OK/NOTOK is a sharp, genre-bending sci-fi romance that finds humor and heartbreak in a future that feels uncomfortably close. Directed by Pardeep Sahota, the film follows Loretta, a working-class British Asian woman trying to make sense of an increasingly intrusive world—one where technology inserts itself into every moment, even the most intimate ones. As she navigates a new connection with a stranger, her emotional life is constantly interrupted by the absurdity of unskippable ads, blurring the line between choice and coercion.

With its darkly comic edge, OK/NOTOK uses speculative storytelling to explore themes of agency, connection, and modern alienation. Sahota balances romance and satire with precision, crafting a story that’s as funny as it is unsettling. The result is a thoughtful and timely short that asks what love looks like when autonomy is negotiated through algorithms—and whether genuine connection can still exist when everything comes with a prompt to accept or decline.

Below, we speak with director Pardeep Sahota about the film’s inspirations, tone, and near-future world.

What first inspired OK/NOTOK? Was there a particular moment or observation that made you want to explore the intersection between technology and loneliness?

It genuinely arrived like a lightning bolt, in one hit. I was trying to write another short film and it wasn’t going well. In fact, I was actively avoiding it by cleaning the bathroom instead, which meant things were going really badly. It was whilst I was cleaning/dissociating that the entire idea formed very quickly in my mind. The relationship, the arc, the dark humour, the single-shot principle. It felt like the film was telling me what it was, and my job was to get it down before it disappeared.

Only afterwards did I really analyse why it came to me so quickly. I realised I’d been doomscrolling endless dark news cycles. There was a lot there about the loneliness epidemic that was growing and the seemingly unstoppable rise of AI that is exacerbating it all fed in. It was that, combined with observing how major tech companies were seemingly commodifying every aspect of our lives, that I thought it might be funny to see a world where everything is commodified like love and even politeness. Now we’ve seen similar stories like this before but I thought a new spin I could add to it was seeing it through the eyes of a working-class British Asian woman, which is something that I hadn’t seen in a sci-fi movie before.

How did you balance the grounded realism of working-class life with the speculative elements of AI and digital intimacy?

That was part of the story that came naturally to me. I come from a working-class background, so viewing this world from that perspective was instinctual. Another aspect to it was to present a sci-fi film in a different way than is expected. A lot of sci-fi imagines futures that feel very polished or have slick technology, but those imagined futures never come to pass. Even when technology changes rapidly, housing still looks relatively the same. But look around your room now, it doesn’t really look much different from a house in the 90s (particularly if you’re working class). Sure the styles are different, but the future technology that is really advanced is the phone you carry in your pocket and maybe your TV. So we had a lot of discussions in pre-production, but I was always pushing for what I called “science fiction Mike Leigh”. A grounded relationship drama first, where the science fiction elements start to creep up on you.

At its heart, the film seems to ask whether technology can replace empathy. How did you approach this theme without falling into cynicism or sentimentality?

That’s a great question. Because I consider myself a cynical optimist. So I think there is an awful lot of lies and misinformation we’re fed by supposedly the people we’re meant to trust. But I’m still optimistic about people and the bonds we make once an actual human connection is made. That tension of cynical optimism is present in a lot of my work. I wasn’t interested in making a film that wagged a finger or declared a position. I wanted the film to ask a question and let the audience sit with the discomfort of it. I think if you portray these characters and situations as honestly as you can, then it gives the audience some credit to come up with their own answers. I’ve always loved the Lubitsch quote of, its the director’s job to say 2+2 and the audience should say the answer.

Zane learns. He adapts. He reflects Loretta back to herself. He gets better at being the partner she wants. Is that empathy or is it optimisation? Is there a meaningful difference if the emotional result feels real to the person experiencing it? I didn’t want to answer those questions for you.

In your view, what does OK/NOTOK say about the way modern society commodifies affection and connection?

We already live in a world where almost every part of our existence is priced, rated and optimised. Health. Love. Validation. Even mental health. So it didn’t feel like a leap to imagine intimacy being bundled into a service offering. We already have dating apps that promise the world and have very strict exclusion policies. This was the logical nightmare extension of that.

What really interested me was how quietly that commodification happens. Through subtle manipulation. That comes in the form of convenience or reassurance when you’re feeling low. Through language that sounds caring. Zane isn’t overtly sinister. The system isn’t twirling a moustache. It’s just very good at giving you what you think you need. And making sure you stay engaged but most of all, paying. By showing you this nightmare near future, I think the film is trying to show you what we’ve already lost and what we could lose of our humanity if we carry on down this path.

