Gastón comes from an Italian family, where pasta and emotionality run deep. So much so that, according to him, his dad, the first to tell him to look for a plan B outside acting, when he found out he was going to be part of El Clan (the film by Pablo Trapero, starring Guillermo Francella and Peter Lanzani), greeted him, put on his sneakers, and walked to Luján.
“When I told him, a huge smile appeared on his face, and he said: ‘Well, I have to go.’ ‘But, hold on, weren’t we going to have lunch?’ ‘No, no, I have to leave right now.’ ‘Where to? What happened? Let’s have a wine, let’s celebrate.’ ‘I have to walk to Luján because I asked that if you stayed, I would walk to Luján immediately,’ Gas recalls excitedly as he acknowledges that from that moment on, he never questioned his vocation again. ‘Now he can go out wearing one of my t-shirts,’ he says.
The life of Cocchiarale is that visceral, from Maguila Puccio in El Clan, Lowenstein in ATAV, Miguel in El encargado, and Luciano Aizenberg in Nada (a series where he shared the cast with Robert De Niro), and the list could go on (he even starred in two videos with Bizarrap). A week before the premiere of the third season of the Disney+ series, the actor speaks with Revista Gente about his origins, the times when things didn’t go well for him, his teachers, and the “military” side of Guillermo Francella. He also shares how he prepared the phrase he wanted to say in English to De Niro the night before.
With honesty and that distinctive identity of the west that characterizes him (“There’s a neighborhood code, broken sidewalks, everything is fixed with wire, the Sarmiento train, there is a whole working-class vibe that makes us recognize each other”), Gastón recalls those early moments when his nona made him Disney costumes and he would play to be Aladdin (“She had her sewing machine and made me costumes from the movies, and I spent all my time playing”), his adolescence when he went from being a child who acted without shame to becoming more introverted (“It was a difficult period because the body changes, you start liking girls… a lot of stimuli and things that pulled me inward rather than outward”) to re-emerging to conquer a girl. He also remembers the advertisement that changed his fortune, the one where he met Tommy Pashkus, his representative. And the moment when he boldly asked Francella for advice and ended up having coffee with him, where the established actor came down from his pedestal to share his moments of weakness.
At 32, Gas, who trained with Esteban Mellino, Agustín Alezzo, and Lito Cruz, has a theater school (Creer es crear, which has 200 students, he claims), produces his own plays (La renuncia) and dreams of creating his own large-scale productions and being a 360-degree artist. Seriously, he follows all the photographer’s instructions, except for posing with a fluorescent down jacket. His agenda is full: after the production he has lunch with Guillermo, his mentor, friend, and teacher. The next day he goes on tour with the work he produces, and the list goes on. If there is one word that emerges from the conversation, it’s the word to persevere and never forget the goal. “When things didn’t work out, there was an image that moved me: being 90 years old in a hospital knowing I’m going to die and saying: I was an actor. I did it. Regardless of whether I have three cars or not, I decided to continue this adventure, I dared, and took the risk.”
With that bullish gaze and that will inherited from his father, Gas, the eldest of two brothers, achieved what he set out to do. First, to make a living from acting. He started with advertisements and later began getting one job after another. Although after El Clan he went through a nearly year-long dry spell where he understood that hitting it big once is not synonymous with having arrived. That’s why, although he was a bit more known when he was doing ATAV, he didn’t hesitate for a second to make coffee for the ladies attending the improvised hair salon that his ex-girlfriend Tami had set up in the bathroom of the upstairs house they shared. “I would serve coffee and some would ask me if I was Lowenstein,” he recalls with a smile. He also highlights the work of his psychologist Alejandra, whom he shares with Vanesa González. “With her, I understood that no matter how much they tell me I’m great, I shouldn’t believe what they say.”
-When did you know you wanted to be an actor?
-It started with the typical question of what I wanted to be when I grew up and I would say: “an actor.” I’m not quite clear why, because there are no artists in the family except for my uncle, who is the magician Boridi (he worked with Sofovich and did revue theater). I watched many movies at the cinema, a lot of children’s theater. I had the habit of finishing a movie and acting it out at home, automatically. My parents had a very large dresser with a mirror, I would stand in front of it and dress up, play.
