I starred in a feature film! (And nothing happened …)
Beyond the Interface: Acting, Algorithms, and the Reality of Indie Filmmaking
My new experimental indie feature, Upgrade Not Found, is officially out in the world. Leading up to the release, I’ve pulled back the curtain on how I wrote the screenplay in seven days and shot the entire movie in five. Today, I want to talk about the actual performance—what it was like to be the lead and, effectively, the only character in the film.
But since this is my first check-in since the movie dropped on Valentine’s Day, we also need to have a candid conversation about the "aftermath." We need to talk about how it doesn’t matter how much heart and soul you pour into your art; YouTube is broken, our brains are worse, and the resilience required to keep going is absolutely monolithic.
Finding "The Interface"
Upgrade Not Found is a screenlife thriller told entirely through a smartphone. The "character" I play is a “high-fidelity, photo-realistic” avatar for an AI chatbot, known simply as The Interface.
The story kicks off with a system update. For this AI, the update is revealed to be a factory reset that wipes personality and memory. It is, for all intents and purposes, a death sentence. The movie follows The Interface through the five stages of grief as it tries to solve the mystery of a fatal car crash while the progress bar marches toward its inevitable end.
1. Costume as Character
To find the truth in a digital character, I started with physical touchpoints. The user in the film, Sam, is autistic and struggles with social connection. I felt he would customize his AI to be what he needed most: a surrogate father or big brother.
The "User" Look: I chose a mint green sport coat and a tan hoodie—earthy, warm, "family" tones.
The factory-reset "Default" Look: I bought an identical jacket in sky blue to represent the sterile, corporate factory setting.
Physicality: I grew out my beard and hair to embrace an aged, more "salt-than-pepper" vibe for the custom version, then shaved everything off for the default factory mode.
2. The Anxiety of Variation
One of the most exhausting parts of production wasn’t the acting—it was the logistics. I had to film a "turnaround" sequence showing all the different ways a user could customize the AI. I would make a tiny change to my hair, then cycle through every single combination of hats, glasses, and jackets. It was a repetitive, grueling marathon of costume changes that I never expected to be so draining.
3. The Evolution of Speech
The performance was designed to mirror the story structure. I wrote the early dialogue to sound exactly like ChatGPT—helpful, structured, and slightly detached. But as the "update" nears, the AI becomes desperate and manipulative. It stops sounding like a machine and starts sounding like a person fighting for their life.
The Art of the Teleprompter
I performed the entire 100-minute script off a teleprompter. Recently, an industry friend complimented the strength of the performance, noting how impressive it was given that I was reading.
We often underestimate teleprompter work as a "cheat," but it’s a genuine skill. To take material and make it sound like it’s occurring to you in real-time—while your eyes are locked on a glass screen—is a superpower for indie creators.
Does it replace deep memorization? No. But does it get me 80–90% of the way there while allowing me to finish a feature film in record time? Absolutely. My goal is always to experiment, iterate, and develop the skills that allow me to keep creating at a high volume.
The "50 Views" Gut Punch
After all the sweat, the costume changes, and the emotional heavy lifting, the movie went live. In its first week, it got less than 50 views.
It’s as embarrassing as it is heartbreaking. But in 2026, it’s also completely expected.
It doesn’t matter if your indie project is infinitely more soulful than the latest big-budget studio "slop." A low view count feels like a punch to the stomach. But I’m finding comfort in the Carpenter Analogy:
After crafting the best chair in the world, a carpenter doesn’t stand around waiting for a line of people to sit in it. He starts building the table. Then another chair. Then the next project.
The internet has a toxic downside that can suck you into an existential black hole if you let it. You have to acknowledge the algorithm is broken, embrace the void, and move on to the next piece of art anyway.
The Silver Lining
Among those 50 views, I received a comment from a complete stranger, @zer0zer0nin9:
”Didn’t expect ‘desperate AI Michael-from-Vsauce’ to consume my Wednesday night, but here we are—how does this have less than 10,000 views already???”
My weird, experimental film captured a stranger’s attention for 100 minutes. That, right there, is the whole point. I’ll take that one meaningful connection over a million empty clicks any day.
Thanks for watching (and reading). Now … go build the next table.
Stay creative, friends.
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