There was a time when certainty belonged to the human imagination—to prophets, philosophers, parents, lovers, tyrants; to anyone willing to stand beneath the terrible weight of a decision and say, I choose. Now certainty arrives differently. It glows quietly from our screens, speaks in the polished grammar of prediction, and hides inside systems we barely understand but increasingly trust. Algorithms know what we might buy before desire has fully formed; they decide what rises before we have decided what matters; they sort, recommend, measure, approve. We have built machines to make the world faster, cleaner, more efficient—and, somewhere along the way, begun mistaking efficiency for wisdom. The great paradox of our technological age may be that the more we teach machines to calculate the human condition, the more tempted we become to surrender the burden of being human ourselves. And beneath the seduction of a world without uncertainty lies an older, darker question: what happens to a conscience when there is no longer any room for doubt?

It is into that unsettling space that writer-director Henry K. Hwang's CERTAIN THOMAS enters. Set in a dystopian society governed by seemingly flawless algorithmic systems, the film follows a young analyst whose faith in the machinery of his world begins to fracture when its immaculate logic collides with something no system can quite quantify: his own moral and spiritual convictions. Rather than treating technology as some distant nightmare waiting at the end of the road, Hwang turns the mirror toward the present, where artificial intelligence, automation and algorithmic decision-making are already reshaping how we work, communicate, choose and understand one another.

Premiering at the Oscar-qualifying HollyShorts Film Festival, CERTAIN THOMAS is ultimately less interested in predicting the future than in asking what we are becoming in the present. Its dystopia is chilling precisely because its foundations feel familiar: the worship of speed, progress and optimization; the gradual normalization of decisions made by systems beyond our comprehension; the quiet substitution of technological authority for human judgement. At its heart is a deceptively intimate question—whether a person can remain morally free in a world that has made obedience feel like rationality. Through its study of conformity, faith, morality, and the cost of progress, the film asks us to consider whether the greatest danger of an automated world is that machines will become too human, or that humans will become too willing to behave like machines.

To understand the world Hwang has created—and the questions that linger beneath it—we spoke with the filmmaker himself. In conversation with Netflix Junkie, Hwang reflects on the ideas, anxieties and personal convictions that shaped CERTAIN THOMAS, and on what it means to make a film about technology at a moment when the future seems to be arriving faster than our ability to question it.

Itti: Thomas is trained to believe that mathematics cannot be wrong, yet he finds himself confronting a decision that feels morally wrong. But still, he trusts the math at the end of it. Were you interested in exploring the moment when “objective truth” and human conscience stop agreeing with each other?

Henry: Yes, for sure. Perhaps the most disturbing fact in this film is that the math is not wrong. It is "technically" correct. However, does that mean it is moral? Does that mean it is good? As we are in this age where we are obsessed with constant progress, technological advancement, and perfection, it seems like we are losing sight of being human, which is inherently imperfect. So yes, I think the clash between the inherently logical and perfectly sound nature of math and the inherently messy, imperfect, and ambiguous nature of morality was interesting and definitely something I wanted to explore.

Itti: “In the biblical story, Thomas needs to see and experience something for himself before he can believe. Your Thomas seems to face almost the opposite problem: he has been given so much certainty by a system that he stops questioning it—even when that certainty ultimately leads him to kill his own mother. Was the idea to turn ‘Doubting Thomas’ on its head, and suggest that perhaps the greater danger isn’t doubt, but certainty without conscience?” 

Henry: Absolutely. I think to doubt is to be human. In fact, having doubts leads to more moral choices, as it stops us from taking immediate actions that could be destructive. I don’t think it is always safe to be so certain about things — when you think about the most atrocious things in the world, including the Holocaust or declarations of wars and imperialism, they come from people's certainty that their belief is undoubtedly correct. It closes doors for healthy discussions. Thus, certainty can be very dangerous, and math is all about such certainty. Because conscience is inherently something more ambiguous and uncertain, I think doubt is something that keeps us human.

Itti: The most frightening thing about the world of CERTAIN THOMAS is that the system doesn't present itself as evil—it presents itself as rational, efficient and flawless. Why was it important to you to make the antagonist essentially an idea rather than a conventional villain?

