Oriol Pla: "Everything has a price, and sometimes that price is loneliness."

BarcelonaThe last time we saw Oriol Pla Solina (Barcelona, ​​1993) he was receiving, wearing a blazer and looking radiant, the International Emmy for best actor for the series I, addictTwo weeks later, he appeared dressed in civilian clothes at the Casa Orlandai in Sarrià, friendly and talkative. This was the site of the Orlandai School, where he attended primary school. Later, neighborhood organizations and artists like his mother campaigned to have it converted into a community center; he even premiered his first original performance there. God isAfter the whirlwind, Oriol Pla is back in the theater: he's performing across Europe with Cliff, by Baró de Evel (this Christmas, at the Piccolo Teatro in Milan), for Catalonia with Throat and next year in Madrid and throughout the country with the now legendary Travy

How are you, after the award?

— Okay, I'm fine. I reconnect when I do interviews because I arrived, the next day we were in Castellar del Vallès doing a gig, it was a weekend of jet lag And for a break, I went to Manacor to perform and came back on Monday, I mean, it was a bit of a whirlwind, like a ball of pinball.

What's a post-Emmy party like? I haven't met anyone who can tell me firsthand...

— A disaster. By 1:30, everyone was heading home. Really? Isn't New York supposed to never sleep? The party was in a rooftop From those guys on the 42nd floor, and it was amazing. All of us who'd never been to New York were shouting the whole time: to the left was the Hudson River and you could see the whole city at night, there wasn't a single square meter that wasn't lit up by a window, the Empire State Building there, everything so iconic. And I was like, "Where do you dance here?" "No, no, you don't dance in Manhattan. You have to go to Brooklyn," which is like going to who-knows-where. I was super indignant. Really. diver Everything, but it's true that I was expecting something more...

After Emmy, you continue the tour of ThroatI guess that's the way to put it.

— Yes, it's about returning to your roots. Because if you don't have a home base, you can't just jump off and fly away for a while, right? It's great to come back and keep working on a show you've created with loved ones, going on tour, doing the most handcrafted, small-scale, and personal things, and being in front of an audience—it's really cool.

Do you think this award changes your status, your cachet, or the way the profession will view you?

— I think so, in a way. Or maybe not, I don't know. These accolades, in the art world, which isn't like the 100-meter dash where first place is first and that's it, I think they do help you gain more visibility. More cachet would be cool, honestly! (Laughs) It gives you a certain kind of capital. Some people say: wow, will this change your life now? I don't know. Maybe not.

Do you want me to change your life?

— I don't know. (Thinks) That would be cool, wouldn't it? But I'd really like to fly. Just today I was thinking a bit about: come on, what else? What else is there to do here? What can we do? Where can we go? I could change my life by saying... oh, I'm tired of this, and I'm going to do something completely different.

Do you have the option to escape at some point?

— I believe the door is always there; the question is whether you feel you have the right or the courage to open it or not. It's good to examine yourself from time to time, and it's good to let go, even if it's painful. Sometimes we can identify strongly with who we are for a long time, especially when we have external validation, and it's also good to reframe it or change the way you relate to it.

If you had to change your life, what would you like to do?

— I'd like to be freer, to break free from certain assumptions I take for granted, when they don't have to be. And it probably has to do with external validation, or with what I'm supposed to do. I'd like to free myself a little from myself. To connect deeply with what I'm passionate about and let that guide me. It's always exciting to discover new parts of yourself.

Some actors say that after winning a major award, it's hard to get good offers. Does that worry you? Are you afraid of the future, or are you just too young for that?

— No. Life is also a bit about how you choose to approach it; you can find the virtue in your current situation. I'm not afraid. I could be sad, because I'd like to work abroad, in English or French, because I've set expectations. But I try not to. I wasn't expecting any more gifts from... I, addictWe were filming the next movie with Javi [Giner], and just being nominated and going to New York was super exciting and super fun.

You really do convey a sense of freedom. And above all, of a fearless actor, because there's a courage in the way you give yourself over to it. I, addict either Throat...

— Fear and courage can coexist. I believe that courage is also a constructive response to fear. I try to be very free, I try to be as free as possible, and to be at my best. hereIt's incredibly complicated because I have so many possible futures, and the future is the realm of fear. The past, the realm of guilt. All the space I actually occupy, the space that's in my hands, is the present. I'm very afraid; I've traveled a lot with fear and tried to relate to it. The point is that I have to be the one in control. Fear can be here in the passenger seat saying, "Oh no, we're going to screw this up!" And I'm like, "No, wait, I'm driving. I'm going to take responsibility for this." I was very afraid, but I decided not to dance all day.

Ultimately, the fall into hell of I, addict connect with Throat: compulsive consumption, the banquet society that wants to have everything, existential dissatisfaction.

