Jordi Banacolocha: "I was leaving Pegaso to go record 'Nissaga de poder'"

BarcelonaEvery show could be Jordi Banacolocha's (Barcelona, ​​1944) last, if it weren't for the fact that he's always called back. In the second half of his life, the actor has become a fixture of Catalan television and theater, with films such as Outsiders, Coriolanus, August, BarcelonaAt 81 years old, he will be on the stage of the Teatre Borràs every night for almost four months with the unbeatable comedy Front and back, a play celebrating forty years in our country. We spoke an hour before the premiere.

Are you still nervous?

— Yes, of course. And the day they don't exist, it's bad business. Before we even start, even if it's the 125th performance, there's something going on [pointing to his stomach], butterflies. Because if you don't, it means you don't give a damn, and that's not how theater works. Come on, I've always had nerves. I hide them more or less, but you have them.

Did you imagine yourself on stage at 81?

— I don't know why I'm still on stage. It always depends on when they call you and what they propose. I'm currently retired, so at the end of the month my pension expires, and I have my basic needs covered. Now I have the advantage of being able to say no. They've never called me to do anything shitty, whatever, but if there's one thing I'm really lazy about... When this one ends, which will be mid-January, if they called me to do something else, I think I'd say no. If it were a profession I could choose, I'd do one play a year, for three months, and then do nothing for the next nine months.

Is it a physical or memory challenge?

— Not that, we're trained. What bothers me most is leaving my family. On weekends or Christmas Day, when I'll be leaving at five, that's really hard for me. I didn't have any trouble before.

You started doing amateur theater at a very young age.

— Yes, I was 8 years old, with the Pastorets, like most actors in Catalonia. From the age of 14, I was already playing roles. The director of the Casal de Sant Andreu was my father, but he never gave me roles because he said he had to study. My father, when he did comedy plays, I found them very funny; he had a great sense of humor. There was a time when he had a health problem and stopped directing for a year. That year, a young man took over, the young heartthrob of the company, and he gave roles to everyone who never appeared. And from then on, when my father returned, he was forced to give me roles from time to time.

That's seventy years of theatrical career. I don't know if anyone in Catalonia has had that much of a career.

— And ever since I can remember, I'd been going to the theater every two weeks to see my father, in row three. Don't miss it, putting on a play every two weeks meant they only had six or seven rehearsals, with a prompter, of course. Of course, it could have bored him, but no: I was hooked.

After Casal came the era of Antifaz and the founding of the company L'Ou Nou, with people like the Lucchettis, Lurdes Barba...

— From amateur theater, we moved on to the independent theater that emerged after Franco's death. We began to create more ambitious theater, with a more social focus, trying to make theater serve more than just entertainment. And with L'Ou Nou, it went very well, because most of that group ended up becoming professionals: Roser Batalla, Carme Abril, Norbert Íbero, my brother in production...

Does amateur theatre create special actors?

— No. Where I do see a difference is between actors who have done theater and those who only do television or film; there's something different. Amateur theater is a school, obviously. And if you're lucky enough to have fairly good directors who give you space and help you, I think it's like going to the Institut [del Teatre]. I lack technique, breathing, voice placement—I don't have all of that, but I get by.

How was the transition to professionalization? Because few people know that you worked at the Pegaso factory for forty years.

— Until 2001.

It's amazing.

— This is very stupid, on my part. If I were born again, I wouldn't do it again. I went through a very bad time. From 1988 to 2001, I did theater, television, and Pegaso. With Nizaga of powerI would go out two or three days a week to go record. It was deadly. I was so nervous. When I was on television I suffered because I had to be at Pegaso; and when I was at Pegaso I suffered because I had to go to the theater. I can't. For a time, my boss was in Madrid and he would arrange it for me: if I had to go to Madrid, I would tell him that Monday was fine because I didn't have a show. But there was a time when the people in charge were Italian and I had to go to Turin, and they weren't giving a damn, they didn't know that I did theater and they didn't care at all. The hardest thing was one Monday morning when I went to Vilafranca del Penedès to record two sequences of Nizaga of powerI took a plane, went to Turin, had a meeting on Monday night and a meeting on Tuesday morning, took a plane at noon to Milan and at 8 p.m. I was at the Romea to do some theater. You can't do this. The nerves you go through... I thought: "The day they hire me, well, that's it. And if they don't hire me, well, look, it's a bargain!" But I've had many nightmares because of it. The day I left Pegaso, when I walked out that door of the Zona Franca, I was the happiest man in the world. My wife and children were waiting for me: "Finally, you're messing things up here." Look, I'm not complaining about what I did. I think I've given the best performances of my life at Pegaso.

