Ali El Sabaa Is Not a Playboy He Just Looks Like One

CairoScene

02-04-2025

Here's what you need to know about Ali El Sabaa: he is very good-looking, very good at pretending not to know he's good-looking, and extremely good at ruining the romantic lives of fictional people on screen. In his latest film, Nogoum El Sahel, out this Eid, he plays a silk-robed, Range Rover-driving menace named Basel 'El B' (yes, really), who exists purely to disrupt a love story, wear sunglasses indoors, and look smug in linen.
'He's an a**h*le, honestly,' Ali says, cheerfully. 'But I've met him. You've probably met him too.'
Ali El Sabaa isn't the kind of actor who gets chased through airports. Yet.
But there's a shift in the atmosphere. After years of showing up, standing slightly off-center, and quietly stealing scenes, he's starting to outgrow just being 'around.' He's on the cusp - the tipping point, the edge of the thing. He's not quite a household name, but he's been orbiting stardom long enough to start generating his own gravitational pull. He's shared scenes with icons, yes, but he still reacts like a fan who can't believe he's not just watching Mona Zaki, but dragging someone by the hair in a scene with her.
If you've seen Ali on screen - brooding, smouldering, occasionally shirtless - you may assume you've got him figured out. His roles in 'Le'bet Newton,' 'Athena,' 'Lunch Box,' 'Meen Yesada,' and 'Hala Khassa,' might've served as dramatic cues and personality indicators but the truth is you still don't. Because in real life, he's rarely tossing champagne on yachts. He's at home cooking dinner, listening to music, and gently judging your knife skills. He is, by his own admission, 'a fascist in the kitchen' and a lover boy with an emotional filing system so detailed it deserves a Dewey Decimal code.
And while he's busy juggling roles as the 'Hot Man With Secrets,' Ali is out here trying to be something far more dangerous: a person with feelings.
So no, he's not a playboy. He's just been mistaken for one. Repeatedly. On screen. On set. In real life. Which is what happens when you're tall, wear vintage rings, and emote like a man who's known the taste of heartbreak and artisanal olive oil.
But stay with him long enough, and something shifts. The charm softens. The edges show. And you start to realise: the most interesting thing about Ali El Sabaa isn't the role he's playing.
It's the one he's 'attempting' to re-cast.
'I know how I look,' he shrugs. 'I've had people call me a playboy just off the vibe. But I'm not interested in that energy. I'm a lover boy, not a playboy. There's a difference.'
There is. One involves roses. The other involves ghosting.
But Ali, it turns out, is more than cheekbones and smizes. 'I'm 30,' he says. 'Turning 31 this year.' In actor years, that's somewhere between 'young enough to play a college student' and 'old enough to be the love interest's therapist.' He doesn't seem fazed. 'It took time for me to land,' he says. 'But I've done the work.'
And he means actual work, not just 'posted three Instagram thirst traps and took a masterclass.' We're talking stage work, bit parts, workshops, years of learning how to hit your mark while pretending to cry in 38-degree heat.
He once played Thomas Humphrey - the flirtatious little brother - in The Game of Love and Chance. That's when the 'playboy energy' first showed up. And like glitter, it's proven hard to shake. 'I'm actively trying to move away from that,' he says.
Meanwhile, the man still wears rings that were gifted to him by exes. A 1946 Palestine coin on a chain hangs loosely around his neck. You know. Like someone who feels things.
But for all the brooding ambiguity, he's weirdly… chill. In person, Ali is the kind of guy who listens. Really listens. Like someone who's spent a lot of time alone, making pasta for one and thinking about emotional continuity in French cinema.
'I started living alone at 17,' he says. 'My parents divorced. My mum moved to the States. My dad remarried. I had to figure things out fast.'
Naturally, he became the type of person who hosts dinner parties with curated lighting. 'Half for fun, half for distraction,' he says. 'But I got good at creating comfort. For myself. For others.' You can feel that precision everywhere. In the way he speaks. The way he breaks down a script. Even the way he cooks. 'My kitchen, my rules,' he grins. 'You're a sous-chef. You dice onions. You follow orders.' He's been at it since age 12.
This isn't a guy obsessed with being liked. He's obsessed with getting it right. 'Every f***ing day of my life, I feel like I don't know what I'm doing. Maybe today I'm at the top. Tomorrow I'm at the bottom. You don't know. It's not a banker's job.'
Especially on screen. In Athena, his most recent Ramadan show, there's a scene where his character FaceTimes his mother. The woman on the screen is his actual mum. 'We didn't shoot together,' he says. 'But the emotion was real. Distance. Longing. It felt more like remembering than acting.'
He cast her himself. Texted the director. Had her audition. She got the part. It's like a therapy session with lighting and makeup.
Because here's the thing about Ali: he's not in it for fame. He's in it for the feeling. 'You gather moments - joy, heartbreak, trauma - and you store them. Then, when it's time, you use them.' Like an emotional filing cabinet. But with better lighting and fewer birth certificates.
He takes the same approach with Nogoum El Sahel. 'I studied men in Sahel all summer,' he says. 'The ones who think money equals charisma.' He wasn't judging them. He just wanted to understand what emptiness looks like in designer linen.
His research process is three-fold. Sit. Watch. Absorb. 'I sit behind the DOP. The gaffer. I study the frame. Raccord. You can't fake a close-up. You have to mean it.'
He's inspired by actors like Ahmed and Hassan Malek - guys who do the work. 'It's very anthropological what they do. They study people. Break the typecasting. That's what I want.'
And sure, he's worked with big names - Mona Zaki, Taha Dessouky, Mohamed Ramadan - on shows like 'Le'bet Newton,' 'Hala Khassa' and 'Lunch Box'. He's done intense scenes. Combat. Hair dragging. But the thing that sticks with him isn't the stunts. It's how they treated him. 'They were patient. Kind. They treated me like a peer. That mattered.'
As for romance, he keeps it grounded. 'I've had a normal number of relationships for my age,' he says, like someone filling out a form. 'What matters now is friendship. Romance fades. But if you're not friends - what's left?'
He plays golf. Wears suits like they're part of a personal religion. Refers to his late teens as an era of 'glasses-less-ness.' He's self-aware, emotionally literate, and way too articulate for someone whose job involves pretending to be other people.
He doesn't want Everest. He doesn't want to be a brand. He wants to be better. 'The end game is to get better at my craft. To inspire people. To inspire myself. To enjoy it all.'
He's not who you think he is. He just plays the part - locks eyes with the industry, flashes a slow smile, and lets everyone think he's in love.
He's not. He's just good at flirting. With the camera. With the crowd. With the idea of fame.
But that's not the point. Not really. The point is what he does when no one's watching. The real show starts after the curtain call.
Credits:
Produced by: Scene Styled | MO4 Network
SceneStyled Managing Editor: Farida El Shafie
Photographer/Art Director: Malak El Sawi
Creative Producer: Nariman El Bakry
DOP: Ahmed Reda
Styling: Nada Koura
Wardrobe: Sandro Paris // Kenzo // Rebel Cairo
1st AC: Islam Maged
Gaffer: Ahmed Sherif
Sound engineer: Abanoub Fouad
Location: Kom El Dikka Agrilodge, Fayoum
Editorial Design: Maleka Younes
Talent Manager: Menna Negm