Omar Sharif: The Life Story Behind Egypt's Global Film Star
In this post
There is a moment in the history of film that everyone who loves cinema knows. A man appears on the horizon of a vast desert, a small dark figure riding toward the camera, growing slowly larger, until his face fills the screen. That man was Omar Sharif, and the film was Lawrence of Arabia. In that single entrance, a star was born, not only in Egypt, but in the whole world. It is one of the most famous entrances in film history, and it belongs to an Egyptian actor who began his career in Cairo and ended it as one of the most loved faces in world cinema.
Omar Sharif was not only a film star. He was a bridge between two worlds, between Egypt and Hollywood, between Arabic and English, between the desert of his home and the studios of London and Los Angeles. He played a desert prince, a Russian doctor, a Jewish gambler, and a Spanish bandit, and he played them all with the same quiet charm, the same deep eyes, and the same gentle voice. Audiences in every country trusted him, because he never acted like a star. He acted like a man, and that honesty made him beloved.
What makes his story worth telling is the journey itself, from a wealthy family in Alexandria, through the Egyptian film industry, to the greatest films of the 1960s, and then through the long, quiet years that followed, when fame faded and he returned to Egypt, to his family, and to the game of bridge that he loved almost as much as acting. This is the story of a man who saw the world, who was loved by the world, and who never forgot where he came from.
A Boy From Alexandria Named Michel
Omar Sharif was born Michel Dimitri Chalhoub on 10 April 1932 in Alexandria, Egypt, into a wealthy family of Lebanese and Syrian Christian background. His father owned a timber business, and the family lived in comfort, in a city that was then one of the great ports of the Mediterranean, a city of many languages, many faiths, and many cultures. A boy growing up in Alexandria in the 1930s heard Arabic, French, English, Italian, and Greek in the streets, and he learned to move between languages and between worlds. That skill, learned as a child, would later make him a star in films made in many languages.
He was educated at the Victoria College in Alexandria, a school known for its strict discipline and its English teaching, and he went on to study mathematics and physics at Cairo University. He was a bright student, and his family expected him to join the family business, to become a businessman, and to live a comfortable life in Egypt. He did work in the timber business for a time, but his heart was elsewhere. He loved the cinema, he loved acting, and he dreamed of a life on the screen. That dream was not an easy one for a young man from a wealthy family, because acting was not seen as a respectable career for a man of his background. He followed it anyway.
Alexandria gave him his looks, his manners, and his way of speaking. He was tall, handsome, and charming, with dark eyes that seemed to hold a secret, and a voice that was soft and warm. Those qualities would later make him a romantic lead, but in his youth they were only the promise of a star. He needed a chance, and he needed a teacher, and he found both in the Egyptian film industry, which was then in its golden age, making films that were loved across the Arab world.
He also learned, in those early years, the game that would become his second life. Bridge, the card game, fascinated him, and he became a serious player, studying the game with the same care he gave to his studies. Bridge is a game of memory, of logic, and of partnership, and Sharif loved it for those reasons. It would later take him around the world, to tournaments and to books, and it would give him a life beyond the cinema, a life where he was judged not by his face, but by his mind.
The Blazing Sun and a First Love
Omar Sharif’s film career began in Egypt in 1954, with the film Siraa Fil-Wadi, known in English as The Blazing Sun, directed by Youssef Chahine, one of the great directors of Egyptian cinema. Sharif played a young man in a story of love and conflict, and his co-star was Faten Hamama, already the most famous actress in Egypt. The film was a success, and Sharif’s face, new and striking, was noticed by audiences and by directors. He had found his chance, and he had taken it.
The film also changed his personal life. He fell in love with Faten Hamama, and the two married in 1955. It was a great love story, and a great film story, the young actor and the great actress, married and working together in film after film. They became the most famous couple in Egyptian cinema, and their films together were loved across the Arab world. They had a son, Tarek, and for a time their life seemed like a film itself, full of love, of work, and of success.
