Let me tell you something that’s been gnawing at me for years: the way Hollywood talks about technology often feels like a sideshow. We’re bombarded with headlines about AI replacing humans, CGI making everything ‘better,’ and the latest gadget that’ll ‘revolutionize’ storytelling. But when you actually talk to someone who’s spent decades shaping the visual language of cinema, you realize how much of this noise is just... noise. Take Rick Baker, the man who’s won seven Oscars for makeup effects. He’s not just a technician; he’s a living archive of how Hollywood’s relationship with technology has evolved—and how it’s still deeply human at its core.
Baker’s recent Golden Leopard award from Locarno Film Festival is a reminder that the guy who made the Creature from the Black Lagoon look terrifying in 1981 is still out there, still thinking, still arguing. And what does he say about AI? Well, he’s not panicking. He’s not the kind of artist who gets nostalgic for the ‘good old days’ of spirit gum and cotton. Instead, he’s had a career defined by adapting to change. When computers first threatened to make him obsolete in the ’90s, he didn’t retreat—he evolved. He saw the potential in CGI, even as he warned that some studios were using it to replace the magic of real, physical transformation. ‘There’s a real magic that happens when you’re an actor and you’re looking in the mirror, and the face that’s looking back at you isn’t your face anymore,’ he told THR. That’s not just a line about makeup; it’s a manifesto for the soul of performance itself.
Here’s what many people don’t realize: Baker’s career is a case study in how artistry and technology can be symbiotic, not adversarial. He’s the guy who made Eddie Murphy into a 90-year-old Jewish man in Coming to America—and then watched Murphy improvise with that character in the makeup chair. That’s not just a story about a legendary collaboration; it’s a revelation about what practical effects can do that CGI often can’t. When you slap a cheekpiece on an actor and let them play with it, you’re not just creating a character—you’re letting the actor become that character. You can’t replicate that with a green screen and dots on your face. It’s a tactile, visceral process that demands trust between performer and artist. And yet, so much of modern filmmaking seems to prioritize efficiency over that kind of alchemy.
Now, let’s talk about the elephant in the room: the way Hollywood treats ‘below-the-line’ workers. Baker’s rant about how above-the-line people (actors, directors, producers) care only about money while below-the-line crews (makeup artists, set designers, etc.) are driven by passion is not just a gripe—it’s a indictment of the industry’s values. How many times have we seen a film celebrated for its ‘vision’ while the people who made it possible are nameless, faceless? It’s a system that rewards spectacle over substance, and it’s one that’s increasingly at odds with the realities of AI and automation. If we keep devaluing the craftspeople who make stories come alive, what happens when the tech replaces them entirely? Will we end up with a world where every movie looks the same because the ‘art’ has been outsourced to algorithms? Or will we finally start valuing the humans who make art possible?
What makes Baker’s perspective so fascinating is that he’s not just a relic of a bygone era—he’s a bridge. He’s the guy who understands that the tools change, but the desire to transform, to tell stories through physicality, remains the same. When he talks about Jack Pierce being fired for not adapting to new techniques, it’s not just a cautionary tale. It’s a reminder that the real danger isn’t technology itself—it’s the refusal to adapt, to learn, to collaborate. And yet, here’s the thing: Baker’s not against AI. He’s not against CGI. He’s against the idea that one replaces the other. He’s for a future where a makeup artist can use AI to design a prosthetic that’s more precise, but still let the actor’s face become a character. That’s the kind of thinking that’s missing from most debates about ‘the future of Hollywood.’
So here’s my take: Rick Baker’s legacy isn’t just about seven Oscars or a Golden Leopard. It’s about proving that the heart of cinema isn’t in the pixels or the code—it’s in the hands, the sweat, the stubborn refusal to let technology erase the human element. If we’re going to talk about AI and the future of storytelling, let’s not forget the people who’ve been doing the real work all along. Otherwise, we’re not just losing a craft—we’re losing the very thing that makes stories worth telling.
