TBILISI — Two clowns in bright costumes, makeup and red noses performed a play for the youngest spectators. More precisely, the actors performed with their audience, engaging the children in the show. The children were absolutely thrilled, and it seemed their parents were, too.
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After the performance, one of the actors from the Moose and Firefly puppet theater, formerly of St. Petersburg and now based in the Georgia’s capital, Tbilisi, remarked “It’s good that we are pantomime actors and our performances are wordless. That’s why Georgians come to us.”
It seems that this sentiment expressed by an actor, whose craft relies entirely on the language of the body, could resonate with many Russian theater professionals who left the country following the full-scale invasion of Ukraine in February 2022. Since then, and especially since the mobilization announcement in September 2022, hundreds of people from the theater world have left Russia; they include directors, actors, designers, producers, playwrights and critics.
Measuring exile
It is impossible to determine the exact number of theater professionals who have emigrated and where they have gone. No one knows how many have returned to Russia or how many have changed their residence while in exile. So what does Russian theater in exile look like?
Clearly, the number of performances, particularly staged readings in Russian outside of Russia, has increased dramatically, which is wonderful for audiences. But what is happening with the directors and actors? Can they integrate into a new professional environment? Can they create stable projects aimed solely at a Russian-speaking audience?
To explore these questions, Radio Sakharov, where I host the theater podcast Zakati Stsenu (“Cause a Scene”), launched a project at the end of 2023 called Mapping Russian Theatre in Exile. This is not an academic study but rather an attempt to identify the main trends of theater in exile.
Bookstores are the cornerstone of émigré culture.
As part of this project, I visited five cities that have become significant centers of the new wave of theatrical emigration (Paris and Lyon in France; Riga, Latvia; Yerevan, Armenia; and Tbilisi), where I met with theater professionals who had left Russia.
Some of these conversations were recorded for the podcast. Additionally, five public recordings took place in Berlin. All but one of these conversations took place in bookstores or book-related locations (the Turgenev Library in Paris, the Tbilisi Auditorium, the Yerevan Common Ground, Nova Riga, and Berlin’s Babel). At first, this seemed like a curious coincidence — not to mention that book-filled spaces are ideal for sound recording — but it soon became clear that this was entirely natural.
It perfectly reflects the logic of how émigré culture is structured: bookstores are its cornerstone. They are vital spaces where people not only buy books and sip coffee but also attend lectures, staged readings and concerts, and where they meet and converse.
A visit to Tbilisi
Georgia has become one of the main centers for Russian emigration since the start of the full-scale invasion. It is a key destination for Russians who opposed the war in Ukraine or who fled mobilization. While some reports say 112,000 Russians moved to Georgia in 2022 alone, Georgia’s National Statistics Office has reported that 62,300 people moved from Russia to Georgia in 2022. For others, the country served as a transit point.
I traveled to Tbilisi in January 2024. Every theater professional I spoke to in Tbilisi started with the phrase “nothing is happening to us.” I’ve heard that phrase in other places where Russian theater in exile now exists; it is a key characteristic.
Yet I observed that much was happening during my visit to Tbilisi.
It reflects not so much the actual intensity of theatrical life as the inner state of the emigrants. Homelessness, unstable living conditions and uncertainty could be replaced by professional self-realisation. But the latter is not as vibrant as one might hope.
Yet I observed that much was happening during my visit to Tbilisi. The Echo of Lubimovka Independent Playwriting Festival, a non-profit international project of Russian-speaking playwrights, has been held in the Georgian capital twice. The city has also hosted many play readings.The Auditorium bookstore has become an important venue. It has even published Natalia Lizorkina’s play “Vanya Is Alive” as a standalone book in three languages: Russian, Georgian and English. This play has become one of the major dramatic events of recent years. On the day the book was presented, Auditorium hosted a live author-led reading of the play with a livestream.
Vibrant yet unstable
Auditorium’s general producer, Raisa Kozlova, organizes tours of performances in Russian. For instance, during my stay, the Griboedov Theatre hosted the musical “The Lost Mirror” by the band SBPCh, produced by Yulia Vlasova, the founder of the concert agency Music Live Geo.
The Alexander Kudryashov Theatre Company has also relocated to Tbilisi, where Kudryashov has staged several productions, including his well-known autobiographical documentary play “Bye, Dad,” in which he tells the story of his father, a veteran of the Second Chechen War.
