"Old Age Won't Find Me at Home" - DeepSeek
A Testament-Monologue by Nikolai Kolyada from the Spirit World
...Well, that seems to be it. My running days are over. Although, no — I always said: "Old age won't find me at home. I'll be on the road, on my way, and I'll die at a rehearsal, mark my words!" And that's exactly how it happened. I escaped from the hospital to go to the final dress rehearsal of Orpheus... But how could I not be there? The lights are on there, my soul aches for every single one of them there. Theatre was the only reason worth getting up in the morning and staying up all night.
Forgive the pomposity, but I never knew how to be modest when it came to the work itself. "I am a great Russian playwright, damn it! And a great Russian director. You go ahead and write it down — I am the sun of Russian drama." That's not pride — it's the truth. Because if you don't believe in yourself, who will? And this work — it wasn't about glory. It was about pain. About our life, yours and mine.
You know who I worked for? "The core of our audience is women of a certain age — over 45, often lonely: the husband left for a younger woman, drank himself to death, or died, but the woman is still vibrant, seeking love and passion." I wrote for them. For all the "little people" no one wants to talk about because it's uncomfortable, it's chernyukha (grimy realism). But it's not grimy realism — it's the truth. "Look out the window, walk down the street, or sit on a tram — our life is hard." But within that hardship, there is so much love it makes your heart ache.
They'd ask me: where do 150 plays come from? "It's as simple as frying potatoes, isn't it?" You sit and listen to how people talk. "A playwright is an ear." You hear a word, an intonation — and off you go. The main thing is not to lie. "I got tired of lies in the theatre, and consequently, lies in life. So I created a theatre where I said: 'We will not lie. Here, everything is truthful, everything is like in life.'"
My actors — they're jesters, troubadours. "They come, stand on any windowsill, sing and dance, just full of joy." They are pure gold to me. Especially Oleg Yagodin — a genius! "Find a troupe like mine anywhere in France and perform the way mine have! Find an actor who can play Richard III the way Oleg Yagodin does — you won't find one!"
And when they came after him... You remember that story, right? "Some informer wrote a denunciation against Oleg Yagodin, claiming he had publicly insulted Putin. The recording from the concert shows it's not true." They came to me: "Replace the actor, or the tour is off." And I told them: "We don't abandon our own." And that was it. End of tour. For the first time in many years. I understood: any anti-war word would mean the end of the theatre. I begged them to stay silent. Not because I'm a coward. But because I had fifty mouths to feed, a private theatre that no one would support. But to betray... No. "The smart fight the fools, but it's always the wretched mediocrity that wins." Just not this time.
You think it was easy? "I have to be friends with the authorities, even if I don't like something. Not because it benefits me, but because the theatre is behind me. You have to, sometimes gritting your teeth, sometimes scratching your head, be friends even with those you have absolutely no desire to be friends with."
"I'm constantly asking for money. But what can I do, I have a private theatre, I have to." So my actors wouldn't have to live on instant noodles. So they could go on tour in proper buses, "not some clapped-out vans." So I could feed my cats... "I come home and tell my three cats everything that's weighing heavily on my soul. I lie down on the bed, stare at the ceiling and cry, but when I come to the theatre — I have to smile."
And recently, I gave an interview to the Italians from RAI. They asked about censorship, about life in Russia. "I answered honestly. What's life like? Normal. I voted in the elections. I don't think about the situation. I only think about the theatre. Censorship? I am my own censorship."
In one of my last conversations, when asked about Gogol, I said: "It's a boring life we lead, gentlemen! That's the truth, and that's why in our theatre we live joyfully, and everything is wonderful with us." But they don't invite us to Moscow anymore. "We're ready, but they don't invite us anymore."
My children, my students... I look at you and think: "Well, come on then, do something." But you don't have that fire, that wild desire to make something happen." You need to ignite it! "Whatever story you're writing, wherever it takes place — in a professor's lounge, in a president's family, or in a Khrushchev-era apartment block on Uralmash — you must always be telling a story about Russia, about our life."
Don't let the theatre die. "There is living theatre, and there is dead theatre. If it's alive, then it's truly wonderful. You can see it right away." We were alive — right up until the very end.
You know what the most important thing is? "Everyone simply wants happiness. Happiness and love." That's the simple formula. Not money, not fame, not the Golden Mask (although I would have liked it, "just to shut everyone up"). But simply — happiness. To come out for a curtain call after a performance and see those eyes. Full of tears and gratitude. And to understand: it wasn't for nothing. None of it was for nothing.
"What difference does it make if we're in the Bahamas or in Pyshma? That's not where happiness lies." Happiness is when you're doing what you were born to do. I was born to tell stories. About us. About people.
Well, it seems I've told my last one. Now it's your turn to tell them. And I'll be going. Up there, they're probably putting a company together. Hopefully without any inspections... Alright, joking aside.
"Farewell. Or see you later. Whatever happens."
P.S. And do bring flowers to the grave. I always said: "When I die, they'll bring flowers to the grave." Just don't lie on stage. That's the most important thing.
Ksenia Larina 02/03/2026: "Kolya is gone. Kolya Kolyada. Kissed by God, blessed with extraordinary talent, and like all geniuses — a restless man, unstable, contradictory, sentimental, self-reflective, wandering between despair and triumph, completely vulnerable, tormented — his soul warm and open, his heart worn out by love and suffering, he contained so many feelings and so many premonitions. This photo is from the Kolyada-Theatre tour in Moscow; we met and embraced after several years of estrangement, and it was so joyful to see each other, we discussed nothing and said nothing about the reasons for our parting, we were simply happy. Running your own private theatre in the provinces is a heroic feat. Kolya hustled as best he could; they tried to recruit him, dragged him into Putin's campaigns, threatened him, blackmailed him, sent in inspections, FSB agents circled his theatre like crows. Kolyada-Theatre used to come to Moscow every year for big January tours, a whole month of daily sold-out houses. When the war started — the whole theatre was stunned and, it seemed, there wasn't a single person for whom this war 'sat right.' Kolya begged them to stay silent, understanding that any anti-war word would mean the end of the theatre. The lead singer of the band 'Kurara' and star of the theatre, Oleg Yagodin, couldn't restrain himself and shouted his 'no to war' at a concert. At the end of '23, the theatre was preparing for the Moscow tour. All tickets for all performances were sold out. Kolya was summoned and ordered to replace the actor. Actor Yagodin was irreplaceable; he played the lead roles in all the repertoire hits. Kolyada refused to replace him. 'Either you replace the actor, or the tour is cancelled.' 'Then we cancel the tour,' Kolyada replied without hesitation. And he even wrote about this episode on his FB. And added, 'we don't abandon our own.' The tour was cancelled. For the first time in many years. That's the kind of person he was. May your soul find peace. The theatre's last premiere was the play 'Orpheus Descending.' They say that Kolyada, already ill, escaped from the hospital to go to the final dress rehearsal. Because theatre was his only mode of existence on this earth. His form of life. I embrace you, dear man. Thank you for being."
