Duende and Showbiz: A Theatrical Odyssey Through Spain’s Soul

Spain doesn’t just welcome you; it grabs you by the collar, spins you into its whirlwind of color and sound, and dares you to keep up. Madrid sprawls with boulevards and architectural flourishes so magnificent they seem to wink at you, as if to say, “Yes, we are this fabulous, and no, you can’t afford any of it.” 

Then there is Seville, in the South, the sultry heart of Andalusia, where history lingers like the scent of orange blossoms, and the air is thick with the strum of distant guitars and the echo of heels striking cobblestone.

I made off to Spain to fling myself into Flamenco, the raw, guttural, earth-shaking duende that dominates the south—Cádiz, Granada, Jerez de la Frontera, and most potently, Seville. It isn’t just performed, it’s exorcised from the very depths of the soul, a deeply rooted cultural institution that demands a level of commitment bordering on religious devotion. You don’t just dabble in Flamenco. You either give yourself over to its unrelenting demands—its passion, its virtuosity—or you get the hell off the tablao.

Madrid, though? Madrid is the glam showbiz cousin. Yes, there’s incredible Flamenco, but there’s also a staggering volume of musical theatre, opera, and contemporary dance.  Now, I realize this is the kind of thing one should know—like knowing that water is wet or that Andrew Lloyd Webber is inescapable. Yet, up until six months ago, I had absolutely no idea that Madrid was the second-most prolific hub of Broadway-style musical theatre in Europe, just behind London’s West End. As my car sped from the airport to the hotel, I was blindsided by the sheer number of marquee lights blinking seductively from the streets—Book of Mormon, Phantom, Titanic, Come From Away, Aladdin—alongside original Spanish productions that are boldly redefining what theatre can be.

Madrid, it turns out, is a city that breathes performance. Every street corner hums with its rhythm, every theatre pulses with an audience hungry for spectacle. It’s dazzling.

The Spanish approach to musical theatre is something truly special, much like a beautifully executed Flamenco performance. It’s all about vulnerability, strength, emotional availability, and a vivid freedom to express very specific intentions with no apologies. This spirit is deeply etched into Flamenco, but it was equally palpable in the Spanish productions of The Book of Mormon and Gypsy that I caught—both of which left me giddy and a little emotional about my industry, which was frankly surprising.

These Spanish performers have more than competence—they’ve got soul. The technical aspects of their craft seem effortless, leaving the crucial part—the emotion—free to roam. There is fearlessness. No slick Broadway airs here; I felt invited to experience something raw and genuine. Compared to some recent Broadway shows, Some Like It Hot and & Juliet come to mind (both excellent productions when I saw them), which can sometimes feel like they “insist upon themselves” (to steal Seth MacFarlane’s Family Guy line), these Spanish performances feel like a true invitation to connect. In shows like these, the pressure to impress takes a backseat to the vital act of sharing a story.

Watching Broadway performances, I can’t help but feel there’s certain theatrical gymnastics happening back home—impressive, sure, but does it invite me in? Or am I just a spectator, watching the finalists flex their muscles for the judges? Musical theatre performers, like athletes, generate explosive and brilliant energy. Yet, inevitably, it’s about connection. When it works, the audience becomes part of the experience.

So let’s talk Flamenco. Over six weeks in Andalusia, I saw lots of it, from the caves of Granada to the more slick and professional stages of Seville—it’s all utterly mesmerizing. And yet, beneath the swirling skirts and searing wails, there’s a rhythm, a structure, a sacred ritual. Flamenco is part storytelling, part catharsis, part sanctioned public outburst. It is what you would get if tap dancing and an existential crisis had a baby and raised it on Spanish wine and heartache. The commitment required is absolute. And let’s be real: only a select few are graced by the diodes del baile with the innate ability to fully embody this art.

The tablao—that hallowed ground of Flamenco—follows a time-honored pattern, a method of learned and studied laws that have been passed down by the greats for the last two hundred years. The artists drift in and out of work like wandering minstrels, the finest among them tearing across Spain in a week, paid per gig, living for the moment, for the music, for the duende.