-And then?
-I went to Don Bosco school in Ramos Mejía, where they had theater for kids, and I went. But in adolescence, something changed: I became a more introverted, shy kid, and the dream of being an actor was buried. It was impossible to be an actor if I was such a shy person. Shy to the point of raising my hand in class and turning red. I was in love with a girl, I would have been 12 or 14 at most, and she told me she was going to go to a theater workshop with a little group outside of school hours and asked me if I wanted to go. I said, of course, I jumped in as I wanted to win her over.
-Were you able to win her over?
-I couldn’t. I made a couple of attempts, some things happened, but I never achieved that love I wanted to. I believe she knows it’s her because it was just a time in my life where I didn’t see another woman besides her. It was good because it pushed me unexpectedly to act. From then on, she stopped, and I continued and started the journey. She is a dancer and I believe she does musical comedy.
-Did you reconnect with your vocation there?
-I went more to pursue her than for the theater and found something I had forgotten: the desire to be an actor. I started doing it, and it made me very upset, very nervous, tense… red, I would sweat, but somehow I had a good time. What happened to me was strange, kind of masochistic. As time went by, I started going and enjoying it more and more, and it became: I want to do this. I began to study at the cultural center of Ramos, then with Mellino and Lito Cruz, theater allowed me to reconnect with my essence and today I believe I am the kid who played; that’s the beautiful part.
-You talked about your dad’s pasta shop, do you come from an Italian family?
-My grandparents are Italians; they came during the Second World War. They laid bricks, went out to work, and really put in the effort. Pasta has always been a very typical meal; my grandma used to knead, she made pasta every Sunday. My dad, Claudio, absorbed a lot of that, he loved cooking. He started as a dishwasher in a hall, then became a kitchen assistant, chef, later head chef, and later had his catering service, and the restaurant Maledetto, which he opened six months before the pandemic. Now it’s a classic; there weren’t any trattorias in Ramos.
-Where do you feel that Italian heritage is in you?
-In my case, it’s in the excessive passion. A very instinctual thing. It happens with theater, with my affections; I’m a fiery guy. If I get angry, I get really angry, and it’s hard to shake it off; it’s not that you apologize to me, and it goes away, it lingers there. Also, for what I do: to give it my all, put my body into it, live it intensely. The good and the bad, I enjoy, I don’t suffer. I feel alive; nothing is foreign to me, in some way I am deeply connected with what happens to me, with my desires.
-What did your family say about acting?
-My dad didn’t support me. He had a very real fear that I wouldn’t have a job or a fixed income that I would crash into a wall at some point. He wanted me to have a degree; they never forbade me from being an actor, but they would tell me all the time: look, yes, but have a plan B, or keep it as a hobby and see if you can achieve something with it. And for me, there were no chances; it was my plan A and Z. There was nothing else. That led me to argue a lot with my dad.
-Are your parents together?
-My parents are separated and both have other partners. They get along great. In fact, one year for the holidays, I rented a house in Cariló and invited all four of them. They taught me that things can end well.
-And what did your mom say?
-My mom is very different from my dad. She taught me to believe, to dream, to think beyond what earthly life gives you. My dad taught me to work for the earthly, to get up every day to work and break my back. It was an interesting combination: the discipline and rigor of work, along with the thought that everything will be okay. That helped me a lot, especially at the beginning when my peers were doing the CBC and I was confused with the burden of this perverse adolescence phase: ‘you have to define what you want to do for the rest of your life,’ and I completely disagreed with that. I want to be an actor today, and I’ll see if at 20 I want to be a lawyer; I’ll be a lawyer, but let me explore the world and see what I want.
From waiter to starring in an advertisement
Gas set out to achieve his goals, and he did. “I didn’t want to ask my parents for anything. I preferred to eat rice than to accept money from them. Dude, do you want to be an actor? Die with your boots on,” he says while recalling those times when Lito Cruz invited him to watch the filming of El Elegido and he thought: “I’d love to belong to this world.” “I wanted to learn; I watched him and thought about how he got here. I was very eager to absorb things from the people I admired,” he recounts. But in those early years, after moving to Capital Federal, money was scarce. “I did anything: alongside casting for commercials, I worked as a waiter with my dad until I got fed up with that relationship, I worked in a bookstore, in the ticket booth of the Don Bosco theater, animated adult parties, did a sort of stand-up,” he lists.
