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<p>June 6, 2010</p>
<h1>Morte de Guzik: Uma Breve Interrup��o<br>Guzik Dead: A Brief Interruption
</h1>
<p><b>Em artigo para a Folha, dramaturgo e diretor Gerald Thomas comenta a morte do cr�tico de teatro, autor e ator.</p> <p>In Portuguese and English</p></b>
<p class="byline">Gerald Thomas, Folha de Sao Paulo</p>
<HR>
<p>O que se diz sobre a morte de um comunicador? Sobre uma pessoa de teatro, diz-se que "caiu o pano". Sobre um romancista, poderia se dizer que "virou a pagina" e assim por diante.</p>
<p>O fato � que, quando morre um "comunicador", algu�m que compreende todas essas fun�es e as leva at� o fim da linha, o impacto dessa morte vira tamb�m um grande enigma.</p>
<p>E, como grande comunicador, Alberto Guzik, que morreu no �ltimo s�bado, escolheu ir entre os anivers�rios de morte de Michael Jackson e Pina Bausch. � claro, o Guzik n�o poderia ter deixado por menos.</p>
<p>Eu, Gerald, que virei o homem dos obitu�rios aqui na�Folha, desta vez n�o me encontro. Digo, o impacto da morte de um amigo t�o pr�ximo me deixa mudo.</p>
<p>Sim, trata-se de um amigo intenso, um cara que me acompanhou desde a minha chegada ao Brasil com meu teatro. Algu�m cujos trabalhos eu acompanhava e vice-versa e cujos livros s�o prefaciados por mim ou por ele numa enorme confus�o que, talvez, leve um t�tulo comum aos dois: "Homens de lugar nenhum, atormentados pela dor do mundo".�</p>
<p>N�o � � toa que o pref�cio do meu livro "O Encenador de Si Mesmo" vem assinado por ningu�m menos que Alberto Guzik. E n�o � � toa que eu estava no meio de completar o pref�cio de seu mais novo romance, "Est�tuas de Sal".</p>
<p>Como cr�tico, Guzik era o que se chamava de "moderado". Como ator, era um apaixonado. Como um homem da cultura, um estudioso "in love". Como professor, romancista ou acad�mico, todas as virtudes acima.</p>
<p>ETERNO CONFLITO</p>
<p>E agora? "V� em paz, Guzik"? N�o! Paz, n�o. Alberto Guzik era um pacifista, mas n�o era um cara da paz. O Alberto era o homem do eterno conflito. Todos eles e ao mesmo tempo.</p>
<p>Ah, sim. Sabia lidar (como ningu�m), com eles: seus livros "Risco de Vida" e "O Que � Ser Rio, e Correr" s�o exemplos de que ele se aventurava pelas vias mais duras, mais �rduas imagin�veis.</p>
<p>Jogam o ser humano num mundo dantesco e rodrigueano-judaico. Sua vida como cr�tico teatral (sucessor de Sabato Magaldi no "Jornal da Tarde") era uma aventura que o jogava a favor e contra a "classe".</p>
<p>E? Alberto Guzik mandou tudo pra PQP uma vez que voltou a ser ator e cofundou o Satyros na pra�a Roosevelt em S�o Paulo.</p>
<p>Seu novo livro (ainda n�o publicado), "Est�tuas de Sal" � um romance brilhante que nos afunda em separa�es, mortes. Alberto sempre soube onde pisar forte.</p>
<p>N�o ir� falhar desta vez, ap�s a sua (tempor�ria) morte. Digo, n�o deixaria de nos interromper num momento onde a interrup��o deixa de ser uma met�fora e passa a ser uma verdade: o rel�gio parou. Guzik morreu. E, por algum tempo, mesmo que seja por pouco, o tempo ficar� parado com ele.</p>�
Adeus, meu amor.</p>
<p>GERALD THOMAS�� autor e diretor teatral.</p>
<HR>
<p>London- What is it one can say when a �communicator� dies? When a theater person passes on we can always say that the �final curtain has closed�. When a novelist dies, one can always say that he has �turned the page�, and so on.</p>
<p>The fact is that � when dealing with the death of a �communicator� (someone who amasses all of the deeds of �a media man�), who happens to have taken this title to its extreme, well, then this death also turns into an enormous enigma.</p>
<p>And as a great �communicator�, Alberto Guzik decided to die right in between the anniversaries of Michael Jackson and Pina Baush�s deaths. Of course, he wouldn�t have chosen a lesser date, a less important date.</p>
<p>I seem to have become the �obituary guy�, for this cosmopolitan Brazilian daily, Folha de Sao Paulo. When it isn�t a piece about me, I�m usually writing about the death of an icon or a friend.
