Oriol Grau: "Luckily I returned to Tarragona, because I was able to live with my husband for the remaining years."

BarcelonaOriol Grau (Barcelona, ​​​​1963) embarks, for the first time at the age of 61, on a theatrical monologue. Mom, the devil and me It is a journey through the actor's career that can be seen from May 16 to June 1 at the Sala Trono in Tarragona, and later in other venues.

Mom, the devil and me Will he discover the darkest side of Oriol Grau?

— It's a work of autofiction, a very current genre. It's a mix of things from my life—naturally, things people know because I had my moment in the media—and I add a certain amount of fantasy to give it more morbidity. It's still a vindication of theater, of how, if you have a strong calling, you pursue it despite the inconveniences and prohibitions. It's a plea for disobedience.

Did you encounter any difficulties?

— In my house, ever since my great-grandmother, everyone is a civil servant. And they made me go through the process: "First pass the civil service exams, and then you can do whatever you want." And I was a civil servant for six years of my life, as an administrator in childcare. Not a very exciting job, you can tell me. I was already doing amateur theater, and the opportunity to become a professional in Barcelona suddenly appeared. And in the play, I play with a fantastical element that helped me get to where I am.

Does it have tolls, going against the flow?

— At home, I wasn't forbidden to do anything, but I wasn't paid anything; I made a living. Perhaps if I had been born into Montserrat Carulla's family, they would have understood, but I had to prove myself to them. And until television came along, they didn't have faith in me. Then everything changed. But the difficulties I faced aren't the ones I portray in the play. I had to invent a somewhat more grumpy mother, and it presents a more miserable current situation than it actually is, because it's funnier and because theater, if there's no conflict, doesn't exist.

It's you, Mom... and who is the devil?

— The demon Cobalt. I found him in the Amades custom. He's the patron saint of comedians and the impresario of the theaters of hell. He's a theatrical, deceitful, and playful demon.

Have you ever had any real demons, any fears?

— No, I'm not afraid. I'm not even afraid of making a fool of myself because it's part of my job. I've never been overly nervous. I get more nervous on my feet than on stage. On stage, I've rehearsed, I know what to say and what I have to do. And even more so if it's a comedy I wrote.

You were part of the initial El Terrat and that one Untitled from the mid-nineties that marked an era. You were also head of entertainment programs at TV3 [2008-2010], and then you left television.

— I think that was a good thing because we came from a rigid TV3 and we were scatterbrains from the south, and we were going with Primo from Zumosol. "Are you up for it?" I told Mònica Terribas two years later: "I'm going back to doing theater in Tarragona," because it's my world, I had my boyfriend...

Do you have a child?

— No, no! I've never wanted children in my life. My husband. Being a long-distance couple was uncomfortable, and I wanted to live with him. And it's lucky I did because my husband died six years ago, lucky I made that decision. If I had decided to stay in Barcelona now, I'd curse my bones because we had little opportunity to be together. Instead, I lived with him for the years he had left, and we didn't know it, because he died suddenly. But now, from a distance, I think: what a good decision.

Wow. What a lesson.

— Happiness comes from the people around you.

The work raises the question that the general public should be asking: what really happened?

— Perhaps it's strange to have a visible career and prefer a certain anonymity and continue working in a traditional way. It's incomprehensible. Should we always push the envelope? Well, no, sometimes it's about scaling back. It went well for me; it made me happier to return home, and I feel fulfilled doing theater, earning a modest but sufficient living, and I feel much more like myself. The world of management, production, and business isn't my world. I'm the only one of my colleagues from the beginning at El Terrat who didn't start my own production company. Perhaps it's due to management's lack of skill, because I was once a civil servant. Perhaps I'm a coward, if you will, but I'm an actor, and I want to be an actor first and foremost.

It happens to you that when you see the walls, you sing Walls of Tarragona?

— Of course, not me. But people who come to visit Tarragona sing it on the bus, I've heard. It was beautiful, but I don't get anything back. I don't even sing this song in the show, but I do sing other songs from that era. Iconic characters I've played do appear, especially from Ràdio Barcelona, ​​such as Godmother Josephine, Palomino, and Pere Elies.

Do real people appear?

— There's a tribute to Andreu Buenafuente, I talk about my theater groups, Fermí [Fernández], and Terribas. The eight years I sang in an orchestra are also mentioned. I like to laugh at myself because from then on I can screw everyone.

How did you experience the surge in popularity? I have the feeling that fame is unstoppable.

— Well, no, it was reversible; I've made it. I really liked this, being able to take the metro and the bus again. Nowadays, young people don't recognize me. My university students, aged 20 to 23, don't know who I am on the first day of class, and that makes me absolutely happy. On the second day, they already know who I am because their parents told them, and they come laughing, but it's much more civilized. In Tarragona, people no longer stare at me in restaurants while I'm eating.

I guess fame sweeps away all other facets of life.

— Yes. Working in television is exciting, and that's also a trap for self-exploitation, but for fourteen years, I didn't have a partner or make new friends in Barcelona outside of work. I didn't have time to socialize. As soon as I returned to Tarragona, I started dating a former student of mine from university, and we got married, and I savored the happiness that relationships bring.

After returning, you also joined Rovira i Virgili University as a professor of nonverbal communication and body language. In these 24 years of teaching, have you experienced a transformation at the university?

— Absolutely. The students' intellectual capacity has been dwindling. At the end of the course, I ask them for a five-minute monologue, and I realize that years ago they were more interesting and had more cultural references. They have no idea about very basic things. I also notice that they are increasingly obedient. In the early years, they questioned me; now, no one protests. The critical sense is lost. If there's a strategy to manage us like sheep, they're succeeding.

Is this new show part of your plan to do whatever you want?

— Yes. I do what I want, and I think this is true happiness. I've learned, after many years, that it isn't. I'm absolutely satisfied with my life.