As I experienced Deepfake at the 2026 Tribeca Festival, I reminisced about the time when we would challenge technology by asking, “Can it print food yet?” Turns out, it can. Barely a decade ago, we lived in a world without dating apps, where you judged people as individuals whose ideas matched yours. Instead of an awkward first meet-cute and the possibility of a callback, we swipe. Above all, we have come to care more about ‘likes’ on social media than the people who actually like us. Written and directed by Matt Eames, the satirical film plunges into a world where human connections have become products, subscriptions, and services.
The film’s protagonist, Jane (Jessica DiGiovanni), is not particularly easy to like. Pushing 30, she is a project manager, almost friendless, and single. Well, recently dumped, if that’s the right word to describe the situation in Deepfake. Never much of a social climber, Jane now wants a personality upgrade. She calls it Jane 2.0, as any millennial would. Unlike late Gen Zs and Gen Alpha, however, this woman with a head full of conscience still doesn’t know how to make it happen. The solution? An app called GFFer, where she meets her new best friend. The app lets you pick a friend based on your budget, and Zoe (Sophia Lucia Parola) is a premium BFF because, well, why not?
From there, Deepfake skyrockets into a full-fledged strategy to get Jane where she wants to be, even if she has no interest in participating in the process. “I deliver results,” claims London (Jocelyn Weisman), who has an answer to every question despite never wanting to be asked one herself. Without Jane even noticing, an entire ensemble is traipsing in and around her modest home, transforming her from Jane 2.0 into Jane 2.1.
In an ordinary scenario, you might call it a trap designed to win back a straying partner. As ridiculous and regressive as that sounds, people still do it, and I assume it occasionally works. Deepfake, however exaggerated it may be, presents a not-so-distant future where anyone can be manipulated in the name of what we call results. Eames also explores the stripping away of individuality in order to homogenize Jane’s lifestyle into something that isn’t retro—a not-so-offensive substitute for ugly and boring.
What begins as a breakup recovery plan gradually morphs into a process of self-erasure. The film’s most unsettling idea is not that technology can manipulate people, but that people increasingly volunteer to be manipulated if it promises results. Everything is transactional because the world has been tuned that way.
Deepfake finds Jane in a state of frustration from beginning to end. Among other things, she wants to understand why her boyfriend never travelled with her, only to do so later with another woman. DiGiovanni has an uninhibited and effortless screen presence that makes Jane’s desperation land without ever asking for sympathy. Parola and Weisman are both terrific, fully understanding the film’s sarcastic, high-glam, tech-forward wavelength. The supporting cast, particularly the men, including Ashish, who appears only through a webcam, effectively scales up the film’s almost-real, mini-dystopian ideas.
Eames’ screenplay is designed to be fun, and it certainly is. On the flip side, the film rarely allows Jane a moment to sit back and breathe, and that is clearly a deliberate narrative choice. It slightly prevents us from fully empathizing with the depth of her existential dread.
Deepfake repeatedly made me think about a surprisingly poignant question: How do you make new friends in your 30s when you don’t have any left? Does the idea of a social circle simply expire at some point? In the world we are steadily moving toward, conversations are becoming a luxury. The human touch is turning into a premium feature. There may come a time when even a reassuring smile or a gentle hug exists only as an item on a therapist’s chargeable checklist. Matt Eames envisions that future with considerable wit and a surprising amount of sadness.
Deepfake may be packaged as a comedy, but beneath its sharp satire lies a lonely film about people who have forgotten how to be with one another without an interface in between.
