BEYOND THE ROLE: FRANCESCO PELLEGRINO AND THE BEAUTY OF DISAPPEARING INTO DARKNESS

There are actors who perform, and then there are actors who dissolve. Francesco Pellegrino belongs to the second category—less interested in the surface of characters than in the emotional fault lines that run beneath them. 

From independent cinema shaped by scarcity and devotion to large-scale narratives like Gomorra – Le origini, he moves through roles with a kind of controlled intensity, as if each one is less an interpretation than a temporary transformation of self.

In Gomorra – Le origini, Pellegrino steps into the ambiguous gravity of Angelo ‘A Sirena’, a young figure shaped by ambition, tension, and a quiet, destabilizing charisma. 

It is a world built on moral instability and inherited violence, yet what emerges in his performance is not spectacle, but psychological pressure—the slow accumulation of internal contradiction.

Off-screen, his approach to acting is equally uncompromising. He speaks of curiosity as a guiding force, of characters as emotional territories to inhabit rather than observe, and of the need to move beyond imitation toward something closer to understanding. 

Whether working through dialect training, physical transformation, or months of sustained psychological immersion, his process is rooted in a willingness to go far—and then recognize the distance.

In conversation, Pellegrino resists easy definitions of authenticity. Instead, he describes it as something private and unstable: a refusal to compare, a commitment to instinct, and an acceptance that meaning often emerges only when control is released. 

In a cultural landscape dominated by visibility and immediacy, his work suggests something slower, darker, and more interior.

What follows is not just an interview about roles, but a study in disappearance—into characters, into time periods, and into the fragile space where identity becomes performance, and performance briefly becomes truth.

From cult cinema to international streaming, your roles span an incredible spectrum. 
How do you decide what kind of character you want to inhabit next, and what draws you to these diverse worlds?

One of the reasons I started studying acting is the possibility of feeling, on my own skin, the breath of many different people and characters. It allows me to merge my soul and my heart with theirs, without judgment. I see acting as a way to understand human beings. I’m drawn to characters who are very far from me, especially when I sense conflict, or even just a spark of light or darkness within them.

La santa piccola is considered a cult film. 
How did playing Lino challenge you emotionally, and did it change the way you see your craft?

La santa piccola was my first leading role, and I feel especially connected to it. There were many challenges, both emotionally and in terms of production. The film was commissioned by the Venice Biennale with a very small budget—around €150,000—and almost the entire crew was made up of interns and volunteers, myself included.
Like many independent projects, it was driven by something that goes beyond money and work: a deep love for cinema and storytelling. That’s one of the reasons I feel so close to independent films. The project had a beautiful journey, traveling to festivals around the world—from Taipei to Kyoto, Tribeca, Guadalajara, and Palm Springs—and, of course, it was presented at the Venice Film Festival.
Silvia Brunelli and the entire cast did an incredible job as a team, guided by genuine passion. 

For Supersex, I also had to work extensively on the Abruzzese dialect, which is very different from my own. Thanks to Matteo Rovere and the whole production, I was supported by a dialect coach who helped me a lot.
When I play a real person, I try to learn everything I can about them. But I don’t aim to imitate them exactly—I use what I learn as a starting point and then bring my own interpretation as an actor.

Gomorra – Le origini immerses you in the dark underbelly of Naples. 
What was it like to navigate that morally complex universe, and did it affect how you view your environment and your choices?

Half of the experience was intense and quite tough, especially because we were often shooting at night. 
That schedule made everything feel more immersive—I could really sense the tension in certain scenes and in my colleagues’ performances.
The other half felt almost magical. The series is set in 1970s Naples, and the work done by the crew was extraordinary. 
They transformed entire streets—cars, people, shops—so that it truly felt like stepping back in time. As a fan of the 1970s, it was an incredibly powerful experience.

The series dives deep into the roots of power, loyalty, and survival. 
How did stepping into Angelo ‘A Sirena’’s world challenge you, and what did you discover about yourself while inhabiting that darkness?

The journey to get this role was long—I went through six months of casting, competing with hundreds of other actors. But the real challenge began once I stepped into Angelo’s world. 
From the start, I wanted to avoid portraying him in a superficial or stereotypical way. 

I was searching for something deeper, something that could justify his emotional complexity.
At one point, I found a connection with Griffith from the anime Berserk, and that helped me understand Angelo’s inner drive—his ambition, his darkness, and his contradictions.
What challenged me the most was living in that emotional space every day. 
Angelo carries a lot of tension, power, and pain, and staying connected to that mindset for months was intense. 
I’m a very curious person, and that curiosity pushed me to explore him as deeply as possible, even outside the set.
Of course, a part of every character stays with you—that’s part of the beauty of this job. 
But what I discovered about myself is that I’m capable of going very far emotionally. At the same time, I realized I would never want to live even a minute of a life like his.

La vita che volevi offers a deeply intimate perspective on contemporary relationships. 
How do you balance vulnerability and strength when portraying such modern, realistic characters?

First of all, I have to thank Ivan Cotroneo and the entire crew, because they really protected me while we were building this character. I put a lot of energy into playing Gloria, both physically and mentally—I lost 12 kilos and trained extensively to transform my body so that the costumes would fit properly.
It would have been easy to overplay her, but for me it’s about staying open, feeling everything, and at the same time keeping it simple and real. That’s where vulnerability and strength meet.

Your journey from aspiring footballer and model to an internationally recognized actor is quite unusual. Looking back, which moments do you feel were the invisible threads guiding you to where you are today?

I think curiosity has been the main thread throughout my journey—being open to everything and discovering what I could truly connect with. 
At the same time, my parents always told me that everything is possible, and that mindset stayed with me for a long time. 
It gave me the freedom to try different paths without fear.

There’s a quote by John Lennon that I really love: “There’s nothing you can do that can’t be done, nothing you can sing that can’t be sung.” 
That idea has guided me in a very natural way.

If you could write a letter to your future self, ten years from now, what truths, hopes, or warnings would you want that version of you to remember?

I would simply say: keep focusing on what elevates your soul and keeps you alive.

In an era dominated by digital fame, streaming, and instant visibility, how do you define authenticity—as an actor and as a human being navigating both art and audience?

For me, authenticity means focusing on my own thoughts and feelings, without comparing myself to others or overthinking what might be right or wrong for an audience. 
I believe art happens when you completely let yourself go into something you don’t fully understand, but deeply feel in your body.

At the same time, I think platforms like Instagram can create a kind of barrier. They often present a reality filled with violence, suffering, or situations that feel distant and impossible to change, which can create pressure and a sense of repression in people.
Still, I remain positive. I believe we are slowly starting to understand this dynamic better.

CREDITS

Talent: Francesco Pellegrino
Talent Agency: Andreas Mercante
Photographer: Luigi Sgambato at Kind Of Management

Stylist: Miriam Petrillo
Make Up: Lucia Balzano
Photo Assistant: Simone Gallizzo

Fashion Editor: Corinna Fusco