-What was the first job you had as an actor?
-The first advertisement I did was for Gran DT, at that time it was directed by Caruso Lombardi and Ángel Cappa, and the whole champagne football debate was on, Cappa with Huracán, which was more refined, more precise, and Caruso, who was rustic. The ad featured people with goatees and mustaches, from Cappa. I had a scene with Caruso’s goatee. From there, they started calling me more and more, and I got jobs and made money. I was earning money as an actor; if I got two gigs in a month, I was living from that.
-What did you do with your first paycheck?
-I don’t remember. While I desired to have money, I tried to see it, both when I lacked it and when I had it, as an energy that has to go and come back. I’m not into accumulating; I indulge myself in everything; I have the philosophy that the more you give, the more comes back… I don’t like being in that “money,” “money” mindset. And that’s despite coming from a family that instilled that in me. It’s not that I’m reckless; I take care of myself; I have my savings. There will be times when I earn more or less, and that’s something I’ve always been clear about. It didn’t disturb me if one month I earned more and another less. However, I did get worried when I was at a very tight limit about the next month.
-What was your first big job?
-It was El Clan, with Pablo Trapero and Guillermo Francella. I had never done fiction; I had done a few roles; I did a lot of commercials and lived off that. I was already dedicated to acting; I did a lot of independent theater. I was studying with Alezzo, I was very focused. At that time, while doing a Movistar advertisement, it was like a sitcom, I met my representative, Tommy Pashkus. I begged him to represent me. I was very eager to understand: “Okay, I achieved being an actor, doing commercials, living off it… but I want to do fiction.”
-How did you experience the filming?
-On the first day, there was a camera test, and I was very tense. The same day that my dad walked to Luján, I was told that the next day I would meet Francella for breakfast and there would be a camera test that Trapero wanted to do. The next day, I was in a dressing room trying on Maguila’s clothes, and when he arrived, I heard his voice and got all nervous. He walked in and the first thing he said was: “Hello, son,” because I played his son, and he hugged me warmly. But I treated him like nothing, with respect, but inside I was exploding. He asked me where I was from, what my parents did, where I studied theater… He was very kind, very approachable, and that calmed me right away, taking one topic off my mind because, as with any idol, they can knock you down a thousand points or not. And he was a great companion. I have a beautiful memory of that time.
-Your path has been very industrious…
-I did a lot of theater and produced a play at Alezzo’s theater. I wasn’t the type to wait for things to happen. At that time, I told him I needed him to represent me, and he very kindly gave me his card and told me to call him. I called him every day until one day he told me to come have coffee at his office so we could get to know each other. He said we would start working to see what happened. Suddenly, castings started appearing for me that I wasn’t getting before, doors opened up. I will be grateful to him until the day I die because if there hadn’t been someone who believed in me… I’ve been with him for ten years; it’s the longest relationship of my life.
-What happened with those castings?
-They excited me a lot, but I never got selected. It was devastating. Now I teach; I have many young students whom I tell: “Dude, complement this with personal therapy because you will be permanently exposed to rejection.” At first, you wonder: “Am I not meant for this? Am I not good enough?” And the reality is that it’s not that you don’t get selected because you’re a bad actor; there are so many people and so many variables… Sometimes you don’t get selected because they didn’t like your nose. So many things are at play that I always tried to have an armor built and went to therapy. I’ve been going to my psychologist Alejandra from Ramos Mejía for ten years. She accompanies me throughout the acting process, through the good and the bad, because the good has its own challenges as well. I have always been centered. It hurt; I was anxious, but it lasted 24 hours, and I moved on; nothing ever hit me hard enough to say: “I’m not going to act anymore.”
-Never?
