Restless, multifaceted, and deeply experiential, Stelios Kritikos never followed a straight path. From the competitive sports fields, where he learned the power of discipline and teamwork, to the theater stage, where he discovered the world that captivates him, his journey has been a continuous quest for exploration and expression. For him, art was never merely a professional choice; it was an inner necessity that took root in his childhood — when a musical instrument, a father’s encouragement, and his first notes quietly began to pave the way.
He has served every genre of theater — drama, comedy, musical, revue — with a particular fondness for children’s theater, where, as he says, he reconnects with the innocence and truth that adults tend to lose as they grow up. He experimented, took risks, and stepped outside his comfort zone, even through television challenges such as “Survivor,” transforming the experience into a springboard for creativity. Together with his wife, he created the KaSTeL art space, a shared vision that brings together theater and dance, making a meaningful investment in the younger generation.
Today, as the author of the book “Leo’s Light,” he speaks about the value of self-awareness, self-belief, and the search for our own personal light — a light that is not borrowed, but discovered. In the interview that follows, Stelios Kritikos opens his heart, returns to his roots, honors the people who believed in him before he believed in himself, and shares his vision for art, family, and life.
Of all your roles — actor, presenter, creator, writer, entertainer — which one do you feel expresses you the most, and why?
Reader. I love reading and listening to stories, whether or not I end up recording them. They take me on a journey. Then, from the stories that move me, I mentally distill something in order to write or create something of my own, or to use them as a tool to express a role. Yes, that’s what fascinates me: reading and the journey it creates within you. Because from every single person — if we are eight billion people on this planet — a different interpretation emerges. So we’re talking about eight billion different readings.
From all your qualities, I deliberately left out that of the athlete to ask you this: Football was your first professional dream. What did sports teach you about life?
Above all, discipline — that nothing is achieved on its own without hard work. It taught me consistency and teamwork. Essentially, these are universal elements, regardless of the professional label. It’s the way you learn, as a person, to express yourself and to feel that you are creating — because I don’t like the word “working.” It’s about what truly expresses you. It’s what, at the end of the day, when you look back at the day that has passed, makes you feel proud of the effort you put in.
In the late 1990s you decided to pursue acting professionally. What triggered that change?
I’ll answer you — and this is the first time I’m saying this publicly. A week ago, I realized something I hadn’t understood until now. I always said — and it was true — that as a child I had never seen theater. When I came to Athens, I watched a performance and said, “This is the world that fascinates me. I want to be there. What is happening on that stage? What is it like to travel through a role?” That experience touched me deeply. I began searching for plays, watching more theater, wanting to become part of that world. I believed everything started with that first performance.
But looking back, I realized the real beginning goes much further back — to my father. I was eight years old, just before Christmas, when he asked me if I wanted to get involved with music, with art in general. I said yes. He loved music; we used to listen to records together on the turntable. He asked me which instrument I wanted to learn, and I said guitar. One Saturday when he wasn’t working, he took me to buy one.
At the store, however, when I tried to hold the guitar, my hands couldn’t reach because I was so small. The salesman gave me a bouzouki instead, and that’s what I ended up getting. My father asked me if I wanted it. I was a very shy child and said, “Okay.” I wanted a guitar, but I learned the bouzouki. I stayed with it for many years. I played, we wrote songs, formed small groups, performed for tourists. I wrote songs and sang them. Later, with a friend who played guitar, we would gather at his house: I wrote lyrics, he composed the music. I studied composers like Vassilis Tsitsanis, Apostolos Kaldaras, Grigoris Bithikotsis, and later Manos Hadjidakis came into my life. We had a very good teacher. It was my first substantial contact with art. It’s a period of my life I had erased. I wondered how it was possible to forget that I used to write, that I was involved in art.
Without realizing it, that period had been engraved inside me. And when I later saw theater, that entire childhood experience was activated. Because in the end, I loved being on stage — performing, embodying roles, expressing myself. The stage wasn’t something foreign; it was a continuation.
When I realized this, I was moved. I felt ashamed that I hadn’t acknowledged it sooner. I want to honor my father, because he was the first spark. This is the first time I’m saying it, and essentially he will learn it through this interview. I have never told him.
You asked what happened in the ’90s. The truth is, that’s when I made the professional decision. But my connection with art had begun much earlier — from that question my father asked me in my childhood: “Do you want to get involved with music?” That’s where it all truly began.
So did you become a musician in the end? Did your involvement with music help you professionally?
A musician of that time, yes. Later on, of course, it helped me tremendously, especially when I worked in musicals. The fact that we wrote and sang back then — even self-taught — that I always tried to hit the right notes, that I learned music and notation, gave me knowledge and tools. I used all of that later in my professional journey.
