Algorithms, addictions and the new era of soap operas

In a fake castle perched above Los Angeles, the cameras are panned to the side, the lights are rough and the dialogue is fast. A small crew squeezes into a bedroom to film a naughty love scene while a Chinese producer watches closely.

It looks like Hollywood, but not exactly. This is the new world of “vertical dramas” – algorithm-driven, smartphone-sized soap operas filmed at breakneck speed and consumed in one-minute bursts.

Once dismissed as kitsch imports from China, these micro-series have exploded into a multi-billion dollar industry, fusing technology, global production and internet addiction. The format first appeared in China in the 2010s.

“Cocaine soap operas,” producer Vincent Wang describes the genre that has reshaped viewing habits and is now transforming filmmaking itself – sometimes without human actors at all.

With a budget of a few hundred thousand dollars and episodes shorter than a TikTok clip, their formula is simple: keep the audience hooked, keep the money flowing. “In 30 days, we can do a show together. Hollywood takes two years. We’ve already done 500 shows by the time they do their first one,” Wang said.

The trend started when Chinese amateurs started uploading quick dramas on Douyin, the Chinese version of TikTok. Big companies soon joined, turning it into an $8 billion business. By 2023, platforms like ReelShort, DramaBox, and FlareFlow had moved to the United States, hiring thousands of out-of-work actors and technicians.

For artists like Zachary Shadrin, who stars in “Love Through All Seasons,” opportunity feels like survival. “It’s the future… right here, right now,” he said during filming. After years of Hollywood belt-tightening, the vertical boom delivers solid work. But it comes with disturbing undertones.

The most popular titles of the genre – “Dominated by my boss daddy” and “Mated with my wild Alpha” – are based on melodramatic and often violent plots. “Personally I think it’s toxic,” Shadrin admitted. “But this was different. It’s sweet.”

Actor Nicholas McDonald said filming is intense but professional. “We all laugh at some of the lines that are absolutely ridiculous, but everyone takes it very seriously. Because there’s money behind it.”

Producers know their real competition isn’t HBO or Netflix, but TikTok and Instagram. The first dozen episodes are free. then viewers have to pay to unlock more. Every sixty-second episode must end with a dramatic twist to prevent users from scrolling away.

Director Weiyang Li summed up the formula: “Audiences can get hooked right away without using their brains much. Everyone is already exhausted from their lives.”

The production reflects this urgency. Scripts are translated from Chinese blockbusters, often written on set and sometimes generated by artificial intelligence. Screenwriter Zhiyuan Qu said AI helps suggest ideas and speed up writing. The vertical format also saves money – less background on screen means cheaper sets and smaller crews.

In Asia, these dramas dominate the viewing platforms. in the United States and Europe, the public pays higher prices. Most productions remain non-union, but the Screen Actors Guild recently created a special contract to allow members to work on minidramas. “I can drop my side gigs and play again — that’s great,” McDonald said. “Eighty percent of my auditions now are for verticals.”

While Hollywood is adapting to this solid narrative, China is pushing the idea even further—in artificial intelligence. One of the country’s latest sensations, “Strange Mirror of Mountains and Seas,” features dragon-like beasts, handsome heroes and entire scenes constructed from production software.

With more than 50 million views, it exemplifies the rise of AI micro-dramas — soap opera-style shorts that sometimes last as little as 30 seconds, generated almost entirely by algorithms. Their creator, Chen Kun, said micro-dramas are the perfect testing ground for artificial intelligence because audiences watch on small screens and overlook technical flaws.

The production used ChatGPT to write dialogue, Midjourney for still images, China’s Kling to animate them, and Suno for the soundtrack. Only editing and voice acting required people. Fans noticed improvements. “A lot of special effects can be created using AI,” said a Kuaishou viewer, “and the characters’ expressions are less harsh than before.”

The impact of AI is also reaching the classroom. At Vancouver’s Shanghai Film School, teacher Odet Abadia demonstrates tools that can create entire screenplays from just a few words. “It’s another way of storytelling,” he said. “You can get a wow factor, a lot of crazy stuff, especially in short dramas.” Her students are experimenting with Alibaba’s Qwen software, which can instantly create an outline for a wedding photographer involved in crime.

Abadia insists, however, that the students are still “shooting with people and equipment, because we want to support the industry.” However, he admits that the future will require fluency in AI tools.

Technology has already disrupted professionals around the world. In Hollywood, fears about AI-generated content were central to the writers’ and actors’ strikes in 2023. The launch of an “AI actress,” Tilly Norwood, this year renewed concerns about artist replacement.

On the Shanghai live-action sets, these effects are already visible. Artist Louis Liu said AI programs have replaced most concept illustrators. “When AI first came out, people in film were saying it would mean the end of us. The products were so realistic and cheap.”

But creators like Chen Kun remain optimistic that new work will emerge in areas such as “rapid engineering,” where experts create detailed text instructions for production software. He supports paid artists whose work trains AI models, but says the responsibility lies with the original developers, not independent users.