To mark this year’s Dwarfism Awareness Month (held annually in October), we present the work of Hungarian curator and researcher Benedek Farkas, recipient of last year’s Eidolon Grant, who began documenting the story of “the world’s shortest actors” after discovering a curious postcard from the mostly forgotten institution known as the Lilliputian Theater, which operated in Budapest’s City Park from 1925 until 1950. Although perceptions of little people have changed today, the theatre left behind a rich and diverse photographic archive that reflects its age, the collection and analysis of which you can read about in this article.
Introduction
As an avid collector and researcher many of my interests stem from chance encounters at the flea market. Flea markets, antique stores and online marketplaces contain multitudes of histories. Inside the beaten up cardboard boxes the urge of exact categorisation ceases to exist, haphazard dialogues and microcosms form, while the objects offer their stories to the ones that care to bend down and take a look. This was exactly the case in 2023, when I came across a peculiar postcard.
It depicted a woman in frilly dress and apron reminiscent of folkloric wear with the following words arranged around her stature: “Souvenir from Judit, the world’s shortest singer.” At that moment I was not quite sure what I was looking at. The posed nature of the photograph and her forced smile made me feel uneasy, but at the same time I felt a deep sense of empathy towards the woman in the postcard. I placed a bid on the item and began to look into the story of Judit. Through my initial research I found out that Judit (by her maiden name, Judit Petrovszki) was one of the actresses of the ‘Lilliputian Theater’ which operated in Budapest’s City Park from 1925 up until 1950.
In the quarter century of the Lilliputian Theatre’s operation Hungary experienced significant political upheaval and transformation. In the interwar period, Hungary was governed by the authoritarian regime of Regent Miklós Horthy, who led a nationalist, conservative government following the collapse of the Austro-Hungarian Empire and the brief communist rule in 1919. Hungary aligned increasingly with fascist Italy and Nazi Germany during the 1930s, reclaiming some lost territories through the support of these powers. In 1944, Germany occupied Hungary, and later that year, Soviet forces invaded. After World War II, Hungary fell within the Soviet sphere of influence. The monarchy was officially abolished in 1946, and by 1949, the Hungarian People's Republic was established as a one-party communist state under Soviet control, led by Mátyás Rákosi. This marked the beginning of a repressive Stalinist era in Hungary.
Figure 1:
“Souvenir from Judit, the world’s shortest singer”
Author’s collection
In the following essay I attempt to trace back my steps, narrate the turning points and highlight the breakthrough moments of my research regarding the Lilliputian Theatre, which all began with the postcard of Judit. The theatre’s troupe changed over the years, but as the outdated and derogatory term “lilliputian” suggests, the actors were little people exclusively.
Situating the Lilliputian Theater
The Lilliputian Theatre operated in Budapest’s City Park in the fairground colloquially known as the Vurstli. From the second half of the 19th century the City Park was the main space of leisurely activities for urban dwellers, as the park offered a space to have picnics, play and spend time outside, while offering such attractions as the zoo and the Széchenyi Bath.1 But relaxation was not the only function of City Park.
Figure 2:
Map of the fairgrounds of City Park from 1908. Highlighted: The location of Hűhn’s carousel, which was remodeled to be the building of the Lilliputian Theatre from 1925.
Courtesy of Samodai József Zuglói Helytörténeti Műhely and Zsuzsanna Majkó
Right next to the Zoo, the Vurstli was a treasure trove of amusement and spectacles frequented by higher and lower classes alike, but it was most popular with the rapidly growing urban working class. Factory workers, domestic maids and flocked to City Park to experience something out of the ordinary, take in the spectacle and escape the burdens of the workweek. Since formalised working hours and contractual wagework were fairly new advancements in the early 20th century, the way of spending free time became a serious matter and new reason for entrepreneurs to venture into fairground businesses and make profit from the newfound need for entertainment for the working class.2 The Vurstli was a place of cheap thrills, even with a measly paycheck the urban working class man could ride the carousel, visit the circus, get their picture taken at the fast-photography studio and still have enough money left over to buy himself a pretzel.
