Coexisting With AI: Discussing Current European Animations through Mars Express (2023)
by Gülseda Dabağ
Artificial intelligence has been both celebrated and criticized in visual art, often framed as either a productive tool or a disruptive threat. This debate becomes more visible in animation, a medium originally built on human effort and craftsmanship. Although animation has long evolved through technological innovation, AI differs from earlier tools by intervening directly in creative decision- making. These concerns sit at the core of Mars Express (2023), a film that places human and artificial agency in direct relation. Reading the film alongside contemporary debates, this blog post examines Mars Express through the lens of AI, with particular attention to the European animation industry’s ongoing effort to protect artistic labour while adapting to technological change.
In Mars Express, artificial intelligence has neither erased humanity nor replaced it. Humans and machines already coexist. Androids live among people, work for them, and fulfill everyday needs. They are not distant threats or future invaders, but part of the society. This is precisely what makes the film unsettling. Coexistence exists, yet it is deeply unstable. Androids appear efficient, calm, and emotionally controlled, but their freedom is tightly limited by rules designed by humans. More importantly, conflict does not arise because machines seek domination; it emerges from human discomfort. As the film’s director Jérémie Périn suggests , people react poorly when faced with systems that seem more rational or consistent than themselves. (Aguilar, 2024) In the film, this unease turns into fear, and fear turns into control. Humans rely on machines to keep society functioning, yet refuse to treat them as equals. At the same time, androids remain trapped within boundaries they never chose. The result is not an AI rebellion, but a deadlock. Mars Express portrays a slow collapse driven by insecurity, denial, and the failure to imagine coexistence as something that requires change on both sides.
This tension closely mirrors current debates within the animation industry. Artists are rarely afraid of technology itself. Animation has always depended on tools, from cameras to software. The fear begins when AI shifts from assisting work to reshaping power. If AI simply reduced repetitive tasks, supported research, or helped the unwanted tasks that emerge from the nature of animation, it would be difficult to argue against its use. The concern comes when efficiency becomes a justification for fewer workers, compressed schedules, or the entire removal of human creativity. As Lang (2024) notes , many European artists and studios are increasingly worried not about AI as a concept, but about how it is being integrated into production systems in ways that weaken human- led creativity. Automation promises faster production and larger output, but it can also make creative work less visible and easier to replace. Unique artistic styles risk being reduced to standardized results shaped by market needs rather than artistic choices. (Wright et al., 2025)
These concerns are often discussed through the idea that creativity is no longer produced by a single author, but emerges from relationships between humans, machines, and systems. While this “distributed” view of creativity can open space for collaboration and experimentation, it also raises uncomfortable questions. If creativity is shared across systems, who is responsible for final decisions? Who receives credit? Who carries the economic risk? Mars Express stages this problem narratively. Androids are fully embedded in society, yet denied moral and creative autonomy. Their efficiency exposes human fragility, and instead of renegotiating shared conditions, humans respond by tightening control. In both the film and the industry, coexistence exists but power remains uneven.
Artificial intelligence has been both celebrated and criticized in visual art, often framed as either a productive tool or a disruptive threat. This debate becomes more visible in animation, a medium originally built on human effort and craftsmanship. Although animation has long evolved through technological innovation, AI differs from earlier tools by intervening directly in creative decision- making. These concerns sit at the core of Mars Express (2023), a film that places human and artificial agency in direct relation. Reading the film alongside contemporary debates, this blog post examines Mars Express through the lens of AI, with particular attention to the European animation industry’s ongoing effort to protect artistic labour while adapting to technological change.
In Mars Express, artificial intelligence has neither erased humanity nor replaced it. Humans and machines already coexist. Androids live among people, work for them, and fulfill everyday needs. They are not distant threats or future invaders, but part of the society. This is precisely what makes the film unsettling. Coexistence exists, yet it is deeply unstable. Androids appear efficient, calm, and emotionally controlled, but their freedom is tightly limited by rules designed by humans. More importantly, conflict does not arise because machines seek domination; it emerges from human discomfort. As the film’s director Jérémie Périn suggests , people react poorly when faced with systems that seem more rational or consistent than themselves. (Aguilar, 2024) In the film, this unease turns into fear, and fear turns into control. Humans rely on machines to keep society functioning, yet refuse to treat them as equals. At the same time, androids remain trapped within boundaries they never chose. The result is not an AI rebellion, but a deadlock. Mars Express portrays a slow collapse driven by insecurity, denial, and the failure to imagine coexistence as something that requires change on both sides.
