Olga Kurylenko has built a career defined by transformation, intensity, and an instinctive understanding of how to command the camera. In Other, a psychological thriller released on Shudder, she takes that ability to an entirely new level by becoming the sole on-screen presence for nearly the entire film. It is a bold creative choice, one that strips cinema down to its essentials and places enormous responsibility on a single performer. For Kurylenko, the experience was both creatively demanding and deeply rewarding, pushing her to explore vulnerability, isolation, and psychological tension in ways that few roles ever require.
Being the only face on screen is not simply a technical challenge; it is an emotional and mental one. Without supporting characters to react against, an actor must generate momentum internally, sustaining tension through expression, movement, and silence. Kurylenko’s performance relies heavily on nuance, using small shifts in posture, breath, and gaze to communicate what words often cannot. In Other, the absence of a traditional ensemble creates an atmosphere that feels intimate and unsettling, drawing the audience directly into the character’s mental state.
Kurylenko has spoken about how this kind of role demands complete trust in both the script and the director. With no other actors present to share the weight of a scene, every moment depends on the performer’s ability to remain emotionally present and consistent. Any lapse in focus can break the illusion. For her, this meant approaching the project with intense preparation, not just memorizing lines, but fully understanding the psychological journey of the character from beginning to end. The film required her to inhabit a headspace shaped by loneliness, fear, and introspection, often for extended periods during shooting days.
One of the most striking aspects of Other is how silence is used as a storytelling tool. In many scenes, Kurylenko is not speaking at all, yet the audience remains engaged because her internal conflict is visible. This kind of storytelling places enormous emphasis on facial expression and body language. Kurylenko’s background in both action-heavy roles and more intimate dramas prepared her well for this challenge. She understands how to communicate emotion physically, allowing the camera to capture subtle changes that might otherwise go unnoticed.
The psychological toll of carrying an entire film alone is something Kurylenko has acknowledged. Spending long hours on set without the usual rhythm of dialogue exchanges or ensemble interaction can feel isolating, mirroring the themes of the film itself. In some ways, this isolation became a tool rather than an obstacle. By embracing the solitude of the process, she was able to channel genuine feelings of disconnection and unease into her performance. The line between actor and character blurred, lending authenticity to the emotional landscape of the film.
From a technical standpoint, being the only on-screen presence also requires precise collaboration with the crew. Camera placement, lighting, and sound design become extensions of the performance, responding to Kurylenko’s movements and expressions. She has described how closely she worked with the director and cinematographer to ensure that every frame served the story. Without other actors to cut away to, the visual language had to remain dynamic while still feeling grounded. Each shot needed purpose, and each moment had to advance the psychological tension.
The decision to cast a single actor for such a film is inherently risky, but it also offers unique rewards. For audiences, it creates an immersive experience that feels almost theatrical, as though they are witnessing a prolonged monologue brought to life through cinema. For Kurylenko, it represented an opportunity to explore a form of storytelling that prioritizes character above all else. She has spoken about how liberating it felt to carry the narrative entirely, without worrying about screen time balance or competing arcs.
Other also reflects a broader trend within genre cinema, particularly in the psychological horror space, where filmmakers are experimenting with minimalism to heighten tension. By reducing external elements, the film forces viewers to focus inward, confronting the character’s fears and uncertainties alongside her. Kurylenko’s presence anchors this approach, ensuring that the film remains compelling despite its stripped-down structure. Her performance becomes the lens through which the entire story is experienced.
For an actress who has worked across international productions, franchises, and independent films, this role stands out as a personal challenge rather than a conventional career move. It is not about spectacle or scale, but about craft. Kurylenko has often gravitated toward roles that test her limits, and Other fits squarely within that pattern. The film asks the audience to watch closely, to engage emotionally, and to sit with discomfort, all of which depend on the performer’s ability to sustain attention.
There is also a sense of trust between actor and audience inherent in such a project. By agreeing to watch a film dominated by a single face, viewers place confidence in that performer’s ability to guide them through the experience. Kurylenko seems acutely aware of this responsibility. Her performance does not rely on exaggerated emotion or constant intensity. Instead, it unfolds gradually, allowing tension to build organically. This restraint makes the moments of fear and revelation more impactful, as they feel earned rather than imposed.
The experience of making Other appears to have reinforced Kurylenko’s appreciation for intimate storytelling. While large-scale productions offer their own rewards, a film like this highlights the power of simplicity. One actor, one central perspective, and a carefully constructed atmosphere can be just as compelling as elaborate sets and large casts. For Kurylenko, the project underscores the idea that cinema, at its core, is about human presence and emotional truth.
As audiences continue to discover Other through Shudder, much of the discussion has centered on the courage of its central performance. Being the only face on screen is not a novelty for its own sake; it is a deliberate artistic choice that demands total commitment. Kurylenko’s willingness to embrace that challenge speaks to her confidence as an actress and her desire to keep evolving. Rather than repeating familiar patterns, she chose a path that required introspection, discipline, and emotional openness.
In reflecting on the experience, Kurylenko has suggested that roles like this are rare but invaluable. They offer a chance to strip away distractions and focus entirely on the connection between performer and viewer. Other stands as a testament to what can be achieved when an actor is given the space to fully inhabit a role and the trust to carry a story alone. It is a reminder that sometimes, a single presence can be enough to fill the screen, provided it is grounded in honesty, skill, and emotional depth.
