An Interview with Narottama Dasa Panitz on his script
"The Entropy Code"
About The Entropy Code:
In a near-future world, a powerful record label develops a groundbreaking simulation technology to create an alien civilization. The goal? To harvest the most authentic, soul-stirring music ever heard. As the simulated beings live their lives, facing joys and tragedies, their music reflects genuine emotional depth. However, the line between exploitation and creativity blurs, leading to ethical dilemmas and a rebellion against the cosmic injustice. The Entropy Code is a captivating blend of sci-fi and social commentary that questions the very nature of creativity and the human soul.
What initially inspired the concept behind The Entropy Code?
I’ve always been interested in the bigger questions — why we’re here, how it all works. When I heard the idea that one day quantum computers might simulate entire civilizations, it hit me: if that’s possible, then the kinds of questions we ask about God might just be questions about whoever built the simulation. That stuck with me and eventually became the core of The Entropy Code.
How did your background in visual aesthetics—particularly your love for '90s point-and-click adventure games—influence the tone or look of this project?
My love for ’90s point-and-click adventure games definitely shaped how I see storytelling. Coming of age playing games like Space Quest V and Police Quest 4 just stuck with me. I actually used pixel art to create a behind-the-scenes short film called Dream Code, which is available now at www.theentropycode.com. But for The Entropy Code itself, we needed something more cutting-edge — a hybrid of 2D and 3D animation — to tell the story on the scale it needed.
Can you tell us more about the emotional or philosophical questions you were grappling with when you started writing this script?
I kept coming back to one of the oldest questions: if God is all-powerful, why does suffering exist? And if He can’t or won’t stop it, what does that really say about Him? When I started learning about simulation theory, it hit me — maybe the creators of a world aren’t all-knowing or all-good. Maybe they’re just flawed beings, like us. That idea really pushed me to start writing The Entropy Code.
The Entropy Code explores the intersection of creativity and exploitation—how do you personally define “authentic” creativity in a world increasingly influenced by AI?
I think AI is like the invention of the gun. It’s powerful, but we still show up to watch a boxing match. In art — just like in boxing — it’s the blood, sweat, and time that give it meaning. Authentic creativity isn’t just about the final product; it’s about the struggle, the process, the risk of failure. That’s something AI can’t replicate, and it’s why human-made art will always have a different kind of weight.
Why did you choose a record label as the antagonist, and what does that say about your perspective on the music industry today?
I remember watching The Matrix and thinking the human battery idea didn’t make much sense — we need too many calories to be efficient batteries. I always felt that if you were going to simulate a civilization, the real reason would be to steal their ideas: cures for diseases, movie ideas, or in The Entropy Code, melodies. I liked the idea that the simulated beings could sing so much better than humans that they made us seem average — the way a puma would make LeBron James look like an average jumper. A record label harvesting music from them just felt right, especially today when people remix children singing in Africa and rack up millions of views. I actually had this idea way before AI-generated music was a thing, but with how fast AI music is evolving now, The Entropy Code has become even easier to explain. I could definitely see a future where computer engineers are tomorrow’s rock stars.
The film features an alien civilization—why aliens, and how does that choice enhance the story’s commentary on humanity?
I have a pet peeve about how simulations are usually shown — as if someone programs every little detail, like photosynthesis or DNA, when in reality we can barely understand those systems ourselves. I think it would be a lot more realistic to create the right conditions for a universe to start, hit the fast-forward button, and let systems self-organize. If that’s how simulations work, I don’t think you’d get humans again. We’re the result of so much randomness and luck that even if you rolled the dice a trillion times, it might never happen the same way twice. But intelligent life — something capable of evolving through an arms race — feels inevitable. That’s why I didn’t make the simulated civilization human. It made more sense that it would be alien, but still familiar enough to hold up a mirror to us.
What were the challenges of writing emotionally complex simulated beings who aren't “real” but feel very real to the audience?
For me, it was always important that the simulated aliens didn’t have clear answers. They don’t know why their world is the way it is, or why they suffer — and in that way, I identify with them more than with their human architects. They’re trapped trying to find meaning inside a system they can’t fully understand. To me, that feels a lot closer to real life than anything the architects are doing. I think life feels a lot like what Phil experiences in Groundhog Day — no clear instructions, no obvious way forward. If a witch had just told Phil the rules for breaking the time loop, it would have ruined the whole story. I wanted my characters to face that same uncertainty. I also drew inspiration from The Gods Must Be Crazy — how something simple and meaningless to the creators can completely reshape the lives of those inside the system.
Can you walk us through how you developed the simulated world—its culture, music, or emotional depth?
I just imagined a society going through its own early primitive stage. A few strong opinions helped me build their world. In a lot of sci-fi movies, when we meet intelligent alien species, they all seem to think the same way and act as one group. Meanwhile, on Earth, even though we’re all human, we speak thousands of languages, hold completely different ideologies, and still have divisions like racism. So I wanted to create an alien species that was just as divided. I split them into Captors and Captives. My second big choice was visual — I made the Captors colorful and beautiful like butterflies, and the Captives grey and spotted like moths. I’ve always wondered why we call one beautiful and the other ugly when, in nature, there’s really no difference. I wanted to explore those biases in the film — and maybe make people question some of their own without even realizing it.