Figure 3:
Crowds gather in front of the Lilliputian Theatre, banner stating: “A new show every week in the theatre of the dwarfs”
Courtesy of Samodai József Zuglói Helytörténeti Műhely and Zsuzsanna Majkó
Many of the attractions tried to capitalize on the curiosity of the people: Ethnographic exhibits and human zoos of people from Africa were commonplace in most European metropolises, and Budapest was no exception.3 The Vurstli hosted freak attractions as well, performers such as bird-headed Lajcsika and Adrienne, the bearded dame drew crowds to the fairgrounds. Among these showcases of curiosities we can locate the Lilliputian Theatre.
It was founded by Ferenc Gerencsér, an average-sized entrepreneur, who tried to join the entertainment industry after returning wounded from the first world war. He first started out with a monkey circus, but quickly moved on to something much more profitable: a vaudeville-esque variety theatre, which features little people exclusively.4
Figure 4:
Troupe of the Lilliputian Theatre with founder Ferenc Gerencsér
Author’s collection
Starting in 1925, Gerencsér quickly gathered a small group of little people and put them to work. At first the troupe consisted of five performers, most famous of them being Juliska Gáspár, the primadonna of the Lilliputian Theatre. The attraction seemed to be a crowd success, so Gerencsér began to cast more stars mostly via newspaper ads: “Dwarf boys and girls wanted, for the Lilliputian Theatre in Budapest, good treatment, fair pay and housing provided.[5]” The ads did not go unanswered, many people with dwarfism applied, mostly from small villages, who were looking to break out of their humble rural lives and try their luck in the capital.
Figure 5:
Two actors in folkloric attire on the stage of the Theatre, Unknown photographer, circa 1930s
Courtesy of the National Theatre Historical Museum and Institute
In 1920s Hungary, social mobility between rural and urban areas was limited and heavily shaped by the legacy of feudal land ownership and the post-World War I economic crisis. The rural population, largely composed of landless peasants and smallholders, faced significant barriers to upward mobility due to unequal land distribution and limited access to education. While some rural inhabitants migrated to urban centers seeking employment in industry or services, opportunities were scarce, and urban life often offered only marginal improvements.
The ones who made the cut and moved to Budapest to pursue a career on stage were given housing by Gerencsér which was in the same location as the playhouse itself. The pay was little and the workload was heavy: during the spring and summer months the members of the troupe were performing shows ten to twelve times a day, six days a week, learning new songs, acts and choreographies each week, while during the winter the Lilliputian Theatre toured many European cities including London, Hannover and Thessaloniki. In later accounts many of the previous members of the troupe refer to the Lilliputian Theatre as a prison, where Gerencsér held absolute power and seen the little-person performers as an easily exploitable and profitable resource.
Figure 6:
Scenes from the living quarters of the performers, 1949
Fortepan / Márton Ernő Kovács
The progress of the second world war made the festivities of City Park obsolete, and the troupe of little people could not rebuild their previous renowned status. The final blow to the Theatre came in 1950 with the dawn of communism in Hungary. The new government deprivatized the fairgrounds and demanded the Lilliputian Theatre to be closed, since the showcasing people with dwarfism did not align with the communist ideologies and the figure of the model worker. The ideology of production was ever present in the socialist period, and the artistic and media representations of model workers were always depicted as robust and “able-bodied”, who are ready to sacrifice their manual labour to the socialist cause. The bodies of little people did not fit into this framework of socialist body politics. After the Theatre’s closure, the fates of former performers diverged. Some stayed in showbusiness appearing in revue stages stepdancing, others became factory workers joining the socialist workforce, while some lost all hopes and committed suicide.
