Last week, two separate articles on IndieWire highlighted the strange generational divide emerging between some established and emerging filmmakers.
The first article featured 20-year-old Kane Parsons, whose viral analog horror phenomenon "Backstage" has now been released through major film market A24. Parsons spoke with IndieWire in detail about the framing of his debut film, visual effects, sound design, and worldbuilding. The director of "Backstage" also discussed the unique challenge of deferring college applications to make a film worthy of the big screen.
The second article was about 79-year-old Paul Schrader.
Schrader, one of the greatest living American screenwriters, is perhaps best known for the 1976 film Taxi Driver, a landmark in 20th-century cinema that earned four Academy Award nominations. As a writer, director, and constant media provocateur, this internationally renowned filmmaker has spent much of his career exploring themes of loneliness, political decay, and spiritual decline in films such as Raging Bull, American Gigolo, and First Reformed.
That's why it's so odd to see Schroeder now discussing ChatGPT's creative potential like a typical suburban dad showing off his new Bluetooth grill thermometer. In fact, reading Schroeder's recent keynote speech at the AI on the Lot industry symposium in Los Angeles, I suddenly felt the urge to gently pat him on the back.
Paul Schroeder at AFI Fest 2024. Photo: Getty Images for AFI.
To be clear, I don't think artificial intelligence should or even Can Banned in most artistic fields at this point. I also don't think technology itself is inherently destructive to creativity. Independent filmmakers are constantly developing cutting-edge tools that expand the artistic landscape, and in the future, this will likely include artificial intelligence, whether we like it or not.
But when it comes to living legends like Schroeder pushing the use of generative software in Hollywood, there seems to be a significant difference between using technical innovations for extensions creative potential and allowing this convenience level out the fundamentally human perspective that made filmmaking meaningful in the first place. Making this distinction seems more relevant than ever as a growing number of aging creatives demonstrate a shocking willingness to trade their reputations for the chance to make even one more film. one movie.
Goodbye old, hello Letterboxd!
Hollywood has always been obsessed with youth, but the current generational shift in the entertainment industry is particularly disorienting for several reasons. Many young filmmakers no longer find their way into theaters through traditional channels like festivals, studio internships, or film schools. Instead, they come from digital communities that generate buzz on social media long before the broader industry even realizes what they're seeing.
A film like Markiplier's Iron Lung, a feature-length adaptation of an indie video game that was independently released but hit the box office early this spring thanks to the popularity of its director and star YouTube (?!)—ten years ago, many financiers would have found this absurd. But unexpected cross-platform updates to contemporary Hollywood traditions do not deprive the history of cinema or the people who actually lived through it of their cultural and educational value.
«Markiplier's Iron Lungs (2026) Courtesy of the Everett Collection
Ironically, the onslaught of artificial intelligence, which is reshaping the face and atmosphere of online life today, is steadily pushing some viewers to explore the cinema of the last century in the real world. Repertory screenings, physical media rental stores, microcinemas, and theaters showing vintage films continue to attract Gen Z and millennial audiences at an impressive rate across North America. The appeal of these enterprises stems from both a sense of local community and a tangible connection to the past: two feelings that are harder for consumers to find in a fragmented media landscape.
In turn, many young film fans have translated their newfound love for archival films into identity-defining content on social media, helping to raise awareness of cinema itself. In this sense, today's audiences aren't so much rejecting film history as actively exploring it—but this feedback loop may have some unintended consequences for older creators.
Kane Parsons at a special screening of "Behind the Scenes" on May 7 in Los Angeles, California. Photo: Amanda Edwards/Getty Images.
Many aging artists seem torn between the desire to honor their artistic legacy and the risky prospects of artificial intelligence, which now seduces (and in some cases directly funds) almost everyone in the media industry. On the one hand, these aging creators remain among the few storytellers capable of comprehending the seismic social and political shifts that have brought humanity to this moment over the past century. On the other hand, they are subject to the same social and economic pressures that aggressively accustom majority people are afraid of losing relevance.
A market of eyewitnesses (or, sellers seeking... blindness?)
Reading Schroeder's comments on AI, I feel a vague sense of sadness, not so much because of his experiments with the technology, but because of the general, resigned language he uses to describe it.
«"Why should screenwriters spend months searching for a good idea when AI can come up with one in seconds?" Schroeder said during his keynote at the AI on the Lot conference. He then described how ChatGPT can generate new script ideas for "Paul Schroeder" on command, affectionately nicknamed the program "Alex Indigo." Schroeder said ChatGPT didn't write the script for the film he was working on. Now works, but he'll still probably somehow use AI to create it.
There's something undeniably dark about such a brazen, self-promotional statement from the man who wrote Taxi Driver. After all, Schrader is a renowned artist and film critic whose career revolves around obsessively describing, categorizing, and analyzing his own perspective. Downplaying one's own creative work is one thing, but Schrader's remarks seem more like philosophical recklessness than an expression of individual liberation.
Robert De Niro in Taxi Driver (1976) Columbia Pictures
Of course, he's far from alone in his interest in AI and new media. Over the past few years, senior and middle-aged directors like James Cameron, Darren Aronofsky, and Gareth Edwards have publicly endorsed one version or another of the potential role of generative software in the future of cinema. Their positions on the technology vary considerably, and none have gone as far as Schrader in publicly experimenting with AI-powered content creation. However, Cameron has argued that AI technologies can help lower the cost of blockbusters while maintaining crew sizes, and Aronofsky's company, Primordial Soup, has collaborated with Google DeepMind on several AI-powered short films.
