A man moving along a quiet street remains almost invisible, his demeanor quietly refined. Peter Casablanca is recognized as one of the era’s most influential actors across Spain and Europe, a performer whose presence on stage never erases his own identity, yet invites the audience to glimpse another self for a moment. In the theater, the crowd sits in anticipation as the production unfolds under Xavier Albertí’s direction, accompanied by a pianist who heightens the mood. Amid the music and the movement, the audience reaction sharpens into a cheerfully sardonic exclamation: “Disgusting!”
The monocle becomes a prop and a symbol, a visible fetish that rides with Casablanca as if it were a stage accessory that both defines him and dissolves into the character. The gleaming circle, paired with white gloves, underscores his role as Valle’s biographer on stage. In this setup, Casablanca is simultaneously a writer, a biographer, and a spectator, savoring the music and watching the dance as though he has inhabited these figures for years. This fusion creates a singular, almost timeless presence in the show.
When audiences first encountered him, the theater crowd laughed at the way Casablanca wove these roles into his script. Yet he also drew the spectators toward the profound core of the piece, a theatrical translation that lasts just over an hour. It feels as if the author, the actor, and the work emerge together, inseparable and mutually dependent.
Casablanca spoke about his interpretation and his view of the theater in a conversation held at a historic Madrid hotel. He arrived with his wife, dressed in dark attire, carrying a briefcase of papers and a monocle matching the one used on stage. In attendance was actress Sara Illa. He noted that his twelve-year-old son, Unax, already recognizes many of his father’s roles, having heard rehearsals at home. The boy understands his father’s life for each character he portrays, including the languages involved in the performances. This shared moment framed the discussion from the outset, guiding the dialogue for the evening.
Q. Who are you now, not only on stage but as a citizen as well?
r. It is not easy to label oneself as ordinary. Ordinary is a trap. He is a family man, a husband, a bourgeois gentleman who misses home and family, who loves his craft and relishes being recognized for his stage work, yet who also guards his privacy. He finds comfort in books and in the quiet of his personal life, which are essential to him.
Q. Of the fictional figures you have inhabited, which helped you most in understanding this life, something your son now reminds you of?
r. A great deal. His family has shared many roles with him as he created and rehearsed. Fortunately, his partner shares the same vocation, aiding in the process. Reading about Valle-Inclán and Gómez de la Serna, Casablanca lets a touch of Valle-Inclán enter the home and a hint of Gómez de la Serna into daily life, continually revisiting the texts he embodies at Spanish Theater. His son listens and seems to understand the performance’s delicate moments, even when passages arise in translation into Catalan. Some characters remain with him, especially Valle Inclán, shaping his approach to art, poetry, and literature.
He does not relish masking his voice or hiding behind a persona; his aim is to capture the character’s essence and blend it with his own. He does not love a self-centered stage presence, yet he shows up—consistently.
Q. What do Valle-Inclán and Gómez de la Serna contribute to the characters?
r. They bring a great deal. There is an era that cannot be shed. The figures enrich him—the material, the body, the voice, the soul. He does not hide behind a mask; he merges the essence of the figures with his own. He performs not to boast but to offer a truthful presence on stage, always appearing, even when authenticity demands a struggle.
Q. What confirms him as an actor and as an individual?
r. Experience matters. He keeps working, collaborating with talented professionals who teach him much. As a person, he sees himself as an empty vessel that must be filled by the character or the craft, a sentiment echoed by the great Vittorio Gassman. This openness to growth may or may not guarantee a better performance, but it keeps him alive on stage.
There is humanity in the craft and a sincere interest in culture among those who once stood on the stage and are now missed. Today, meetings with actors often feel like press conferences that quickly vanish—how that era is remembered remains a source of longing.
Q. The work recalls an interwar moment that was hard to endure and is now difficult to interpret. How did he feel reading the text in this light?
r. It was a complicated era, and the present carries its own complexity. On one side, there is humanity within the performance, and on the other, a cultural reverence from those who stood on stage and are overlooked today. Their gatherings have become press events, and nostalgia for that time is undeniable. A Granada grandmother who studied Lorca introduced him to culture, yet the landscape today feels different. Public curiosity for culture seems diminished.
Q. Do the two characters free him to remain himself in both lives?
r. Yes, as noted earlier, an emotional mother and a rational father shape him. Their forces collide within him, and he has learned to navigate them. The audience should come to him, not the other way around. He does not intend to overwhelm, but he speaks his mind when necessary.
Q. How did he prepare the identities of the two characters he created for himself?
r. With a clear understanding of the figures and anticipation that he would bring something new to the stage, including song. Gómez de la Serna offers vast creative freedom, a chance to appreciate a writer who was also an actor. Portraying Valle Inclán without caricature presented a meaningful challenge. The aim was to reveal the spirit of the characters rather than hide behind a mask.
Q. How is the alien spirit conveyed?
r. It unfolds on stage every night through imagination, emotion, and disciplined reflection. Valle Inclán’s arrogance surfaces only when the moment is right. Rehearsals are not where it lives; it emerges in the performance itself.
Q. How does he feel when the audience applauds?
r. A deep sense of satisfaction, a gratitude that comes from the moment itself.
Q. He interprets not just characters but a historical period as well.
r. The theater itself guides him. El Español is a stage where Valle Inclán, Lorca, and Echegaray linger, and feeling that space helps him reclaim the energy those figures left behind.
Q. What inspires him today?
r. He avoids pessimism. Yet a memory from a World Cup era stays with him: stepping out after a play to see patriotic displays around Lorca’s statue, a moment that stirred nostalgia and a sense of dehumanization in a world full of plastic and consumerism. Still, the spirit of the characters remains light, playful, and timeless, offering balance and a reminder to keep humanity in view.
I share this view with a gentle, steady optimism—an Olympian gaze that looks beyond time and space with a wink and a smile. The two characters welcome that outlook, making it easier to inhabit them on stage. The monocle, in this sense, becomes a tool to observe the world through a softened, artistic lens.