Figure 7:
The Lilliputian Theatre tried to align with communist ideology in their last year before its closure. Stage photo from 1949, scene from the play called “Munkaverseny” (Labour competition)
Fortepan / Kovács Márton Ernő
Figure 8:
Left to right: Lajos Galicz, Piroska Fehér and István Komáromi, former members of the troupe, who stayed in show business and formed a tap trio called the “three colibris” appearing on variety stages in the 50s and 60s
Courtesy of the Hungarian Circus Arts Museum
“Souvenir from the Hungarian dwarf society” - Postcards as clues/evidence
My research initially began with postcards. As I found out from interviews and reports of the time, members of the Lilliputian Theatre sold the postcards as a form of extra income between the shows. This obviously coincides with the souvenir culture of the early 20th century and these sorts of keepsakes are also a key feature in the freak show world. Managers and impresarios made sure their stars were photographed regularly and their likeness reproduced in the form of carte de visite photographs, postcards and illustrated pamphlets.6
The director of the Lilliputian Theatre also applied this strategy, producing countless variations of postcards. The earliest pieces from my collection (from the 1920s) depict the original troupe in sepia tones in various costumes and situations. The actors appear as dutchmen in wooden clogs, as admirals or as aristocrats in powdered wigs. These cards all share the same inscription in bold capital letters at the bottom: “SOUVENIR FROM THE WORLD’S SMALLEST ARTISTS7”.
Figure 9:
Postcards from the late 1920s Author’s collection
Looking at this sentence from today’s perspective it seems strangely considerate. It acknowledges them as artists and strays away from reducing the members of the troupe to the categories of “dwarf” or “midget”8. The cards from the thirties suggest that business was booming and opportunities for international tours were plenty, hence the greeting lines became bi- or even trilingual, in Hungarian, German and English with the same sentiment: “Memory from the Hungarian dwarf society”. But the phrasing of the cards from the 1930s no longer mention artistry, it only alludes to an undetermined group, whose only characteristic is their height. The backsides of the postcards are also telling. Sometimes they feature lyrics of popular songs that the group performed, other times they might be dated and with a few lines from the audience member who bought the card or even some are even signed by the performers themselves.
Figure 10:
Postcards from the 1930s, backside featuring lyrics
Authors’s collection
Behind the scenes - a box of negatives from the Horus Archives
At a certain point in my research I felt the need to go beyond the overly staged photos of my postcard collection and the mediated reports of the newspapers. To really get to know the performers of the Lilliputian Theatre, I needed to see something candid, images where the actors are not just signifiers of their own embodiment, but are depicted as individuals who are aware of their agency over their photographic image.
The answer to my struggle came in the form of an Instagram message from Benedek Balogh, archivist of the Horus Archives, which is one of the biggest private photography collections of Hungary, founded by cinematographer, photographer Sándor Kardos.9 Balogh informed me that an unassuming paper box labelled “theatre of dwarfs” surfaced during the digitalization process, which contained 26 glass negatives that might be of the Lilliputian Theatre. And indeed, they were pressphotos, from the mid 1940s, presumably made by photojournalist, Jenő Kellner.10
Most of the shots take place in the private living quarters of the theatre, which allow for a more intimate insight into the everyday lives of the performers. In one instance an elderly woman (maybe Gerencsér’s wife) is seen in the kitchen teaching the young actresses how to cook. In a different photo the men of the troupe are rehearsing as a brass band. Maybe the most telling and fascinating shots are the ones that were made in the dressing rooms of the performers: side by side the ladies of the Lilliputian Theatre are getting ready for the show. The vanity tables are overflowing with gifts, pictures, flowers and cosmetics. Each of the actresses have a personal desk for make-up and hair, mirrors adorned with love letters and a little card in the corner stating the name of the owner of a certain mirror. This gesture is not only charming, but highly valuable in terms of my research, since I was finally able to connect faces and names for the first time.
Figure 11:
Press photographs by Jenő Kellner (?)
Courtesy of the Horus Archives and Sándor Kardos
Few of the pictures are taken out and about, mostly sticking to the perimeters of City Park like in front of the Széchenyi Thermal Baths or riding the tram. In many of these photographs the director, Ferenc Gerencsér can be seen interacting with the troupe members, lighting the cigarette of a dashing fellow, sitting among some or simply standing next to the actors just for scale. While the gaze of the photojournalist is apparent in the majority of the photographs, some of the compositions are much more uninhibited than the ones seen in the postcards.
