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Since coming to Hungary I haven’t seen as much theater as I would like. That’s mostly due to language. Let’s face it, if you don’t understand the language, you need exceptional theater to keep you captivated. I’ve been lucky because the theater I have seen in Hungary - with the exception of a couple of shows I saw during last year’s theater festival - has kept me well entertained.

The theater I’ve seen from Central-Eastern Europe seems to be much like Quebecois theater in that it exploits characters. It’s theater packed with facial expression, gesture, and strong body movement, paired with expressive voices, backed up with sound and visuals - costume, set and props. This is refreshingly alive, in comparison to a lot of the dull theater seen in English-speaking North America that tends to rely more on words and talking heads. One European-director friend once remarked to me that English-speaking North Americans act from the neck up. Yup.

As a result, most of the theater I’ve seen here has reawakened my love of theatre (my university major and originally chosen profession) and Hólyagcirkusz (Bladder Circus) is no exception.

The brain child of Szőke Szabolcs, Hólyagcirkusz relies almost entirely on sound, facial expression and physical gags. The company - based in Studio K, on Mátyás ut 9, district ix, Budapest - has been working together now for about 10 years. Players come and players go, but the core group remains, most of whom also work with Studio K.

But Hólyagcirkusz is a company unto itself. The show I saw last Friday - CSŐDCSICSERGŐ - is set in a theater. The characters are all musicans, playing bizarre instruments - conceived by Szőke Szabolcs, based on a dream he had, which arose from his work experience in a music shop where antique instruments were built.

The focal point of the stage is a six-foot high metronome, more like a coffin than a music-timer, indeed - at one point during the play - actor Szabó Domokos emerges from it repeatedly saying (in Hungarian) “I really like that metronome…”. Other instruments are a violin-trumpet, which is played by Szőke, who at the start of the show sits sleeping in his chair, surrounded by empty wine bottles. Gradually the other players arrive.

Spilák Lajos is first. He portrays a calm and fastidious concert master. He makes a cup of tea, cooks an egg (on stage), and prepares the stage for the other players, placing music sheets on the stands, and readying some special effect instruments.

Next, we meet Eszes Fruzsina, playing a melancholy cellist who, as she powders her bow, speaks about her life as a musician. All delivered with methodical, dead-pan expression.

When Rácz Attila and Nádasi László first arrive, they are wandering around the back of the stage, naked from the waist up. Their action and appearance suggests a parody of those two great Hungarian composers - Bartok and Kodaly- who apparently used to share the pass time of climbing mountains buff naked.

But it is Nádasi László’s second arrival on stage, fully outfitted in a black suit, carrying his Nail Violin setting off a series of physical gags that delighted me. In fact, Nádasi László in his portrayal of the overly serious, overly conscientious musician, perpetually encountering problems, and thereby creating slapstick gags, is brilliant. Add to that, the sound he gets by dragging a violin bow across a series of nails pounded into an antique bench, and you cannot help but enjoy him. Are those black, horn rimmed glasses he wears a parody of Shostakovich?

As the other actors arrive, the various pre-set instruments come to life. Strings stretched from the metronome to metal barrels, thrum with musical notes when plucked. Glass slabs, cut and attached to a wall unit, take on the sound of a zylophone. A bass drum is played, a gong is sounded, the metronome is called to action, delivering another percussive sound; and at one point a sheet is lifted to reveal Homonnai Katalina who starts playing a tin-sounding drum, while perpetually pedalling an imaginary bicycle and talking about the singer and how much she costs. Three times she says (in Hungarian) “A hundred and fifty”, and each time some one asks a question, provoking her to say: “Thousand.”

Finally, the arrival of Tóth Evelin, parodying a primadonna opera singer, pulls the orchestra together and the audience is treated to a genuine musical circus, during which Tóth changes her shoes for boots, and balances on a low, wooden rocker - all the while singing and performing various vocal warm-up exercises, which provides for a kind of burlesque comedy. Although not a trained actress, nor a trained singer, per se, Toth can deliver the goods. “I’ve always sung,” she says. “It’s what I do.” (She did study traditional Indian singing for four years, and now studies with an opera singer.)

CSŐDCSICSERGŐ has minimal Hungarian, and some German text. My companion - a music teacher from Canada, whose Hungarian is limited to “yes, no, and thank you” - says: “It was great! I loved it. I’m going to bring some friends to see it.” Indeed, I’ll go see it again, and there was a young Hungarian actor/musician there on Friday who has seen that show about ten times, and whose dream in life is to work with them! “I was addicted to the place,” he says. “But I’m over it now.”

Bladder Circus wants to tour internationally. I think to really draw an English speaking audience, they need to translate and learn the script in English. It’s not a lot of text, and for that reason, I think they can do it! Sure, they could tour it in Hungarian, but if they translate it, they’ll pack the houses everywhere they go. It is magical theater that makes for delightful, fun-filled entertainment suitable for the whole family.

The next shows in Budapest are February 18 and March 3. Studio K is an intimate little space, that seats about 50. Tickets are 800huf, and there is a nice cafe with big tables and lots of seats for sitting around afterwards, drinking and talking with your friends - and if you speak Hungarian - the cast.