This time, however, I seem lost. Somewhat lost. I mean, the impact left by the death of such close friend leaves me dumbfounded or mute, even.</p>
<p>Yes, Guzik was as intense as they come. He�d been following my work ever since I exchanged New York for Sao Paulo in the mid eighties to form my Dry Opera Company.
In return, I followed him and his work. My book is prefaced by him and I was just about to finish the intro to his latest novel and all of this leads to an enormous maze which might be better understood under yet another title: � Two Nowhere Men tormented by the pain of the world�.</p>
<p>The preface to my �Staging of the Self� was written by Guzik as a wrath of passion. Long. Long and laborious and incredibly intimate. His (still unpublished) �Statues of Salt� was being prefaced by me.
And so it was. Wow! To say it �was� or �he was� brings a�(never mind). Never mind.</p>
<p>But there are more than just strange coincidences. The scene which opened the theater marathon (in a tent), �Dramamix�, in 2007, with my text and under my armpit was called �A Brief Interruption�. As I enter my flat in London (having left New York the previous night with the news of his death), on an extremely boiling hot Sunday fucking Sunday, what do I find?</p>
<p>A big yellow box, covered in Brazilian postal stamps, sitting on my desktop, as if arranged to be inspected, searched, looked into. Of course I open it immediately only to find dozens of copies of a book which sums up that festival and begins with my text � written for two theater critics (Guzik and Sergio Coelho), bound and handcuffed and (almost hooded). �A Brief Interruption� appears of page 33. I do mention the Mount of Olives and�.well, and nothing! Better stop. I hate, loathe, palm readers, crystal balls and clairevoyance.</p>
<p>This is how it starts. Guzik is on his knees and begins the dialogue (trialogue) of the imprisoned:
�Now we are alone. You and I and this cup filled with shit (coup-au-turd). It�s not that I don�t want to know about the document that (he cries and lowers his voice). It�s not that I don�t want to know what awaits me in the forthcoming lines but being here, atop the Mount of Olives, you and I and this cup�.I�m burning in fever. I�m dehydrating. All I can think of is this strange Sachertorte or the Viennese coffee filled to the rim with whipped cream. Oh God! Oops!�</p>
<p>Yes, we did have a lot of fun rehearsing this short piece, since handcuffing two critics and making them laugh isn�t quite as funny as imagining it.</p>
<p>Two critics under arrest. And I made them say things they would never have said. I made them cry tears they would never have shed.</p>
<p>Oh, yes. At a given moment, Coelho (the other critic) turns to his fellow inmate and asks:
�Do you really not understand this tactic? I mean, the role reversal? How many people have you killed during your critical years? Yes, I said killed, changed their course, left unemployed, threw right into the gutter?�</p>
<p>As a critic, Alberto Guzik was what we call a �moderate�. As an actor he was simply passionate. As a man of cultural affairs he was a scholar in love. As a teacher and novelist he summed up all of the above virtues.
And now? �May your soul go in peace, Guzik?�. No. No way. No peace. Guzik was indeed a pacifist but he was a tormented soul and a man of the eternal conflict. Yes, the eternal conflicts and knew, better than anyone, how to deal with them. His other two books are good examples of how a story or storyline could trail the most arduous ways possible, since the author throws his characters into a Dantean / Jewish Nelson Rodrigues kind of world or underworld or underpass.
The underwriter.
And so? After decades of trashing and praising others, Guzik sent everyone to hell. �Fuck you all !�. Gave it all up only to return to the stage as an old(er), wiser actor. And as such, he co-founded Satyros (a theater group based and housed in the red light district of Sao Paulo, a brick in the wall, a fantastic hellohole which has gained more and more notoriety over the years.
Yes, he always knew how to steep a step deeper and he won�t fail us this time around.
His temporary death is nothing but an interruption and ceases to be a metaphor in order to become some bizarre concrete reality. I mean, this temporary reality made the clock stop, made the pointing fingers come to a sudden halt.
Guzik is dead. And, for a while (albeit as short or long�you decide), time is a frozen matter and will stay frozen for some time.</p>
<p>Farewell my love.</p>
<p>Gerald Thomas</p>
<p>27 June 2010 (NY and London)</p>
<br><br>
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