On tour - a roll of film from a family archive
After spending long days in the archives, browsing through the tabloid papers of the 20s and 30s I became interested in the personal historical aspects of the Lilliputian Theatre. Many of the people who have seen the spectacle as children are still living and cherish their memories of the Vurstli. This curiosity led me to join online communities that share private photographs from Budapest’s past century. I began to look for users that have shared images of City Park or even the theatre of little people. After hours of scrolling a post from 2016 popped up. A photo from the 1920s of the Theatre’s building, captioned the following line: My great grandfather’s Lilliputian Theatre in City Park. I was ecstatic. The post was from Rita Benyó, Budapest-based journalist who turns out to be the great-granddaughter of Ferenc Láng, co-owner of the Theatre. I contacted her immediately and soon we were sitting together in a café, discussing over countless documents and memorabilia from her great-grandparents.
Figure 12:
One of the many rare advertisement leaflets, featuring acrobatic stunts
Courtesy of Rita Benyó and the Láng family
After a lengthy conversation we continued our correspondence via email. To my surprise Rita sent me a zip file, with developed film negatives inside. She has found a roll of film shot by her great-grandfather, who accompanied the troupe to Thessaloniki on tour. I have read multiple tabloid articles about the Greek tour of the Lilliputian Theatre, but suddenly it all became even more real by seeing all the performers among the Greek guards.
Figure 13:
Thessaloniki 1935, photographed by Ferenc Láng
Courtesy of Rita Benyó and the Láng family
Medical gaze and eugenics - An unexpected photo album
In a serendipitous chain of events and to the recommendation of a friend I ended up visiting the Psychiatric Art Collection11, housed in the Humanities Research Institute of the Hungarian Academy of Sciences. The Institute inherited the collection from the biggest psychiatric hospital of Budapest that existed from 1868 until 2007. Around the fin the siècle there was a heightened interest in the intersection of artistic expression and mental illness, and psychiatrists such as Hans Prinzhorn began collecting drawings from his patients. Prinzhorn published extensively on the art of the mentally ill12, which had a lasting effect on the world of fine art, especially on french artist Jean Dubuffet, who coined the term Art Brut13. The phenomenon of the Psychiatric Art Collection can be understood in this context. Influential directors from the mental hospital of Budapest started to collect the drawings, paintings and ceramic sculptures of the inhabitants starting from the early 20th of the century.
István Zsakó, one of the aforementioned directors, took the position of a sort of physician-curator14 and developed the collection of psychiatric art further. He also conducted his own medical research project often engaging with the eugenic discourses that were taking hold in Hungary in that time period.15 In 1933 István Zsakó contacted the director of the Lilliputian Theater, expressing his intentions of gathering data from the actors of his troupe. The result of this study was a photographically illustrated album and a scientific article in the Medical Journal of Physicians.
Figure 14:
The photo album entitled “dwarfs” compiled by Dr. István Zsakó
Courtesy of the Psychiatric Arts Collection of the Hungarian Academy of Sciences, Art Historical Research Institute
The album itself was constructed in the bookbinding workshop of the psychiatric hospital, since various workshops and handicrafts were available to keep the inhabitants busy. The worn purple cover hides eighteen pages, the first of which feature postcards from the group much like the ones that are from my collection. But suddenly the dispositions of the album changes, the viewer is faced with individual, full-body photographs of the troupe members. Below data and measurement – initials, age, height and weight – are noted with brutal matter-of-the-factness by Dr. Zsakó. But even more disturbing is the paper published in the medical journal that footnotes the photoalbum. The psychiatrist describes his visit to the fairgrounds and his conversations with the performers of the Lilliputian theatre, but he also takes their family history of illnesses and pre-existing health conditions, mainly looking interested in the inheritability of pituitary dwarfism. He also measures head circumferences and provides descriptions of the reproductive health of the actors.
As humiliating as this examination seems, the photographs of the actors put nuance to the story. Some of them can be seen with wide smiles, pulling self-assured poses as if they were consciously diverting the medical gaze of the psychiatrist. And on the flipside the data regarding the ages of the performers provided by Zsakó are essential information for the reconstruction of individual life stories.