Since you mentioned musicals, you have served all genres of theater — drama, comedy, revue — yet your great love seems to be children’s theater. What especially fascinates you about it?
We often say we want to remain children forever. In conversations we hear: “I miss my childhood innocence, my carefree spirit.” That is precisely a child’s magic: the first thought, the first spontaneous enthusiasm. A child will show it; they won’t hold back; they don’t have second thoughts.
If something seems funny, they will laugh loudly. If something doesn’t impress them, they will simply lose interest and look elsewhere. They won’t flatter you if you don’t deserve it, won’t hug you if you don’t deserve it. They won’t travel with you if what you’re telling them is tiresome.
As we grow up, that innocence and authenticity gradually fade. That magic and uniqueness — which we adults somehow lose — I find in children. It’s as if I rediscover a lost part of our own journey. I step into their world; essentially, I borrow a little time from their ability to dream and to travel, and I lose myself with them in that sea, in that ocean.
What was it that pushed you to take part in Survivor and Globetrotters?
The truth is, I hadn’t planned to go on Survivor. The main reason was my children. They had known me as an athlete; they had seen me compete, celebrate, lift a trophy in a final, with an entire stadium chanting my name. In a Cup final, we lifted the trophy and the whole stadium was shouting “Kritikos, Kritikos” or “Kritikos is crazy.” My children were there, in my arms, shouting along with the crowd. They had lived that image and admired me through it — and that’s natural. They had seen what I was capable of achieving. So they kept telling me, “Dad, go. Go and you’ll see.”
The second reason, equally important, was financial. The money. It was a big risk, but it ultimately proved to be the right choice. I managed to gather the amount I needed to open KaSTeL, the theater and dance school in Palaio Faliro.
Today, the school is approaching its ninth year of operation, with great joy and tremendous acceptance from both children and adults. The space can no longer accommodate us, and there is now a waiting list for new registrations.
That was the reason I went to Survivor and Globetrotters. And in the end, it was worth it.
Since you mentioned it, in 2018 you and your wife created the KaSTeL art space. What was your vision?
I owe KaSTeL to Katia. It wasn’t something I had envisioned myself; I wouldn’t have taken that step alone. It seemed distant to me, almost crazy. But Katia planted the idea of combining our arts — her as a dance teacher, me from the theater side. She truly believed in it, researched it thoroughly, and eventually convinced me.
She created the conditions and, most importantly, the sense of security that we could go “all in.” I owe this venture to her. I don’t claim anything for myself; her persistence was the catalyst.
Financially, of course, it was always a challenge. We didn’t just want a floor with a few chairs and to call it “theater.” If we did it, we wanted to do it properly: a real stage, dressing rooms, seating, lighting — a space that met all the standards. That meant high costs.
At the same time, we were already looking for spaces and calculating money from here and there. I had previously received a proposal for the first Survivor, which I declined because I had given my word to a theater production and would not leave the people I had agreed to work with, even if the money was many times higher. But I had said that if the proposal came again in a year when I didn’t have a professional commitment, I would consider it.
The second proposal came, I went, and the rest is known. The money from that gave us the opportunity to realize our vision and create the space exactly as we had imagined it.
Tell us about your new book, “Τo fos tou Leo” (Leo’s Light). What was the inner discovery that led you to write it?
The first thing I discovered while writing Leo was people. The inspiration to begin this story came from all those who passed through my life and, with open arms and joy, gave me something of themselves. Some I met for a month, some for a day, some for many years. But when a person is generous and knows how to give, that remains. That’s why I wanted to write Leo: to honor those who believed in me when I couldn’t see anything in myself — those who saw little lights within my darkness.
What will young readers discover through it?
Leo is a star born without light, and this random event automatically makes him different from all the other luminous stars. This difference, of course, creates great difficulties for him—even within his own family. However, such difficulties are resolved only through big decisions. Of course, you never know in advance what is a big decision and what is a small one. You realize and understand that along the way.
In his search for the truth—and above all for the place where he belongs—Leo comes face to face with a troubled society, a society marked by bad behavior, a lack of respect, a lack of love, selflessness, and empathy.
At that point, a comet enters Leo’s life and helps us understand that our complete light does not come from others, but is born from the very collision with our own darkness. And perhaps, in the end, that is the greatest truth Leo holds: that the journey to find our light is never easy, but it is always, always our own. Light is not an achievement; it is the decision to shine even when no one is watching.
What are your next professional plans?
On March 22 and 29, as well as April 5, we are returning to Athens with the children, presenting “The Kritikos Family Stories” at Alsos Theatre. The performances will take place on Sundays at 7:00 p.m.
At the same time, we continue our YouTube shows together with the boys. And at KaSTeL, classes go on daily — theater, dance, painting — everything related to art.
What is your life motto?
Συνέντευξη: Θοδωρής Κολλιόπουλος
