June 2026 | With Hend Sabry

In a world where the map of mood and safety is redrawn with alarming frequency, Egypt’s relative stability is not taken for granted by those who call it home, or by those who love it from afar. And with the anticipation of long summer days, the allure of silver screen muses feels especially potent. There’s something grounding about a world that finds time to read, to celebrate, or to turn to film and television as forms of reckoning in spite of social media. Whether in design, in art, or most completely in film, the art form that absorbs all others, the need for escapism remains a hopeful heartbeat in our collective life.
Bringing me out of a seemingly endless preparation phase, my guest this month embodies that very heartbeat.
One of the Arab world’s most celebrated actors, Hend Sabry has built a singular career across decades, continents, and languages. She moves between cinema and television, from award-winning film roles to the musalsalat that captivate millions each Ramadan. This past season was no exception. After a four-year absence from Ramadan television, Hend returned in Mana’a, which translates broadly as The Immune or The Untouchable, a morally complex drama set in Cairo’s El Batneyya neighborhood in the mid-1980s, when the area was notorious as a hub for drug trafficking. She plays Gharam, a young widow left alone to raise three children after her husband’s death in the criminal underworld, who makes the fateful choice to follow in his footsteps, transforming episode by episode from victim to formidable matriarch of a criminal empire. The series topped viewership charts across the Arab world, igniting wide critical and social debate.
I met Hend more than fifteen years ago, when she married one of my sister’s childhood friends. I was starstruck, having been captivated by her performance in The Yacoubian Building, which stole many hearts, including mine. She is now extended family, though what distinguishes her most is not proximity but example: the discipline and generosity with which she has carried both talent and fame.
Born in Tunisia and embraced by the Egyptian film industry, Hend is fluent in Arabic, French, and English, a combination that mirrors one of my own enduring preoccupations: the conversation between cultures that rarely speak to one another directly.
Recognized from the get-go as a young teen for her work in The Silences of the Palace, her career has since been marked by major distinctions, including a career spanning Golden Globe, a Critics Award at the Cannes Film Festival for Noura’s Dream, and her appointment as an Officer of the Order of Arts and Letters in France. That she made room in her demanding schedule to answer my questions says everything that needs to be said.
As a film student at university who once imagined a future behind the camera, cinema remains my favorite aesthetic language. The monumental sets of Fritz Lang’s Metropolis, Marilyn’s dress above the subway grate in Billy Wilder’s The Seven Year Itch, the whimsical world of Tim Burton’s Edward Scissorhands; the images and sounds of Joseph L. Mankiewicz, Alfred Hitchcock, Stanley Kubrick, Woody Allen, Jacques Demy too name just a few of my personal building blocks. Few mediums nourish creative appetites as completely as cinema.
Arab cinema was never the world I knew best though, which makes Hend’s gravitational pull all the more remarkable. Her presence drew me toward it in ways few actors have.
I hope you’ll cherish this conversation as much as I did.

Hend, your career is so overwhelmingly rich that it’s hard to know where to begin. Let me start with the last time I saw you on screen, which was in the musalsal Mana’a. The character of Gharam is a victim who transforms into something far more dangerous. You’re not new to playing dark psychologically complex characters, but I can only imagine that doing it under the pressures and demands of shooting for a Ramadan series must take a special kind of concentration. How do you find your way back to yourself when it’s over?

That’s a good question. You get used to locking yourself away for three, four months and saying, okay, I’m not going to be available, unfortunately for my family, my friends, my life. And then you look at the end of it and say, okay, I’m going to be back.

And is it the same as when you do a regular TV series, or is it different because it’s Ramadan?

Ramadan is like the Olympic Games, slash World Cup, slash everything. It is the hardest. Without the seasonal nature of Ramadan, you can shoot at relatively any time. Well unless it’s a Christmas series maybe, but then again, they prepare so much in advance. We do everything so late. So the pressure teaches you a lot, because when you work under pressure, you become so much more resourceful. I can tell you the technicians we have in Egypt are more resourceful than any technicians in the world because they work under so much pressure. Actors as well. I think we’re very skilled in Egypt, in the Arab world, because of these Ramadan constraints. You have one or two months to get fifteen episodes ready, which to production in the US or in France would most probably seem impossible. And it’s a school. Of course the quality is not always what you wish for, because of the time pressure, because of all the pressures. But this is how our industry works.

