Published on: 2026-09-02
Source: Moscow Government – Правительства Москвы –
An important disclaimer is at the bottom of this article.
In the very center of Moscow, on Chaplygina Street, there is a historic stage Oleg Tabakov Theater — the place where 34 years ago an event occurred that defined the fate of an entire theatrical era. Back then, in 1992, it was Vladimir Mashkov’s directorial debut and the lead role of Yevgeny Mironov in “Star Hour in Local Time” have become a legend. Today the play returns — once again as a directorial debut. Vladislav Miller — an actor of the troupe born seven years after the premiere, in 1999 — has taken on the production. Is it a coincidence that both productions marked the start of directorial careers, or is it a symbolic passing of the baton from one generation of theater masters to another? What will the audience see at the premiere, and why does the casual phrase “I’m leaving” turn an ordinary person into a star?
The plot begins with childhood
Remember how, as a child, you would come to a friend’s house to play together, but his mother wouldn’t let you in because not all chores were done? “Star Hour Local Time” starts with a similar feeling, except here all the adults are the main character Kolya and his friend Fedya with his wife Valya (Valya, as you might guess, has the “mom’s task”). To leave the house in the evening, men can come up with many things — even a story about a nonexistent trip to the Far East.
The director unfolds the plot from this everyday, almost anecdotal situation. Even if you haven’t experienced something like this yourself, you surely know someone who has. And then details come into play, and Vladislav Miller spares no effort on them.
The first scene — Fedya and Kolya are drinking tea. Before the lie is voiced, the viewer sees a slight awkwardness, irony, and tension. The characters stir the tea, clinking the spoon against the cup’s walls: the sound becomes almost a musical theme, a harbinger of change. And how happy they are when Kolya finally utters the prized “I’m leaving,” and Valya, believing him, pours a stronger drink. The prank succeeded, but from this moment the events gain momentum. The phrase “While you’re here, it’s as if you aren’t, but when you leave — it’s as if you exist” will be spoken later and become the key to understanding the entire play. On the surface, a light comedic story unfolds into an unexpected depth: the director, through a domestic sketch, speaks about how we fail to notice each other in everyday life and how suddenly we become important when we are about to disappear.
The neighbors bring treats, a television, and even a video camera to Kolya’s farewell gathering, to capture the home feast before the journey. Every detail works: even the bicycle by the fence, and the bag that Valya washes and dries. Miller does not overload the play with symbols but integrates objects precisely into the narrative, allowing them to reveal the plot.
The fence deserves special attention. It becomes the central decoration of the production: sometimes it opens, turning into a portal between houses, sometimes it serves as a table for gatherings. It is both a folk reference to “there are also writings on the fence” and a reminder that everything important happens nearby, in plain sight, in a shared space. It is on this fence that a touching inscription in chalk appears: “K + N = love” — a naive, almost childlike gesture that becomes the main storyline.
When everyone is at the same table
The climax of the play is the scene of the communal feast. All the characters are at the table — singing, drinking, giving toasts. And this is why you should go to the theater: the viewer stops being just a spectator. The actors come into the audience, invite for a slow dance, suggest making a toast to Kolya. The viewer does not just watch, but participates: laughs at Philip Makarich’s toast, sings along, feeling like part of this noisy company.
The director masterfully controls the emotions: just as everyone has started singing, the lively “Oysya, ty oysya” plays, and the audience is filled with a sense of unity. But immediately after, without transition, a dramatic scene unfolds between Kolya and his beloved Natasha. Laughter just sounded—and suddenly silence, broken lines, and ambiguity. Miller doesn’t let any one emotion linger, forcing us to experience both joy and pain almost simultaneously.
Voice of the production
The ability to switch the viewer between joy and drama does not stem from directorial calculation. It is rooted in Vladislav Miller’s personal experience. He was born in 1999, when the first version of “Star Hour by Local Time” was successfully playing on stage. He experienced the 1990s as a child in a small town in the Tver region. “The 2000s in the provinces were hardly different from the 1990s,” says the director. “All social types surrounded me since childhood. I know what provincial love is, how people rejoice for their neighbors.”
Therefore, Vladislav Miller consciously moves away from the criminal aesthetic: “We wanted to tell not about devastation, but about the warmth and love of that time.” He adds: “A performance truly comes to life only after meeting the audience.” This means that the final meaning arises only when the hall engages in the action: singing along, dancing, laughing, experiencing. Perhaps this is the key difference from the 1992 version, when the performance was structured differently, and the fourth wall (the conventional boundary between the stage and the audience, which is not traditionally crossed in classical theater) was much stronger.
The lead actor Yegor Manakov recalls: “When I found out that I was going to play a role that Evgeny Mironov had performed, I watched his work, held my head, and simply didn’t know what to do.” But during rehearsals, the theater’s artistic director Vladimir Mashkov advised Yegor: “Go through your nature, through breadth and sensitivity.” Yegor Manakov followed the advice and found his own Kolya — not the impetuous one like Evgeny Mironov’s, but soft, almost vulnerable. His deception arises not from cunning, but from a desire to be needed. “You must not be afraid to dream, not afraid to love, to live, not afraid of your actions, but be aware of what you say” — this is how the actor himself formulates the main idea of his character.
Each actor found something very personal in their character. Igor Petrov, who plays the role of Filipp Makarych, admits: “I immediately told Vlad that I really wanted to play this particular character. Because I clearly remember that 1992 play. I remember the incredible happiness I felt seeing it. I liked everything there, all the roles were masterful. But for some reason, Filipp Makarych, played by Aleksandr Aleksandrov, stuck with me the most.” Igor Petrov had a personal connection to this character: as a child, he lived next door to a photojournalist for the local newspaper who taught the boy how to take pictures and invited him to lunch. “I had a similar reference for the play,” the actor recalls. “Back then, as a young man, I didn’t always understand what my photographer neighbor was talking about. But now I understand more and more.” This childhood experience helped Petrov find in the character not feigned wisdom, but a calm human authenticity.
When the “Local Time Star Hour” is over
The play begins with Kolya carrying a bouquet of hydrangeas to Natasha. This tender, almost childlike gesture sets the tone, and when, after the finale of the performance, the audience steps into the theater courtyard, those same flowers in the flowerbed no longer seem just part of the landscape. They become a reminder of the touching story that the audience has just co-authored.
The performance will be shown on September 19 and 27, October 11 and 25. Tickets can be purchased on the service “Mosbilet”.
Learn about performances, concerts, exhibitions, and other interesting events on the official channels of “Mosbilet” on “Max” and “Telegram”.
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