He took the name Omar Sharif for his film career, a name that sounded Egyptian and that would become famous around the world. The name change was a small thing, but it marked a new life. Michel Chalhoub, the businessman from Alexandria, became Omar Sharif, the actor, and the actor would soon be known far beyond Egypt. He made many Egyptian films in the 1950s, playing romantic leads, and he learned his craft, film by film, learning how to act for the camera, how to hold a scene, and how to work with a director.
Those Egyptian years were a school. He worked with Chahine and with other great directors, he learned the discipline of the set, and he learned that acting is not about looking handsome. It is about listening, about reacting, and about telling the truth in a scene. He learned those lessons well, and they prepared him for the moment when a British director would call him to London, and his life would change again, in a way no one in Egypt could have imagined.
Lawrence of Arabia and a Star Is Born
The call came from David Lean, the great British director, who was making a film about T. E. Lawrence, the British officer who fought in the Arab Revolt during the First World War. Lean needed an actor to play Sherif Ali, a proud Arab prince, and he chose Omar Sharif, an Egyptian actor who had never made a film in English. It was a bold choice, and it was a risk, but Lean saw in Sharif the dignity, the charm, and the desert spirit that the role needed. Sharif took the risk, and he made it his own.
Lawrence of Arabia was released in 1962, and it became one of the greatest films ever made. Sharif’s entrance, riding out of the desert mirage toward the camera, is still remembered as one of the great moments in cinema. He played Sherif Ali with a quiet strength, a man of honour, of pride, and of deep feeling, and audiences around the world loved him. He was nominated for an Academy Award for Best Supporting Actor, and he won a Golden Globe Award, and his name became known in every country where films were shown.
The film changed his life in a single season. He was no longer an Egyptian film star. He was a world star, and Hollywood and the great studios of Europe wanted him. He moved to Europe, he learned to work in English, French, and Italian films, and he became a familiar face in world cinema. He did not forget Egypt. He carried it with him, in his accent, in his manners, and in the desert spirit that he brought to every role. He was an Egyptian in the world, and the world loved him for it.
The success also brought a price. He was away from home for long periods, and his marriage to Faten Hamama suffered from the distance and from the demands of a world career. They divorced in 1974, after nearly twenty years together, and the divorce was a sad end to a great love story. Sharif never remarried, and he spoke of Hamama with love and respect for the rest of his life. That loyalty, to a love that had ended, tells us much about the man behind the star.
Doctor Zhivago and the Height of Fame
Three years after Lawrence of Arabia, Omar Sharif played the role that would define his career, Yuri Zhivago in Doctor Zhivago, directed by David Lean and released in 1965. The film, based on the novel by Boris Pasternak, told the story of a Russian doctor and poet caught in the Russian Revolution, a man of gentleness and of love, torn between his wife and his lover. Sharif played Zhivago with a quiet, deep feeling, and the film became a huge success around the world, one of the highest-grossing films of its time.
Doctor Zhivago made him a romantic lead for the whole world. His face, with its dark eyes and its gentle sadness, became the image of a lover, a poet, and a man caught in history. The film’s music, the famous Lara’s Theme, became known everywhere, and Sharif’s name was linked with it forever. He was now one of the most famous actors in the world, and he was offered roles in many countries, in many languages, and in many kinds of films.
He took those roles, and he worked steadily through the late 1960s and 1970s. He played in Funny Girl in 1968, opposite Barbra Streisand, as the gambler Nicky Arnstein, a role that showed his charm and his humour. He played in The Night of the Generals, in Mackenna’s Gold, in The Appointment, and in many other films, in English, French, and Italian. Some of those films were great, and some were not, but Sharif brought the same dignity to each one, and audiences trusted him, even when the film itself was weak.
Those were the years of his greatest fame, and also the years when he learned the cost of fame. He lived in hotels, he travelled constantly, and he was far from Egypt and from his son. He earned a great deal of money, and he lost a great deal of it, in part through his love of gambling and of the high life. He spoke later, with honesty, about those years, about the money he lost, and about the loneliness of a life lived in hotels. That honesty is part of his story, and it makes him more human, not less.