— They think they're so great. Throat It's a more personal journey. The essential gluttony being discussed is basically about escaping, seeking intensity, seeking external attention, and wanting the party to never end. Living in that excitement, because recovering and being in silence and emptiness is an anguish, a tragedy of living, an existential terror, which I experience. When I stop and such, I'm gripped by an existential terror that's like, "How powerful, how powerful, being alive," and yet, when I'm on horseback, life is wonderful. Something of this came from a more therapeutic journey of mine, and I wanted to explore this theme through the clown, the jester, and disciplines that have always interested me. I think I, addict It made me more discerning, because it helped me understand myself and my gluttony better. But it's not a consequence of the other; they are two stories that intersected and have many connections.

These are very contemporary themes, at the same time, this constant desire for more and wanting to be somewhere else.

— After I, addict I went to Indonesia. I'd always wanted to take a long trip, just me, for a month. As a teenager, I saw myself as some kind of adventurous wanderer, but in the end, I've become very attached to projects, many projects at once, and I sacrifice myself to be everywhere creatively. I wasn't aware that I'd spent a year and a half, and specifically five months, working at full capacity, giving my body, soul, psyche, everything, to a project, to a person, to... I was truly exhausted. I went to Indonesia. to connectAnd what I needed was to disconnect and rest. I found myself alone in a place with 17,000 islands, and everywhere I was, no matter where, it was awful, and something incredible was happening somewhere else. I couldn't enjoy where I was or decide where to go because I had to go through either grief or rest. I saw it very clearly there. Because you loved the process of self-analysis, and I, addict It's a fragmentation of the self to uncover the most intimate shortcomings, because it was a real blow for a month. I had a terrible time. In Indonesia, and I was a wreck!

Don't tell me it was the monsoon on top of everything!

— No, everything was incredible; it was me who was a mess. But little by little I found peace and ended up in a workshop on traditional Balinese masks, taught by a master who was the son of a master who had made forty masks for Peter Brook. In the midst of all that, I found theater, the mask, what speaks to me.

When you won the prize I had the feeling that everyone was very happy, there was like a shot of euphoria in Catalonia.

— Yes, yes. I've noticed it a lot. Strangers congratulating me from a place of pure joy, honesty, beauty, and generosity. I don't know who was saying, "Everyone wanted you to win, and everyone is so happy! You won, and we all won at once!" I think it has to do with trying to be consistent and honest.

One detail that you used Catalan in that setting was heartwarming, especially at a time when the language needs a boost of self-esteem.

— But it's not a demand that comes from the head; it's a consequence of the language of the heart. It made me iluo saying "Goodnight New York" and talking to Mom and Dad, and it made me iluo I also spoke in French to the people from Baró de Evel, who helped me so that I could do the filming.

I suppose the affection has to do with your family, being the son of Quimet Pla (linked to the founding of Comediants) and Núria Solina (of Germans Poltrona), who are beloved and respected artists, despite often having worked precariously and far from more institutionalized spaces. Your sister Diana told me that the family has been mythologized too much.

— Yes, it has been mythologized, because there are families or dynasties in the world of independent theater that are much more consistent, much more present, much more influential than ours. Ours was a bit more laid-back, very much a trap family, very much clogs and espadrilles. And you see the Escarlata, the Marduix, the Poltrona families; they are people who have generated influence and brought about change. My parents have been part of very powerful movements, and we have made a living from this. But it's good that these kinds of families, the people of the '70s, of this countercultural Catalonia, are getting some recognition, even if we sometimes look at each other with a sense of wonder.

But you contribute to the myth when you say that you and your father are part of the same gesture.

— Yes, I can't help it, that's just how it is. Everything I've learned is very much tied to a certain kind of upbringing. I've felt very fortunate to have that intangible heritage. I do things in film that my father tells me he doesn't know how to do. And I think it's wonderful: you've brought me this far, and I've gone that way. It's beautiful to give and pass the torch, to keep passing the ball.

We've been seeing you in the theater and in film for so long that we have a sense of familiarity with you. Legend has it that you came on stage clinging to your mother's breast.

— Yes, at the Tiana Theatre. I was performing with Vesper, a clown who had been part of the Poltrona Brothers, like Claret Papiol, who also recently passed away. I think he was dressed as a vicar and my mother as a nun. She was breastfeeding me when it was her turn to go on, and I can just imagine her reaction—she loved that—going out with the baby. It's a really cool, romantic anecdote to tell.

Did you act throughout your childhood?

— With full knowledge of the facts, from the age of 6 in 4 pieces of wood and a piece of paperAnd from there, in street performances like General Bum Bum In the street parades. You see your mom and dad, you go with the van, you sleep in the dressing room, you copy, and suddenly, at ten or eleven years old, they need a child for a TV movie. And then The heart of the cityA whole year. That was learning the technique. I have a great time watching theold school Work, whether you like what you're doing or not, and get into the habit of filming and filming. That's when I repeated a year because I wasn't going to school! I was filming, what a drag to go to school... (laughs)

As a child actor, you could have ended up doing a Macaulay Culkin.

— No, because it wasn't a hit as powerful as the one Macaulay made. I was 14 or 15, but I was clear that I wanted to stay for a year, two at most, but I didn't want to stay there. The risk would have been watching the child grow up and being stuck in that space.