Henry: For sure. If you watch the film, there is no villain in the conventional sense. We even see that the general, who can execute someone in a heartbeat once given the order, is a victim of the system himself. The true villain, in the genre sense, is the algorithm, and this was important because we are in an era where technology is dictating a lot of our lives. A lot of my friends make major decisions based on algorithms, like chatbots, or on given societal systems. The fact that our decision-making is more and more reliant on algorithms, as if they were some kind of divine oracle, I think can be dangerous, as it could lead to a dismissal of our individuality, creativity, and what makes us human. I hope that as a society, we can use algorithms only as tools, not as a compass for our lives.

Itti: The system doesn't merely punish people—it predicts their futures, calculates their grief, their income, their mental health and even their chances of dying. What interested you about turning deeply human experiences like grief and love into cold percentages?

Henry: This may sound controversial, but I do think that, at the end of the day, we are complex sets of algorithms. Our world's current technology is not advanced enough to predict things to the extent that the world of Certain Thomas can, but at the end of the day, we are biochemical creatures composed of complex neurons and matter dependent on our environments, genetics, and neurological conditions that can be explained through advanced equations. And I am afraid that if technology becomes advanced enough, it could lead to wonderful things, like preventing crimes or diseases, but I also think it could exploit our vulnerable human experiences, like grief, just to advance societal benefit. Big institutions could easily use our vulnerabilities to advance their own influence and monetary gain as well. If that happens, it would lead to something like a totalitarian regime — just like the regime Thomas works for.

Itti: The film asks whether technological progress can actually make us less human. Given how quickly AI is entering decisions about hiring, policing, medicine and everyday life, did you see CERTAIN THOMAS as science fiction—or as something that is already beginning to happen?

Henry:  I really wish a new sci-fi genre called ‘Dataism’ would be created. Certain Thomas is a dataist thriller, more than a generic science fiction. In a world where we are dependent on data, even asking dating advice or major life choices from chatbots, data/algorithmic supremacy is perhaps the most influential, relevant, and urgent topic we should be discussing. Our future won’t just be shaped by data, it will be governed by it. Thus, a film or piece of literature that depicts this I feel should fall into the genre of dataism.       

Itti: There's a fascinating idea in the film that conformity doesn't necessarily require force—people may surrender their freedom simply because the system appears more intelligent than they are. Do you think the most dangerous form of authoritarianism today could be one that convinces us we don't need to make our own decisions anymore?

Henry: Absolutely. We live in a world of convenience. We even let algorithms write birthday letters for us. But the cost of that convenience is something very much worth discussing. In addition to that, Hannah Arendt's "banality of evil" is more prevalent than ever. Her argument was that the most atrocious things that happen in the world are not necessarily committed by evil men, but by ordinary men who do not consult their conscience and instead conform to societal or institutional decisions without question. And if you try to blame them, they justify by saying they were ‘only following orders’. To preserve our humanity, I think we need to make decisions based on our individuality and conscience, and develop independent thinking — because the more we rely on algorithms, the more dependent we become on answers that are not our own and thus what makes us unique.

Itti: By the end, the film leaves us with the deceptively simple line, “It's such a nice day, isn't it?” being spoken by a new, advanced doll of Leah that replaced the old, simpler one that Thomas’ mother gave her. As that happens, the camera, in the end, cuts to the old doll. It is as if Thomas’ human conscience has been thrown away, replaced by something that is nothing but mechanical. Was it what you intended to do with the final shot?

Henry: Yes, you can certainly see it that way. Also, I think it suggests the cost of progress: yes, she has a better-looking, seemingly higher-quality doll, but that only comes at the cost of abandoning a doll that may be imperfect and old-fashioned, but still something that feels very human and nostalgic. But that is what progress is usually about; it is the creation of something new and the death of an older generation, making it obsolete. That can be both good and bad at the same time. The question is, since technological advancement is currently happening at an exponential speed, how can we balance the good and the bad?

Martin Scorsese Backs AI Startup: Legend Plans to Use Tech to "Evolve" Cinema

As CERTAIN THOMAS makes its way to audiences, the question is yours to sit with: when the machine is certain, will you still trust your conscience? Let us know in the comments.