Funny Girl, Bridge, and a Life Beyond Film
In the late 1960s, Sharif’s work in Funny Girl brought him to a new audience, the audience of American musical film. He played Nicky Arnstein, the charming gambler who marries Fanny Brice, played by Barbra Streisand, and his performance was warm, funny, and sad at once. The film was a success, and his pairing with Streisand was loved by audiences. It showed that he could do more than play a desert prince or a Russian doctor. He could play a modern man, in a modern city, with humour and with heart.
At the same time, his other great love, bridge, was growing. He became one of the best bridge players in the world, and he wrote books about the game, including a famous column and a book on bridge that was read by players everywhere. He played in tournaments, he travelled for the game, and he was respected as a thinker, not only as an actor. Bridge gave him a life beyond the cinema, a life where his mind mattered more than his face, and he loved it for that reason. He once said, in effect, that bridge was his real work, and acting was only a way to earn money, and that remark tells us how deeply he loved the game.
He also became a familiar figure in the world of gambling and of casinos, and he spoke openly about his love of the game and about the money he lost. That openness was unusual for a film star, and it made him more human to his fans. He did not pretend to be perfect. He admitted his faults, and he lived with them, and that honesty is part of why people loved him. A star who admits his faults is a star who can be trusted, and Sharif was trusted.
Through the 1970s and 1980s, he worked less in major films, and more in smaller films, in television, and in European cinema. He was still a star, but the great roles came less often, and he accepted that with a calm that many actors cannot manage. He did not chase fame. He lived his life, he played bridge, he travelled, and he took the roles that interested him. That calm, in the face of fading fame, is a lesson in itself, and it is one reason his later years are worth remembering.
The Quiet Years and a Return to Egypt
In the 1990s and 2000s, Omar Sharif worked less, and he spent more time in Egypt and in France, living a quieter life. He took roles that interested him, including a beautiful performance in the French film Monsieur Ibrahim in 2003, where he played an old Turkish grocer who becomes a friend and a father figure to a young Jewish boy in Paris. The role won him praise, and it showed that his gift had not faded. He could still hold a screen with a quiet look, a gentle word, and a deep feeling, and audiences still loved him for it.
He also returned to Egypt more often, and he was welcomed as a national treasure. Egyptians were proud of him, not only for his films, but for the way he had carried Egypt to the world. He was an Egyptian who had become a world star, and he had never denied his home. He spoke Arabic, he loved Egyptian food, Egyptian music, and Egyptian people, and he was at home in Cairo in a way he was never at home in a hotel in London or Los Angeles. That return, to the city where he had begun, is a fitting end to a long journey.
His later years were marked by health problems, and by a sadness that many who knew him noticed. He was lonely at times, and he missed the great years of his career, and he missed Faten Hamama, who had died in 2015, only months before him. He spoke of her with love, and he kept her memory close. A man who loves once, deeply, and who never loves again in the same way, carries that love for the rest of his life, and Sharif carried his.
He was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease, and his memory, which had once been so sharp, began to fade. It was a sad end for a man who had lived so much, and who had remembered so much, from the desert of Lawrence of Arabia to the streets of Paris. His family cared for him, and he was treated with love and with respect. On 10 July 2015, he died in Cairo, at the age of 83. Egypt mourned him, and the world mourned him, and his films were shown again, in cinemas and on television, as people remembered the star who had ridden out of the desert.
What Omar Sharif Means to World Cinema
Today, Omar Sharif is remembered as one of the greatest film stars to come from the Arab world, and as one of the great romantic actors of world cinema. His films, Lawrence of Arabia and Doctor Zhivago, are still shown, still studied, and still loved, and his entrance in the desert is still one of the most famous moments in film history. He is a symbol of Egypt’s golden age of cinema, and a symbol of what an Egyptian actor can achieve in the world.