So let’s go from your latest project to the first time I saw you on screen in The Yacoubian Building, in which you were a revelation to many, including myself. I remember looking you up right after the film and then watching your first movie, Les Silences du Palais, where you play the teenage Alia with such striking expressiveness, although you were a child. You were like?

I was fourteen. My daughter’s age now.

I watched it again yesterday in preparation for today. That film has such haunting aesthetics and a unique, meditative, nostalgic atmosphere. I have a little question within the question: is it you singing in that beautiful scene?

It’s not. I had to learn how to lip sync.

Because lip syncing in movies sometimes doesn’t always work. We don’t have to talk about it. I wouldn’t want to ruin the magic of the incredibly convincing illusion of the scene.

No no, we can, it’s public knowledge.

I was puzzled by how real your singing looks.

So many people thought it was me. I took classes at the time with a wonderful musician, Anouar Brahem. He’s the king of oud and jazz, and he did the music for the film. He’s known everywhere.

Anouar Brahem, an exceptional talent.

Yes truly, he did the music for the movie, so I was really privileged to be in his presence. He’s the one who taught me that lip syncing is not just moving your lips. It’s the soul. It’s syncing a soul.

So what does that shoot evoke for you today, at this point in your career?

That film and that shoot mean everything, because that’s when my life changed. My life before Les Silences was one thing, and after, something else entirely. And it was a coincidence. It was my first part. I was at a birthday party with my parents, and there was a director who had been working on Les Silences du Palais as co-writer with Moufida Tlatli. His name was Nouri Bouzid. Nouri said to my father, “Your daughter could be in a movie. I like her eyes, there’s something about her. We’re writing a film and the main character is her age. Is she willing to audition?” So I went and I wasn’t even the first choice. But the first choice’s parents said no.

Talk about fate. But also, when I watched the film, I felt that the camera chose you very deliberately. There’s so much attention on you. Very close. Long pauses.

Maybe, because for months before shooting, I used to go to Moufida’s place and she would film me from every angle, every profile. She’d say, “just be,” and she would film me just being. And this character, Alia, that’s why I named my daughter Alia, she was so mysterious to me. At fourteen, you can’t talk about the psychology of a character. I just had to be and embody. But I didn’t know what I was being. But it looked like I knew I guess. I did not find that talent. Other people found it for me.

And Moufida Tlatli, that was her first film as a director, yes?

Yes. So she was very slow, very meditative, as you say. She liked to take her time. Every scene had a beginning, an end, an arc. And the cinematography is beautiful. And I think it transmitted a lot of feminist values to me. Tunisian cinema is kind of held by women. The biggest producer is a woman. The directors, Kaouther Ben Hania today, Moufida Tlatli before. It’s a lineage of women guarding the temple. It’s a very Tunisian thing. Tunisia is guarded by its women.

Do you have a favourite film of yours, or is it a Sophie’s choice question?

I love them all, or if I don’t love them, they taught me something. But if there had to be one, Les Silences du Palais would be up there, not only for its cinematic value but for everything it means in my life. But my favourite character is Ola Abou Sabour, because I grew up with her (the main character of her regional smash TV series). We did Aizet Gawez (colloquial Egyptian for ‘I want to be married’) and then Finding Ola. She was there at many milestones. And I love The Blue Elephant because I had a lot of fun playing the villain, she’s a kind of jinn. The whole supernatural thing, I loved it.

That’s one wild ride that movie! So unique. I wonder what western audiences would make of it. It’s like nothing I know.

As you know, my diary is featured on my website, which is essentially about design and mobilier d’art. I know how meticulous you are about your homes and your life. Design in its wider sense seems inseparable from how you live, particularly for someone who’s a film producer, a fashion icon to a whole part of the world, and an actress who has reinvented herself many times. How do you relate to the idea of design? If at all.

I think I do, but in a very intuitive way. I’m not someone who knows, “ah, this piece is from this movement.” But I respond to the idea of eras. There are eras where I step in and feel I’m home. Like the 1930s and Art Deco which is probably one of the most recognizable movements in interiors. I love Miami because of those re-interpreted aesthetics. And of course ancient Egypt which has inspired so much of it. When I went to the Hatshepsut temple in Luxor, I was blown away. No ornaments, rigorously geometric, modern and minimalist. I felt instantly drawn. So I’m drawn to design through my soul. But I cannot claim to be a connoisseur. And my homes were not decorated by anyone but myself.