Figure 15:
Portraits of Magda Tolnay and Vali Péterffy
Courtesy of the Psychiatric Arts Collection of the Hungarian Academy of Sciences, Art Historical Research Institute
In their own words - a talk show fragment from the 80s
Maybe the most authentic recollection comes in the form of a 20 minute long fragment from a popular talk show from 1985. The host of the weekly talk-show Telefere, Tamás Vitray16 invited well-known personalities and special talents to talk about their lives and successes. In one episode he begins a segment by asking the audience to recall memories of the spectacles found in the Vurstli. The usual suspects come up, Zsuzsi Káposztás the popular female impersonator or Sámuel Helfgott owner of a fast-photography studio. One woman shouts from the audience: Lilliputian Theatre.
The host soon reveals that the guests of the segment are Judit and János Petrovszki, former members of the special troupe. I can finally witness the world’s shortest singer, Judit Petrovszki speak and move. By 1985 Judit and her brother were in their late fifties, far from the glamour of showbusiness, yet they can clearly recall their years spent at Gerencsér’s Lilliput Revue. They chronologically narrate their upbringing, their first weeks at the Theatre as apprentice actors, the everyday schedules of the Vurstli, the living conditions of the troupe, and later how the whole thing ended. Judit and her brother both started factory work from the 1950s and at the time of the recording Judit already received her pension.
The interviewer asks a conflicting question around the end of the segment: “Do you ever miss the Lilliputian Theatre?” The two actors stray away from answering clearly, Judit says that it does not matter what she says, that is all in the past. The host does not seem to be able to let go of his fantasies of the Revue, he pushes Judit and her brother to do a small skit and a dance number on stage. They hesitate to comply with his wish, but the audience is eager to see them in their former glory as little people stars, not just average working-class people in their 50s. They perform a comic act, husband and wife from a small village arguing about nothing important. It is very banal in nature, but taking a closer look at the actors shows that they still got it, as if stage presence can never be forgotten and acting and dancing is just muscle memory for the Judit and her brother.
Figure 16:
Judit and János Petrovszki at the talk show ‘Telefere’ hosted by Tamás Vitray
Source: National Audiovisual Archive
Disability history - Freak studies
The story of the Lilliputian Theatre fits into a larger discourse, namely the academic discipline known as freak studies. Freak studies builds on the work of disability studies scholars and focuses on the realm of the entertainment industry, such as circuses, fairgrounds, dime museums and freak shows. The pioneers of freak studies such as Rosemarie Garland-Thomson and Robert Bogdan have laid out the groundwork and conducted historical material research that explain how freak shows operated and what function did they fulfill in the early modern era of the United States, in the heyday of P. T. Barnum17 and other infamous showmen. But in all instances these scholars always put the focus of research on the freak-performer itself, analysing the construction of their on stage character, highlighting their agency, and narrating the exploitation they faced. Robert Bogdan’s seminal book Freak Show: presenting human oddities for amusement and profit18 differentiated the modes of presentation (the exoticised and the aggrandized modes) utilised by impressarios. Rosemarie Garland-Thomson introduced the term extraordinary body to analyse how society constructs cultural representations of physically disabled bodies.19 Yet, all the scholarly work with a few exceptions20 have focused on the United States and the UK, while freak shows have existed all over continental Europe, even in the Central and Eastern European region, and had a major role in mass entertainment and urban cultural phenomena at the turn of the century.
Figure 17:
Press photo from Tibor Inkey, late 1930s
Courtesy of the National Theatre Historical Museum and Institute
Conclusion
Now what do we make of the existence of such a group in the early 20th century Budapest? And how can we approach this history from our current times? It became quite clear to me early on that the Lilliputian Theatre is not just an isolated phenomenon. It is an important fragment of Hungary’s largely unexplored disability history, and more specifically an important chapter in the histories of little people. There is plenty of scholarly work to be done if we want to see a more nuanced view. My preoccupation with the Lilliputian Theatre serves this purpose exactly. Taking an in depth look at the members of the troupe individually provides us essential insight to how little people existed in the societal frames of early 20th century Hungary, what opportunities could they have and how the wider public related to different embodiments. This kind of historical research also provides us a chance to have a clearer view of the social model of disability and prompts us to fight for disability justice in our own context every day.