One performance in Seville, an electrifying display of artistry and mastery, was notable. At its heart was a Seville-based dancer, Juan Fernandez, possessing the magnetism of a movie star and the skill of a seasoned maestro. Of all the Flamenco performances I witnessed over my time in Spain, this one stood apart—raw, precise, and transcendent.

The lights came up on three singers and a guitarist, seated in a circle of chairs facing outward—one even turned upstage. Shadows and rich hues painted the stage, smoke billowing through the air. Then, the dancers emerged—two tall, striking figures in silhouette, male and female, like the Flamenco gods you see on tourist posters and souvenir magnets. As the lights rose, their feet took focus—cracking the floor with impossible speed, like rhythmic lightning. Technically masterful, magnetic, dangerous. They moved with the kind of chemistry you only see in a Fellini film—seductive, electric, larger than life.

For one hour, six geniuses set the stage on fire. The lead singer—formidable, fifty-something, owned the stage with nothing but her voice and the guitarist at her side. They sparred, teased, played—like two actors improvising the scene of their lives. Passion, argument, seduction. I found myself thinking, ‘And the Tony Award goes to…’.

Each performer took their turn like some divine emissary of chaos, conjuring entire universes in ten-minute bursts—erotic, combative, mournful, and laced with sharp wit, it could slice through the air itself. The tocaor (the guitarist) weaved a spell that bound them all together—first as a collective, then in electrifying solos. Watching them, you got the distinct impression that if the room were to spontaneously combust, they would simply weave the flames into the rhythm, stomping out embers in a frenzy of duende-fueled ecstasy.

Now to Madrid. The Spanish Book of Mormon—an absolute joy. While the Madrid production might feel more intimate than the Broadway original, it’s more than welcome. All the desired spectacle is in place; the comedy is in crisp-top shape and the performers look to be having the time of their lives. 

My first thought as I took my seat: Do the Spanish even have Mormons? Will they grasp what South Park maestros Matt Stone and Trey Parker are skewering? Spain does have a notable Jehovah’s Witness presence—door-to-door evangelists, strict doctrines, globe-trotting missionaries—so, in theory, the joke should land. But will it land with the full, glorious thud of satire intended? The answer is yes, absolutely. 

Alexandre Ars, towering at six-foot-six, owned the role of Elder Price. His presence is magnetic, commanding the stage with grace, intent, and emotional availability. He made space for me, for the audience, and his performance had a warmth I can’t quite describe. Alejandro Mesa, playing Elder Cunningham, was a masterclass in physical comedy—nuanced, sweet, and hilariously real. Their chemistry was undeniable, even if my lousy Spanish didn’t catch every line.

The African cast was spectacular—versatile and hilariously funny. Aisha Fay as Nabulungi was perfectly matched with Mesa’s antics, delivering a clear and powerful performance. 

Yet, there were moments where things didn’t quite land. Nil Carbonell’s Elder McKinley felt… overdone. A bit too broad, too lecherous, lacking that necessary subtlety. The male ensemble of missionaries, too, seemed to fall into the trap of generalization. They were all “gay” in the same way, and it felt like a one-size-fits-all performance rather than the more layered, repressed pseudo-theologians the characters are meant to represent. Still, these flaws didn’t dampen the fun. The production, fresh since 2023, is irreverent, joyous in it’s naughtiness, and a spectacular showcase of talent.

I attended opening night of Gypsy, directed by Antonio Banderas, and sat right behind the magnetic movie star now director at Teatro Nuevo Apolo. He developed this production at the Soho Caixabank Theatre in Málaga, a venue quickly becoming a hub for creative innovation with considerable help from him. Banderas is a force, thrusting Spain further into the global musical theatre spotlight—and it’s incredibly exciting.

