Dance Theatre | Dancer György Jellinek: My Body – My Truth

He makes himself small, writhes, crouches down, pulls in his arms and legs, as if he wants to hide, remain invisible, find refuge. But where to? György Jellinek climbs the wall and falls to the ground. On the back of his blue T-shirt is a large piece of paper. Publicly branded with the word "faggot."

Jellinek impressively expresses what it can mean to be gay as a dancer on stage. His stage is classrooms in various schools in Mecklenburg-Western Pomerania, Brandenburg, and Schleswig-Holstein.

This is the sixth classroom dance piece that the Perform(d)ance company is touring with under the motto "MV Tanzt an." The piece is intended for students from ninth grade upwards, in all school types. "Children and young people hardly go to the theater anymore," says the piece's choreographer, Stefan Hahn. "That's why we go to their schools to address current, socially critical issues through dance." The challenge of the piece "Who am I?" was not to overwhelm young people, to approach them without prejudice, and to take them seriously, says Hahn. "It was an attempt to find a connection between explicit reality and metaphorical representation, so that the message remains communicable."

A school bag, a school desk, a chair. These are the props in the room. The protagonist, still lying on the floor, stands up. He squeezes himself between the wall, the chair, and the bench. Tighter and tighter. Trapped within himself. He appears helpless, desperate. He seems denounced and internally torn. The dancer throws everything around him with all his might. The school furniture flies through the air. A fight against hostility, against exclusion, against violence.

"For a long time, I didn't allow myself to accept that my sexuality was different," recalls György Jellinek. "I rejected myself, even hated it. I suppressed everything that had to do with gender." The boy was already bullied at school. "That was a difficult time. They said I wasn't a typical man-boy." This is how Jellinek tries to explain the behavior of his classmates at the time. Later, his search for a self-determined, free life leads him into a deep identity crisis.

György Jellinek was born in Budapest and grew up with two sisters. Both his parents suffered from addiction. His mother was a heavy smoker, his father a heavy drinker and addicted to pills. "We children were quiet so as not to cause problems." At the same time, the family was also cheerful. "Our home often seemed like a ballroom to me, which took some of the pressure off." His parents were dancers in the Budapest burlesque theater scene. His mother recognized the boy's talent. She introduced him to a casting call at the Budapest Ballet Academy.

György laughs, gesticulating with his delicate hands. A small ring adorns his left ear. "Until then, I didn't really want to dance. But when new, large windows were installed in our ballet studio, I watched a strong wind outside sway the branches of the treetops. It was a beautiful sight." His large eyes shine with enthusiasm. "In that moment, I understood what dance can mean. To embody a tree. Its roots, its branches, its striving towards the light, yet firmly grounded at the same time."

One day, the parents separate. The father dies very young. Subconsciously, the roles are reversed. From then on, the son feels responsible for his mother and assumes the role of father and husband.

"Through my story, through dance, I can bring something good into the world."

György Jellinek

"Dance gave me structure. I was already working as a stage dancer with the Hungarian State Ballet and earning a good living. I believed that if I spent more and more time on stage, I would be able to provide for my mother and sisters." For a long time, the son believed that saving others was the fundamental motive of his existence. He cared not only for his mother, but also for his sister, who was suffering from cancer. "I had no access to my own feelings and emotions. Since childhood, I always thought something bad would happen because of me. Even today, when I walk down the street, I look down to avoid stepping on an insect." He knows today that it is not within his power to cure his sister's tumor or his mother's life, let alone save other people. "But through my story, through dance, I can bring something good into the world."

The curtain opens. György Jellinek steps onto the stage again. This time he's wearing a black mesh shirt, this time with the number 37 pinned to his back. In mysticism, this is an angel number that, it is said, guides the recipient onto the right path through a greater power.

The supple body moves with subtlety. The fragility expresses longing and desire, impressive and touching. The dancer playfully bends to the ground and stands up again: graceful, centered. He opens his arms with dignity. He spins around his own axis. The pirouettes become faster and faster, as if the figure wants to rediscover itself in all its beauty and dance-like elegance. In his search for his identity, Jellinek repeatedly confronts life's fundamental existential questions. "Who am I? Why am I here? What is my path, and am I still on the right path?"

A loud babble of voices fills the room. Roars. Trampling. Screaming. A relentless rhythm that destroys all order. The accompanying musical dramaturgy of the piece is also magnificent. The masses' riots become increasingly louder, more aggressive, more threatening. How can a person defend themselves in the midst of anger, hatred, and hostility?

Jellinek fights resolutely. He throws the yelling behind him. He throws the things from his backpack, everything old, away from him in all directions. He spews all the poison out of himself. He puts the backpack over his head. Smoke rises. His breathing is labored. Sweat pours from every pore. "This isn't role-playing. It comes from deep within. Brutal, without form – from a time when I had completely lost myself," recalls the now 35-year-old man.

He was 19 when he fell in love with a colleague at the theater. He became his first boyfriend. "I was confused, insecure, undecided. I trembled and cried because I saw a difficult path ahead." Hungary is a very conservative country when it comes to homosexuality. For years, Viktor Orbán's government has been causing a stir with its homophobic and transgender-hostile policies. "I knew I would lose everything in my life. My dance career would be over. Would I disappoint my mother, siblings, and friends? How could I support my family?" he asks himself. Ultimately, love is stronger than all misgivings. "I felt this preciousness in my heart. That gave me strength and courage to come out."

The dance production "Who am I?" illustrates "how desire and frustration, anger and courage, how the body, thoughts and feelings, collide with constraints, prejudices and norms," ​​says Stefan Hahn. This concerns not only sexual preference, but also the general issue of being excluded.

Nearly 400 performances of the classroom plays were already on the schedule. The productions were performed at festivals, in theaters, and in public spaces. "The response to our classroom dance pieces in schools has been extremely positive," says Hahn. "We are close to the realities of young people's lives. Even if they are initially somewhat distant, the young people eventually seriously engage with existential life issues. What should a man look like? Why do different sexual orientations still irritate other people?" Jellinek asks: "What is normal? And who is normal? If you are not accepted in society, then you believe you are unhealthy and unwanted."

Jellinek now lives in Berlin, dancing at the Deutsche Oper and in independent companies. He modestly explains: "It's not primarily the applause that means something to me, but rather the content of the piece, the message. Acceptance, that's my body, that's my truth."

The final scene: At the end, a rose is unexpectedly found in the backpack. The dancer gently strokes it over his face, placing it carefully on his eyes, cheeks, and mouth. He tenderly caresses his head and neck, his entire body, until he finally guides it to his heart. A moment of silence. "Is it the precious rose of the little prince? The secret? The essential is invisible to the eye?" Jellinek throws the red petals into the vast space. "There is no difference between us. How can we succeed in living together peacefully? How can I say yes to my life, while also saying yes to other people's lives? We all long for love and human freedom."