You might miss him at first. Martin Sarreal doesn’t demand attention when he enters a room; he dissolves into it. There’s a quiet certainty to him, the kind that draws you in rather than calls attention to itself. Introspective, observant, and fully present, Martin commands space not through volume, but through intention.

In a world built on visibility, Martin is a quiet rebellion. He doesn’t overshare online. He doesn’t chase the algorithm. He chooses roles with care, keeps his process private, and lets his work speak louder than any caption could. With roots in Malaysia, the Philippines, China, and Portugal, and training from London’s Drama Centre, his global background informs a nuanced perspective grounded in empathy, complexity, and curiosity.

Growing up as an only child in the ’90s without social media, Martin built inner worlds to stay entertained. He would draw, invent characters, and play out stories in solitude. That early creativity, unshaped by likes or followers, evolved naturally into a love for performance. His mother enrolled him in drama classes to help him come out of his shell. What she didn’t expect was that this quiet child would find liberation on stage.

Martin describes acting as both an excavation and a reconstruction. He doesn’t put on characters, he uncovers parts of himself that already exist and asks what those pieces might look like in a different life. His approach is refreshingly unmechanical. It begins with careful reading, breaking down a script not just for meaning but for motive. He sorts through what a character says, how others respond to them, and what remains unsaid. In that silence, he finds truth.

“I always like to think that it's parts of me that I might not show to other people, but I know they're in me,” he says. “I'm just looking at which situation could bring these specific sides of me out, and in a safe kind of space.”

At the Drama Centre in London, Martin’s instincts were sharpened by rigorous training. One lesson from his teacher John Beschizza stayed with him: “We are living truthfully in imaginary circumstances. Our bodies, our minds...these are the things we work with. We are the tools that we've got as actors.”

This mindset has shaped how he approaches every role, including his recent turn as Serge in Art, a play about friendship, ego, and the subtle unraveling of long-held tensions. “On paper, he seems quite different to who I am. First of all, he’s a very rich, upper-class, middle-aged man. Because of the way I look, I tend to get cast as younger people but I thought it was such an exciting prospect.”

Despite their differences, Martin saw parts of himself in Serge. “Even though he may not like to admit it, I think Serge is a highly sensitive person. All of the characters are. They’re just not vulnerable enough to say it out loud. Hence why there’s a lot of mishaps and miscommunications.”

What emerges is a performance steeped in restraint. In Art, the tension lies not in grand confrontations but in small deflections. Jokes mask wounds. Old friendships crack under intellectual pride. Martin leans into the silences and trusts the audience to meet him halfway.

Yet for all the inward work acting requires, he also understands the toll it can take. Live performance, especially emotionally charged material, demands stamina. Martin copes by leaning on music, breathwork, and journaling. He’s learned how to leave the role behind when the curtain falls. “You have to remind yourself—that was on stage. You can leave that there.”

He’s also candid about the industry’s unpredictability. Rejection is common. Roles are limited. For years, he saw scripts that flattened Asian identity into stereotypes, where nuance was sacrificed for shorthand. He learned to say no, even when the roles paid well. Building a body of work with integrity, one he could be proud of, mattered more.

His breakthrough moment came with Bridgerton, where he played Lord Barnell in Season 3 of the global hit. The role was brief but unforgettable, especially for Filipino viewers who flooded his inbox with messages of pride and support. “As soon as it came out, I started getting messages from people I hadn’t met in the Philippines. People were cheering when I appeared. It’s incredible,” he recalls. It was a small screen moment with a big impact, one that made his presence known far beyond the stage.

Now, with the rise of artificial intelligence in entertainment, Martin sees another challenge looming. The emergence of AI-generated performances and digital stand-ins raises difficult questions, not just about livelihoods, but about what makes acting human. Technology might mimic emotion, but it can’t embody lived experience or spontaneous truth. As Martin puts it, "actors are vessels. You can’t fake what hasn’t been felt."

For those beginning their journey in performance, his advice is simple, almost defiant in its clarity:

“Start. Just start. Just start and then keep going. It’s going to feel messy. It’s going to feel weird. You’re going to doubt yourself a lot. But if you love it, keep going.”

He doesn’t promise ease or quick wins. What he offers is something far more honest—a quiet assurance that growth is earned slowly.“Eventually, at some point, you’re going to go, 'OK, I think I’ve got a little bit of a handle of it.' And then that feeling is going to grow. And it IS going to grow. And then before you know it, you’re doing what you’re doing. You’re doing what you wanted to do.”

Martin Sarreal may not command the spotlight. But for those who value depth over noise, he’s offering something rare—work that lingers, performances that resonate, and a path that favors meaning over momentum. His quiet is a kind of rebellion, and in today’s world, it may just be revolutionary.

Catch Martin Sarreal in Art, a sharp, funny, and quietly devastating exploration of friendship, taste, and ego. Now showing at Repertory Philippines’ new home in Eastwood.

Tickets and show schedules: repertoryphilippines.ph/art.