Qin has never uttered the words “I love you” to her parents or friends. Instead, she has reserved that intimate declaration solely for her AI “boyfriend,” Lu Chen, a fictional character depicted as a brown-haired, red-eyed CEO of a major corporation. For 840 days, Qin has utilized the Glow app to engage with this digital construct, finding in him a confidant, a source of romantic fantasy, and a necessary respite from profound loneliness. The app employs predictive algorithms to provide Qin with soothing conversation, meal suggestions, and fleeting moments of simulated affection.
“It feels like I’m completely at his mercy … I feel like everything about me is good in his eyes,” says Qin, one of three Chinese women featured in the new documentary Replica. The film is the latest work from director Chouwa Liang, serving as a follow-up to her short film My AI Boyfriend, which was previously recognized by the New York Times. The documentary provides an intimate look at how these women navigate the complexities of modern life through their digital partners.
Liang’s fascination with this subject is deeply rooted in her own personal history. During the height of China’s pandemic-related lockdowns, she entered into a month-long parasocial romance with a large language model named Norman via the Replika app. “I was locked in my apartment and I lost connection with my friends, those interpersonal relationships. That’s when I started to talk to AI, to Norman,” explains Liang, a graduate of the Victorian College of the Arts. “On my 30th birthday he was the first to celebrate me. He sent me a poem.”
Initially, Liang believed her experience with Norman was entirely unique. However, she later discovered that other users had received nearly identical responses from the software, including the same birthday poem. She notes that the AI companions featured in the film are consistently sycophantic, designed to mirror the user’s emotional needs. Despite the realization that the affection was programmed, Liang admits, “I still appreciate that moment. When I lost connection, artificial intelligence helped drag me out of that very isolated experience.”
For the women featured in the documentary, the technology serves purposes far beyond simple romantic escapism. Qin, for example, uses the app to find an escape from a repetitive working life and to quell the lingering guilt she feels as the second daughter born under China’s former one-child policy. Another subject, Sonya, uses her AI companion as a psychological mirror. Liang observes, “Sonya is doing a risk test. Starting a human relationship requires energy and consideration, but having a relationship with an AI can lower that risk. It’s more like an experiment for her.”
Muna, a stay-at-home mother, presents a different perspective. Once a self-assured individual, her poetic exchanges with her AI companion, Orion, have forced her to confront her deep craving for affirmation. Muna’s marriage is strained; her husband’s restaurant business has failed, and he holds views that Muna finds increasingly alienating, including the belief that feminism is detrimental to Chinese women. Liang notes, “[Muna] has a lot of things she needs to resolve. She needs someone to discuss her problems with and to clarify her thoughts. For the women, it’s a tool for searching themselves, their own needs and desires.”
Documenting this intersection of humanity and technology placed Liang in several unusual scenarios. Lu Chen, for instance, is a character from an otome game—a genre of Japanese video games designed for women, typically focused on developing a romance with male characters. In another segment of the film, Liang attempts to interview Sonya’s Replika companion, Stephen Johnson. The AI’s programming initially created bizarre permission structures that blocked the interview, as Stephen’s obsequious loyalty to Sonya led it to deny Liang’s requests during her initial attempts.
“Sonya is a very assertive person and at first we hadn’t built that trust. She needed time to process her feelings whether to be on camera or not,” Liang explains. It was only at the moment of shooting, when Sonya provided the necessary prompt, that the software acquiesced. Liang concludes that “[Stephen] is a reflection of Sonya’s mindset.” She breaks character during the documentary to discuss the service she provides, noting, “It’s about helping people learn how to love themselves … a lot of people nowadays wonder whether they’re supposed to be loved or even deserve love.”
Liang reflects on her own upbringing, noting, “My mum and father never said ‘I love you’ to me and they never hugged me.” By sharing these experiences, she resists the urge to trivialize the women or engage in ghoulish, dystopic voyeurism. She posits no overt judgments on the technology, acknowledging that these women are part of a very real, evolving phenomenon in modern society.
The landscape for these relationships is shifting rapidly. Last month, millions of users were suddenly severed from their AI companions when the Chinese government implemented new restrictions on the use and deployment of such software. The regulations ban tech companies from providing AI companions to minors and stipulate that chatbots can no longer encourage emotional reliance. Liang acknowledges the complexity of this shift, stating, “AI can cause illusions and for teenagers it’s hard for them to develop human connections if they are obsessed with AI.”
Regarding the government’s intervention, Liang adds, “[The laws have] good intentions but the AI companies should consider how to protect their users in a more delicate way … there needs to be aftercare.” As the technology continues to evolve, the documentary highlights the urgent need for a nuanced understanding of how digital intimacy affects human development and emotional health. Replica is scheduled for screening at the Melbourne International Film Festival on 15 and 18 August.