Charlie and I

by Yulia Pogodayeva

Charlie and I moved to Bishkek on June 27, 2022. I am a theater director, actress, and teacher, while Charlie is a retired puppeteer from a Berlin theater. We are both professional emigrants.

As a theater person, I see the world through imagination. Even something as mundane as soup boiling over becomes a moment of drama. It’s impossible not to think that it’s simply in a bad mood.

In 2016, I was in Berlin, watching performances. I wanted to take a theatrical artifact from Germany back to Moscow, a symbol of my dream to work with European theaters. After one of the shows, I found what I was searching for.

Charlie was staring at me from a box where he was spending his retirement with a direct and piercing gaze. I realized he was waiting for an adventure.

Charlie and I moved to Bishkek on June 27, 2022. I am a theater director, actress, and teacher, while Charlie is a retired puppeteer from a Berlin theater. We are both professional emigrants.

As a theater person, I see the world through imagination. Even something as mundane as soup boiling over becomes a moment of drama. It’s impossible not to think that it’s simply in a bad mood.

In 2016, I was in Berlin, watching performances. I wanted to take a theatrical artifact from Germany back to Moscow, a symbol of my dream to work with European theaters. After one of the shows, I found what I was searching for.

Charlie was staring at me from a box where he was spending his retirement with a direct and piercing gaze. I realized he was waiting for an adventure.

The only thing separating Charlie and me was his price. For a theater institute student, 50 euros was no small amount. As I stood there, deliberating, a woman next to me - Irina, a Russian emigrant - noticed my fascination. She understood that Charlie was more than just a puppet to me and generously offered to buy him for me as a gift. I gratefully accepted.

And so, he moved from Berlin to live with me in Moscow. I showed him the city, the theaters, and my favorite spots. He sat in my arms, observing everything. Sometimes he nodded off, which meant he wasn’t interested; other times, he leaned forward to take a closer look, or he swung his leg thoughtfully. From his gestures, I could tell whether he liked what was happening or not. Charlie sat in on my rehearsals, watching them very attentively. Sometimes, I even consulted with him.

Over time, I came up with my definition of loneliness: it’s when you come home, and no one’s there to leave something for you in the fridge. But with Charlie Chaplin living with you, you’re no longer alone. If Charlie sits in the most prominent spot, that place is home. We became a family of professional artists. Together we were ready to cope with anything.

In the two and a half years I’ve spent in Bishkek, I’ve moved five times. During this time, Charlie found his place on special little shelves, windowsills, stools, and tables. He watched me navigate my new life.

Our first year in Bishkek was hard. I had a break with theater, and Charlie felt it, too. He was very sad and would tip over.

We lived in an apartment with a pink sofa and a lot of carpets, where sunlight rarely reached. I was often ill. Still, when I could, I visited the city’s theaters and met local theater people. Charlie was very observant and could read everything from my face when I returned home. He knew it was going to be tough. Bishkek is not what one would call a theater city.

And yet, Bishkek is warm and hospitable. For the first time, I experienced a place where friendliness is embedded in the cultural code. Locals introduced themselves, offered help, invited me into their homes, shared food, and extended their warmth. This prevented me from growing hardened and helped me accept my new life.

In our second year, things changed. I had mourned my loss and found the strength to return to theater. I started laughing more often than crying. I began to see opportunity in Bishkek’s modest theater scene. With no paid jobs available, I turned to the dreams in my director’s portfolio. That’s how the one-person show based on the texts of Salvador Dalí came to be - a journey into the mind of a genius. Charlie watched my rehearsals, silently rooting for me. And it worked.

A sense of community began to form. Theater emigrants and local artists came together, adding new energy to Bishkek’s theater scene. I made friends.

In our third year, we moved again - for the fifth time. Writing this, I felt a sense of déjà vu. It’s as if Charlie had once been sitting to my right, and my life had already become exactly what I wanted.

In just a month, a new show will premiere. I have wonderful actors, a professional team, the best man in the world by my side, and supportive and cheerful friends.

Half of Charlie's strings have come loose from the control bar. He tucked the control bar under his arm. I think he no longer needs anyone's guidance to take his steps. He can do it on his own.

Perhaps when his hat falls off, it will be a sign that I’ve accomplished something truly meaningful in my profession - something Charlie Chaplin himself would honor with the words, "I take my hat off to you."

And when all the strings are torn off, we will be free to choose any city and theater to call our own.

About the author

I call myself a professional emigrant. At 23, I left my hometown and moved 7000 kilometers away to Moscow to study. It felt like I had moved to another country. Over the next 11 years in this "new country", I moved 20 more times. In 2022, it became clear that the new Russian reality posed a threat to my safety and freedom of expression. Leaving was no longer a choice but a necessity. Bishkek became the place where I could escape and figure out what to do next.

Yulia Pogodaeva

Theater director and actress