When Sandra Oh first got the script for Killing Eve, she famously scrolled through the pages looking for the "supporting" character she assumed she was meant to play. She couldn’t find her. Her brain had been so conditioned by decades of Hollywood sidelining that she didn’t even realize she was being offered the titular lead.
It’s a wild thought now, right?
In 2026, looking back at the wreckage and the brilliance of the show, it’s clear that Sandra Oh didn't just play Eve Polastri. She dismantled the very idea of what a "heroine" is supposed to look like in a spy thriller. But even years after the series finale aired, there’s a massive misconception that the show was really about the flamboyant assassin Villanelle, while Eve was just the audience's surrogate.
That is fundamentally wrong.
Why Sandra Oh and Killing Eve Redefined the "Boring" Lead
Most people think Eve Polastri started as a normal, bored MI5 desk jockey. They see her as a relatable woman who got caught up in a dangerous obsession. But if you watch closely—especially in that first season directed by Phoebe Waller-Bridge—Eve was never "normal."
She was a powder keg.
The brilliance of the Sandra Oh Killing Eve performance lies in the micro-expressions. Remember that scene in the kitchen where she describes Villanelle’s features to the sketch artist? Most actors would play that with fear. Oh played it with a hungry, almost erotic precision. She wasn't just doing her job; she was finally seeing herself in a mirror that wasn't broken.
The Myth of the Relatable Everywoman
We love to call Eve "relatable" because she eats croissants on the floor and has messy hair. But honestly? Eve is a dark, chaotic mess who probably would have self-destructed even without Villanelle.
- The "Niko" Problem: Everyone felt bad for her husband, Niko. But Eve was essentially gaslighting him from episode one. She didn't want safety.
- The Violence: People forget that Eve was the one who initiated the stabbing at the end of Season 1. She’s the one who pushed the boundaries.
- The Identity: For Sandra Oh, this role was about "creating new images." It wasn't about being a "model minority" or a perfect agent. It was about a woman in her mid-forties allowed to be absolutely, spectacularly unhinged.
The Power Struggle Behind the Scenes
It’s no secret that the later seasons of Killing Eve felt... different. Fans often argue that the show lost its way when it started focusing more on the "Twelve" and less on the psychological tango between the leads.
There’s a tension there that goes beyond the script.
Reports and interviews over the years suggest that Sandra Oh and Jodie Comer often had to improvise or fight to keep the emotional core of their characters alive as the showrunner baton passed from Phoebe Waller-Bridge to Emerald Fennell, then Suzanne Heathcote, and finally Laura Neal. By the time series 4 rolled around, many felt the writing had failed the characters.
Yet, Oh’s commitment never wavered. She actually served as an executive producer, often advocating for Eve’s agency when the plot threatened to turn her into a passive observer.
The "Bury Your Gays" Controversy
We have to talk about that ending. You know the one. The bridge, the water, the suddenness of it all.
When the finale aired, the backlash was nuclear. Fans felt that the show fell into the "Bury Your Gays" trope—killing off the queer character right when they find happiness. But the deeper tragedy, which Sandra Oh has discussed in various post-show deep dives, was the separation of "Life" and "Death."
Oh has mentioned she viewed Eve as "Life" and Villanelle as "Death." In that final shot, Eve screams—a primal, harrowing sound—and it's meant to be a rebirth. But for a lot of us, it felt like a betrayal of the partnership we’d watched for four years.
What the Critics Still Miss
A lot of the 2026 retrospectives focus on the fashion or the kills. They miss the cultural weight of what Oh achieved. Before Killing Eve, an Asian woman leading a prestige spy drama wasn't just rare—it was nonexistent.
She won the Golden Globe. She made history.
But the real victory wasn't the trophy. It was the fact that she made Eve Polastri unlikeable. She allowed her to be selfish, reckless, and obsessed. In a world that demands women—especially women of color—be "palatable," Sandra Oh chose to be prickly.
Real Talk: Was Eve Actually a Villain?
If you look at the trail of bodies Eve left behind (Bill, Kenny, various agents), you could argue she was the true catalyst for the show’s carnage.
- She enabled the obsession.
- She ignored every warning sign.
- She used her brilliance to justify her darkness.
That’s why the show works. It’s not a cat-and-mouse game where the cat is bad and the mouse is good. It’s two cats who eventually realize they’re the same species.
Actionable Insights for Your Next Rewatch
If you’re going back to rewatch the Sandra Oh Killing Eve journey, do it with these specific lenses to see what you missed the first time:
- Watch the Hair: Hair is a massive symbol in the show. Note how Eve’s hair changes from tightly controlled to wild and loose as she loses her grip on her old life.
- Focus on the Hands: Sandra Oh is an incredibly physical actor. Watch her hands when she’s around Villanelle versus when she’s at MI6. The tension is night and day.
- Ignore the Plot, Watch the Subtext: The "Twelve" plotline is notoriously convoluted. Don't stress the details of the conspiracy. The show is at its best when it treats the spy stuff as a backdrop for a mid-life crisis.
- Listen to the Silence: Some of Oh’s best work happens when she isn't speaking. The way she looks at a dress, or a bloodstain, tells more of the story than the dialogue ever could.
The legacy of the show isn't the polarizing finale. It’s the fact that for four years, we got to see a masterclass in psychological unraveling from one of the best actors of our generation. Eve Polastri wasn't a hero, but she was definitely unforgettable.
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To truly understand the impact of this performance, track the evolution of Eve’s moral compass from the pilot's "I had a thing about bathrooms" to the final scream; it’s a blueprint for how to play a modern anti-heroine without ever losing the character’s humanity.