His legacy is also a lesson about dignity. He played many roles, in many languages, and he brought the same quiet dignity to each one. He did not shout, he did not show off, and he did not try to be more than the role needed. He trusted the camera, and the camera trusted him. That trust is the heart of great acting, and Sharif had it. Young actors still study his performances, and they learn from his calm, his listening, and his deep eyes.
He is still loved in Egypt, in the Arab world, and in the world of cinema, and his story is still told, from Alexandria to Hollywood, from the desert to Paris. The boy named Michel, who became Omar Sharif, who rode out of the mirage and into history, remains one of the most beloved faces in film, and his films will be watched for as long as people love the cinema.
Monsieur Ibrahim and a Late Gift
In 2003, Omar Sharif gave one of the finest performances of his later life in the French film Monsieur Ibrahim, where he played an old Turkish grocer in Paris who becomes a friend and a father figure to a young Jewish boy. The film was quiet, gentle, and full of feeling, and Sharif’s performance was praised around the world. He played the old man with a warmth, a humour, and a wisdom that came from a lifetime of living, and audiences who had loved him as a young romantic lead now loved him as an old man, a teacher, and a friend.
The role showed that his gift had not faded with age. He could still hold a screen with a look, a smile, and a quiet word, and he could still move an audience to tears. It also showed a different side of him, the side of a man who had lived, who had lost, and who had learned, and who could share that learning with a young person. A young actor who works with an old master learns more than acting. He learns about life, and the boy in Monsieur Ibrahim learned about life from Sharif, just as audiences have learned from him for sixty years.
The film won him awards, and it brought him back to the attention of a new generation, young people who had not seen Lawrence of Arabia or Doctor Zhivago, and who discovered him through a small, beautiful film about friendship. That discovery is a gift, and it shows that a great actor can find a new audience at any age, if he is willing to take a role that is true, and to give it his whole heart. Sharif did that, and Monsieur Ibrahim remains one of the most loved films of his later years.
My Take:
When I think about Omar Sharif, I think first of the desert, and of a small figure riding toward the camera, growing slowly larger, until his face fills the screen. That image is one of the great images in all of cinema, and it belongs to an Egyptian actor who began in Cairo and became a star of the whole world. I have watched that scene many times, and each time I feel the same wonder. A man, a horse, a desert, and a camera, and from those simple things, a star was born. That is the magic of film, and Omar Sharif was its perfect example.
What I admire most about him is his calm. He did not act loudly. He did not shout, he did not wave his arms, and he did not try to impress the audience with tricks. He stood still, he looked, and he let the camera come to him. That calm is hard to achieve, and it is rare. Many actors try too hard, and the audience can feel it. Sharif did not try too hard. He trusted his face, his eyes, and his voice, and he let the story do the work. I think young actors should study that calm, because it is the mark of a great actor, and it is the reason his performances still feel true today.
His journey from Alexandria to Hollywood moves me, because it is a journey that many people dream of, and few achieve. He was born into a wealthy family, he studied mathematics and physics, and he was expected to become a businessman. He chose a different path, a path that his family did not expect, and he followed it with courage. He learned acting in Egyptian films, he took a risk on an English film, and he became a world star. That courage, to leave a safe life for an uncertain one, is a lesson for anyone who has a dream that does not fit the plan others have made for them.
I also think about his love for Faten Hamama, and about how that love shaped his life. They were the most famous couple in Egyptian cinema, they made films together, they had a son, and they loved each other deeply. When the marriage ended, after nearly twenty years, he never remarried, and he spoke of her with love for the rest of his life. That loyalty moves me, because it shows a man who loved once, truly, and who carried that love even after it had ended. In a world where love is often treated as a passing thing, Sharif’s loyalty is a reminder that some loves last a lifetime, even when the marriage does not.
His love of bridge interests me, because it shows a different side of him. He was not only an actor. He was a thinker, a man who loved a game of memory, of logic, and of partnership, and who became one of the best players in the world. He wrote books about bridge, he played in tournaments, and he was respected for his mind. That is a rare thing for a film star. Most stars are loved for their face. Sharif was loved for his face, and respected for his mind, and that combination made him more interesting than most stars. I like that he had a life beyond the cinema, a life where he was judged by his thinking, not by his looks.