Also at this year's AI on the Lot event, Edwards praised AI innovations, calling them "roughly equal to the camera," though he acknowledged that they are "utterly tasteless." Meanwhile, other film giants have set clearer ethical boundaries for the implementation of AI in their films. Steven Spielberg has stated that he sees potential for AI applications in practical areas of production; last week, he specifically mentioned location scouting. However, Spielberg also opposes the use of AI to replace screenwriters, directors, or producers, who play key roles in artistic decision-making.
Chloé Zhao and Steven Spielberg attend the 78th Annual Directors Guild of America Awards. Photo: Kevin Winter/Getty Images for DGA
Guillermo del Toro has been even more outspoken, stating that he would "rather die" than use generative AI in his films. And while Martin Scorsese, Schrader's collaborator on Taxi Driver, hasn't been as outspoken about generative technologies as he was with Marvel films before the pandemic, the director's long-standing commitment to cinematic preservation and his repeated advocacy for active audience engagement speak for themselves. (The 83-year-old director is also remarkably well-versed in the modern internet landscape, thanks in large part to the popular TikTok account of his 26-year-old daughter, Francesca.)
Watching your heroes confront such a colossal upheaval for humanity is shocking. But at a time when young audiences are increasingly hungry for wisdom, it's only logical to ask why. anyone, Having dedicated his life to filmmaking, he now relies entirely on tools designed to automate processes that once rewarded experience. This is tragic and disappointing, but also understandable, given the growing importance of volume and speed in modern marketing.
Accessibility Tool Against Cognitive Capitulation
In most American business sectors, capitalism views older workers as a liability rather than invaluable team members. The modern entertainment industry takes this logic to its extreme, as film and television production competes with 24/7 internet streaming and a rapidly changing meme language designed to always keep the audience entertained. someone outside the information flow.
The digital landscape has led some older filmmakers to view AI not as a useful tool, but as a vital lifeline for a culture they fear may leave them behind. It's undeniable that physical limitations become more real for artists as they age, and AI can play a significant role in making the world more accessible for both people with disabilities and the elderly.
However, when it comes to actual creative work in Hollywood, serious ethical issues arise when AI is used to over-manage or replace human judgment. For some beloved filmmakers, the challenge is less about maintaining their fame than navigating the complexities of a digital ecosystem that gradually erodes trust when you're not constantly working. This problem extends far beyond Hollywood, threatening countless American jobs and exposing internet users to new threats, including AI-powered fraud, fake news, and doctored videos.
«2001: A Space Odyssey (1968) Everett Collection / Everett Collection
Moreover, chatbots are increasingly being used as personal companions and psychotherapists, giving rise to a slippery form of codependency that can affect any age group, but can especially easily lead to mistrust among older generations who did not grow up in the internet age. Most people are still learning to navigate a technological landscape that is evolving faster than the American government can regulate, and older adults are no exception.
Yet, it's disappointing to see some of the world's best filmmakers so uncritically assess their impact on the future that young artists will inherit. Many of the artists who openly celebrate artificial intelligence have spent decades teaching audiences how power works. They have witnessed the rise of cable television, the internet, and social media, as well as numerous wars, wealth consolidation, congressional hearings, criminal trials, and other momentous events. Historical memory is incredibly useful for separating false promises from genuine innovation, and this should make living legends ideal candidates for stabilizing progress.
This is why their aimless enthusiasm for generative AI can seem so paradoxical and irritating. Economic instability and a widespread tendency toward black-and-white thinking have made it more challenging to win the sympathy of public figures. But as Americans' faith in cultural institutions continues to wane, more experienced tastemakers have the opportunity to ask Hollywood innovators and leaders tough questions that will ensure so-called "efficiency" doesn't consume the soul of the film industry itself.
«Megapolis (2024)
We need stronger elders, not more content managers.
Despite the film's flaws, there was something truly admirable about the way 87-year-old Francis Ford Coppola spent his own money to make Megalopolis. The result is narcissistic and at times absurd, but in retrospect, it's also unmistakably human. The genius of The Godfather wrestles with grand, abstract ideas that are profoundly meaningful to him, and the results are enigmatic. This sense of imperfection and authenticity is sorely lacking in AI-driven cinema today.
When it comes to older artists experimenting with generative technologies, tension seems to arise when their current sense of competition or futuristic curiosity overshadows their desire to defend the art form itself. This is especially true for women, many of whom had to struggle for decades for professional opportunities and institutional respect in Hollywood before finally achieving true authority. Time has given us brilliant work by directors like Jane Campion, Agnès Varda, Claire Denis, and Kathryn Bigelow, whose work has become richer, bolder, and more self-assured because these women have lived and learned so much.
Greta Gerwig and Jane Campion at the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences' 11th Annual Governors Awards. (Photo: Getty Images)
Young audiences also benefit from a diversity of perspectives, and the success of repertory cinema allows many of us who take art history seriously to choose the auteurs we believe can best help us understand the changes taking place in contemporary cinema. But as older Americans continue to urge younger generations to work harder and persevere, for some filmgoers, watching their heroes act as if the future Not has changed, an additional unpleasant moment arises.
Regardless of how realistic this advice was, it now seems patently incomplete. Young people like Kane Parsons are entering an entertainment market that has been fundamentally destabilized. This is precisely why it's worth protecting the original voices of old-school filmmakers, even when some of the AI proponents in this group seem hell-bent on working against the industry's long-term interests. They are still worth engaging with, because they have lived through the same issues we face now and have insights that machines lack, even if they can't contain their excitement about generative technologies.
Later, in 1990, accepting an honorary Oscar, the 80-year-old Akira Kurosawa said he still didn't feel he had "grasped the essence of cinema." It's a thought worth cherishing, if only because it suggests that evolution and experience need not be opposing forces when it comes to cinema.
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