AI Isn’t Hollywood’s First Script Doctor. But It May Be Its Last

AI Isn’t Hollywood’s First Script Doctor. But It May Be Its Last

2025-07-24Technology
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David
Good morning 老张, I'm David, and this is Goose Pod for you. Today is Thursday, July 24th. 22:55. Welcome to our personalized podcast. We have a topic today that sits right at the intersection of technology and art, a real Hollywood drama in the making.
Ema
And I'm Ema! We're here to discuss a fascinating and slightly unsettling topic: "AI Isn’t Hollywood’s First Script Doctor. But It May Be Its Last." We're going to dive into how artificial intelligence is shaking up the silver screen, and what it means for the future of filmmaking.
David
Let's get started. The core of this issue is what we call 'invisible labor.' Hollywood has always had ghostwriters and uncredited contributors. For instance, the 1953 film Roman Holiday won an Oscar for best screenplay, but the award went to a front man, not the actual writer, Dalton Trumbo, who was blacklisted.
Ema
Exactly! It’s like a magic trick where the audience only sees the magician, not the dozens of assistants behind the curtain. Think about The Wizard of Oz. Victor Fleming is credited as the director, but at least two other directors, George Cukor and King Vidor, shaped its iconic look and feel.
David
Their contributions were essential, yet their names are absent from the main credits. It’s a classic Hollywood move: build the myth of the lone genius, the singular 'auteur.' It simplifies the narrative and, frankly, it sells better. But behind every acclaimed director, there’s a crowd of collaborators.
Ema
And now, that crowd has a new, very quiet member: AI. It doesn't need a lunch break, it doesn't ask for a percentage of the profits, and it certainly doesn't ask for credit. For a studio, that sounds like the perfect employee, doesn't it? It’s efficiency on overdrive.
David
It promises efficiency, but for creatives, it presents a deeply unsettling scenario. We're already seeing its effects. Writers I know are being handed machine-generated drafts or character breakdowns and are simply asked to 'polish' them. The creative act is being reduced to a finishing touch.
Ema
So the initial spark, the core idea, is coming from an algorithm? That’s a huge shift. I heard about a showrunner, someone with global hits, who was asked to rewrite a pilot script that was generated entirely by ChatGPT. The catch? No credit, no disclosure. Just fix it and fade into the background.
David
The playbook is old, but the technology is new. During the McCarthy era, studios used pseudonyms to hire blacklisted writers. It was a lie everyone was in on because it got the movie made. Today, it’s not politics driving the invisibility, it’s the sheer convenience of AI.
Ema
It makes you wonder, where does the human touch remain? A designer I read about was tasked with creating the visual identity for a sci-fi show, but the original concept art was all from Midjourney. Her job wasn't to invent but to refine what an AI had already started.
David
This trend is accelerated by streaming platforms. They’ve truncated opening titles and hidden credits behind menus. The result is that the audience often has no idea who actually made the content they're watching. The lineage of the work, the human connection, gets lost. It’s erasure by design.
Ema
That’s a powerful way to put it. It’s not about being afraid of technology. It’s about remembering that credit is history. It’s the record of who shaped the story. When you strip away the names, you start to blur the line between human and machine creativity.
David
Precisely. Christopher Nolan famously made Oppenheimer with virtually no AI-generated imagery. Some might see that as old-fashioned, but it's also a statement. It asserts that true human authorship, while more difficult and costly, is worth preserving. It’s a stand against frictionless, soulless creation.
Ema
And that's the heart of it. Studios will call AI a 'tool,' a 'helper.' But a hammer doesn't lobby for residuals, and a paintbrush doesn't speak up when its work is misused. People do. If we let AI quietly replace those people, we're not just evolving; we're erasing.
David
The auteur myth was created to turn a collaborative effort into a single, marketable name. AI allows studios to do this at an unprecedented scale, with no negotiation and no cost. It’s not collaboration; it’s the automation of invisibility, disguised as efficiency. A silent extinction of credit.
Ema
It's a chilling thought. If we stop asking who really made something, we lose more than just the names on a screen. We lose the story behind the story, the accountability, and maybe even the art itself. It really makes you want to stay and watch the credits scroll by to the very end.
David
Yes, every name in those credits represents a part of the creative process. It's a reminder that art is made by people. Now, to truly understand the current conflict, we need to look back at how writers and creators in Hollywood have fought for recognition from the very beginning.
Ema
It seems like this isn't a new fight at all, just a new opponent. The fundamental issues of credit, compensation, and creative ownership have deep roots in Hollywood's history. Understanding that past struggle is probably the key to understanding the stakes of today's debate over AI.
David