If I am honest, I do not love every film he made. Some of his later films were weak, and some of his roles were not worthy of his talent. He took work for money, and he admitted it, and that honesty is part of his charm, but it also means that his filmography has films that are best forgotten. I do not hold that against him, because every long career has weak films, and his great films, Lawrence of Arabia and Doctor Zhivago, are so great that they carry the whole career. A star needs only a few great films to be remembered, and Sharif had them.
I also think about the loneliness of his later years, and I feel sympathy for him. He lived in hotels, he travelled constantly, and he was far from home for long periods. He earned a great deal of money, and he lost a great deal of it, and he spoke about that loss with honesty. That honesty is rare, and it makes him more human. A star who admits his faults is a star who can be trusted, and Sharif was trusted. His later years, with illness and with memory fading, were sad, and I feel that sadness when I think of a man who had remembered so much, losing his memory. It is a hard end to a great life, and it deserves to be remembered with kindness, not with judgment.
What I learn from his life is that dignity matters more than fame. He was famous, but he was also dignified, in his acting, in his manners, and in the way he carried himself. He did not chase scandal, he did not try to be shocking, and he did not pretend to be someone he was not. He was an Egyptian, a gentleman, and an actor, and he was all three at once, in every role he played. That dignity is why his films still feel fresh today, when many films from the 1960s feel old. A dignified performance does not age. It stays true, and Sharif’s performances stay true.
I will remember him as the man who rode out of the desert, as the doctor who loved Lara, and as the gambler who loved Fanny Brice, but most of all I will remember him as an Egyptian who carried his country to the world, and who never forgot where he came from. When he died in Cairo, he came home, and that homecoming is the fitting end to his story. The boy from Alexandria, who became a star of the world, returned to Egypt, and Egypt welcomed him, as it had welcomed him at the start.
There is one more thing I want to say about him, and it is about the way he made Egypt visible to the world. Before Lawrence of Arabia, many people in the West knew little about Egypt beyond the pyramids. After it, they knew an Egyptian face, an Egyptian voice, and an Egyptian dignity, and they loved it. Sharif did not play a caricature. He played a proud, intelligent, honourable man, and that image changed how the world saw Arabs on screen. That is a great achievement, and it is one that goes beyond acting. He gave his people a face on the world stage, and that face was noble, and that nobility mattered. I think about young Egyptians today who want to be seen by the world, and I think Sharif’s career tells them that it is possible, and that it can be done with dignity, without losing who you are.
I also think about the desert itself, and about how it shaped him. The desert is a place of silence, of space, and of patience, and Sharif carried that silence into his acting. He did not need many words. A look, a pause, and a quiet voice were enough, because the desert had taught him that silence can say more than speech. That is a lesson I want to remember in my own life. We do not always need to speak loudly to be heard. Sometimes the quietest voice is the one that stays with people longest, and Omar Sharif’s quiet voice has stayed with the world for more than sixty years.
I also think about Monsieur Ibrahim, and about how that late film shows the whole arc of his life. He began as a young man riding out of the desert, and he ended as an old man in a small shop in Paris, teaching a boy about life. Both roles are about a man who guides another person, who shares what he knows, and who loves with a quiet heart. That is a beautiful arc, and it tells us that Sharif’s gift was not only about being handsome or famous. It was about being human, about understanding people, and about sharing that understanding with an audience. I hope young actors watch that film, and I hope they learn from it, because it shows what acting can be when it is done with a lifetime of wisdom.
Finally, I think about Alexandria, and about the city where he was born, a city of many languages, many faiths, and many cultures, and about how that city made him. A boy who grows up hearing many languages learns to move between worlds, and Sharif moved between worlds for his whole life, between Egypt and Hollywood, between Arabic and English, between the desert and Paris. That movement is his story, and it is a story that belongs to Alexandria, to Egypt, and to the world. I will remember him as a man who carried many worlds inside him, and who shared them with us, one film at a time.
