Moatasem Al Nahar: Man of the Moment

Moatasem Al Nahar is rapidly becoming one of the most recognizable faces in Middle Eastern TV, but now as he prepares for a high-stakes comedic turn in Lobby Al Gharam and a cinematic debut in Egypt, Esquire meets the Syrian actor to discuss the discipline that fuelled the rise to stardom.

It’s difficult to imagine Moatasem Al Nahar blending into the background. On a bright Beirut morning, he steps onto set with composed assurance, dressed in a black tracksuit and dark sunglasses. He greets everyone calmly, yet there’s an unmistakable presence in the room.

That magnetism turned him into a household name during Ramadan 2019, when audiences were transfixed by the series Khamsa w Nos (5:30 PM). Cast opposite Nadine Njeim, he played the loyal bodyguard with a restrained intensity that recalled Kevin Costner in The Bodyguard. Social media couldn’t get enough of his magnetic looks, and for a while, the conversation focused less on his craft and more on his appeal.

“Khamsa w Nos was an important milestone, no doubt,” he says. “But success doesn’t come from a single project. It’s the accumulation of experiences and years of effort. The role brought me into the spotlight, but everything I’ve achieved comes from the groundwork I laid long before and continue to build on today.”

Seven years later, that narrative feels incomplete. This Ramadan, Al Nahar returns to television as the lead in Lobby al Gharam (Lobby of Love). In the series, he plays Rustom, a charming hotel manager, a sharp turn away from the brooding intensity that first defined his career. Leaning fully into comedy, he moves with a different rhythm here: warmer, looser, unexpectedly funny. “Rustom is new for me,” he says while getting his hair done. “I’m positive it will add something important to my career.” On screen, it already does. Early reviews are strong, and the character is already trending on social media.

Days before our shoot, Moatasem Al Nahar wrapped a sold-out run of the comedy play Samna Ala Assal (Butter on Honey) in Saudi Arabia. Later this year, he makes a major Egyptian film debut as the lead, an achievement few Levantine actors reach in one of the region’s most competitive industries. “Filming in Egypt was a rich experience. It opened new horizons and introduced me to a different school of filmmaking. It changed me professionally and personally,” he admits.

This isn’t our first encounter. We met last summer in Mykonos at the Hublot Big Bang Unico Summer 2025 launch. Al Nahar, a regional friend of the brand, arrived at the launch and immediately commanded attention with his natural composure. At first, his measured, thoughtful way of speaking can feel reserved and distant. Within minutes of conversation, though, that impression dissolves.

As we headed to the after party following the boutique launch, we walked through the sunny streets of Mykonos. Fans from across the Arab world began to recognize him and stopped for photos. He greeted each one with patience and a genuine smile. “If I can make someone smile, why not?” he tells me. “Their support is part of my success.”

He laughs recalling a moment at Dubai Mall when an overexcited fan ran toward him holding an ice cream. The scoop landed squarely on his shirt. “I didn’t even have time to react,” he says. “I just stood there.” His wife was watching nearby. “She used to get a little jealous,” he adds with a grin. “Not anymore.”

Back on set, Moatasem Al Nahar stands effortlessly in a full denim outfit as the stylist adjusts the fit and the crew hustles around, prepping lights and gear. He remains perfectly poised. So I tease him: on a scale of one to ten, how handsome would he rate himself? “Seven,” he shrugs. The crew gasps. “Beauty is subjective. How I see myself isn’t always how others see me. And the one who praises himself is a liar,” he adds.

Al Nahar’s story begins long before the cameras. Born in Saudi Arabia and raised in Syria, his childhood was simple but rich in observation. “I was always drawn to imagination,” he says. “I loved watching people, listening to their stories, noticing the small details. It wasn’t one single moment, but a collection of experiences that made art part of my being without me realising it.”

Despite that curiosity, he initially followed a more conventional path, studying law. “Law was logical, but acting… that was a choice of the soul,” he says. “I felt that if I didn’t try, I’d regret it for the rest of my life. I knew the risks, but passion demands pursuit.” Acting was something he felt deep down. “Honestly, it wasn’t by chance. I’ve always felt I had something to express, and acting gave me the space to be honest with myself and with people.”

“I’ve always been drawn to performers who can convey emotion without exaggeration, who make you believe them even in silence,” he says. “Ahmed Zaki and Saloum Haddad, Daniel Day-Lewis, Harrison Ford… these were people I watched closely.” Directors like Francis Ford Coppola (The Godfather) and Luc Besson (Dracula) shaped his sense of cinematic storytelling.

The early days weren’t easy. “Challenges were many: instability, fear of failure, proving yourself,” he recalls. “There were moments I doubted myself, moments I felt exhausted, but quitting was never an option. When you love something with your heart, even the weak moments become fuel to keep going.”

Criticism came quickly with success. Some peers underestimated his talent, others gave cold shoulders, and media coverage wasn’t always supportive. “I was hurt,” he admits. “I didn’t understand why there was no support, but I channelled it into hard work. I refused to let it define me.”

