Manuel Bernal

For years, I was the man everyone in Madrid’s theater scene talked about. My productions sold out night after night, and critics praised me in the arts pages. I was invited onto talk shows, podcasts—people wanted to know what I thought about everything. But behind the applause and the spotlight, there was another side to my success.

Actors lined up to work with me, hungry for a role in one of my plays. And I took advantage of that—sometimes without thinking, sometimes very deliberately. I manipulated people, played on their ambitions. I crossed lines, abusing the power I held over them. There were times when I used my position to extract things beyond the professional. Sexual favors, even. I convinced myself that everyone benefited. The theater thrived, employees kept their jobs, the public loved the shows. No one stopped me.

But that time is over now. A group of actresses came forward, their stories hauntingly similar. And they had witnesses. At first, I denied everything, throwing money at lawyers to protect me. But the weight of it all became too much. The lies, the pretending—it was exhausting. I admitted what I had done. I apologized, though I knew that no apology could undo the damage.

The court sentenced me to two years in prison, with three years on probation. I accepted the verdict. I’m serving my sentence now, knowing my reputation is shattered. I will never direct again. The stage I once commanded is lost to me.

What took the longest was admitting it to myself. My pride, my ego—they had me lying, even to my own reflection. The person who helped me most wasn’t a lawyer or a colleague. It was my son. He confronted me, wouldn’t let me hide. And for that, I’m grateful. Because while my career is gone, I’ve found a sliver of dignity in taking responsibility for what I’ve done.