Why did you start working?

— I wanted to do theater, not study. My father worked at Pegaso and made me go to apprenticeship school. Neither he nor I knew the Institut del Teatre existed. In my class, four or five students were taken to go to the computer science department, which in 1964 was working on crutches. If I had been in the workshop, I would have had to leave much earlier, because it was so bad.

The difficult thing is that he combined the factory with acting for so long.

— At 7:00 a.m. I'd go into Pegaso, but that doesn't mean I was already on the field at 7:20. I'd come back when I'd finished. If I'd been recording all morning, I'd stay until 10:00 p.m. If I was doing theater and we left at 12:00, I'd go back to the Zona Franca to do the work I hadn't been able to do either in the morning or in the afternoon. I mean, I was doing the work. I was the head of IT in Barcelona. My bosses didn't see me, and those who worked with me forgave each other and did each other favors.

This situation must have influenced him as an actor.

— I don't know how I did it. Something very strange happened to me: on normal days I would work from 7 a.m. to 3 p.m. and leave work with a foggy head, but after an hour of rehearsing I would feel rested. The change of job gave me some rest; it wasn't a physical problem, it was a mental problem. When they caught me doing Mr. Esteve's auca To open the National, they told me "we'll rehearse in the mornings," and I was about to say I couldn't. But there were others who couldn't either, and they moved the rehearsals to the afternoon. They saved me. I was always on the brink of collapse. But they didn't like me... Well, they kicked me out, but it was agreed upon. They bullied me, but it was already fine with me being bullied. They put me in a corner and ended up coming with an offer, and we reached an agreement.

But where does this loyalty to work come from? Had it been instilled in him?

— Yes. And I delivered, I did my job. I invented flexible hours! With cell phones, it would have been a lot easier. My world was one lie after another. Now I enjoy it much more. For me, any sequence was fine, because it had to happen. The day I was able to be there, and if you want to screw it up 30 times, we'll do it 30 times, damn, I won. I'm sure I took a significant step forward as an actor.

What marked a turning point in your professional life? The offer from Sergi Belbel?

— Sergi Belbel made that happen. He came to see me doing The art of comedy in the SAT. I was looking for an actor my age to play an old man role in The daughter of the sea, at the Romea. And I don't know who told him there was an actor who did professional things but hadn't changed yet. And he came to see me. I swear I didn't believe it, because he was probably 24 or 25 and had such a... foreign hair. I thought: "They'll give you The daughter of the sea "To Romea!" I said yes to shut him up, but I swear I thought I'd never see him again, that boyfriend. This was in '92, and it changed everything.

He made the leap around the age of 50.

— It was the last jump. I am very good friends with Joan Bas, one of those who revolutionized Catalan television, with whom Poblenou and the first series. He's from Sant Andreu and was from L'Ou Nou, and he's the one who started giving me work in television. From 77-78 I was already doing professional things in television. In 1982 I made Peer Gynt at the Romea, directed by Francesc Nel·lo, and I had a great time there. I got the itch, that way of working more intensively, with more time, that was what I wanted to do. It was very progressive.

But at forty-something years old, was Belbel already making him act old?

— I must have done 20 or 25 plays with Sergi; we're friends. So I wanted a young actor who would have energy, despite playing an old man. I have a recording of this play, and I walk around hunched over, like a hunchback, to play an old man. Of course, I must have been 48, and now I'm 81, and I don't walk like that! From that day on, whenever Sergi messed up a play with an old man, I'm there. I'm always the oldest in the company, and I always have to play the older role.