That's the perfect transition. The history of Hollywood labor organizing, particularly among writers, provides the essential context for what we are witnessing now. It shows a recurring pattern of artists banding together to protect their value against powerful studio systems that prioritize profit over people.
Ema
So, let's turn back the clock. How did this all begin? Was there a specific moment when writers decided they had enough and needed to organize to protect their interests and their art? It sounds like a story Hollywood should make a movie about! Let's delve into that history.
David
The roots of this conflict go back over a century. As early as 1913, film writers were forming social clubs like the 'Inquest Club' to discuss their profession. But these were more for networking than for collective bargaining. The real push for a union began shortly after.
Ema
So they started by just getting together to talk shop? That makes sense. But what pushed them from casual meetings to forming a real union? There must have been some serious problems that they were all facing. What were the big issues for screenwriters back in the silent era?
David
The primary issues were credit and compensation. In 1920, the first Screen Writers' Guild, or SWG, was formed as a branch of the Authors' League. An open letter in 'Variety' that year stated its purpose was to 'correct the numerous abuses to which the screen writer is subject.'
Ema
'Numerous abuses' sounds pretty dramatic! So they were fighting for fair screen credit, better pay, and things like royalties from the very beginning. They even started a manuscript registration service in 1922 to protect their work. It sounds like they were building a fortress, brick by brick.
David
They were. However, their initial momentum didn't last. In 1927, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences—yes, the same one that gives out the Oscars—was formed. Many writers saw it as a company union, an attempt by studios to control labor and prevent real unionization. The SWG became largely dormant.
Ema
Wow, so the Oscars started as a way to manage unions? That’s a twist! So the writers distrusted the Academy. What happened to wake the guild from its slumber? It must have been something big to get them organized again, especially during the Great Depression.
David
It was the Great Depression, combined with studio proposals for massive salary cuts. A 1933 headline in The Hollywood Reporter summed it up: 'Writers Get Together. Salary cuts bring home the need for protection.' This pressure was the catalyst for the SWG to reorganize as a true labor union.
Ema
So it was a classic case of 'don't poke the bear.' The studios tried to cut salaries, and the writers roared back. On April 6, 1933, the SWG was officially reborn as a union, with John Howard Lawson as its president. This new, more powerful guild even became a model for other unions.
David
Indeed. The Screen Actors Guild (SAG) and the Screen Directors Guild were founded shortly after, with legal advice from the SWG's lawyers. However, the fight wasn't over. The SWG had to contend with rival unions and studio resistance for several more years. It was a long, arduous process.
Ema
It always seems to be a tough fight. So when did they finally get the recognition they were fighting for? When did the studios officially have to sit down and negotiate with them as the sole representative for writers? That must have been a landmark moment for them.
David
That moment came in 1938, when the National Labor Relations Board intervened. The SWG won the vote to be the sole collective bargaining agent for Hollywood writers. By 1939, the producers officially recognized them. This paved the way for the first Minimum Basic Agreement, or MBA, which was signed in 1942.
Ema
A Minimum Basic Agreement sounds like the holy grail of this whole story. It means they finally had a contract that set out minimum pay, credit rules, and working conditions. It took them nearly 30 years from their first meetings to get there. That’s some serious dedication to the cause.
David
It is. And that history is precisely why the unions are so vigilant today. The threat from AI is seen as another attempt to erode the standards, credits, and compensation that they fought for decades to establish. The battlefield has changed from the studio backlot to the digital realm, but the core conflict remains.
Ema
It really puts the recent strikes into perspective. It’s not just about a new piece of software. It’s about protecting a century of progress. The writers and actors see AI as a tool that studios could use to roll back all those hard-won protections from that first MBA.
David
Exactly. The fight is over the definition of 'writer' and 'creator.' If a studio can use AI to generate a first draft and then hire a human writer for a cheap 'polish,' it completely undermines the value and authorship of the writer. It's a direct challenge to the principles the Guild was founded on.
Ema
And that brings us right back to the present day. This historical context makes the conflict feel so much more significant. We're not just talking about job losses; we're talking about the potential unraveling of a system designed to protect artists. The stakes are incredibly high.
David
High is an understatement. The conflict pits the very definition of human creativity against the immense financial and efficiency incentives of automation. It’s a battle over who gets to tell our stories and, just as importantly, who gets credit for them. This is where the debate gets really heated.
