9 Minutes
Why calling Tilly Norwood an "actress" misses the point
When a London-based studio unveiled Tilly Norwood as what some headlines immediately labeled the first "AI-generated actress," the industry reaction was swift and mostly hostile. Performers and industry insiders reacted not just out of protectionism but out of principle: acting is a craft shaped by empathy, lived experience and choices, not only by surface mimicry. In an era when the film industry is still recovering from COVID disruptions, labour disputes and seismic distribution shifts, dropping a manufactured performer into the conversation felt, to many, like tone-deaf provocation.
The character was introduced by Xicoia, an "AI talent studio" from Eline Van der Velden and tech production company Particle6. Van der Velden has described Tilly as a "creative work — a piece of art," and even she uses language that distances the project from live performers: creation, character, craft. That distinction matters. An AI-made likeness assembled from code, models and editorial choices is not the same as a human actor who brings internal life, unpredictable choices and moral dimension to a role.
Calling a generated face an "actress" flattens what performance means. It obscures the physical and emotional labour of acting: auditions, long rehearsals, nights on set, the grind of small roles, the hunger and resilience built through years of practice. These things are invisible when an algorithm spits out a polished clip.
What critics and actors are saying
Public responses ranged from exasperation to alarm. A number of actors pointed out the obvious: the timing is bad and the messaging worse. Industry figures compared the stunt to a deepfake masquerading as a living person and accused the marketing of trivializing the profession. That is not to say there isn't artistic value in synthetic characters; the debate is about naming, consent and context. If Van der Velden intends Norwood as an art project, calling her a creation would be honest. Framing her instead as a rival to established performers sends a different, more contentious message.
Film critic Anna Kovacs offers a measured view: "Tilly Norwood highlights legitimate questions about authorship and labour in film. As an art object she can be fascinating; as a replacement for living actors she raises ethical and legal alarms." Anna Kovacs, film critic.
Context: AI, deepfakes and the changing film industry
The Norwood moment didn't arrive out of nowhere. For years we've seen digital doubles and CGI characters in major films—think de-aged actors or full-CGI recreations like the digital Paul Walker in Furious 7 or the controversial recreation of Peter Cushing in Rogue One. Virtual influencers such as Lil Miquela and vocaloid stars like Hatsune Miku have built careers outside the conventional entertainment pipeline, monetizing attention and brand partnerships without the constraints human performers face. But those examples live in adjacent ecosystems: marketing, music, advertising. Turning a digital persona into an "actor" invites different expectations and responsibilities.
The industry also knows how disruptive technology can be. Deepfakes have already been used to manipulate images and video, sometimes without consent. Training models on vast datasets—potentially including images and performances of real actors—raises intellectual property and moral questions. Who owns a synthesized face or performance that resembles human contributors? And when a studio markets a synthetic performer as a contender for roles, it risks undercutting living artists who rely on acting for a living.
Comparisons and precedents
Comparisons help clarify the stakes. Unlike de-aged or composited performances that preserve and extend an actor's intent, AI-generated personas are assembled by engineers and marketers. They're closer to animated characters like Disney's creations or motion-capture performances—a performance that remains dependent on the human performer who provides movement and vocal nuance. Tilly Norwood differs because the promise is autonomy: an AI that can be booked, interviewed and monetized like a human artist. That concept echoes virtual influencers who "do" press or brand deals, but translating that model into scripted film and TV roles is a leap with contractual, legal and ethical implications.
Marketing, tone-deafness and the promotional missteps
Early promotional clips for Norwood were widely criticized for their flippant tone. Remarks calling the character "BAFTA-optimized" or speculating about monetizing clips on TikTok conveyed a transactional mindset—treating performance as a clip-ready commodity. That attitude underscored a broader misread of the industry: great acting is not a bankable asset only because of how well it performs in short-form clips, but because it moves audiences across an arc, sustains nuance and sometimes transforms a story.
Another red flag was the invocation of stars like Scarlett Johansson and Natalie Portman as aspirational comparisons. Those actors embody careers shaped by choices, activism and long-term relationship-building in the industry. They didn't arrive as polished templates and, crucially, are not just aesthetic packages that can be replicated by an algorithm. Suggesting a synthetic substitute as "the next" Johansson or Portman reveals either hubris or marketing hyperbole.
How this compares to previous digital performers
Looking at precedent: digital doubles have served clear purposes—resurrections, stunt doubles, de-aging—where the human actor's performance remains central. Virtual influencers, by contrast, are often curated brand personas that thrive on social interaction rather than narrative complexity. Tilly Norwood attempts to straddle both worlds and that crossing creates friction. The industry has tolerated and even celebrated CGI and VFX when they augment human performance; it grows wary when synthetic characters are framed as a substitute for human artistry.
Legal, ethical and cultural implications
There are practical questions: Were source images or performances used with consent? Who is credited when an AI's "performance" is the result of many human inputs (voice banks, composite faces, motion datasets)? How do unions like SAG-AFTRA treat such projects? Beyond contracts, there are cultural implications: what does it mean to anthropomorphize an algorithm and assign it gender, personality and a backstory? The act of naming and gendering an AI raises questions about representation and accountability—who answers for the persona's public statements, endorsements, or legal responsibilities?
Fan communities and the broader public also react differently to synthetic characters depending on framing. A CGI character in a beloved franchise, when handled with care, can be embraced. A commercialized AI personality that appears to undercut working creatives will likely face sustained backlash.
What this means for actors and audiences
For actors, the Norwood episode crystallizes anxieties about job security and respect for craft. Acting isn't only about visible polish; it involves improvisation, ethical choices and the intangible "it" that can't yet be captured by algorithms. Audiences, for their part, consume performance not only for surface aesthetics but for vulnerability and authenticity—the imperfect qualities that make characters feel alive.
And yet, the debate also opens new creative possibilities. AI tools can aid previsualization, help scriptwriters explore variations and assist performers with motion studies. The key is to use technology to augment human artistry—not to erase the artists.
"Technology has always reshaped cinema," notes film historian Marco Jensen. "What's new is the speed and opacity of AI. Filmmaking can benefit from these tools, but only when creators are transparent about methods and respect the labour that underpins performance." Marco Jensen, cinema historian.
Behind the scenes and the path forward
If creators want to build sustainable digital characters, the industry needs clear standards: consent for training data, transparent credits, fair compensation models if a likeness derives from living performers, and a commitment to ethical marketing. Studios and startups should engage unions, technologists, ethicists and performers early, not after a backlash has already formed.
There is room for digital characters in cinema and television—used thoughtfully they can expand stories in new directions. But labeling a synthetic construct an "actress" without acknowledging how it was built or how it will be used is a shortcut that alienates the very community a project might hope to engage.
In short: Tilly Norwood can be an intriguing art project, a showcase of technology, or a new kind of brand persona. She is not, however, an actress in the traditional, craft-driven sense. Until an AI endures the audition circuit, the economic precarity, the messy human negotiations and the creative compromises that shape performance, it doesn't deserve that title.
Final note: this moment is a chance for the industry to clarify values. Will we use AI to magnify human storytelling, or will we commodify replaceable likenesses in ways that erode creative labour? The answer will shape cinema's next chapter.
Source: variety
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