The Masters of the Universe actor on why muscles alone don’t make the hero, and what it means to embody power with kindness.
On set in Berlin during the press tour for Masters of the Universe, Nicholas Galitzine holds a He-Man action figure in his hands like he’s discovering a relic. The 31-year-old actor is visibly unsettled, then amused. “It’s very surreal,” he says, his voice betraying a mixture of disbelief and wonder. The figure, $10.99 at any retailer, bears his likeness, the blonde bob, the minimal clothing, the bulging frame. It’s been in production since 1982, reinvented countless times, but this version is different. This version is him.
In the coming weeks, Galitzine will become a cultural touchstone in a way few actors experience. Not simply because he’s playing an icon, but because Masters of the Universe arrives at a moment when masculinity is being redefined, commodified, and photographed. The film sidesteps the obvious: that heroism isn’t about the size of your muscles, but the depth of your conviction.
Growing up in West London, Galitzine was discouraged from television and nudged toward imagination. That meant action figures, toys that became, in his words, the birthplace of his creative life. “Playing with action figures birthed my sense of creativity and imagination, in some sense,” he reflects. Now, handing out versions of himself to his nieces and nephews feels oddly egocentric. And yet, perfectly natural.
Masters of the Universe doesn’t follow the superhero template audiences have come to expect. There’s no irony-soaked banter, no wink-wink acknowledgment of its own campiness. Instead, the film embraces sincerity alongside spectacle: a story of found family, generational pressure, self-discovery, and the quiet heroism of simply being decent. Director Travis Knight recognized this early. “When I first met with Nick, he completely sold me,” the filmmaker recalls. “He’s charming, warm, funny, with a big heart—and that’s the key ingredient. That’s what I wanted Adam to be.”
The body transformation became necessary but secondary. Galitzine jumped from 176 pounds to 231 during his bulk, then cut back to 200. Six meals a day. Three-hour weightlifting sessions. He’d been fit before—a rugby player in his youth—but this was different. “A lot of people think this is quite attainable, but it was a full-time job for me,” he says. Knight refused shortcuts, pushing back against an industry more comfortable with chemical assistance. “I did not want this man to destroy his body for the sake of the movie. So he did it the right way, and he did it the hard way.”
But the muscles are just the vessel. What matters is what they contain. The cultural conversation around modern masculinity has become impossible to ignore. Looksmaxxing, peptides, and the relentless pursuit of the optimal male form dominate digital spaces. Galitzine sees the humor in it, and the danger. “I find this looksmaxxing to be a little bit comical,” he says. “It’s very lacking in self-awareness at times, and there’s humor in it, but we’ve always done something of that iteration. But where it’s going seems completely out of control.”
What he refuses is the false choice between strength and sensitivity. As a teenager, wrapped in rugby culture, rife with machismo and frat-boy posturing—he felt the pressure acutely. “I was 14, 15, 16, and I had this real looming sense of cosmic wonder and fear. I was really sensitive and emotional and I had no outlet for it,” he recalls. Acting eventually became that outlet. Now, in playing Adam, he embodies the reconciliation of those warring impulses.
“The muscles don’t maketh the man, really,” Galitzine says plainly. “We live in a physical world, and the aesthetics of both things and people obviously have value. I mean, He-Man‘s superpower is his ability to really connect with people and embrace them and embolden them and collaborate with them. It’s not the superficial.”
He continues, his voice tightening with conviction: “For me, it’s not really a conversation that needs to be had; it’s just a reality. We are many, many things, and we should embrace those many, many things. This notion of being able to talk about how we feel is hopefully something the movie can perpetuate in other young men.”
The irony is sharp: a man who spent months transforming his body into a fantasy, now arguing that the body is the least important part. But that’s exactly the point. Adam doesn’t stride into Eternia as a cocky tyrant. He arrives as someone who works in HR, wears pink button-downs, and goes on failed Hinge dates. He’s earnest. He’s humble. He’s trying to earn his father’s respect. When he finally picks up the Sword of Power and utters the words—”By the power of Grayskull, I have the power!”—the transformation is earned.
For Galitzine, the work continues. The Mosquito Bowl, the Red, White & Royal Wedding sequel, The Return of Stanley Atwell, and several more projects yet to be announced. He’s booked solid for years. His costar, Camila Mendes, has urged him to rest. “You’re always going to be employed,” she tells him. “You can take a break and trust there will be work on the other side waiting for you.”
In the meantime, he wants to make a horror film. A sci-fi horror. A video game sci-fi horror. Anything that surprises. “The greats are the people who are completely unpredictable and surprising,” he says.
More from MMSCENE’s editorial coverage. Follow Nicholas Galitzine on Instagram. Masters of Universe is now streaming on Prime Video.
Photography by Sandro Baebler. Original story published in Men’s Health, by Evan Romano. Styling by Peghah Maleknejad. Grooming by Josh Knight. Visual Director Sally Berman.