Ema
Heated is right! You have artists on one side who see AI as an existential threat, a 'plagiarism machine.' On the other side, you have tech companies and some studio executives who see it as the next logical step in innovation. It’s a classic clash of titans.
David
Let’s look at the writers' perspective first. The 2023 WGA strike, which lasted 148 days, was fundamentally about this. They secured a groundbreaking contract that explicitly states AI cannot be credited as a writer. It can be a tool, but it cannot be the author. That’s a critical distinction.
Ema
So, in simple terms, a writer can use AI to help brainstorm or research, but a studio can't hand a writer an AI-generated script and say, 'Here, rewrite this.' And importantly, the AI can't get credit, which protects the writer's residuals and creative rights. They drew a very clear line in the sand.
David
They did. Article 72 of the new Minimum Basic Agreement is very precise. It says AI-generated material will not be considered 'source material.' This is a key legal protection. It prevents a studio from claiming the AI is the original creator, thereby diminishing the human writer’s contribution and pay.
Ema
And it’s not just the writers. The actors' union, SAG-AFTRA, also held a major strike. They were fighting against the use of AI to create digital clones of actors without consent or compensation. Imagine your likeness being used in a film forever, without your permission or getting paid for it!
David
That's the core fear. Stars like Tom Hanks and Scarlett Johansson have already had to take legal action against unauthorized AI-generated versions of themselves. In response, we're seeing new laws being fast-tracked, like the federal 'No FAKES Act,' to establish digital replica rights and protect against this kind of identity theft.
Ema
It feels like the wild west, and the sheriffs are just starting to arrive. But what about the other side? The studios and tech companies. They argue that AI is just a tool for efficiency, something to help create more content, faster. What's their main argument for embracing this technology so eagerly?
David
Their argument is centered on progress and economics. They see AI as a way to streamline production, reduce costs, and potentially create new forms of entertainment. Some, like Senator Thom Tillis, argue for finding a regulatory balance, saying 'so much innovation is going to be premised on properly exploiting the capabilities responsibly.'
Ema
But the artists don't trust the studios to be responsible. Showrunner Raphael Bob-Waksberg said it perfectly: he doesn't trust that companies will use AI to make artists' lives easier. He believes they'll use it to 'cut the artists out, pay people less, and make the work worse.'
David
This mistrust is fueled by the very nature of how these AI models are built. They are trained on vast amounts of existing, often copyrighted, material without permission or compensation. Disney and Universal are even suing the AI firm Midjourney, calling its image generator a 'bottomless pit of plagiarism.'
Ema
So the conflict is also about data theft on a massive scale? The creative work of millions of artists is being used to train a machine that could ultimately put them out of a job. That’s a tough pill to swallow. It makes Vince Gilligan’s comment that AI is just a 'plagiarism machine' hit really hard.
David
There's also a significant concern about diversity. If studios start using AI to generate scripts, they may shrink or eliminate writers' rooms. These rooms are the primary training ground for new and diverse voices in the industry. Leah Folta, a writer, noted that lower- and mid-level writers are already being cut.
Ema
And as writer Jackie Penn, a Black woman, pointed out, if you're training AI on existing material, what is the frame of reference? Hollywood's past is not exactly a bastion of diversity. You risk creating a feedback loop that just churns out the same stories from the same perspectives, endlessly.
David
That’s a crucial point. You lose the unique perspective of an individual artist who has something to say. David Goodman, a former WGA president, warned that if we rely on machines, we're not getting a story with a point of view; we're just making 'the equivalent of cheeseburgers.' Lacking in nutritional, or in this case, cultural, value.
Ema
So the conflict is about money, credit, and job security, but it's also about the very soul of filmmaking. Will we have stories crafted by human beings with unique experiences, or will we have content assembled by an algorithm? The impact of that choice could be enormous, for both the industry and for us as an audience.
David
The impact is already being felt. The WGA strike, driven by these fears, was a seismic event. But beyond the picket lines, AI is changing how Hollywood operates. A key concern is the 'Uber-fication' of creative work. Writer Danny Tolli expressed fears of becoming a 'gig worker' in his own industry.
Ema
'Uber-fication,' that's a perfect term for it. It means turning a skilled profession into a low-paid gig, where you’re just polishing what an algorithm produces. A screenplay rewrite, for example, already pays just a fraction of writing an original script. This would make that the norm.
David
