Welcome to TECHNOIRCANDY's Spacepunk Boutique
Exploring the AI Frontier: California's New Law and Echoes of "The Congress"
In *The Congress* (2013), directed by Ari Folman, actress Robin Wright plays a fictionalized version of herself, caught in a dystopian scenario where Hollywood is evolving into a digital, AI-driven industry. Her journey into selling her likeness for digital reproduction is a central plot point that serves as a critique of the entertainment industry’s commodification of actors, raising questions about identity, agency, and technology’s influence on human creativity.
At the start of the film, Robin Wright is portrayed as an aging actress whose career is in decline. She is offered fewer roles, and her reputation is somewhat tarnished due to poor career choices in her past. Wright lives with her two children, one of whom—her son Aaron—suffers from a degenerative disease that affects his hearing and sight, which becomes a significant part of her emotional struggle throughout the film.
Faced with the uncertainty of her acting career and the financial pressures of caring for her son, Wright is approached by Miramount Studios (a blend of real-world studios Miramax and Paramount) with a radical offer. The studio, headed by a cold, corporate figure named Jeff Green (played by Danny Huston), proposes to scan her entire likeness and create a digital avatar—a fully AI-generated version of Robin Wright that the studio will own and control. This avatar will be able to star in any film, perform any role, and never age, while the real Robin will be permanently banned from acting in any capacity.
Miramount offers her what they claim is the ultimate deal: financial security, immortality through her digital avatar, and freedom from the often degrading and exhausting grind of Hollywood. However, the catch is that she has to sign over her entire identity as an actress—her image, her voice, her expressions, her emotions—for them to reproduce digitally. This would allow them to use her in any film without her input, effectively ending her career as a physical performer. Once scanned, she will have no control over how her digital self is used, nor what roles it plays. The studio’s AI-driven system will take over entirely.
Wright is initially reluctant. She is horrified by the idea of surrendering her identity and agency to the studio. Green emphasizes that it’s not just a business decision but an existential one. He cruelly underscores that her best years are behind her and that the industry has no room for actresses of her age. He argues that this new digital self will be flawless, eternally young, and capable of starring in blockbuster films for decades to come—things that the real Robin Wright, constrained by time and aging, can no longer achieve.
Wright’s emotional dilemma is heightened by her family circumstances. Her son Aaron’s health is deteriorating, and the prospect of financial security for his treatment becomes a key motivator in her decision-making. She is aware that her career is nearing its end, and this offer represents her last chance to provide for her family.
Wright’s inner conflict revolves around the idea of selling her identity for commercial purposes versus retaining her personal and creative freedom. The pressure from the studio, her aging career, and her son’s condition all converge, pushing her toward accepting the offer.
### The Decision: Signing Away Her Likeness
Eventually, Robin Wright agrees to the deal, attending an elaborate and clinical scanning session where every detail of her body, facial expressions, and voice is captured. This scene is emotionally charged, as Wright realizes the finality of the process. The studio records her responses to a variety of emotional prompts—laughter, tears, anger—capturing every nuance of her being.
The procedure is portrayed as dehumanizing and invasive, reducing her to data points in a massive digital system. After the scan, Wright is no longer needed as a physical actress, and her likeness becomes the property of the studio. Her image is now something they can manipulate and use however they please, without her consent or involvement. This digitized version of Robin Wright goes on to star in numerous films, while the real Wright steps away from the spotlight.
### The Second Half: The Hallucinatory Future
The film takes a surreal turn in its second half, where the story jumps 20 years into the future. The entertainment industry has evolved even further into a world dominated by digital avatars and a hallucinatory substance that allows people to live in a fantasy reality. In this animated future, people can consume "celebrity essence," transforming themselves into any person or character they desire.
Robin Wright, who has been absent from the public eye, reenters this world to attend a "Futurological Congress" and confront the implications of the choice she made decades ago. By this point, humanity has fully embraced a world where reality and identity are fluid, controlled by digital and chemical means. Wright navigates this bizarre, cartoon-like landscape, searching for her lost son and grappling with the loss of her own autonomy in a world where everyone is living in a self-created illusion.
The movie delves into philosophical questions about identity, autonomy, and the future of human creativity. In this world, actors are no longer flesh-and-blood people but digital commodities whose likenesses are owned and manipulated by corporations. The film explores how technology can commodify individuals to the point where they no longer have control over their own image, and the consequences of losing that control.
Robin Wright’s character arc is a reflection of the dangers of a world where technology overtakes humanity, creativity becomes commodified, and corporate control supersedes personal agency. The film critiques how the entertainment industry can exploit actors, reducing them to mere products rather than human beings with creative and emotional depth.
In *The Congress*, Robin Wright’s decision to sell her likeness is portrayed as both a personal tragedy and a societal warning. Her story serves as an allegory for the broader concerns about AI and digital replication in entertainment, where actors and artists risk becoming detached from their own creations. Ari Folman’s film challenges viewers to consider the cost of technological progress and whether the immortality offered by digital avatars is worth the price of losing one's humanity.
Wright’s journey highlights the emotional and ethical complexities of the future that AI promises, where individuals must choose between financial security and creative freedom, between mortality and a digitally perpetuated existence.
Continue and view the video podcast for "TECHNOIRCANDY & The Event Horizon" podcast on Spotify.
https://open.spotify.com/episode/1kQzfnKBXMgUEfQntOsGRz?si=ae0ae918cae64397