Pedro Alonso’s early screen work appeared on Galician television, with titles like Maridos e mulleres and Pedro Casares. His breakout came with the series Big Hotel, where he played the archetype of the antagonist. Soon after, he assumed another dark role as an angel in Berlin Money Robbery, a performance that propelled his fame across the globe. When Netflix released the prequel Berlin, his character was reframed as a white-collar thief and a relentless pursuer of love. Through Berlin, Alonso reveals a deep-seated passion for art and culture, and he also embraces a spiritual discipline that centers on meditation, helping him navigate fame without losing grip on reality.
Berlin has little to do with La casa de papel.
It’s a different universe, a separate galaxy of storytelling. If this were the metaverse, there could be several Berlins with shared DNA, yet each would inhabit its own tone and style. For Alonso, painting is a steady companion during shoots, and he notes that a fresh look at his artwork often reveals that Berlin’s energy sits in a different dimension altogether.
So how did the series influence your painting? If La casa de papel was the Picasso of a blue era…
The initial month of filming took place in a Paris apartment where the walls were covered in color, with simpler lines and less information. As filming expanded, the palette widened and the approach grew more expansive. Alonso emphasizes the need for a true prelude, acknowledging moments of over-the-top comedy and romance. The man in the story is a master manipulator and an absolute, unspeakable emotional terrorist who believes in the purity of love. Stylistically, the process was highly stimulating and incredibly intricate.
It’s easier to be the textbook bad, right?
There is no ease when one seeks soul. The path may appear simpler at times, yet the trajectory of style and tone kept evolving: it becomes younger, lighter, brighter. Each phase of the series feels like a different story, yet the character remains compelling and continues to provide opportunities for growth.
They resisted killing him in La casa de papel. He appeared in flashbacks, cultured, refined, hedonistic… This is how Berlin is portrayed, a sensational blend of theft and romance.
Indeed. Alonso often surprises himself by reaching moments of such quality. The paradox lies in the character’s indecision, which contributes to a sense of magic because it keeps audiences guessing.
That Berlin was a psychopath, but this one is very toxic. The danger persists.
Fans crave resolution, but the character remains ill. Yet, other values persist within him, enriching the narrative. The dynamic is playful yet dark, and the audience is drawn into a battle of wills that tests loyalties. There are moments when Berlin’s grip feels unshakeable, and then it falters, inviting the audience to wonder what comes next.
“My character is an emotional terrorist who truly believes in the purity of love.”
Recording in Paris wasn’t a vacation, even if it might have looked so, because the creators constantly change everything. There is no room for relaxation.
The team works with relentless intensity. Álex Pina’s process relies on extensive preparation, and when everything is ready, radical changes can be unleashed on set.
Isn’t that stressful and thrilling at the same time?
Absolutely, especially for the production crew. Ideas can erupt unexpectedly and spark real drama. Having collaborated with the team for years, Alonso felt trusted and pushed. He learned that when a path seems impossible, a new door often opens. On a bridge scene that echoed Marlon Brando in Last Tango in Paris and a street used by Christopher Nolan for Inception, the shoot proved one of the most demanding experiences, yet it also felt like a dream from the countryside where he grew up.
What did working with younger performers bring to the project?
The experience reinforced the idea that a talented young actor can anchor a show. Opportunities can be scarce, but the right tools help navigate tough moments and bounce back from setbacks. Alonso cites a memorable moment on the Berlin set, where a cheerfully defiant energy met practical resolve.
It’s pure Berlin. He is so sadistic…
The mood is playful with a sharp edge. Berlin’s cruelty is balanced by a hunger for the earliest emotional spark, sometimes pushing the limits of toxicity and deceit to feel authentic.
And for love. His obsession with a woman jeopardizes the robbery, and this is not the only case.
If La casa de papel echoed Anglo-Saxon heist films, Berlin dares to reimagine the mythology of romantic attachment. The clichés of romance are challenged, and the performance leans into a fearless, provocative energy. The bond between old and new collaborators deepens the intrigue, including a reunion with Tristán Ulloa after forty years apart. The shared history adds a layer of emotional resonance to the production.
I heard you worked with a school friend on set.
A professional moment arose when Alonso shared the stage with Tristán Ulloa, his schoolmate. What began as a playful encounter matured into a long-awaited collaboration, spanning decades and culminating in a powerful on-screen connection.
That encounter must have left a lasting impression.
It was a real-life spell of timing. Surviving in the industry after so long underscores the fragility and resilience of the craft.
The magic is also in the moments when they sing Felicità, like Romina and Al Bano.
The playful exchanges and inside jokes—the Almina and Robano reference, the Bella Ciao moment—helped shape the on-screen energy. Alonso recalls not knowing many songs at first but finding a way to connect with the score, eventually recording live for the premiere after studio work. The blend of music and performance became a signature note for the show.
They are already a boy band in the making.
The joke lands with a touch of menace, as the ensemble radiates charisma that borders on eerie.
“The fame from La casa de papel came at a good moment, a time of personal growth.”
You’re a Renaissance man: actor, painter, writer…
All these tools exist to create. Meditation proved a powerful aid on the path to intuitive performance, while painting offers a tangible outlet. They are like grandmother’s advice—practical, comforting, and deeply personal. They function as channels that suit Alonso well.
He also wrote about a personal regression: a journey as a Roman.
Indeed. He directed a mini-documentary series exploring Mexico’s ancient world, seeking a connection through the perspective of grandmothers who honor nature and the world with reverence.
Did meditation help in managing the fame from La casa de papel?
It arrived at a favorable moment, aligning with personal work. He learned to keep distance when needed. Bermuda was an example of a place where boundaries mattered. Attention and balance were essential to prevent being overwhelmed. He maintained a balanced pace, staying active in some periods while stepping back in others, including publishing a book and pursuing various projects for health and well-being.
What kind of therapy would benefit Berlin?
Berlin is a man of extraordinary talents—quick, cultured, witty. Yet a shadow as large as a piano lingers. His ego can swallow everything if left unchecked.
I’m late to adapt it.
The challenge is that he lives inside fiction, a place that can drive someone to madness. Fiction fuels the energy, but it is not meant to relax anyone; it has a particular, rich narrative layer. A single drink might suffice, but two could tip the balance.
And I’ve been watching it.
(A light laugh.)
Credit: Interview