The most important thing I can say about this Gypsy is that it pushes boundaries. Banderas takes this traditional title and introduces contemporary impulses that breathe new life into it. The show’s concept is intimate yet theatrical, blending emotional depth with spectacle. Banderas’s vision emphasizes a deep exploration of the themes of ambition, reflecting on what he describes as “the pathology of success.” His intensity permeates the production, which feels distinctly Spanish in moments—and why not? He’s speaking to a Spanish audience. His success shines brightest when his leading lady, a fiercely talented and committed Marta Ribera, shares dramatic moments with her co-stars, especially with the patiently seductive Carlos Seguí as Herbie. Their scenes, especially their final confrontation, are beautifully staged, full of subtlety and fire, given an extra kick by Banderas’ conceptual flair.

Lydia Fairén and Laia Prats bring fierce energy to the roles of Louise and June, electrifying the stage. These triple threats are allowed to transcend the original era and become 2025 versions of their historic characters. It is a departure from the 1930s vaudeville style, but it worked.

Banderas, however, undeniably provides the heartbeat of this production. He pushes the boundaries with quirky, contemporary touches—like the expanded “Let Me Entertain You” sequence in Act Two, which is re-imagined with Louise headlining a Liza Minnelli-like extravaganza. In this extended section, ensemble members morph into inflated Emcee-like roles. It’s funny, albeit a bit indulgent, and I assume culturally significant. However, with the costume design, I was reminded of another iconic musical with a titular emcee that shall remain nameless.

Some choices left me scratching my head. The set, a massive silver veil wrapping the entire proscenium, including the orchestra on a second level, is a big choice. The projections onto this luminescent shower curtain were often dazzling, but the reason for this bold choice escaped me. The costumes, mostly veering off-period, seemed intentionally conceptual, were often dazzling, but didn’t always land. Here’s my take: Mama Rose stays rooted in the vaudeville era, costumed impeccably for that period. The world around her is a cacophony of her present and future, something she refuses to step into. 

The orchestra, under the direction of Maestro Arturo Díez Boscovich, played this magnificent score on opening night with sublime splendor. Lush, vibrant, and perfectly executed, the music nearly carried the whole production on its own. The overture was stunning, adding beautifully to Banderas’ vision. Yet, in an ironic twist, the overture was overshadowed by choreography that felt more suited to a modern-day show choir than this iconic musical.

As much as I wanted to love the choreography, it just didn’t quite hit the mark. At times, it felt too contemporary and abstract for a piece so deeply rooted in its historical context. Aside from the strangely jejune overture, poor Tulsa, played by the talented Aarón Cobos, could’ve used more help in telling the broader story in his iconic number, “All I Need is the Girl.” This is a vital emotional crescendo for Louise as well as Tulsa, but it falls flat. There’s a lack of that delicate push and pull where one character’s brilliance enhances the narrative journey of another. It’s a missed opportunity.

Despite all this, the evening reminded me of the true purpose of musical theatre. It’s not just about spectacle or skill (of which there is an abundance) or making ‘correct’ choices; it’s about emotion, vulnerability, and connection. And when it’s done right, that’s the magic we all feel in the theatre—whether we understand every word. That’s what is happening here and thriving.

In short, Banderas’ Gypsy is a bold experiment that captures the essence of why we love theatre—its energy, its emotion, and its unpredictability. I had my quibbles, but there is no doubt that this is a thrilling time to be a part of Madrid’s artistic landscape, and the Spanish, recently with lots of help from Banderas, are most definitely leading the charge.

Spain, in all its theatrical, passionate, unapologetically expressive glory, has left its mark on me. From the raw, soul-shaking power of Flamenco in Seville to the dazzling musical theatre of Madrid, this country doesn’t just perform—it lives, breathes, and bleeds artistry. Whether it’s a single guitarist commanding a room with aching melodies or an entire ensemble pouring their hearts into a Broadway-caliber production, Spanish performers remind me why we tell stories in the first place—to connect, to reveal, to transcend. Here, theatre isn’t just entertainment; it’s an extension of life itself. And if there’s one thing Spain has taught me, it’s that art should never just be observed—it should be felt, fought for, and flung into with reckless, wholehearted abandon.