-The only time I had a moment like that was when my friend Guillermo helped me. I had just finished filming El Clan. It was very exciting for me to go from a small role to acting with Francella, Peter, Trapero (“He went to my same Don Bosco school, he’s from Matanza”). What happened was, the movie ended, and I thought: “I filmed with Francella, with Trapero… I’m going to get flooded with work.” After that, I didn’t work for a year. I remember casting for El Marginal and for Signos, and they called me with a 15-minute difference to tell me I hadn’t made the cut. Two projects that could have led to continuity in my career fell through, and that was the only time I thought: “I don’t know if this is meant for me”; “Wait, I got to this place and even so I’m back to square one.” “Oh, this is worse than I imagined because I thought getting here was the hard part, not what followed.” That’s when I called Guillermo.
-How was that conversation?
-Straightforward, I told him I was Maguila from El Clan and asked if he was up for a coffee. I needed advice from someone who lived off acting. He immediately said: “At 3 in the afternoon, I’ll meet you at this coffee shop, and we’ll chat.” For me, that was a huge gesture because he could have resolved it over the phone, he could have said: “Look, life is like this. Don’t bother me.” But he made space in his schedule to have coffee, and the conversation was beautiful; I treasure it. In fact, I’m going to have lunch with him now. These meetings are always very productive, but that one was especially nice.
-What did he advise you?
-He told me the bad parts of his profession. He didn’t come to tell me how successful he is or how he succeeded; quite the opposite. He shared the times he didn’t get selected, the times he felt frustrated, the times he thought: “This isn’t for me.” Of course, Guillermo Francella comes to you, a guy who’s a box office magnet, to tell you: “I went through that too.” I thought: “Alright, let’s move forward.” It was like a boost of fuel. To this day, that coffee has redefined my entire profession because every time I have a setback, I say: “Remember Guillermo told you he also struggled, that he couldn’t land roles.” From then on, my relationship with the craft changed; I didn’t take everything so badly, I didn’t worry so much, well, I didn’t get the role; I’ll get it next time.
-What happened next?
-Magically, I haven’t stopped since then. I only didn’t work during the pandemic. Then I got into a lot of small INCAA films, did Edha, which was the first Netflix series in Argentina with Daniel Burman, did Permitos, with Piroyansky and Lali, and then came ATAV, which was like a huge spike in popularity. The others had given me some visibility; the explosion came with ATAV that had a 25 rating every day and 3 million views on YouTube; it was doing very well.
-There you encountered success.
-I found that people recognized me on the street, asked for photos, and I enjoyed the craziness that comes with success. It wasn’t traumatic. Yes, when I was in very public places, I would take precautions; I would go to a table in the back and turn my back because suddenly people would approach, take a photo, and leave without asking permission or giving compliments, and I wasn’t used to that. Now I might handle it better. Of course, I discussed it in therapy because my fear was not to believe in myself either since at some point this ends. If you believe what people tell you on the street, you’re done because you will put yourself back against the wall. I have always done that work of staying centered; neither when they tell you on social media that you’re the worst are you the worst, nor when they say you’re the best are you the best.
From working with Francella to sharing a scene with Robert De Niro
The path for Gas had more challenges, and after ATAV a phone call changed his life once more. It was Gastón Duprat and Mariano Cohn wanting him to play Miguel in El Encargado. Not only that, but there was no casting; Francella had suggested him. In that context, he found out that the same directors were working on a series with another one of his idols, Luis Brandoni. “I wanted to serve coffee to Beto; he was another one of my idols, not only as an actor but because my dad is radical and took me to see his plays,” he shares. And something that emerged as a childlike impulse ended with him getting a role in Nada. “Six months later, he called me and apologized because the role wasn’t what I expected. It was much more: I had 2 or 3 scenes with Brandoni and it was very different from what I did in El Encargado, he was kind of arrogant, even mistreating Beto. I was immensely grateful,” he recounts.
What he didn’t expect was that there was one more surprise: Robert De Niro was going to be part of the series. First, he saw it in the newspapers, and then the directors confirmed it to him. He sent a message to Cohn asking if it was true; not only did he confirm it, but he asked him to keep it confidential. “Instantly I went to the script to check if my character had a scene, and indeed at the end, there was a scene where we were together. I said: ‘I can’t believe it, I’m going to film with Robert De Niro.'”
-How was that encounter?