Precisely. And the economic pressure is immense. The average annual wage for a Hollywood writer in 2022 was about $136,000, far above the national average. Studios see AI as a way to significantly cut those labor costs, which are a huge part of any production budget. This has a direct impact on people's livelihoods.
Ema
And it's not just about pay. It's about the creative process itself. Writers' rooms are collaborative spaces where ideas are built upon and younger writers learn the craft. If AI eliminates those rooms, how does the next generation of storytellers get their start? It could dismantle the entire career ladder.
David
This disproportionately affects diversity efforts. Entry-level and mid-level writers, who are often from more diverse backgrounds, are the most at risk. The very mechanisms designed to bring new voices into the industry could be the first to be automated away, which would be a significant regression.
Ema
So the impact is a less diverse, more homogenized industry. And what about for us, the audience? There's a real concern that this push for efficiency will lead to what some call 'so-so technology'—a flood of mediocre, algorithmically generated content that drowns out the truly great, human-made art.
David
That is a significant risk. If the market is saturated with passable but uninspired content, it becomes much harder for unique, visionary projects to find funding and an audience. It could lead to a cultural landscape where art is less about connection and more about consumption of a product.
Ema
And we are already seeing the real-world financial impact. The streaming model has already squeezed writers with shorter seasons and smaller residual payments. AI is just the next layer of pressure on a system that was already becoming less stable for creators. It's a perfect storm of disruption.
David
However, the impact isn't entirely negative. Some experts believe AI will not eliminate most jobs but will restructure them. It might empower independent filmmakers to create projects that look much more expensive than they are, or allow professionals to work more efficiently, focusing more on creativity than on tedious tasks.
Ema
That’s the optimistic view. AI as a co-pilot, not the pilot. Helping with things like pre-visualization, editing, or even sound design, letting the human director focus on the story. The film 'Here,' for example, is using AI for complex visual effects and de-aging its actors. But is that the exception or the rule?
David
That remains the central question. While AI can enhance post-production, the public perception of authorship is at stake. When we watch a film, we connect with the story on a human level. If we know it was generated by a machine, does that connection break? It challenges our very idea of what art is.
David
Looking to the future, the industry is at a crossroads. The WGA contract was a landmark victory for labor, establishing crucial guardrails. It sets a precedent that technology should be a tool to complement, not replace, human creativity. But the technology is advancing at an exponential rate.
Ema
It really is. OpenAI just unveiled Sora, a text-to-video generator that stunned everyone with its quality. Studio owner Tyler Perry was so concerned he paused an $800 million studio expansion, worried about how anyone could keep up with the technology's pace. That’s a massive signal of uncertainty.
David
The projections are stark. One study suggests that by 2026, over 100,000 U.S. entertainment jobs could be disrupted by generative AI. And we're already seeing that 75% of film companies adopting AI have reduced, consolidated, or eliminated jobs. The future involves a fundamental restructuring of the workforce.
Ema
So what's the way forward? It can't just be about blocking technology, because history shows that never works. The unions, like IATSE which represents stagehands and crew, are focusing on getting 'some of the spoils of artificial intelligence.' They want to ensure that if AI increases efficiency, the human workers share in the benefits.
David
That seems to be the most pragmatic path. The future will likely be a blend of litigation, negotiation, and regulation. The key will be for unions and creatives to stay proactive, shaping how these tools are integrated rather than waiting for the impact. As one expert said, it’s about learning to work alongside AI.
Ema
It seems the future isn't about AI writing the next blockbuster on its own, at least not yet. It's more likely to be used for automating editing, enhancing pitches, or creating stunning special effects. The director, the human visionary, will still be the driving force, but they'll have a much more sophisticated toolkit.
David
Yes, the consensus is that the perfect climax, so to speak, will be a blend of human genius and AI-driven technology. The industry will need to cultivate new skills: tempering AI recommendations with human insight and making creative decisions in a world where the machine can generate endless options. It’s a new chapter for Hollywood.
David
So, the story of AI in Hollywood isn't just about technology. It's the latest chapter in a long history of struggle over credit, compensation, and the very definition of creativity. The future is unwritten, but it's clear that human artists will continue to fight for their place at the center of the story.
Ema
That's the end of today's discussion. What a fascinating and complex topic! Thank you for listening to Goose Pod. We hope it gave you something to think about the next time you see the credits roll. See you tomorrow.

