7/13/23
Newsletter #395
The Crack of Dawn
Every time a new technology arrives to deliver movies in a different way – television, video tape, DVD, cable – the writers, directors and actors eventually have to go on strike to get, if not their fair share, at least a cut of it. Strangely, the executives don’t just give it up of their own free will, because it’s the right thing to do, because it’s fair – it always has to be taken from them. Thank goodness my fellow directors banded together in 1935 – in the middle of the Great Depression – and formed the Director’s Guild of America, which is a labor union with collective bargaining power. Individually, directors had no power; collectively, however, if they all agreed to stop working at the same time, all movies would immediately cease production. Even the executives could see that. Therefore, the powers that be were forced to capitulate, and reluctantly share a little. Were there no greed, capitalism would work perfectly. And were there no gravity, everything would just float away.
Right now, the writers are on strike because technology went and changed again. OK, give them a cut and they’ll shut up and go back to work. But this time, part of both the change and the redress is technological. The writers are not only demanding a bigger share, but the ban of Artificial Intelligence replacing them. Is that not like the Typewriter Manufacturers Association demanding that no one use computers? Or teachers demanding that students not use the internet, or Google, when doing homework? Sorry, that cat is out of the bag. That’s what we writers call a metaphor. What, you ask, is a metaphor? It’s a place for cows to graze.
The writers’ demand of not using AI is, I believe, ironic. It is even more ironic that it’s happening in the Post-Ironic era. Once again, I’m Rip van Winkle; an old guy coming to a realization of a social change that occurred 20 years ago while I was drunk.
I used to be on my own little one-man crusade specifically addressing the decline in movie writing. I started a website – Beckerfilms.com – in 1998 (at the behest of my friend Bruce Campbell who started his site in ‘96) with a specific goal in mind – attempt to inculcate basic screenwriting concepts, like story structure, and have a daily Q&A regarding that. Of course, that all went into the shithole immediately. Nobody knew what was being unleashed with the internet. This was while I was busily making episodes of Xena: Warrior Princess, and intentionally slipping in lesbian references. I was quickly barraged by female Xena fans demanding to know just exactly what was Xena and her buddy Gabrielle’s sexuality? Well, shit, I was just a director, I wasn’t writing the scripts.
I digress. The writers are on strike, and they demand that they not be replaced by machines. Sounds like the guys here on the line at the Ford factory. It turns out that a robot can do their job. I forget, who won?
I speak to all the of the writers, as well as all of the folks who watch movies and television – everyone else, take five – if you are watching the shit that’s presently out there, and are not in revolt over that — and you should be — then who cares where it comes from? Do I honestly care where the script for the 17th sequel of Spider-Man comes from? I would not be the slightest bit surprised if AI could do a better job than humans. AI knows, and understands, story structure better than most human writers. No, probably better than all human writers.
Certainly, with superheroes, since it doesn’t have to make any sense anyway, why not let AI write it? If the audience buys it, it’s good enough. Once you’ve remade the living shit out of something, like say, Star Wars, for instance, it seems like it’s all being made by computers anyway, so what if the script was by a computer, too, how would you know?
If the audience will buy that horseshit, then that’s the brand of horseshit they want. If the scripts can be written by computers and that’s good enough, then that’s good enough. After that, you are the Elevator Operators Guild of America fighting inevitability.
However, if the idea is that every work of art be unique – and hold on to your hats everybody: good – then AI must get in line with the rest of us. I haven’t yet heard anyone say that AI’s work is exceptional; only, that it’s exactly what you asked for – a Bob Dylan song about me and my cat Ike. “Is it good,” I ask. “It’s a Bob Dylan song about you and your cat Ike. It’s not good.”
Can you ask for good? I want a good Bob Dylan song about me and Ike. What does “good” mean? In which case, then ask for great. If AI can deliver great, I choose AI.
But I have no doubt in my heart, as an artist – a human artist – that I’m better than AI, because AI was programed by dull people, and will therefore only produce dull results. Yes, you get exactly what you asked for, but minus exceptional, possibly exciting, thrilling and new, human creativity. AI must give you a homogenous pablum of derivative regurgitation; it can’t think up something new. But we can, all the time.
Therefore, perhaps we humans will have to improve because of AI. Not because we want to; but because we have to. Just to keep up.
It's right before the crack of dawn. Solid black out my window.
G’day, on ya, mate.