This research was supported by the Eidolon Grant 2024 programme of Eidolon Centre for Everyday Photography.
[1] Granasztói, Péter, ed. Élet a régi Városligetben: hétköznapok és ünnepek a 19. század utolsó éveiben és a 20. század első felében régi fotókon és képeslapokon. Magyar Múzsa Könyvek. A Kecskeméti Lapok, 2013.
[2] Békés, István, Szegény ember gazdag városban: Fejezetek Budapest művelődéstörténetéből 1867–1917 között. Kossuth kiadó. Budapest. 1973
[3] Demski, Dagnosław, and Dominika Czarnecka, eds. Staged Otherness: Ethnic Shows in Central and Eastern Europe, 1850-1939. Central European University Press, 2021.
[4] He was not the first to organize such an attraction in Hungary, as a group of little people known as the “Horvath Midgets” reached world fame in the nineteenth century touring with the remarkable Barnum and Bailey circus all over the world.
[5] In original language: “BUDAPESTRE LILIPUTI SZÍNHÁZHOZ, törpe leányok és fiúk tanuló artistának felvétetnek. Fizetés, teljes ellátás és jó bánásmód.” (Ujság, 1927 Augusztus 14. Vasárnap)
[6] Bogdan, Robert, Martin Elks, and James A. Knoll. Picturing Disability: Beggar, Freak, Citizen, and Other Photographic Rhetoric. Critical Perspectives on Disability. Syracuse University Press, 2012.
[7] Original line: “EMLÉKÜL A VILÁG LEGKISEBB MŰVÉSZEITŐL”
[8] The Hungarian equivalent of dwarf is “törpe”, in contemporary use of language the term carries derogatory connotations. The word “midget” is specific to the English language, having no Hungarian equivalent. It derives from “midge”, a small insect, a highly offensive term used historically to refer to little people.
[9] I wish to express my gratitude to Benedek Balogh who endlessly supports my work on the Lilliputian Theatre both as a professional and as a friend.
[10] Hungarian photojournalist.
[11] https://www.psyartcoll.mta.hu/
[12] Prinzhorn, H. (1972). Artistry of the mentally ill: A contribution to the psychology and psychopathology of configuration. Springer-Verlag. (original text 1922) See also: https://www.sammlung-prinzhorn.de/en/museum/hans-prinzhorn
[13] For Dubuffet, art brut − which included graffiti, and the work of the mentally ill, prisoners, children, and primitive artists was the raw expression of a vision or emotions, untrammelled by convention. He attempted to incorporate these qualities into his own art, to which the term art brut is also sometimes applied.
[14] The term physician-curator comes from Monika Perenyei and Katalin Aknai, stewards of the Psychiatric Arts Collection, who have helped my research immensely.
[15] Turda, Marius. Eugenics and Nation in Early 20th Century Hungary. Softcover reprint of the hardcover 1st edition 2014, Corrected printing. Science, Technology and Medicine in Modern History. Palgrave Macmillan, 2014.
[16] Tamás Vitray has been a major figure in Hungarian television and sports broadcasting since the 1970s. He is known for his talk-shows from the 1980s, which tried to emulate western TV formats in a specifically awkward, late-socialist style.
[17] Phineas Taylor Barnum, American showman, the most famous entrepreneur in the history of circus and freak shows.
[18] Bogdan, Robert. Freak Show: Presenting Human Oddities for Amusement and Profit. Paperback ed., [Nachdr.]. Univ. of Chicago Press, 2009.
[19] Garland-Thomson, Rosemarie, Michael M. Chemers, and Analola Santana, eds. Freak Inheritance: Eugenics and Extraordinary Bodies in Performance. Oxford Scholarship Online. Oxford University Press, 2024. https://doi.org/10.1093/oso/9780197691120.001.0001.
[20] see: Kérchy, Anna, and Andrea Zittlau, eds. Exploring the Cultural History of Continental European Freak Shows and ‘Enfreakment’. Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2012.