Some notes on Spain’s Acting Scene

Madrid. The pulsing heart of Spanish theater, where the scent of churros and chocolate mingles with the glitz and glamour of world-class theatre. The industry here is a passionate, unpredictable beast—brimming with opportunity, yes, but riddled with instability. Performers leap from stage to screen, juggling Shakespeare, Almodóvar-style melodrama, and the occasional detergent commercial just to keep the lights on.

From what I’ve gathered through old-school research and conversations with actors, Madrid’s acting schools aren’t just institutions; they’re artistic battlegrounds where actors are sculpted, shattered, and reborn. Whether you want to master classical theatre, embody raw emotional realism, conquer the screen, or defy gravity, there’s a training ground tailored to your brand of artistry. 

Incidentally, if you’re interested in studying performance in Spain and you are not fluent in the language—or the many dialects—of the Iberian Peninsula, I suggest diving into those language apps posthaste. And then take a formal course. While the British may revel in the elegance of their native tongue, the Spanish-trained actor is also a virtuoso of vocal expression, wielding their language with astonishing precision and power.

Formal Acting Schools & Conservatories in Madrid: 

A Theatrical Wonderland

From hallowed conservatories to avant-garde training grounds, Madrid boasts institutions that turn hopeful performers into genuine stars—sometimes with a bit of existential suffering thrown in for good measure. The competition is fierce, but it feels less overwrought and populated, more specific and focused, filled with those who truly belong, who are ‘Initiate’— in an environment where only the committed, the obsessive, and perhaps the unhinged survive.

RESAD: The Shakespearean Boot Camp of Spain

https://www.resad.es/

Let’s start with the Real Escuela Superior de Arte Dramático (RESAD), Spain’s version of Juilliard or RADA, where the walls ooze history, and you can practically hear the echoes of centuries of Spanish theatre legends yelling about fate and honor. This is where actors go to be properly forged in the fires of theatrical rigor, emerging with a predilection for declaiming Lorca monologues while sipping overpriced café con leche. RESAD specializes in classical and contemporary theatre, ensuring students can handle everything from Shakespearean soliloquies to brooding avant-garde absurdism.

The facilities match the intensity: multiple theaters, both indoor and outdoor, providing full-fledged performance spaces rather than just a dusty black box with a broken spotlight. The library is legendary, filled with plays, historical texts, and possibly a few haunted scripts. It is a place of discipline, tradition, and, if you make it through, prestige. 

While it’s best known for its rigorous classical theatre training, it also offers a specialization in Musical Theatre. This is where the academically inclined Ariana DeBose wannabe goes, where you’ll analyze the historical evolution of musical theatre in the morning and belt out a Sondheim ballad in the afternoon.

Cristina Rota: The Rebel’s Playground 

https://escuelacristinarota.com/

If RESAD is the polished grand dame of Spanish theatre training, then the Escuela de Interpretación de Cristina Rota is the rebellious rock star in ripped jeans and a leather jacket. Known for its intensive Meisner-based training, this school pushes actors toward emotional authenticity, raw vulnerability, and the occasional existential meltdown.

Forget the grandiosity of RESAD—Escuela de Interpretación de Cristina Rota is raw, intimate, and probably smells a bit like sweat and ambition. This place isn’t about fancy buildings; it’s about emotion, technique, and stripping your soul bare in front of your classmates. Minimalist black box theaters, because who needs elaborate sets when you ARE the drama?

Cristina Rota’s alumni list reads like the Spanish version of an indie film festival lineup—including Paco León, who became a household name for his comedic genius, and Juan Diego Botto, who juggles theatre, film, and social activism. And then there’s Penélope Cruz who graced the halls of this institution before charming the world with her undeniable talent and Pedro Almodóvar-approved magnetism.

Instituto del Cine Madrid: The Hollywood Gateway 

https://www.institutodelcine.es/

For those who prefer the buzz of film sets over the scent of dusty velvet curtains, the Instituto del Cine Madrid is your best bet. Specializing in screen acting, camera techniques, and making sure you don’t awkwardly blink at the wrong moment, this school prepares actors for the wild world of film and television.