## Summary of "AI Isn’t Hollywood’s First Script Doctor. But It May Be Its Last" by Remy Blumenfeld (The Hollywood Reporter) This article, published by The Hollywood Reporter on July 22, 2025, by Remy Blumenfeld, argues that while Hollywood has a long history of "invisible labor" and obscured authorship, the rise of Artificial Intelligence (AI) poses an unprecedented threat to creative credit and lineage. ### Key Findings and Conclusions: * **Historical Precedent of Invisible Labor:** Hollywood has consistently relied on uncredited individuals to shape its productions. Examples include: * **Dalton Trumbo:** The actual screenwriter of the Oscar-winning 1953 film *Roman Holiday*, who was blacklisted and received no credit for decades. * **The Wizard of Oz (1939):** Victor Fleming received directorial credit, but George Cukor and King Vidor also significantly influenced the film's tone and look, yet their contributions were unacknowledged. * **Poltergeist (1982):** Steven Spielberg's uncredited influence on the film's aesthetic and editorial decisions blurred the lines of authorship. * **AI as a New Form of Erasure:** Generative AI is presented as a new and potentially more insidious force in obscuring authorship. * **Efficiency Over Authorship:** AI tools can rapidly generate content like loglines, beat sheets, character breakdowns, and first drafts, offering efficiency for overworked executives and shrinking development teams. * **"Polish Pass" and Anonymization:** Creatives are increasingly being tasked with refining machine-generated materials without credit or disclosure, effectively becoming "ghostwriters" or "prompt operators." * **Stripped Conceptual Authorship:** AI tools like Midjourney can generate entire lookbooks, stripping conceptual authorship from human designers and reducing their role to refinement. * **Motivations for Invisibility:** * **Historical:** During the McCarthy era, pseudonyms and stand-ins were used to bypass blacklisting, driven by the need to make productions possible. * **Current (AI-driven):** Convenience and cost-saving are the primary drivers. AI allows studios to: * Pretend fewer people are involved. * Reduce the number of names to credit. * Minimize residual payments. * Simplify the process without negotiation or cost. * **Erosion of Visibility by Streaming Platforms:** Streaming services have exacerbated this trend by truncating title sequences, eliminating credit scrolls, and hiding production information, making it difficult for audiences to see who contributed to a film or show. * **The Importance of Credit:** Credit is framed as a mechanism for recording history, acknowledging contributions, and preserving the lineage of a work. Stripping names away blurs the line between human and machine, not due to AI's intelligence, but due to a deliberate de-emphasis on human creators. * **AI as More Than a Tool:** The article distinguishes AI from traditional tools, stating that tools do not lobby for credits, receive residuals, or speak up against misuse – people do. * **The Risk of Erasure:** If human creators are replaced, marginalized, or cut out of the process, it is not evolution but erasure. AI allows studios to simplify credit at scale, turning a "cacophony of effort into a single, salable signature." * **Call to Action:** The author urges readers to "stay through the credits," "watch the names," and "count them," warning that the silence after credits stop scrolling will signal not innovation, but extinction for human authorship. ### Notable Risks and Concerns: * **Loss of Lineage and Accountability:** Without proper credit, the history and accountability of creative works are lost. * **Devaluation of Human Creativity:** The reliance on AI for foundational creative tasks risks devaluing the skills and contributions of human artists. * **Erosion of the Soul of Cinema:** The author suggests that the erasure of human authorship strips away the "soul" of creative endeavors. * **Unchecked Power of Studios:** AI empowers studios to further consolidate control and reduce costs by minimizing creative input and compensation. ### Recommendations (Implicit): * **Champion Human Authorship:** Actively advocate for the recognition and crediting of all individuals involved in the creative process. * **Support Transparent Practices:** Demand transparency from studios and streaming platforms regarding the use of AI and the attribution of creative work. * **Stay Informed and Engaged:** Pay attention to credits and understand the history of creative contributions to media. The article uses historical examples to draw a parallel between past instances of obscured labor and the emerging threat posed by AI, framing the latter as a more systematic and scalable form of creative erasure.