I also think about his son Tarek, and about what it means to be the child of two great stars. Tarek grew up in the shadow of Faten Hamama and Omar Sharif, and he learned, from both of them, how to live with dignity, how to work hard, and how to love his country. I do not know the details of his private life, and I do not need to. What I see is a family that was built on love, on art, and on a shared belief in cinema, and that is a beautiful thing. Sharif gave his son a father who was a star, and a father who loved him, and that is a gift that matters more than any award.
There is a lesson in his life about money that I want to remember. He earned a great deal, and he lost a great deal, through gambling and through the high life, and he spoke about that loss with honesty. That honesty is rare, and it is a lesson for anyone who earns a great deal of money. Money can be lost, and fame can fade, but dignity, if it is kept, lasts. Sharif kept his dignity, even when he lost his money, and that is why he is still loved. A star who admits his faults is a star who can be trusted, and Sharif was trusted, to the end of his life.
Finally, I want to say that his return to Egypt, and his death in Cairo, is a fitting end to his story. He travelled the world, he lived in hotels, he played bridge in many countries, and he came home. Home is where a person belongs, and Sharif belonged to Egypt, to Alexandria, and to Cairo, and Egypt welcomed him home, as it had welcomed him at the start. I will remember him as a man who saw the world, who was loved by the world, and who never forgot where he came from, and that is a story worth telling, again and again.
I also think about the desert scenes of Lawrence of Arabia, and about how a film can make a landscape feel like a character. The desert in that film is not only a place. It is a test, a home, and a dream, and Sharif rode through it with a grace that made the whole world fall in love with the Arab desert. When I watch that film today, I still feel the heat, the light, and the silence of the desert, and I think that is a gift that cinema gives us, a way to travel to a place we have never been, and to feel it as if we were there.
There is a lesson in his life about friendship that I want to remember. He was a friend to many, in Cairo, in Paris, and in Hollywood, and he was loyal to those friends, even when his own life was difficult. A man who keeps his friends, through success and through loss, is a man who understands what matters, and Sharif understood it. His friendships, with actors, with directors, and with bridge players, were a part of his life that he valued, and they are a part of his legacy that deserves to be remembered alongside his films.
Finally, I want to say that his story belongs to every young person in Egypt who dreams of a bigger world. It tells them that a boy from Alexandria, with no famous family, can become a star of the whole world, if he has talent, if he works hard, and if he is willing to take a risk. It also tells them that the world is wide, and that an Egyptian voice can be heard in it, and loved in it, and that is a beautiful message. Omar Sharif heard it, he lived it, and he left it for us, in his films, and in his life.
Frequently Asked Questions
When and where was Omar Sharif born?
Omar Sharif was born Michel Dimitri Chalhoub on 10 April 1932 in Alexandria, Egypt, into a wealthy family of Lebanese and Syrian Christian background. He later took the name Omar Sharif for his film career.
What film made Omar Sharif famous around the world?
Lawrence of Arabia, released in 1962, made him a world star. He played Sherif Ali, and his entrance riding out of the desert is one of the most famous moments in film history. He was nominated for an Academy Award for his role.
What was Omar Sharif’s most famous role after Lawrence of Arabia?
He played Yuri Zhivago in Doctor Zhivago, released in 1965 and directed by David Lean. The film became a huge success, and his gentle, sad performance as the Russian doctor and poet defined his career.
Was Omar Sharif married to Faten Hamama?
Yes, he married the great Egyptian actress Faten Hamama in 1955, after they starred together in The Blazing Sun. They had a son, Tarek, and they divorced in 1974. He never remarried.
Was Omar Sharif a bridge player?
Yes, he was one of the best bridge players in the world, and he wrote books and columns about the game. Bridge was his great love after acting, and he played in tournaments around the world.
When did Omar Sharif die?
He died on 10 July 2015 in Cairo, at the age of 83, after suffering from Alzheimer’s disease. Egypt and the world mourned him, and his films were shown again in his honour.
