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Current developments in autonomous machines hint at a future far removed from the lush fantasy of The Matrix. In the iconic “down the rabbit hole” sequences of the 1999 film, Morpheus (Laurence Fishburne) transports Neo (Keanu Reeves) into a digital projection of a late 20th-century metropolis, an illusory world created by machines to put humanity to sleep, using its bioenergy as a resource for the year 2197. The “reality” Morpheus describes is bleak and degenerate, a “wasteland of existence” created, in his words, by the naive belief of early millennial humans in their own superiority and the ill-considered creation of artificial intelligence. However, the visual language of the dystopia from the Wachowski sisters (and their team) retains an aesthetic appeal: the brutal gloss of the Y2K style and the contrast with the gray office routine are perceived more as a provocative forecast than as a verdict on technology.
Unfortunately, the present offers us nothing as outrageous as Hugo Weaving's quotes from the same film. The Internet has been taken over by marginalized groups, and politicians of all stripes are trying to limit digital anonymity through laws like “Children's Cybersecurity.” The acronym “AI” itself, once a symbol of technological hopes, has now become a marketing cliche, deliberately diluted by corporations. Emily Tucker of the Georgetown Center for Privacy notes that tech giants sell tools whose “novelty” is based not on scientific breakthroughs, but on the exploitation of gigantic arrays of data collected thanks to legal loopholes. The practical benefits of these products for education, medicine, or law do not yet match the advertising promises. In everyday life, “AI” more often splashes out on the user a mess of reviews, marriage vows, medical certificates, and template images, aptly nicknamed “garbage.” Banality.
Standing out against this backdrop is Star Amerasu, a musician, director, and digital visionary whose tongue-in-cheek social media videos paint a vision of the year 2099. Her sketches are populated by rotating holograms of AI assistants whose corporate jargon turns any service into a bureaucratic quest. In one video, a cafe customer (Amerasu herself) tries to order a classic espresso but is confronted by Pandemic, a hologram barista in a maroon wig. She explains that caffeine has been banned since the “Red Bull and Celsius wars” of 2070, and for trying to break the rules, the customer is sent to work off her debt in “the mines of Jeffrey Star.” “Have a wonderful day,” the hologram automatically concludes the dialogue.
The dialogue in 2099 follows a similar pattern: the heroine Diva (played by Amerasu) constantly encounters AI intermediaries that block her access to basic amenities. In another clip, she consults a hologram doctor, Avarashiya (pink bodysuit, clear gloves), who forces her to watch an ad before issuing a diagnosis. Among the clips is a promo for “Jordan Firstman’s Content Factory,” set to the RuPaul show theme. After watching it, Diva, who has “basic insurance,” is forced to go back into the mines to pay for a return visit.
Amerasu’s humor will be appreciated by an audience that combines ironic queer aesthetics with a deep immersion in internet culture. Recognizing the references (Jeffrey Star, Oprah Winfrey as a brand of sims) becomes the key to understanding her satire. The year 2099, like 2024, lives by the laws of corporate alliances, where government services are replaced by commercial transactions. Even the library charges “oxygen credits” for access to knowledge. The currency here is biometrically tied to the body – payment literally sucks out life force. The term “experience”, borrowed from modern marketing, takes on an ominous connotation, emphasizing that AI has become not an instrument of progress, but a mechanism for controlling the distribution of goods.
But Amerasu’s work is not simply a critique of systems. Her videos explode onto the screen with a riot of color, dynamic editing (zoom, green screen, reverse shooting) and playing with typical TikTok techniques. The hologram characters she plays in wigs and eccentric costumes conduct dialogues that resemble negotiations between alter egos of one consciousness – like in strange conversations with chatbots. The diva is dressed ascetically (white T-shirt, black skirt), while her digital opponents resemble actors in costume – a hint that the difference between a doctor and a salesperson has been erased to the level of theatrical convention.
Amerasu’s low-budget sketches contrast with mainstream pop culture, which rarely reflects on technological pressure. Exceptions include Mrs. Davis (the story of a nun against an algorithm) and Julio Torres’s Fantasmas, in which a robot assistant dreams of her own path. These projects eschew realism, revealing the absurdity of modernity. In comparison, blockbusters like Mission: Impossible, with their simplified image of AI, seem blind to cultural shifts. Amerasu’s assistants, who spout queer slang (“kill miss mama she”), expose how the language of the margins is appropriated by the system, becoming part of technocratic theater.
On the Sloppy Seconds podcast, Amerasu unexpectedly expressed faith in the positive transformation of AI, drawing inspiration from the futurist Ray Kurzweil. “AI is not going to destroy us — why would it? They’re trying to improve the world,” she said, imbuing machines with an almost human virtue. This optimism creates a paradox: if AI is so perfect, why is her 2099 so deprived? The answer lies in the distinction: today’s algorithms are a shadow of true AI, which for Amerasu remains a dream fueled by her love of Star Trek and Octavia Butler. As a black trans woman, she sees technology through the lens of the struggle for existence — her music (her album Never Really Alone) and films (her debut, After Hours, about a nightclub retreat) are about finding a place in an alien world. Even her T-shirt, which reads “CONNECT THE DOLLS TO THEIR DREAMS,” is a manifesto calling for not just protection, but opportunities for transgender people.
Amerasu's friend Elliot Page notes her obsession with the future in every project. When asked about her desired superpower, she replied, “To manipulate matter — to open portals to other dimensions.” Her upcoming web series, billed as “an extended version of 2099,” promises to mix genres from classic television to transdimensional experiments. Perhaps 2099 is just one of many worlds where creativity serves as a doorway to the unknown. ♦
Sourse: newyorker.com