This tension closely mirrors current debates within the animation industry. Artists are rarely afraid of technology itself. Animation has always depended on tools, from cameras to software. The fear begins when AI shifts from assisting work to reshaping power. If AI simply reduced repetitive tasks, supported research, or helped the unwanted tasks that emerge from the nature of animation, it would be difficult to argue against its use. The concern comes when efficiency becomes a justification for fewer workers, compressed schedules, or the entire removal of human creativity. As Lang (2024) notes , many European artists and studios are increasingly worried not about AI as a concept, but about how it is being integrated into production systems in ways that weaken human- led creativity. Automation promises faster production and larger output, but it can also make creative work less visible and easier to replace. Unique artistic styles risk being reduced to standardized results shaped by market needs rather than artistic choices. (Wright et al., 2025)
These concerns are often discussed through the idea that creativity is no longer produced by a single author, but emerges from relationships between humans, machines, and systems. While this “distributed” view of creativity can open space for collaboration and experimentation, it also raises uncomfortable questions. If creativity is shared across systems, who is responsible for final decisions? Who receives credit? Who carries the economic risk? Mars Express stages this problem narratively. Androids are fully embedded in society, yet denied moral and creative autonomy. Their efficiency exposes human fragility, and instead of renegotiating shared conditions, humans respond by tightening control. In both the film and the industry, coexistence exists but power remains uneven.
European cinema has not responded to these tensions by rejecting AI outright. Instead, it has turned to regulation, ethics, and training. Industry bodies and cultural institutions emphasize best-practice guidelines, legal responsibility, and programs that help artists understand AI well enough to decide how and if it should be used. Lewartowicz and Reja state that the dominant position frames AI as a supporting presence: useful for reference gathering, visual research, storyboarding support, layout planning, or exploring early visual ideas, but not as a system that produces final artistic outcomes (2025). This reflects a strong desire to keep authorship and decision-making in human hands. At the same time, this approach is not without its limits. Rules and guidelines can protect artists, but they can also serve institutions and companies if they prioritize efficiency over care. Regulation alone does not guarantee fairness.
Here, Mars Express offers a darker counterpoint. In his interview with Aguilar (2024), Périn explains that the film is not meant as a prediction of a future where machines win. Instead, it explores what happens when humans and machines coexist and their interests collide. The film suggests that coexistence fails not because it is impossible, but because responsibility is avoided. Control replaces dialogue. Regulation becomes repression. Humans attempt to manage discomfort through restriction rather than rethinking their own position. This is why the film remains bleak. It does not offer policy solutions or ethical frameworks. It shows the cost of refusing to take responsibility for shared worlds.
Seen this way, Mars Express is less a guide than a warning. It imagines a society where coexistence already exists, yet collapses under unequal power and unresolved fear. European animation still has room to choose differently, but that space is fragile. If AI is allowed to reshape creative work without clear accountability, the result may resemble the film’s universe more than its alternatives. Coexistence between humans and intelligent systems is not a technical problem; it is a political and ethical one. AI can exist within creative worlds, but meaning, direction, and value must remain human decisions. The film reminds us what happens when that responsibility is abandoned and why standing with artists, rather than systems or companies, remains essential.
Here, Mars Express offers a darker counterpoint. In his interview with Aguilar (2024), Périn explains that the film is not meant as a prediction of a future where machines win. Instead, it explores what happens when humans and machines coexist and their interests collide. The film suggests that coexistence fails not because it is impossible, but because responsibility is avoided. Control replaces dialogue. Regulation becomes repression. Humans attempt to manage discomfort through restriction rather than rethinking their own position. This is why the film remains bleak. It does not offer policy solutions or ethical frameworks. It shows the cost of refusing to take responsibility for shared worlds.
Seen this way, Mars Express is less a guide than a warning. It imagines a society where coexistence already exists, yet collapses under unequal power and unresolved fear. European animation still has room to choose differently, but that space is fragile. If AI is allowed to reshape creative work without clear accountability, the result may resemble the film’s universe more than its alternatives. Coexistence between humans and intelligent systems is not a technical problem; it is a political and ethical one. AI can exist within creative worlds, but meaning, direction, and value must remain human decisions. The film reminds us what happens when that responsibility is abandoned and why standing with artists, rather than systems or companies, remains essential.
Author: Gülseda Dabağ is an undergraduate majoring in Visual Communication Design with a minor in Radio, TV, and Cinema at Kadir Has University, Türkiye