The grandfather of Mr. Esteve's auca of Rusiñol, the grandfather of The summer Goldoni's, from Saturday, Sunday and Monday by De Filippo... In a prologue he defines him as "the national grandfather of Catalonia".

— He says so! Joan Borràs could be one too, but he's retired. I've done a lot of grandparents, that's true. I've been very lucky. Because sometimes it doesn't depend on quality, it depends on the luck of being chosen or being on the agenda of a working director, like Sergi. Since 1990, I've done one or two professional plays every season. That's a stroke of luck. And I've worked a lot at the National Theatre, it's true.

Which three roles do you keep?

— Mr. Esteve's auca, the National premiere [on September 11, 1997]. That day I was nervous about saying, "Where can I escape? I'll leave and you'll do it." Everything was new, you didn't know what would happen, what would work, what wouldn't work. And I loved the character because I had seen my father play it in Sant Andreu, I had seen Pau Garsaball play it, who was my idol, and for me it was a challenge. I really liked the old man in Saturday, Sunday and Monday, because he was a lovable, authentic character, one of those sweethearts who touches you and you say, "Enjoy!" And there have been others. I had a great time in a relatively successful play called We're not having dinner today., a very funny play by Jordi Sànchez that we performed at the Condal. It's one of the times I've been least nervous doing theater, because it just came out naturally.

Television has also always been present in his career. First with The Rovira kitchen in 1993-1994. Shortly after came the phenomenon of Nizaga of power, which must have given him popularity.

— Nizaga, yes. It was that strange feeling when they see you on the street and they say to you "You are the one Nizagaor they ask you for an autograph. And then, what still haunts me now is Dirty dishes. He must have made eight or nine episodes of that series, at most, but they screwed up so often that it remains in people's minds. And we really had a great time making that series. I played a father. hippie del Lopes. He was such a stupid, beastly character.

And the third popular series would be Ventdelplà.

— Yes, I came on for the second season to play an episodic character. This happens a lot in television: you come on for an episode, it works, and you stay; you come on supposedly for a long time, it doesn't work, and they kick you out. When we started Nizaga of power The plan was also to make one season. If they'd told me it was two and a half seasons, I might have said no. At first, the farmhand didn't have much influence; he was the adoptive father, but later he had to go and record two or three days a week. They were important series, very important for the language, too.

He always has to play the good guy, doesn't he? Would he have liked to play the bastard?

— Yes. I've played a villain before. A few years ago in Let the actors be blown upIn Gabriel Calderón's film, I played a character who was very negative, very stupid, very beastly, and they selected me for the Critics' Award, so I couldn't have done that badly.

Do you have any theatrical challenges left to accomplish?

— No. What they call playing King Lear? No. I like doing things like this now [pointing to the stage]: not-too-long, thankful roles... Front and back Look how many times they've played him, and this character has been played by actors I know, and I would have liked to play him. When they proposed it to me, I thought it was one of the things I had left to do.

He's not a big fan of pedigree classics, as far as I can see.

— I take them all the same, and besides, in the long run it's the same. The hardest ones are the comedies. The gag. Making people laugh is much harder than crying. I've done plays from the universal repertoire, I've done two Shakespeare plays, I've done everything, all the well-known authors. I had to do a Beckett play, and a couple of years ago Sergi hired me to do Endgame with a very funny character.

And the cinema?

— This is definitely a pending issue. I would have really, really liked to make films, but when I could have started, I was working at Pegaso. I couldn't go to Madrid to work. And then, film directors don't even know I exist. I've been in nine or ten films, and that's it. But yes, it's a world I haven't touched, and I'd really like to.

Is it true that you never go on stage without a bottle of cologne or a scented handkerchief in your pocket?

— Yes, I always carry it. I have claustrophobia, and there was a time when it was very serious and it started to get to me on stage. When I didn't have to speak and couldn't leave the scene, I had a bad time. It must have been around '71. A girl in the company told me to soak cologne in my handkerchief and when I got over it, smell it. And it worked out quite well. So instead of the soaked handkerchief, which would wet my pocket, I put a small bottle on it. And now I still carry it, but it's more of an anecdote.