Who trained here? Many of the actors working in Spain’s booming Netflix and HBO España productions have passed through its doors, and while they may not yet be household names internationally, they are steadily climbing the ladder of cinematic fame. The school’s real strength is industry connections, making it a top choice for anyone on the film and television trajectory.

Juan Carlos Corazza: The Mind-Bending Masterclass 

https://estudiodeactuacion.com/en/home/

If you’re looking for something a little more esoteric, a little more soul-searching, and potentially life-altering, welcome to the Juan Carlos Corazza Studio. This isn’t just actor training; this is an odyssey into your own psyche. It’s a Stanislavski-Meisner-movement-infused pilgrimage, and those who survive it emerge as acting titans with an almost eerie emotional depth.

Javier Bardem, Spain’s finest growling, brooding, scene-stealing Oscar winner trained here. If it worked for him, maybe there’s hope for the rest of us mere mortals. 

Musical Theatre Training

Musical Theatre is an industry that’s exploded in recent years, with Madrid establishing itself as the Broadway of the Spanish-speaking world, producing everything from Sondheim to original Spanish-language mega-musicals. But where do these triple-threats-in-the-making hone their craft? Let’s dive into the musical theatre training grounds of Madrid—places where singers become storytellers, dancers learn to act, and actors learn, well, to count to eight.

Escuela de Teatro Musical Memory: The Broadway Bootcamp

https://www.escolamemory.cat/ca/

If RESAD is the hallowed temple of theatre, Escuela de Teatro Musical Memory is the sweaty, fosse-walking rehearsal studio where the magic actually happens. This school is entirely devoted to musical theatre, meaning you won’t have to sit through a lecture on 17th-century Spanish drama before launching into a full-throated rendition of "Defying Gravity." Here, it’s all about technique: voice, movement, acting, and most importantly, stamina—because if you can’t belt through an eight-minute dance number, are you even a musical theatre performer?

The school’s facilities are state-of-the-art, with professional dance studios, recording spaces, and performance venues that make it feel more like a working theatre than an educational institution. The training is full-throttle, preparing students for the grueling reality of eight-shows-a-week contracts.

Scaena: The Contemporary Powerhouse

https://scaenaartesescenicas.com/ 

Scaena, founded by the illustrious Carmen Roche, is another serious contender in Madrid’s musical theatre scene. With a faculty stacked with industry professionals and a curriculum that blends classical technique with contemporary performance skills, this is where you go if you want to be employable in both West Side Story and whatever avant-garde, genre-bending musical is about to take over the industry next. 

Scaena is known for its holistic approach—training students not just in singing, dancing, and acting, but also in the business side of theatre. Graduates have gone on to perform on Madrid’s biggest stages and, in some cases, taken their talents international. If you’re looking for a well-rounded, forward-thinking approach to musical theatre training, Scaena is a solid bet.

SOM Academy: The Industry Pipeline 

https://somescuelademusicales.com/

The new kid on the block but already making waves, SOM Academy is the brainchild of Stage Entertainment, the production company behind Spain’s biggest commercial musical theatre hits. If you want direct access to industry professionals and a training program designed with actual casting needs in mind, this is the place to be.

SOM Academy is less about academia and more about real-world training. Students work with active directors, choreographers, and vocal coaches currently employed in Madrid’s theatre scene, meaning your final showcase could literally be an audition for your first professional gig. The school’s facilities include recording studios, full-scale rehearsal spaces, and performance venues that mimic the conditions of actual commercial productions.

Since it’s directly connected to Madrid’s most successful theatre productions, the alumni list is growing fast, with many graduates booking ensemble and lead roles straight out of training. It’s the ultimate fast-track for those looking to go from student to working professional with as little downtime as possible.

La vida del actor para mí

Let’s consider the life and times of the Spanish actor—that bohemian struggle between artistry and financial ruin, between thunderous ovations (mercifully, the Spanish don’t stand up after every performance) and standing in line for unemployment benefits. And what better way to explore it than by comparing two of the world’s great theatrical cities: Madrid and New York.

