Let me tell you something that’s been gnawing at me since I watched Higgsfield’s Cully Hill Boys. Here’s a film that’s technically an AI project—yet the most compelling parts feel like they were scribbled in a pub by a group of drunk, brilliant filmmakers. It’s a paradox that says everything about where we are in the AI era. We’re not just talking about a movie here; we’re talking about a cultural experiment that’s forcing us to confront a question we’ve been avoiding: What does it even mean to create art anymore?
I’ve spent years arguing that AI would never replace human creativity. But Cully Hill Boys? It’s like a middle finger to that argument. The film’s energy, its chaotic blend of action and comedy, feels so deeply human. And yet, it was made by feeding prompts into generative models. How does that work? Well, here’s the kicker: The prompts weren’t just random. They were crafted by real people—directors, writers, even the actors whose likenesses were used. This isn’t some soulless algorithm churning out garbage. It’s a collaboration, messy and brilliant, that’s blurring the line between human and machine in ways that should terrify and excite us both.
Let’s talk about the script. Tim Planagan, the human writer behind the story, didn’t use AI in his process. That’s not just a detail—it’s a revelation. Because if Planagan had used AI, we’d be having a different conversation. But he didn’t. He wrote a traditional script, and then Higgsfield used that as a blueprint. The result? A film that feels like it could’ve been made by a small indie team with a budget and a vision. The pacing, the character dynamics, the way the story unfolds—it’s all there. And yet, it’s still a product of AI. What does that say about the future of storytelling? That the human touch isn’t going anywhere, but the tools we use to amplify it are evolving faster than we can keep up.
Here’s what’s really fascinating: The film’s creators aren’t hiding the fact that this is an AI project. They’ve published every prompt used to generate the visuals, the dialogue, the editing. It’s like watching a magician reveal their tricks—and it’s both thrilling and unsettling. You see how the AI models were trained on the styles of directors like Edgar Wright and Guy Ritchie. But here’s the twist: The AI didn’t just copy their styles. It internalized them, then spat out something that felt fresh. That’s not just impressive—it’s a warning. If AI can mimic human creativity so convincingly, what happens when it starts innovating on its own? Will we even know the difference?
And then there’s the actors. Mikyle ‘N3on’ Rafiq, Matt Kiatipis, Israel Adesanya—these are real people, not just digital avatars. They signed licensing agreements, allowing their likenesses to be used in the film. But they didn’t act in it. They didn’t even set foot on a soundstage. This is the new frontier of stardom: Being a brand, not a performer. It’s a bizarre, almost dystopian concept. These athletes and content creators are becoming digital assets, their faces and voices repurposed for stories they never wrote. Is this the future of fame? Or is it a hollow shell of what it once was?
Higgsfield’s transparency is both a strength and a vulnerability. By publishing all the prompts, they’re inviting scrutiny. And boy, does it show. The AI models used—Claude, Seedance 2.5, Nano Banana—they each have their own quirks. Some scenes are seamless, others are jarring. There’s a moment in the film where a character reads from a book, and the text is incomprehensible. It’s a glitch, but it’s also a reminder that AI is still learning. It’s not perfect. It’s not even close. But it’s getting there, and that’s what scares me most.
What’s next? If Cully Hill Boys is a proof of concept, then the next step is commercialization. Higgsfield isn’t just making a film; they’re selling a tool. Their Cinema Studio suite is a product, and this movie is its demo. Imagine a world where every blockbuster is generated by AI, with human writers and actors acting as consultants. It’s not science fiction—it’s the logical endpoint of this trend. And yet, I can’t help but wonder: Will we still care about the stories if they’re not being told by humans? Or will we just watch them, mesmerized by the spectacle, and forget that the soul of the story was never in the pixels?
This isn’t just about movies. It’s about art, identity, and what it means to be human. Cully Hill Boys is a glimpse into that future. And whether we like it or not, we’re already there.