The story unfolds around one central space — the sofa. What drew you to that creative constraint?

That was a fun moment when the lightning bolt idea initially struck. I had the idea that it would be a relationship told over two years, and there would be a narrative twist in the middle to reveal that it wasn’t a usual relationship. And almost like I was in conversation with myself, I asked, How am I going to show two years of a relationship neatly in a short. And I answered myself straight away. This is about Loretta’s psychology. She feels trapped, stuck in her own life. Locking the camera into a single position felt like an expression of that. We’re rooted with her. We experience time, discomfort and intimacy the way she does.

I liked the idea that if the film continued for one second longer, the camera would finally move because her change internally has happened. But we cut before that.

Were there particular films, playwrights or filmmakers that influenced your tone or rhythm?

Paul Verhoeven was a big touchstone, especially his ability to smuggle sharp socio-political critique inside genre and humour. Under the Skin was another big reference in terms of stripping a concept back to its essentials.

There are also influences that are maybe less obvious. Ozu’s transcendental style, filtered through my own more chaotic sensibilities. And while I wasn’t consciously referencing Black Mirror, it’s definitely in the cultural bloodstream. It was a big surprise when 5 months after the release of our film, Black Mirror premiered their new season and it was all about upselling to premium-based subscriptions. So we must all be circling similar anxieties right now as its coming out in our art.

What was your collaboration like with the actors, especially in creating chemistry between a human and an AI character?

Because the film was a locked-off single shot, we couldn’t rely on coverage or close-ups to do the emotional heavy lifting. Everything had to play in a wide. So casting became absolutely crucial.
We spent the short rehearsal time we had not polishing the lines, but finding the rhythm of the relationship. Zane starts the film slightly out of sync with Loretta. He doesn’t quite get her humour. Then he learns it. Mirrors it back. And once she laughs, something shifts inside her. The armour that she’s held up starts to come down. That’s where the relationship starts to blossom. It was really fun working through those beats with Bairavi and Jay who both had lots of great suggestions in how we bring that to life.

What role does the “outer world” play in shaping the film’s emotional atmosphere?

I wanted the outside world to be an almost subjective audio landscape of Loretta’s inner mindset. That being said, as its a one shot movie, its a simple set-up. So I wanted to create an audio landscape that was rich in detail to make up for the lack of camera movement. We started on this very early as I was passing the script back and forth with Sound Designer Edwin Matthews, whom I’ve worked with for a long time and we were sharing ideas on how we could make sound ever-present and rich throughout the story. At the beginning, the outside world is chaotic, intrusive and increasingly hostile which is how she feels and wants to retreat from. There’s protest chants and if you listen carefully, they are pro-human and anti machine which again reflects Loretta’s position. She’s brought Zane into her life but she almost resents him being there after she’s used him. As the relationship develops, those same sounds soften, blend with music, even become comforting.

That’s not necessarily saying everything outside has improved. But perhaps her relationship to it has. The sound design becomes a way of tracking that shift emotionally rather than narratively. A nice touch we added is in a later scene the protest chant comes back, but this time its a lone voice and they are shouted down. The machines, for better or worse, have been accepted into this world, which mirrors Loretta’s internal journey.

What are the books, podcasts or YouTube channels you recommend young filmmakers get their hands on?

That’s a great question – there’s a wealth of content you can learn from that is relatively cheap. I never got accepted into film school, so I’ve had to learn the same way. Recently I have skewed more towards podcasts than the YouTube or books but that’s just because I don’t have much free time anymore. Things like the Directors Take podcast, Draft Zero, even the DGA podcast – anything where filmmakers get to open up about their craft that goes beyond the selling of the film and into the craft of filmmaking, I find really fascinating and valuable listens.

Can you share some short films you’ve loved recently?

I’ve been on the short film circuit with the film for this past year and so I’ve got to see a lot of incredible short films. So I’m going to pick two that I don’t think many people will have seen to shine a light on them. I recently saw this film, Inside, The Valley Sings directed by Nathan Fagan that totally blew me away. About what it’s like in solitary confinement in prison and the type of mental games you do to get by. And on the complete other side of the spectrum, there’s this really funny short film called Tortured Artist, directed by Thomas Laurance, that really made me laugh as well as getting to the core of what its like to put art out into the world.