Our AI ethic is strict and absolute.
But we aren’t luddites. We’ve embraced AI for technical things like logging footage and writing HTML code. Our words and images, though? We draw a hard line. It’s that ethic that best serves our clients and our films*. If you want to know why I think that is, read our manifesto below.
*If an LLM ever becomes a better writer, strategist, or filmmaker than the talent at Innhous, we will close up shop. That’s a promise. As of , it’s not close.
When art bends toward the artificial, it can no longer hold humanity in its miraculous hands. Which really is a sort of end. That has been art’s big job—for millennia by the dozen—to hold humanity together. And break the individual apart.
Break our hearts for compassion, break our dogmas with laughter, break us out of our circle and over to the Other. The stranger we can now see. The plight we now feel. Or the tenuous hope held together only in song. The ephemeral beauty or tragedy captured for a moment—to then be shared in its healing power of collective recognition.
No, artificial art, intelligent as it claims to be, cannot hold humanity together in its miraculous hands. Because at bottom we simply aren’t artificial beings, no matter how we may try or pretend to be. We are divine. And art is a gift of the divine. And so we try to be honest with that gift, and thoughtful, alive to its grace and power. And I’m not even religious.
Honest stories or real advocacy are as good an attempt as any at wedging a shoulder under that great plight, taking whatever weight your back and knees can endure, to pull humanity a little closer together. So people can listen to each other in closer ways, and see each other in sharper relief, and reach each other’s hands with better gifts.
And embrace the absurd and the dark and laugh until our bellies hurt.