By Sarah Osman

Cassandra is yet another critique of AI, but it’s also a provocative commentary on motherhood.

Cassandra, streaming on Netflix

A scene featuring Michael Klammer and Mina Tander in Cassandra. Photo: Netflix

The rise of AI is, to put it mildly, concerning. Will jobs disappear because AI has made us redundant? Will art as we know it (by humans) cease to exist? Will we soon be asked to bend the knee to our robot overlords? (No doubt a setup that future “President” Musk would like, but AI will probably take him out first.) AI is at the center of Netflix’s Cassandra, a German sci-fi thriller from Benjamin Gutsche, but that’s not its sole focus. Rather, the series is centered on the nature of motherhood, exploring how grievously mothers are taken for granted in our society.

Cassandra follows the experiences of the Prill family, who, after a domestic tragedy, relocate from the city to the countryside. Their new home comes outfitted with Cassandra, a ’70s ‘smart’ home relic. The house has been abandoned for years, leaving Cassandra alone. A sentient AI prototype, the service creature has a screen for a head and a creepy robot body. She’s ecstatic for the company, and at first, the family enjoys her cooking dinner and singing to them in the mornings. But it soon becomes clear that Cassandra is determined to never be left alone again — to the point that she considers removing the Prill matriarch, Samira, played by Mina Tander.

The series carefully balances the Prills’ story with the drama behind Cassandra’s origins. Cassandra lived with her husband and son in the early ’70s. Her husband works in a mysterious lab (and has affairs) while her son is bullied by his soccer team. Cassandra recognizes that her son isn’t like the other boys. She does her best to nurture him, but she is limited by her husband’s machismo sensibility. She’ll do anything to be there for her son (quite literally anything we later find out), but she doesn’t necessarily do what’s best for him. Lavinia Wilson, who plays Cassandra in both her robotic and human form, gives a standout performance, delineating Cassandra’s very human emotions, feelings that eventually turn her into a monster. Wilson’s performance gives the series considerable dramatic power: her multi-layered Cassandra becomes a misogynistic caricature.

Whether she’d admit it or not, Samira has more in common with Cassandra than she initially realizes. She too has a sensitive son and a husband who doesn’t listen to her,  a guy who brushes off her serious concerns about Cassandra. The way robot and human differ is in how they handle their situations — Samira’s son is out and proud, thanks to her support. And this is a wife who pushes back against her thick-headed husband. Part of this can no doubt be explained by the fact that these are women from different eras. Women have more power and independence now than in the early ’70s. (Though our current administration is doing its best to backtrack on that progress.) Still, the parallels between the two mothers — and how far they will go to protect their children — isn’t a coincidence. Nor is it surprising that the two husbands and fathers falter in their roles as full partners: each prefers to lock himself away in his work and relegate “house duties” to their wives.

So, while it’s true that Cassandra is yet another critique of AI, it’s also a commentary on motherhood. When a mother is taken for granted, ignored, and dominated, how long will it take before she strikes out in defense? Cassandra’s actions are extreme and dangerous, but she believes they are what’s best for her family. Samira does her best to support all the members of her family, including her mentally ill sister, but her husband dismisses her and her efforts. Just how much are mothers expected to put up with before they break? The double standard is alive and well: when a mother is out in public with a child who acts up, the mother is judged. If a father is out with a child in public, regardless of how badly the child behaves, he’s still given credit for being a great dad spending time with the kids. It’s no coincidence that both Cassandra and Samira are confined to — repressed in? — the home. Cassandra raises the question of what happens when mothers are treated like AI automatons — when what could be expected to be more human than a mother?

Sarah Mina Osman is based in Los Angeles. In addition to the Arts Fuse, her writing can be found in Huffington Post, Success Magazine, Matador Network, HelloGiggles, Business Insider, and WatchMojo. She has an MFA in Creative Writing from the University of North Carolina Wilmington and is working on her first novel. She has a deep appreciation for sloths and tacos. You can keep up with her on Instagram: @SarahMinaOsman; Bluesky: @sarahminaosman.bsky.social.”