Rewrite this if you will: ““The roots of artificial intelligence in film can be tracked to the early 1900s, with the first notable AI character being represented by Maria in Fritz Lang’s monumental movie Metropolis (1927), marking the birth of an on-screen humanoid robot…”
Taking a different route, I found myself debating momentarily over whether to contain those lines within quotation marks. How intriguing it would be to lead readers into assuming the start of a conventional article around artificial intelligence in the cultural perspective, only to pull the rug from under them and reveal that the text was automatically generated by a free web platform. But no, it’s best not to tread down that path. Even a whisper of misunderstanding could potentially be destructive.
The aforementioned replicated report gave ample importance to the fearful prospects of technology but conveniently forgot to shed light on the monotonous façade that books, films, and television have failed to capture from the realm of AI. Especially when it comes to the “art” involved. Who would willingly frame a science fiction tale around semi-realistic sketches of vaguely engaging female fighters having seven digits on each hand? The haunting visions of the future refuse to stem from automatically generated reviews on travel platforms with eerily similar rave sections.
The threats of robotic annihilation surround us at every corner. The dangers of middle-age redundancy inflicted by AI that churn out banal renditions of hand-sketched animations or generic greeting-card texts or mood music, are just slightly too mundane to attract the vibrant imaginations of creators thriving during the time of HG Wells or Georges Méliès. Here lies a vague similarity with sci-fi narratives revolving around manned space travel. Narratives concerning Martian trips and achieving light speed abound. However, by the start of the 21st century, Stanley Kubrick had tempered his ambitions to just reaching Jupiter.
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Has any writer taken the trouble to pen a tale where, following the lunar landing, mankind simply loses interest in space exploration? Disregard your apocalyptic endings, TS Eliot. The world trudges along not with grand finales but with gutless murmurs. Not with Terminator 2, but with a website transforming your vacation photos into fantasy-themed postcards.
Kubrick’s iconic depiction of AI malfunction in his masterpiece “2001: A Space Odyssey” undoubtedly remains etched in our minds. This director, renowned for works such as “Barry Lyndon” and “Eyes Wide Shut”, portrays widespread ennui as only a gifted artist can. HAL, the AI protagonist, is not embodied in a shiny humanoid with laser-spewing fingers. Instead, HAL hides behind a nondescript panel with a single, ominous red light. The film ending shows creators outdone by their creations—AI overpowering humans—an eerily familiar narrative.
Analysing the portrayal of AI in cinema historically, parallels with our evolving interaction with technology emerge. This narrative, however, might be more aptly described as reflecting our gravest anxieties pertaining to technology.
The key theme of this fear narrative—creation overpowering the creator—has remained hauntingly consistent. Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, although not specific to AI, embodies this thread with the creature symbolising the destructive consequences of uncontrolled scientific ambition. While Shelley’s character was decidedly more introspective than cinematic adaptations portray, a course towards self-destruction was set even in the early 19th century. Goethe’s story, The Sorcerer’s Apprentice, shared similar sentiments, continuing a narrative started in Greek literature as early as the second century.
Intimations of The Sorcerer’s Apprentice can be identified in the angst-ridden Matrix series and the Terminator saga. Harlan Ellison’s chilling 1967 narrative “I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream” presents a particularly dreadful scenario where an AI, wrought by ennui, terminates mankind sparing only four men whom it tortures indefinitely.
After everything that has transpired, it’s hardly shocking that the mere thought of a genuine predicament sends us into a state of unease. Recall the public’s uproar when they learnt that producers of the horror movie ‘Late Night with the Devil’ had used AI to generate three static images. It had the same effect as if they were caught aiding an oppressive regime. However, this isn’t merely a case of paranoia. The recent strike amongst American actors highlighted genuine concerns about being replaced, with their visages reproduced indefinitely. Individuals working in visual effects and associated post-production roles sense a threat to their employment. And, of course, even film critics could be next.
In human life, the real fears are often more insidious, more understated and yes, more monotonous than anything the film industry would care to envision.