Nikita Shchetinin produces “walking performances” in the capital city, as well as regular performances of children’s plays “Uyutnik” and “Children of Silence” for the youngest audiences.
In December 2023, the production company WHAT Production staged a performance based on Erich Maria Remarque’s “Arch of Triumph” at the Sukhumi State Theatre. Despite its name, this “refugee theater” is located in Tbilisi and hosts the play several times a season. In May, a master classes by Dmitry Krymov took place at the same Sukhumi theater.
All this is accompanied by stand-up comedy, intensive tours, lectures, books in Russian and modern dance. Kseniya Orlova, a Golden Mask award-winning actress, and Pavel Artemiev opened the Qualia theater in Batumi. The first play directed by Artemiev was “The Emigrants” by Sławomir Mrożek.
Yet what is missing from this abundance is the regularity that theater requires to thrive.
Lisovsky on exile and identity
I recorded a conversation at the auditorium with Vsevolod Lisovsky, a director, Golden Mask award winner and one of the most interesting and radical creators of contemporary theater. Lisovsky has long worked to dismantle the boundaries of theater in various ways, staging performances in unconventional locations, creating wordless performances, and bringing migrant workers with no theatrical experience onto the stage.
In fact, he left Russia after spending 30 days in a detention center for performing Bertolt Brecht’s play “Fear and Misery in the Third Reich” in an underpass beneath Moscow’s Prospekt Mira. And now he finds himself abroad — away from his homeland, his familiar life and the theatrical context he once knew. How has his past experience shaped what he creates in this new environment?
“There’s Scylla: the approach of becoming an ambassador of Russian culture. It’s a strange situation. Did Russian culture call you, email you, and say, ‘Buddy, be my ambassador’? And then there’s Charybdis — trying to integrate into the culture of the host country. That would be more or less a profanation,” he said.
Multiculturalism has turned from a zoo-like amusement with natives into a norm.
“Yet there are places in the world where multiculturalism has turned from a zoo-like amusement with natives into a norm. Such cosmopolitan megacities, where you can do something without emphasizing your port of registration. Not anchoring oneself to any specific language seems to me a promising and correct approach in a multicultural, cosmopolitan environment. This is the essence of the theater of exiles — performances conducted in the languages of all participants: Russian, English, Turkish, Arabic, Hebrew, Armenian, Georgian and beyond.
“I’m deeply uncomfortable with working solely for the diaspora. The idea of building ‘little Moscows’ in different cities feels like a questionable approach. First, as a creator, you limit yourself to a small and shrinking audience. Let’s be optimistic — it will shrink! Second, it’s not entirely fair to the audience.
“On one hand, you feel for people — they need support. But on the other hand, by creating a kind of comforting Russian microcosm, I’m not sure you’re doing them a good service. Perhaps the absence of such a microcosm would stimulate greater integration into the new reality. So, who are you in a cosmopolitan city? You’re neither Russian, nor German, nor French. You’re an exile. You wanted to be a citizen of the world? Well, here you are.”
Citizens of the world
And so I asked Lisovsky whether it is truly impossible to be a citizen of the world while doing theater in beautiful Tbilisi?
“I’ve been living here for almost a year, and with each passing day, I fall more in love with this country,” he said. “And I feel that the best thing we, the people of Russia past, present, and future can do for Georgia and Georgians is to leave them alone. This beautiful country gets dragged into unnecessary stories [meaning conflicts] because of us.
“I tried to stage a play here; it didn’t work out, and I wasn’t upset at all. I’m not entirely sure that this play was ever needed. I observe how Georgian plays are performed, how the local audience embraces them, and the joy they exude. I’m not sure I can bring such joy to these people. And I shouldn’t! They have suffered enough from us. Let them rest.
As for the old imperialists, they’re the ones I have no pity for.
“Georgia, and its way of life, is a cultural artifact in itself. The country’s greatest art is its essence — its lifestyle and worldview. And we shouldn’t touch it. As for the old imperialists — be they Russian, German, English, French or American —they’re the ones I have no pity for,” said Lisovsky, who remained true to his beliefs: A few months after our conversation, he relocated to Germany.
And the Moose and Firefly puppet theater, whose actors delighted in welcoming Tbilisi residents to their shows — despite the language barrier — concluded their season before relocating to Serbia.
