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From an acting school in Paris to some of Egypt’s most compelling screen performances, Gehad Hossam El Din reveals how movement, instinct, and relentless curiosity shape every character she brings to life.

Your artistic journey stretches from the avant-garde training grounds of École du Jeu and Jacques Lecoq in Paris to the Cairo Contemporary Dance Center. In a visual medium like cinema, how does your understanding of contemporary dance influence the way you build a character before saying a single word?

I always return to the first fundamental principle of acting: the body is the actor’s instrument. Just as a violinist plays their instrument to create music and art, an actor plays their body. The more trained that instrument is, the more prepared your creative canvas becomes for building any character you can imagine.

That is exactly what I gained through my training at École du Jeu, Jacques Lecoq, and the Cairo Contemporary Dance Center. Today, I’m also deeply engaged with the Michael Chekhov technique, which is why I co-founded the Michael Chekhov Cairo Chapter in collaboration with Michael Chekhov Europe. I believe this kind of training is essential and still underrepresented in Egypt. For me, these techniques form the foundation upon which we build characters and, ultimately, an actor’s craft.

In What The Hell Am I Doing Here?, the entire narrative rested on physical expression. How did working in a dialogue-free environment sharpen your ability to communicate complex emotions through the camera?

What The Hell Am I Doing Here? feels like the culmination of everything I’ve trained for. It brought together movement, voice, acting, emotional connection, and complete immersion in character. The role had its own physical language, and the story itself was told almost entirely without dialogue.

Everything in that performance was the result of years of dedicated training, which is why the project remains incredibly close to my heart. I’m deeply proud of what we created.

From Leh La?! to Efrag alongside Amr Saad, your roles have grown increasingly layered. At this stage, what makes you instantly say “yes” to a script?

It’s a difficult question because the answer is often instinctive. There’s something inside you that immediately recognizes a strong script or an exceptional character. Usually, it’s an emotional connection that goes beyond logic.

Sometimes it’s the originality of the idea, as was the case with Karesa Tabe’eya. Other times, it’s the unusual nature of the project itself, like What The Hell Am I Doing Here?. I love characters who feel real and deeply human, but I’m equally drawn to projects that leave room for exploration, discovery, and experimentation.

Your performance in Karesa Tabe’eya resonated deeply with audiences. How did you prepare for the emotional and physical endurance required to portray a mother fighting for survival?

Shorouk was exceptionally well-written, which helped immensely. From the beginning, I saw her as a character driven largely by physicality, so all my movement training played a key role in building her.

A great deal of endurance comes from the body itself. Once you connect to the idea of survival—this woman trying to save herself, her children, her husband, and her family—something instinctive takes over. The body begins to understand the stakes before the mind does.

What is the most valuable lesson you learned from working with director Hany Khalifa?

The greatest lesson I learned from Hany Khalifa is the relentless pursuit of truth. Never settle for the first layer—or even the second. Keep digging deeper.

I also learned a great deal from him about discipline and passion. He never stops thinking about his work. Every moment of his time is dedicated to the project he’s creating. That level of commitment is incredibly inspiring and constantly pushes me to aim higher in my own work.

Your vocals in Batn El Hout and Karesa Tabe’eya revealed another side of your artistry. Is singing an extension of your acting, or a more personal space where you can simply be yourself?

For me, singing is a natural extension of my acting toolkit, which is why I continue to train my voice. I’ll admit that singing still intimidates me at times, but I’m trying to move beyond that fear through different projects, whether it’s the song in Batn El Hout or Karesa Tabe’eya.

Whenever an opportunity to sing arises, I take it because I want to keep exploring. I would love to create a full album one day, but I’m still discovering my identity as a singer. I feel there’s more training and growth ahead of me, and perhaps the process of making an album will become part of that journey.

Your academic background includes a Master’s degree from UCL focused on social reform and poverty. Has that perspective changed the way you read and interpret characters?

Absolutely. Studying development, planning, and public policy gave me a broader understanding of societies—not only in Egypt, but across Africa, Latin America, and beyond. It allowed me to see Egypt within a global context rather than as an isolated reality.

The academic process also taught me how to research, analyze, and think critically, which inevitably influences how I approach scripts and characters. Beyond that, my work in the development sector exposed me to vastly different communities, particularly underprivileged groups, giving me a deeper understanding of human complexity.

That said, once I step into a character, I leave those analytical layers behind. At that point, I try to exist simply as a human being guided by instinct.

Between acting, dance, music, and academia, your creative universe is remarkably rich. How do you maintain a sense of self within so many different worlds?

Honestly, I don’t feel the need to protect my identity from these different worlds. If anything, they are the very things that helped create it.

Of course, I am more than these disciplines, but each of them has played a significant role in shaping who I am. I’m still exploring, still learning, and because of that, I feel my identity remains in constant evolution.

This or That

The Stage or The Screen?
Both.

A Character Who Sings or a Character Who Dances?
A character who sings.

A Quiet Morning in London or a Busy Night in Cairo?
At the moment, a quiet morning in London. But if I stayed too long, I’d start missing Cairo’s nights.

Bold Statement Pieces or Timeless Classics?
Timeless classics.

A Character with a Dark Secret or One with an Open Fighting Spirit?
I love both.

Improvisation or a Perfectly Written Line?
A perfectly written line—with room for improvisation.