Cuba bids farewell to Paula Alí, a great lady of the stage who shone in theater, film, and television, recognized very late in 2026 with the National Television Award, an honor she was unable to accept in person.
I met Paula Alí at a gathering at a mutual friend's house, Yunier Díaz. I laughed, sang, and shared poetry... She was a woman so eager to make others laugh, to connect, to speak from her most tender inner world, that she captivated everyone without even trying.
Over the years, we shared moments at Rodair's Café, at the home of another great and dear friend, Diana Rosa Suárez, in a television studio, or in a theater hall. It was always the same!!! Always the same smile, the same Cuban way of speaking.
Born in Candelaria, Pinar del Río, in 1938, Paula has elegantly walked through more than six decades of uninterrupted artistic work. Her television career was marked by constant growth, while in theater, her other self brought artistic life to key collectives such as the prestigious Teatro Estudio and later the groundbreaking company Teatro El Público.
In the seventh art, her performances went beyond just being a leading role: Guantanamera, Lista de espera, Nada, and El Cuerno de la abundancia underscore her ever-present Cuban and professional essence.
But undoubtedly, television was the medium that united her with millions of Cubans, as she herself said, it was a way to enter homes without asking for permission. She participated in numerous soap operas, comedy shows, and dramatized programs.
Owner of a chameleonic register, Paula Alí effortlessly oscillated between the contained tears of drama and the genuine laughter of humor. She was unfamiliar with vanity. Those of us who had the privilege of sharing a dining table or the living room of a home with her recognized the same down-to-earth woman from the film set.
He was renowned for his natural charm in sharing verses, delightful anecdotes, and witty sayings without any hint of arrogance, transforming shared moments into a celebration of intelligence and affection.
Paula Alí, the beloved and lively doctor from Punto G or Grandma Petra in the soap opera Los hijos de Pandora, among countless unforgettable roles in theater, film, and television, leaves an indelible mark. It is this very art of hers that connected generations of viewers with simplicity, professionalism, and an immense human dimension.
The collective affection expressed after her death—today mourning the national culture—is nothing more than a return of the joy she freely shared throughout her entire life.
Today we bid farewell to one of the greats, but above all, to a dear friend who took care to share with me her serious or humorous poetry, sprinkled with that characteristic Cuban humor that defined her.
A part of the golden harvest of our performance is lost to us, a humble woman who never believed in her own greatness. Rest in peace, Paulita. Your final act has come to an end, but the applause in the soul of the people will be eternal.
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