-I don’t know how to speak English, so I studied a phrase the night before to be able to tell him that it was an honor for me as a young Argentine actor to share the set with him. I told him, shook his hand, and left. The guy was very warm, very kind. Then there was a particular moment; there was a scene being filmed with many extras, and there were 3 cameras, and I heard Cohn and Duprat say: “Camera one, with Brandoni, camera two, with De Niro, camera 3, with Cocchiarale.” I heard that and detached from the situation; my childhood came rushing back, my dad telling me: “Don’t be an actor,” my dad walking to Luján, all of that came together, and I almost started crying. And I said: “Don’t be stupid; focus; you can cry later.” My mind was blown. It was very emotional; I arrived late to class, something that never happens. I needed to pause and understand.
-Are you thankful?
-I’m very thankful because while I understand that I’m rigorous and disciplined, there’s also an element of luck, luck, and the opportunity to do what I did. I had the option to choose because my starting point is different, working-class middle class, and I broke my back. There’s a quote from Picasso that I like that says: “If luck exists, may it find you working.”
-What are recordings like with Guillermo?
-Guillermo is a “military man” in the best sense of the word; he is as rigorous as hell, no detail escapes him, he knows your lines, he doesn’t mess up, he pays attention to the camera, to everything that happens on set, which is why he is who he is, and I learned a lot from him. I ask him things all the time; he comes to you, tells you, asks: “Here, Gas, that expression you’re making… 3 more seconds. It’s very little.” I saw that I would do a take the way I had done it, and he would say, just with 3 more seconds, and the technicians would start covering their mouths from laughing. And that made me a much better comedian, a better actor. Immediately after the take, I ask him: “Guille, how did you see it?” Then Duprat and Cohn come, and we chat with them. But the first to consult is Guille.
-How would you define Miguel, the character you play in El encargado?
-Miguel is a character very distant from me, a very shy, introverted guy, looking down. My adolescent self. It’s fun to act; I have a presence that Miguel does not have. There’s something more grounded, calmer that I like. It came easily for me because all my scenes are with Guillermo, and the bond that Miguel has with Eliseo is very similar to the one I have with Guille, based on admiration, respect, and mentorship; it’s not a struggle for me. Plus, the scripts are great; just delivering what’s on the page is enough, and having Guillermo next to me, who guides me and helps me.
-Why do you think the series was so successful?
–El encargado has a significant key that many Argentine streaming series have not managed to accomplish: it showcases the Argentine idiosyncrasy. It’s a very well-made series, with international technical quality, but it speaks about us. It has our language, our humor, our stereotypes. People watch it and see themselves. People like to see themselves, even if they also watch Turkish or English series.
-Similar to what used to happen with the soap operas.
-Of course. An Argentine product has strength when it’s Argentine. Something that the soap operas had, since they no longer exist, platforms have produced established formulas from around the world because they have to work everywhere. Suddenly, you see police thrillers that no matter where they are made, they are all the same. El encargado broke that. It comes to bring that equation of what daily soap operas represented but in a streaming format, and I think that’s a significant discovery.
There are still people wanting to see national fiction; what’s happening? Why did we let that die? Not to mention the job sources it generates, and what it means culturally. It’s also not a global issue; in Spain, there are still novels, in Colombia, and in England, too. It’s a matter that deeply concerns me.
-Will there be a fourth season?
-There’s a rumor of a fourth; for me, the third season is the best of the three; everything is escalating, Emanuel, in that sense, didn’t let the series slump. This one grows, and on its premiere day, it broke viewing records. People on the street ask you; they are very fans. Guillermo told me: “Gas, when it’s happening on the street, it’s because it’s a success.” “If you go to the supermarket and no one recognizes you, it’s because no one sees you.”
-Where will you have lunch today?
-We’re going to a café close to his house; we try to go to a small table where we’re more separated. But the times we’ve had coffee were intense: people approach, ask for pictures. We’ll have to see what happens today since we’ve never done it while El encargado is airing. Guillermo takes it with a lot of kindness.
-Have you been to your dad’s restaurant?
-We haven’t gone. I went with Beto, from ATAV; we have to go.
-Are you dating?
-I’m a serial dater. I don’t know loneliness, although I enjoy it. I’ve been dating Maru for 2 years; she’s a dancer and actress, and we give classes together. I’ve never dated a doctor; they’ve all been actresses.
Photos: Diego García.
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