So you decorate your homes. (Hend’s Cairo home is warm, cosy with elements of grandeur like a dramatic staircase and walls adorned by a spectacular collection of Arab paintings, yet carries an understated European flair in its accessories and colour palette uncharacteristic of the newest Egyptian homes I’ve visited.)

And even if sometimes it clashes, I don’t care, because it’s me.

My definition of great taste is that it should not be borrowed. In France we often praise something called ‘fautes de goût’ (taste mistakes) that can actually define what chic means, far from the copy-paste render-like looks we too often come across these days.

I chose every piece of art, every object. I don’t know if it works, sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn’t, but it’s me. It’s alive! Through cinema you get to understand design.

As a producer and an actress, how important is the design aspect of the films and shows you work on?

As an actress, it’s not really my job to choose. But as a producer, it is. When we did Finding Ola, we had to reimagine where Ola would live now. People knew her from before. She used to live in a very traditional Egyptian apartment, like the Modhab wa kol 7aga (colloquial Egyptian for ‘fully furnished flats and such types’) so we had to imagine with our set designer how to marry the old with the new, the local to the more internationally exposed, how she had evolved, and that was so much fun. I brought things from my own home for the set. Rugs. Many things. Because that’s exactly how I saw her, and we couldn’t find the right rug, so I brought it from home.

That singular feel of it being personal and not generic definitely translated to the screen and probably made all the difference to viewers. You studied law and you hold a master’s degree in intellectual property, which is critically important for creatives, and still has a very long way to go in Egypt. Does your academic background affect your career?

Yes, of course. Law is a very wide study, there’s a law for everything, so you get to know a little bit of everything. And it gives you a very solid mental structure. If you’re preparing a role and you need to hold the sociological aspect, the historical aspect, the psychological aspect, studying law helped me structure my thinking around characters, around choices, around where I want to be. If I want to be someone who speaks for women, for minorities, for human rights, yes, law helped a lot. And it helps with the contracts. (laughs) But that part is second nature now.

So, you’re fluent in French, English, and several Arabic dialects, Tunisian, Egyptian, Lebanese?

Lebanese, if I have to. I have a Lebanese film coming up, so I will have to.

Egypt is to the Arab world something like what Hollywood is to Europe, perhaps. Since you’ve been embraced by Egypt as a Tunisian, I wonder if it was a deliberate choice to come here rather than go to France or the US?

It was not a choice at the beginning, but it became one. After building something here, I realized I’m much more needed here. So many actors and actresses of my generation went to Hollywood or Europe and tried to make it there. Very few succeeded. And the majority felt they were stigmatized, cast for their looks, asked to misrepresent their own culture because of the stereotypes and the demands. I felt I’m more needed here, as someone with a voice. Because we can change things here. And today it’s becoming much more porous, which is great, because now you can actually represent your culture your way and still be seen internationally. Films like The Vow and Four Daughters, which took Tunisia to the Oscars, they were so Tunisian. A purely local story. When it’s authentic, it travels. But for my generation, it wasn’t as easy as it is today. There was no social media. The codes were very different.

Now doors are opening. I can see it everywhere.

You’re a distinct voice and role model for women, and specifically for Arab women. Most of your work touches on the complexities of women’s position in society. Finding Ola was a massive success in the Arab world. I remember watching it with a couple of American friends who know we’re friends, and while they praised the production and entertainment value, they couldn’t really understand why it was so groundbreaking here. Can you elaborate on that?

I understand where they come from. To them, getting a divorce, holding your own identity without a husband or a father, that’s something they might have been born into as a given. It’s not something they had to fight for, not during their lifetime. But for us, up until 2021, there was no show, no hopeful representation of a woman getting divorced, opening her own business, not being defined only as someone’s wife or daughter or mother.

But I think it was groundbreaking for another reason too, the tone. We’re not used to sarcasm so much in our culture. Sarcasm is something we’re afraid of. But I believe sarcasm is the fastest way to create change, to make people laugh at themselves.