This project began as a short film—how has the story evolved as you work toward expanding it into a feature-length piece?
The Entropy Code is currently being developed as a short film and a micro-series — not a feature-length project yet. While the story definitely has the depth to support a feature or even a full series, animation is expensive, and right now it would be tough to fund something that large independently. That said, The Entropy Code is designed as an IP. Jax and Kaila simulate countless worlds, and each world has its own story to tell. As interest grows, I’m excited to see where this can go. I hope to meet the right storytellers and collaborators who can help bring more of this universe to life.
What has surprised you the most about the storytelling process with The Entropy Code?
What surprised me most was that Kaila ended up being the protagonist. I always thought it was going to be Jax. But Kaila had more moral clarity, and she naturally led the rebellion with her superpower — which is uncompromising empathy. I was just trying to tell an honest story, not make a statement. But looking back, it’s interesting how it bucks the trend. A lot of female protagonists today are expected to fight like John Wick — and Kaila’s strength is the opposite. She’s trying to stop conflict, not feed into it. Just by answering honestly in the writing room, I ended up with something different — and people seem to connect with that.
What role do you think filmmakers have in addressing or challenging the rise of AI in creative fields?
I don’t think filmmakers can stop the rise of AI in creative fields — and I’m not even sure we should try. But I do think we all need to calm down and breathe. AI will make things like visual effects much cheaper, but acting will still have value because a human had to go to that emotional place. Someone once asked, ‘Where on Billy Joel’s guitar is the value located? If you had to find it and point to it, could you?’ Of course you couldn’t — because the value isn’t in the object itself. It’s in the time, the energy, the human hands that have touched it, the stories behind it. You can already see it today — people shred AI art in comment sections because they assume a human just typed ‘make something amazing’ and the machine did all the work. Of course it’s not that simple, but it proves the point: art has value because of human sacrifice — time, energy, skill, experience. And if AI ever does create a truly great work of art that people admire, you can bet there will still be a human behind the scenes who sacrificed a lot to get it there.
Having said that, The Entropy Code has chosen to use zero AI in the film and micro-series. Every 3D character and every 2D stroke was made by a human. I wanted to make sure the film had real value. I’m not against using AI to help market the project though, especially given the subject matter — that’s where I personally draw the line
In your opinion, where should we draw the ethical line when it comes to using simulations or AI in art?
Honestly, I hope the simulation technology from The Entropy Code becomes real — and it can’t come fast enough. Once I learned that the closest potentially habitable planet in the Goldilocks zone would take about 70,000 years to reach with current technology, I pretty much gave up on the idea of ever meeting aliens in real life. Space is brutal on the human body, and those kinds of trips just aren’t happening. But a realistic simulation — where systems self-organize and life evolves naturally — could be an incredible way to experience something beyond Earth.
When it comes to the ethical line with simulations and AI, I think it all circles back to the question of consciousness — and that’s where things get complicated. In The Entropy Code, the aliens are conscious, and it takes an alien funeral to convince Kaila. What would it take to convince me? A lot more. I can prove to myself that I’m having a conscious experience, but I can’t prove it to anyone else — and no one can really prove it to me, either. So if simulated beings ever wanted to convince me they were conscious, they’d have a tough road ahead. Especially if I’m too busy watching new life forms evolve and getting caught up in the wonder of it.
What do you hope audiences will take away emotionally or intellectually after watching The Entropy Code?
I hope people eat The Entropy Code like a lasagna — at whatever layer they feel comfortable with. Some people might watch it and feel like it’s time to break free from the systems and programming around them. Some might be struck by the commentary on creativity and exploitation, especially in a world where corporations use art as just another resource. Others might find themselves questioning bigger things — like how we think about God, and whether our assumptions about power and goodness even make sense.
Some might just enjoy the aesthetic, the vibe, or the action. And that’s fine too. Enjoy whatever layer you want — but I promise you, there’s always a next layer if you want to find it.
Are there any particular discussions or reactions from early readers or viewers that stood out to you?
Yeah, there have been a few reactions that really stayed with me. One of the earliest was from a friend who watched an early animatic. He told me it felt life-changing — and even said, ‘this is going to change humanity.’ That really stuck with me, because I wasn’t trying to force a message — I was just telling the story honestly. To see it hit someone that hard made me realize the ideas might reach people deeper than I expected.
I’ve also seen early reviewers connect to different layers — some locked onto the satire about the music industry and exploitation, others got pulled into the philosophical and theological questions. That’s what I love — that people find different things in it depending on where they’re at.
As a storyteller, how has working on The Entropy Code changed the way you view creativity, technology, or even your own artistic journey?
Working on The Entropy Code made me realize just how much sacrifice goes into anything real. Technology can assist creativity, but it can’t replace the time, the energy, or the experiences that give something real weight. It also showed me that being honest in the writing room — even if it feels strange or personal — is where the strongest ideas come from.
In a way, it made me more patient. Good ideas need time to evolve, and sometimes they grow in directions you don’t expect. Seeing how different people found different layers in The Entropy Code — layers I didn’t even plan — reminded me that creativity isn’t something you control. You build the world, but once it’s out there, it belongs to everyone who experiences it.