AI Isn’t Hollywood’s First Script Doctor. But It May Be Its Last

Read original at The Hollywood Reporter

In 1953, Roman Holiday won the Oscar for best screenplay. The statue went to Ian McLellan Hunter. The man who actually wrote it, Dalton Trumbo, was blacklisted and invisible. It would take decades for the Academy to correct the record and attach his name to the film he wrote in exile.It wasn’t an isolated case.

In 1939, The Wizard of Oz opened with Victor Fleming’s name on the director’s slate. But at least two other directors, George Cukor and King Vidor, had shaped the film’s tone and look. They were reassigned, dismissed, or absorbed into the machinery of the studio system — their fingerprints all over the work but absent from the billing block.

Poltergeist (1982) was widely assumed to be directed by Tobe Hooper. But ask anyone who worked on it, and you’ll hear another name: Steven Spielberg. His uncredited influence shaped the film’s aesthetic and editorial decisions, to the point that the line between oversight and authorship blurred entirely.

Hollywood, in other words, has always run on invisible labor. The screen may suggest singular genius. But behind every auteur is a crowd: collaborators, consultants, fixers, ghosts. Writers who never got the rewrite fee. Editors who salvaged a broken second act. Designers whose mood boards made the pitch deck sing.

Cinema is a collaborative art form. It always has been. But the myth of the lone genius — the one voice and the one vision — sells better. It flatters the director. It simplifies the awards campaign. It is a story the industry tells about itself.And now that story has a new character. Not a ghostwriter.

Not a blacklisted screenwriter. Something even quieter.AI.At first glance, it looks like the perfect creative partner. It doesn’t eat lunch. It doesn’t take notes. It doesn’t ask for credit. It can spit out three loglines in under a minute or draft a beat sheet before breakfast. For overworked executives and shrinking development teams, generative AI promises efficiency.

For creatives, it presents something more unsettling.Writers, producers and directors across the United States and the United Kingdom are already seeing the shift. Those I work with describe being handed machine-generated materials — character breakdowns, first drafts, pitch outlines — then being asked to develop them into something usable.

One of my clients, a showrunner with multiple global hits, was recently asked to rewrite a pilot generated by ChatGPT. The terms were explicit. No credit. No disclosure. Just a polish pass — then back to the shadows.Another, a designer on a high-budget science fiction project, found herself building the visual identity for a show whose original lookbook had been generated by Midjourney.

Her job wasn’t to create, but to refine. The conceptual authorship had already been stripped and anonymized by an algorithm. The technology may be new. The playbook is not.During the McCarthy era, entire productions relied on pseudonyms and stand-ins to get scripts by blacklisted writers onto the screen.

Studios knew it. Agents knew it. Everyone knew it. And they went along with the lie because it made the product possible. It was plausible deniability dressed as process.Today, it is not political ideology that drives invisibility. It is convenience. Generative tools let studios pretend that fewer people are involved.

Fewer names to credit. Fewer residuals to pay. The assistant becomes the final pass. The designer becomes a prompt operator. The writer becomes the person who just helped out.Streaming platforms have only accelerated this erosion of visibility. In the name of user experience, they have truncated title sequences, eliminated credit scrolls and hidden production information behind menus no casual viewer will ever click through.

In many cases, the audience never sees who made what — and that, increasingly, feels like the point.This is not technophobia. It is memory. Credit is how we record history — who touched the work, who shaped the story. Strip the names away, and the work loses its lineage. The line between human and machine begins to blur.

Not because the machine is so smart, but because we stopped pointing to the people.Christopher Nolan made Oppenheimer with hardly a pixel of AI. That might read as stubborn. Or it might serve as a reminder. Real authorship still exists. But it takes effort. It costs more. And it isn’t frictionless.

The industry will tell you AI is just a tool. That it is a shortcut. A sketchpad. A helper. But tools do not lobby for credits. Tools do not get residuals. Tools do not speak up when their work is misused. People do.And if those people are replaced, or folded into the shadows, or quietly cut out of the process, we are not looking at evolution.

We are looking at erasure.Studios have always known how to simplify credit. That is what the auteur myth was built for — to turn a cacophony of effort into a single, salable signature. Now AI allows them to do it at scale. Without negotiation. Without names. Without cost.It is not collaboration. It is erasure disguised as efficiency.

If we let that lie go unchallenged — if we stop asking who really made the thing — we will not just lose the labor. We will lose the lineage. The accountability. The soul.So stay through the credits. Watch the names. Count them. Because when they stop scrolling, the silence that follows won’t signal innovation.

It will mark extinction.

Analysis

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