The legend continues. With your high school friend and co-creator of the shows, Pau Matas, you used to spend your summers playing guitar on terraces along the Costa Brava and passing the hat.

— Yes, we'd meet in Plaça Catalunya with 5 euros each in our pockets, a tent, a small stove, a guitar, a backpack, and off we went! First stop, Blanes. Let's go! This street thing, so much fun, where you don't know what's going to happen but you more or less know what you want to happen. With a snout you wouldn't believe. It was a school for learning to sing and project. It was super exciting, super thrilling, we'd pass the hat, 17 euros!, and a bus ticket to go who-knows-where. I learned that street performance exists or could exist; it's an exchange that people can appreciate. It was really interesting because when you don't know where you'll sleep, your eyes open up much more, you see the space differently, and you have to connect with someone. When you did, suddenly they'd bring you two beers. Of course, we were 17 or 18 years old, we had a great time, and we did it four or five summers.

You always say that street theatre is home. Your signature style is related to your body; you have a very particular movement. Where does that come from?

— It comes from my father and fromslapstick, the Commedia dell'arteThe clown, the acrobatics, the poetics of movement. Comedians were anti-text and therefore relied on the body, which is a universal language. And then there's the love for great masters like Chaplin, Harold Lloyd, Buster Keaton, Marcel Marceau, Grock, George Carl, Charlie Rivel, and all those people who are pure magic. I'm fundamentally a mime, then a clown, and then an actor. My nature is mime.

You have managed to have a very unique career: your own theatre projects (God is, Travy, Throat) or very special (I never, Ragazzo, Odysseus, Cliff (from Baron of Evel) and in parallel you go to an island that your parents had never set foot on, which is the audiovisual world mainstream (Truman, Marline, Tell me who I am) and auteur film projects (Agustí Villaronga, Elena Martin, Mar Coll, Jaime Rosales). The film premieres this coming weekend. Emergency exit from a cult filmmaker but outsiderLuis Miñarro. How is that achieved?

— I don't know, but I have to tell you that I've wanted to be where I am for a long time, and about two years ago I realized it. I'm with a contemporary French circus company, I have my own show, I'm making cool films, and I haven't lost my own path, but I'm also involved in that. Within my fears, I've relied very deeply on myself, from a very quiet room in the attic: this is my home. I've trusted this a lot, I've been lucky with my family, to see the power of craftsmanship and authenticity in art, and I still strive to be more and more authentic. I take everything as an opportunity to learn. When I was lost in my teens, I didn't know where I was going, but I knew I was close to dance, acrobatics, the guitar... When I was studying for exams and suddenly I'd pick up the guitar and something would come to me, I'd stop studying and start playing the guitar, because I knew it was the guitar. And I repeated it twice, hey! But I was very clear about where I was going, and I threw myself into these things like someone jumping into the void. And I've ended up having a really beautiful journey, honestly, I was just listening to you and it's true.

It's amazing that you can do filming and maintain that theatrical pace, honestly.

— It's tough. I've also sacrificed a lot of my life and myself. And now I want to change my life, in the sense of structuring it differently. This has led me here; it was also a decision. But I've pushed myself to the limit by constantly going, because I want to be with everyone as much as possible, and then there's no room for myself. A friend told me this: "Uri, you've inspired us a lot and given us some really cool opportunities, but there are many of us who don't want to sacrifice what you sacrifice." It's true that you can lose your mind. Yes, it's possible, but everything has a price, and sometimes the price is loneliness or… I don't know. I look back and see that I invested a lot in being an actor. And many people have supported me and made it possible because they believed in me.

What does success mean to you?

— I think it's not about external circumstances, it's about how you relate to them. For me, it would have been a failure to be in New York and win, but to have had a bad time or been very nervous, not to have heard that I deserved it, and not to have enjoyed it. Success is having the ability to live peacefully through whatever life throws your way. It's about sleeping soundly and waking up in a good mood—everything that leads to that.

What do you feel like doing now? Where are you stopping?

— I have things lined up until 2027. My base camp is in Barcelona. I'm taking a bit of a look around now, too. I'm 32, and I feel like I've gone through a quarter-life crisis, which in my case definitely exists and has been quite long, a bit longer than I would have liked, and everything finally came to a head a couple of months ago. I've found a bit more balance and I feel like giving myself the space to say, "Okay, so what exciting adventure can I have now?"

And what do you answer?

— The other day I was with someone who had traveled around the world, and I was thinking, "Around the world, how cool." Building a house. With theater, you can do so many things! I'd like to surprise myself. There's also something about leaving familiar places: what would it be like to go to New York and start from scratch? I've spent many years sacrificing a lot and working very, very hard and beating myself up when things didn't go my way, suffering unnecessarily for a long time, never feeling like I was good enough, taking big risks, gambling a lot. And now I want to allow myself to celebrate, to dance, to meet with people, to laugh, and to do an hour-and-a-half interview, because otherwise, it's pointless. If you don't make space, it's impossible for new things to come in.