Since then, his career has soared. He has appeared in over fifteen hit TV series, including the award-winning Turkish-Arabised Lobbet Hob (2024), which topped Shahid, the region’s leading streaming platform, for sixteen weeks; Nafas (2025), which earned him a nomination for Favourite Actor in a Series at the Joy Awards; Khareef Al Omer (2023) opposite the legendary Saloum Haddad; and Salon Zahra (2021, 2022), among others.

“I’ve always been drawn to performers who can convey emotion without exaggeration, who make you believe them even in silence,”

Moatasem Al Nahar

Moatasem Al Nahar takes every role seriously, but his preparation is less about memorising lines and more about uncovering the story beneath the role. “I try to understand the character from the inside out,” he says. “What scares him? What does he hide? What would he never admit?” He reads beyond the script, mapping out histories that may never appear on screen. For him, performance begins long before the camera rolls.

He is selective, almost cautious. “I don’t accept a role just to appear,” he explains. “It has to move something in me.” Repetition doesn’t interest him; transformation does. Each character, he believes, should leave a trace, a new layer, a new question, a new risk.

Some roles demand more than others. “The toughest ones bring you close to real pain,” he says. “You have to go there, but you also have to know how to come back.” That balance, immersion without self-destruction, is something he has learned over time.

Asked if he regrets any past performance, he shakes his head. “No. Even the roles that weren’t perfect were necessary. Every experience sharpens you.”

Drama remains his natural territory. It allows for silence, for weight, for complexity. Comedy, though newer to him, offers a different kind of precision: timing instead of tension. Both, he says, demand truth. The only difference is the rhythm.

He jokes about one future character he’d love to play: “A ‘nice thief.’ That’s a bit like me.”
Mischievousness is part of him, a subtle, cheeky energy that surfaces even during the shoot. As we move down the hotel lobby, he’s in a bright red tracksuit, letting loose between takes, joking and moving with a controlled rhythm that makes the crew laugh, without ever compromising his composure.

Within minutes, the lobby shifts. Guests begin to recognise him; a quiet murmur turns into a small crowd. Phones appear, people edge closer for photos. A group of producers having lunch at the bar stand up to greet him. He greets each person the same way he greets the crew: a handshake, a brief exchange, a reserved smile. When the photographer calls him back, he slips easily into position, as if the interruption were simply part of the rhythm of the day.

Moments like this are now part of the job, the attention, the expectations that come with it. “Fame didn’t change me; it changed the way people look at me,” he reflects. “I try to remain the same person, but it’s normal for people to change around you. You just have to be smart enough to know who’s real and who’s not.”

He acknowledges the weight that comes with it. “Of course there’s responsibility,” he says. “But I try to turn it into motivation, not a burden. True success isn’t just repeating yourself. It’s maintaining your standards and evolving. Faith in the work and honesty with it help cut through the noise.”

For Moatasem Al Nahar, success isn’t about numbers or headlines. “It’s about being satisfied with yourself, evolving, and delivering work that is honest and reflective of who you are. Being able to preserve your humanity through it all, that, to me, is success.”

When it comes to social media, he exercises caution. “It’s effective, yes, but not every moment belongs online. I cherish my privacy and the simple anchors that remind me who I am.”

Off-screen, he insists, life is simpler than it appears. “I am a simple person. I love calm, I love my family and friends, and I try to live normally. Outside the spotlight, I’m ordinary. Perhaps I laugh more, and I listen more.”

Even with a career spanning the Arab world, he can’t help but miss his hometown. “I always miss Syria, no matter how much I try to distance myself,” he says. “It’s the memories, the childhood, the people I grew up with.” Lebanon, he explains, has become a space for both work and life, a place full of hard work, opportunities, and people who have grown close to his heart. He strives to strike a balance between nostalgia and the reality he now lives.

He is also optimistic about Syrian drama, a craft close to him. “Syrian drama has gone through difficult years, but it remains strong. We have authentic stories and remarkable actors. This Ramadan season especially proves the importance of Syrian production, it can assert itself and remind audiences across the region of its value.”

As the day winds down, the set grows quieter. The lobby returns to its ordinary rhythm. Moatasem Al Nahar stands before the monitor reviewing the final frames, focused and analytical. For someone constantly watched, he is remarkably inward.

“My greatest fear is disappointing those who believed in me,” he says softly. “Or losing myself while chasing success.”

Reflecting further on his career, he continues, “I am still shaping my path. I want to grow, to take on roles that truly challenge me, and to work on projects that feel honest. I want to do more cinema.”

Pausing, he adds with quiet intensity, “After 20 years, I hope people remember me as a human before an actor. Honest, hardworking, someone who left a positive mark not just on the screen, but in people’s hearts. On a personal level, I want stability. Peace of mind.”

It is a revealing admission from a man so often described in absolutes: heartthrob, leading man, unstoppable. Yet beneath the visibility lies vigilance. He is deliberate with his choices, protective of the line between who he is and who the world believes him to be.

The shoot wraps. The sunglasses go back on. He is heading to iftar. The presence remains.