When Maria Gonzalez heard that Steven Soderbergh had used artificial intelligence in his latest film, her first thought wasn't about artistic innovation. The 34-year-old set decorator, who's worked on fifteen productions over the past seven years, thought about her mortgage. "Every time a new tool comes out that can do what we do faster and cheaper, I wonder how many more years I have left in this business," she said from her Los Angeles apartment, where she'd been between gigs for three months.

Gonzalez represents a growing chorus of below-the-line workers—the crew members who build, light, dress, and bring films to life—who see AI not as a creative tool but as an existential threat. And Soderbergh's decision to incorporate the technology into "The Christophers," which has earned critical acclaim since its release, has brought those fears into sharp focus.

A Film That Splits Opinion

"The Christophers" tells the story of an aging artist confronting his legacy, and critics have largely embraced it. Time Magazine called it "one of the best movies of the year so far," while The Atlantic praised its "strange, surprising" approach to the heist genre. The New York Times described it as "fine art" featuring "frayed artists"—a fitting description that has resonated with audiences.

But the conversation around the film has become less about its artistic merits and more about how it was made. According to reporting from Slate Magazine and NPR, Soderbergh used AI tools during production, though the exact extent and nature of that use remains somewhat unclear. The director has publicly stated that he believes the AI controversy isn't the real issue facing movies today—a position that has only intensified the debate.

For Soderbergh, a filmmaker known for experimentation and working outside traditional Hollywood constraints, the technology likely represents another tool in an ever-expanding kit. But for workers already squeezed by streaming's impact on residuals, shorter production schedules, and an increasingly consolidated industry, that perspective feels tone-deaf.

The Workers' Perspective

The film industry has always been precarious for crew members. Unlike directors or stars, most below-the-line workers operate gig-to-gig, with income that fluctuates wildly depending on whether productions are greenlit. The 2023 dual strikes by writers and actors highlighted these economic anxieties, with AI protections becoming a central negotiating point.

"We fought hard to get language about AI into our contracts," said James Chen, a visual effects artist who worked on three major studio films last year. "But the technology is moving faster than the union agreements. What happens when a director decides he can generate background elements instead of hiring a whole VFX team? What happens when AI can do rough edits or color correction?"

These aren't hypothetical concerns. According to Bureau of Labor Statistics projections, employment in motion picture and video production is expected to grow more slowly than average through 2032, even as content demand increases. The disconnect suggests that technology and efficiency gains are allowing productions to do more with fewer people.

The economic pressure extends beyond individual job security. When established filmmakers like Soderbergh—who has significant creative and financial leverage—choose to use AI, it normalizes the practice. Smaller productions with tighter budgets will inevitably follow, and they're less likely to use the technology as a creative supplement rather than a cost-cutting replacement.

What Soderbergh Actually Said

To be fair, Soderbergh's position appears more nuanced than simply embracing AI without consideration. According to coverage of his comments, he has suggested that the real issues facing cinema are broader: consolidation, risk-averse studios, the collapse of mid-budget films, and the streaming model's impact on theatrical releases.

He's not wrong. The film industry has undergone seismic shifts in the past decade. Theaters struggle to fill seats outside of major franchise releases. Streaming services have created a glut of content while simultaneously making it harder for individual projects to break through. Production budgets have bifurcated into either massive tentpoles or micro-budget indies, with little in between.

From a director's perspective, especially one who has spent decades fighting for creative freedom, AI might seem like a minor concern compared to these structural problems. But for workers, the issues aren't separate—they're compounding. The same economic forces that killed mid-budget films also pressure productions to cut costs wherever possible, and AI offers an attractive way to do exactly that.

The Broader Context

The tension in Hollywood mirrors similar debates playing out across American workplaces. From trucking to journalism to customer service, workers are confronting the question of whether AI will augment their jobs or eliminate them. The answer, unsurprisingly, often depends on who's making the decisions and who holds the power.

In creative industries, this dynamic becomes especially fraught because the mythology of artistic work often obscures its economic reality. Filmmaking is presented as a collaborative art form driven by passion, but it's also a multi-billion dollar industry with clear hierarchies and profit motives. When a celebrated director experiments with AI, it's framed as innovation. When a studio uses the same technology to cut crew positions, it's just business.

The International Alliance of Theatrical Stage Employees (IATSE), which represents many film crew members, has been vocal about AI concerns but faces an uphill battle. Unlike writers and actors, whose work product is more visible and whose unions stopped production during the 2023 strikes, below-the-line workers have less leverage. Their contributions are essential but often invisible to audiences, making it harder to rally public support.

The Real Issue

Perhaps Soderbergh is right that AI isn't the real issue facing movies—but it's certainly a real issue facing movie workers. The distinction matters. For a director with an established career and financial security, industry consolidation and creative constraints pose the greater threat. For a freelance crew member wondering if their skills will be obsolete in five years, AI feels far more immediate.

The challenge is that both concerns are valid and interconnected. The same economic pressures that push studios toward safe, franchise-driven content also incentivize them to reduce production costs through automation. The same streaming model that has disrupted theatrical releases has also created downward pressure on budgets and crew sizes.

What's missing from much of the discourse is a framework for thinking about how creative workers can benefit from technological advancement rather than being displaced by it. That would require industry-wide agreements about how AI is deployed, who profits from efficiency gains, and how workers transition as job requirements change.

Instead, the current trajectory suggests a familiar pattern: technology gets adopted based on what serves capital, not labor, and workers scramble to adapt or find themselves obsolete.

As "The Christophers" continues earning praise for its artistry, the irony isn't lost on people like Maria Gonzalez. "It's a movie about an aging artist confronting his legacy," she noted. "I wonder if Soderbergh thinks about the legacy he's creating for all the people who won't get to make movies because the tools replaced them."

For now, she's still looking for her next gig, refreshing job boards and hoping the phone rings. The technology that might have helped create "The Christophers" keeps advancing. Her mortgage payment stays the same.