The city’s musical theater scene has been the subject of some dramatic exposés—tales of grueling schedules, low pay, no vacations or sick leave, and the kind of exhaustion that turns jazz hands into trembling claws. These conditions have fueled a surge in union activism, as actors demand to be treated as professionals rather than disposable props. Sound familiar? It should—to anyone who knows the history of Actors’ Equity Association in America.

Speaking of America, New York actors navigate a world just as cutthroat but armed with a powerful shield: the union. And unlike Spain, where performers are still fighting for basic protections, New York has its fortresses—Actors’ Equity Association (AEA), the Screen Actors Guild (SAG-AFTRA), and a network of contracts designed to ensure actors aren’t working themselves to death for the price of a subway swipe. Broadway performers are still flogging themselves nightly—belting, leaping, and sweating their way through eight-show weeks—but at least there are structured breaks, minimum salaries, and a health plan that doesn’t require one to barter a kidney.

And since the COVID era, the old adage “the show must go on”—once a rallying cry for actors to struggle through sickness and like it—has given way to a new mantra: “Stay home and keep your coughs to yourself.” Swings and understudies now step in all the time, proving that the industry can, in fact, survive without forcing its performers to push through pneumonia for the sake of a matinee crowd. Progress? Perhaps. But whether in Madrid or New York, the hustle remains eternal, the struggle is real, and the show, as ever, must go on.  

Now the money—because as much as we like to pretend it’s all about the art, passion doesn’t pay the bills—Madrid actors face a salary roulette that makes the stock market look stable. One source pegs the average annual salary at a respectable €56,779 (roughly $59,500.00), while another (Glassdoor) suggests it’s closer to €15,000 ($15,730). That’s a discrepancy so vast; it’s like comparing a West End leading role to playing “weeping willow on the left” in the school play. Meanwhile, in New York, a Broadway actor under union contract starts at around $2,034 per week—if they can land a full-year contract, that’s over $100,000 annually. Just breaking poverty in New York, but still… Off-Broadway? Less predictable. Indie films, immersive theater, TV guest spots, experimental performance art in a Brooklyn warehouse? Welcome to the hustle.

Let’s break it down even more. According to a report from El País in October 2024, ensemble members, replacements, and understudies in Madrid’s musical theater scene earn a base salary of €2,556 gross per month. After social security and a moderate income tax rate (~15%), the net monthly salary could be around €1,900–€2,050, or €475 - €513 per week. That’s what I made in 1992 in Chicago. I’m sure working through the economics of it, considering a lower ticket price, FREE health insurance and $3 copa de Rioja ($18 in New York), etc, might soften these horrifying stats, but still. Quaint hobby is, indeed, how one might categorize a career as a performer nowadays.

For context, ensemble members in the Broadway production of “The Book of Mormon” have been reported to earn approximately $2,095 per week, the current minimum weekly salary for a member of the actors’ union (AEA).

And then there’s the challenge of work itself. Madrid’s performers talk of brutal rehearsal hours, minimal breaks, and an industry that expects them to power through illness like some kind of method-acting exercise in suffering. New York, at least in the unionized world, has mandated breaks, sick leave, and some attempt at humane working conditions. But make no mistake—whether it’s Broadway, Off-Broadway, or grinding out guest spots on Law & Order, New York actors are still running a constant marathon of auditions, callbacks, side jobs, the ever-present spectre of the two-week notice, and competition that feels like Squid Games. 

Home life is farther away from work as well… who can afford to live in Manhattan? The 475 square foot, two-bedroom apartment I rented on 51st and 9th, a few blocks from Broadway’s theatre district from 1995 - 2010 for an average $1600.00 during that time goes for $7000 per month in 2025. I have no discernible words for that preposterous fact. 

And yet, despite the odds, they persist. Because for the true actor, the show really must go on—even if it means doing it for exposure, a travel stipend, or the occasional free drink at an industry mixer.