When renowned film director Péter Gárdos wrote the story, he intended it as a film script, but eventually he made it into a novel. “Fever at Dawn,” the love story of two Holocaust survivors―the author’s parents―has ever since sold in more than 20 territories.
While the purist may fault this translation for departing from the form of the original by failure to
rhyme and cropping a syllable, others will surely complain that a mere male is too reckless for
words in attempting, even at second-hand, an account of female sexuality.
After a certain number of performances, a production takes on a life of its own, and the critic is unable to review it as an isolated night of entertainment. It has become a continuum, an institution, evolving over time as a living creature would. Such is the case with Zoltán Egressy's two plays.