Manolo Solo, the actor who was always there: "For a long time, I made my life miserable because I thought I deserved more attention."

When the RAE decided to remove the probably redundant accent that differentiated the adjective from the adverb 'solo,' it didn't take into account that one of the collateral effects (not necessarily damage) would be an actor with the surname (artistic, but a surname nonetheless) 'Solo.' Solo, in the case of the most disturbingly pure or purely disturbing (whatever you want) actor on the Spanish scene, serves equally well to indicate his solitude or his exclusivity, the strangeness provoked by a truly unique type or the helplessness of a name, and even a man, who needs nothing more to be named. Manolo Abandoned or Manolo and No One Else. "Manuel Fernández didn't seem like a suitable name to make it in the music world, which is where I wanted to make it when I was 17 or 18 with my band Relicarios. And I chose Solo. The fact that I was fatherless when I was 15 days old had an influence. Now, to be honest, I'm a little embarrassed. I find it quite childish. It's a very blatant way of attracting attention. Very puerile, and it's also ugly. The fact that Manolo rhymes with Solo is terrible. I remember that I once tried to change it. At least, to stop using Manuel. But there's no way. I also tell you that even if I had chosen Ziggy Stardust..." he says, taking a second and showing off: "I don't know if this whole surname thing hasn't ended up being a self-fulfilling prophecy."

His next film, which, depending on how you look at it, is also his last (or the penultimate), returns him to the screen with every possible accent and tilde. Both on the vowels and the consonants themselves. His work in Avelina Prat's A Portuguese Villa is as excessive as it is unique. And suddenly, this actor so long associated with so-called distinctive roles (or supporting roles, or, more humiliatingly, secondary roles) rediscovers himself, not for the first time, as an essential actor. And alone. Or Alone, with a capital S. As he already did, among other more than notable works, in Víctor Erice's Cerrar los ojos , this 60-year-old from Seville's Rochelambert neighborhood (although born in Algeciras) acts as a master of the subtle, a professor of the profound, the measured, the pure, and, as has already been said, the disturbing. Contrary to what is usually associated with him, we are not dealing with a dark and shady character, but rather, in his own way, a resplendent, resplendently shady one. He is a geography teacher, an expert in cartography, who one day, by chance, ends up replacing a gardener. And there he stays. The map and the territory. A nice reflection.

"I'm touched when someone sees the light in me. It's very common for casting directors, producers, or filmmakers to recognize a certain viscosity in me," he says. He continues: "Anyway, there are many ways to embody a luminous character. Light alone isn't interesting. In fact, darkness without nuances is more attractive than simply luminous... A luminous character with a dark side is beautiful. And a dark character who shows the pain that led them there and who can make you sympathize with them, even understand them, is also wonderful. What interests me are the shades; pure colors are useless. Being a comic book villain can be a lot of fun, but nothing more."

The speaker, who won a Goya for his character with a broken voice in Raúl Arévalo's Tarde para la ira ("It was a fluke. I didn't want to do it. In fact, a laryngologist advised against it because of the damage it could cause, but I ended up doing it," he recalls), has spent years fighting against others' perceptions of him and, more to the point, against himself. And he acknowledges it with all his rawness, because it is, as it is, a thing of the past. "I can't deny that for a long time I've made my life miserable because a part of me thought I deserved more. I lived with the desire to be discovered, for someone to notice me and say, 'I see something that others don't see.' And I also admit that on more than one occasion I saw it very close. I remember a script that Fernando Navarro offered me and that I was incredibly excited about. But it wasn't to be. There have been other cases, and with each hope, the fall has been greater. But I've also hardened myself and, in fact, I've ended up getting calloused. Let's say I've accepted it, at the time with a bit of resentment, but it's accepted," he confesses, referring to the verb "to confess," and he leaves it at that.

Be that as it may, the above no longer counts. Ahead of him, along with his gardener on a country estate in Portugal, awaits a not-so-brief appearance in El cielo de los animales (The Heaven of Animals) , directed by his old bandmate from Seville, Santi Amodeo, where he deals with, among other animals, a crocodile. "There are many arguments and a very deep relationship that includes everything: love, hate, and everything else. This is a film about reunion," he says of the director. And a step further is Anatomía de un instante (Anatomy of an Instant), the film directed by Alberto Rodríguez (another member of the Southern group) based on the book by Javier Cercas. In this one, he plays Gutiérrez Mellado, and to prove it, he takes off his cap and reveals a perfectly (or not so) shaved head. "It's fascinating. The story of a coup plotter who confronts the coup plotters; the story of a changed man who almost sacrificed himself in front of his peers for something he believes in, but which is precisely what he fought against at one point in his life," he comments.

That resentment I was talking about is far behind us. And much further back is the moment of his first acting job under no less than Steven Spielberg and Ridley Scott. For the former, he worked in Empire of the Sun and for the latter, in 1492. "Well, I was just an extra, but if you look closely, somewhat blurry, I'm in the background. With Spielberg, I played a Chinese man in a concentration camp. The next day I had another session and was already playing a European. The problem is that the night before, I got really drunk at the bar where I was working and I arrived late," he recalls. Film, in fact, came to Manolo Solo late. From the beginning, and still is, theater. "Then I did some short films ( Bailongas in 2001 was very successful), some television roles that my mother keeps the VHS of and they are embarrassing..." he says, and in the ellipses he leaves everything else, which according to IMDB's rough count amounts to almost 140 films. It's all that, plus the firm conviction of having done what I had to do. "Whenever I could afford it, I've refused to make films I didn't believe in... Titles? Well, I've turned down big projects recently... I won't say any more. They were expensive films that seemed to be successful, but I didn't see them coming..." It's clear.

He's even become a cardinal for 30 coins. What would Cardinal Santoro think of the conclave that's starting soon?

Yes, I think about it, and I see myself warming up to run... But anyway, everything we're seeing is what it is. It's a faith-based enterprise that now has to appoint a new leader. Honestly, and even though the Pope who just died seems like a sensible man to me, I'm still quite anti-clerical. The Catholic Church, like any institution in which man arrogates to himself the connection with God and sells it to others, is not for me. I'm not interested in anything. And then there's been a veritable invasion by all the media.

And with that said, Manolo Solo is leaving, having already made his mark. Alone.