The mother in Ola, for example. The mother is sacred in our culture, you cannot say your mother is wrong. So we depicted Ola’s mother as the stereotype of all mothers. She’s super annoying, but she’s funny. And the only way to show how annoying she is was to make her funny first.

These contextual elements might pass people by in Western culture, I think.

Exactly. The codes are different. So many women who grew up watching Aizet Gawez did so because they wanted to get married, their mothers were always behind them: get married, get married. And it hasn’t changed that much even today.

What do you think are the biggest misconceptions about Arab women from a Western perspective, and vice versa?

That we’re weak. We’re super strong. They think we don’t have a voice, that we’re obedient, submissive. Honestly, the strongest women I’ve met in my life are hands down in this part of the world. Because they have to juggle everything: misconceptions, judgement, stereotypes, male voices trying to shut them down even more than in the western part of our world. When you make it through all that, you become much stronger. I have immense admiration for women everywhere, but here there’s a concentration of very strong women. When they put something in their mind, you cannot stop them.

And vice versa, is there an Arab perception of Western women?

I think it’s more a male perception. I don’t think women have that same otherness toward Western women. Women recognise each other across cultures. We have a bond because it wasn’t a given for any of us. We weren’t born with a silver spoon. We had to earn it. And even today in Europe and the US, women are still paid less, still held to double standards. I actually prefer the word parity, or fairness, or justice, over equality, because it will never be strictly equal. We carry so much more that’s invisible.

You’ve been a human rights activist against hunger and social injustice. Could you share one of your current concerns, perhaps for the region?

For the region, because that’s why I resigned in November 2023. I had been working with the World Food Program of the UN and the people on the ground are extraordinary. They risk their lives in service and they will always have my deepest respect. But at the top, it’s not always the same. There are double standards. And when you spend your life talking about equality, about justice for all, fighting against racism and then you’re told, no, we cannot call for a ceasefire right now, I resigned.

Because of the weaponization of hunger. We saw it in Gaza. They were starved deliberately. This was a man-made famine. The aid could not come in because food was weaponized. And when you’ve spent your whole life working to show that this doesn’t have to happen, that we shouldn’t even be thinking about this in 2023, well then you have to put your actions where your mind is.

And now the world seems to be unravelling further.

It’s very worrying. We grew up in a world where there was an entity called the United Nations that acted like firefighters. Today there are fires everywhere and no firefighters.

My father as you know was president of the executive council of UNESCO in the early 80’s, and even then I was starting to see the cracks.

Now it’s completely exposed. It’s blatant. But I think people are waking up. You can’t lie and manipulate people as easily as before. The illusion of “all lives matter” and “we’re all equal” — people are starting to see through it. Which is dangerous in one way, because it becomes everyone for themselves. The law of the jungle.

The Western part of me would love to see you in a Hollywood or European production. Even though I’m fully aware that the recognition of the entire Arab world is something to treasure in ways that aren’t always perceivable from outside. Is there a chance of a fully Western production for you?

I would love that. I’ve auditioned many times, done many tapes. I have agents in the US. But it hasn’t happened yet. Maybe it will, maybe it won’t. In the meantime, I value what I have very much. I truly believe it’s destiny. Maktub.

Would you mind sharing what you’re currently working on?

I’m working on a Lebanese film. We’re preparing, with everything that’s happening in Lebanon, it’s been complicated because we’re supposed to shoot there. It’s a hundred percent Lebanese, my first time. It’s a beautiful script about two women. Me and Hiam Abbas. We’re two women making ends meet, working together. We’re extras. It’s a take on the world of extras. It’s directed by Cynthia Sawma, her first feature, and produced by Georges Choucair.

Who doesn’t love Hiam Abbas. She was memorable in Succession. I cannot wait for that upcoming duo. I like the idea of a focus on the world of extras. I also love that you keep working with women directors.

I love working with women. It’s so much easier because you don’t have to translate your soul.

Last question before the rapid round.

You’ve accomplished so much, and you’re not even halfway through life. What should we wish you in the near future?

Health. Wish me health. The rest will follow.

Of course we wish you vibrant health…Now the rapid round, be spontaneous.

RAPID ROUND:

Name a film 

In the Mood for Love by Wong Kar-wai

Name a city 

Paris

Name a song

“Stars” Nina Simone