. I looked at it, amazed. A break must have been scheduled at this time, because Kantor left the stage and looked at this movement. I thought that he would be amazed. Instead, he thundered 'What are you doing, this is some stylisation!'. And he was fully right, of course it was styling it up. It was only then that I rightly understood what that meant and what a threat it was for art."
Maciej Gutowski, O Paniach, Panach i zdarzeniach (On Ladies, Gentlemen, and Events) Wysoki Zamek, Kraków 2012
Author: Janusz R. Kowalczyk, December, 2014
Translated by Paulina Schlosser, 13/01/2014