In sci-fi movies and TV shows, screens within the screen offer a second layer of escapism. There’s no doomscrolling in sci-fi, no TikTok panic or Twitter becoming a dating site for transphobes. Instead, we get distinctive digital environments that complement unrealistic wardrobes, interior design choices, or entire plot lines. If the setting is dystopian, it’s at least aesthetic.
In a world where everything on the internet is the same 4 rectangles, these fictional interfaces offer little pockets of delusional hope for what our screen time could be.
Severance: The numbers
Maybe an obvious choice, but it’s deserving. The interface at the centre of the severed employees’ endless workday is a seemingly nonsensical matrix where you group together numbers that seem bad. No context, no feedback. Just “pick the ones that make you feel scared.” They drop into a box, which is satisfying. There’s some kind of quota. It’s unclear.
People have theorized a lot about what this application actually does. I ignore them all. I don’t want to know yet. I am having too much dreadful fun.
Like the rest of the show, the numbers task interface is uncanny and opaque. It’s simultaneously outdated and cutting-edge nefarious. This interface also captures the feeling of working an American tech job during the January 6 insurrection better than anything I’ve ever seen. What makes a good day’s work? What are we really doing here?
Jupiter Ascending: Flowy lines
Jupiter Ascending (2015) is so original and so unfairly maligned, and its interfaces are a perfect example of why. The Wachowskis are here to “yes and” us to another galaxy and back. A movie can have a surfing dog and pools of goopified humans and interesting interstellar maps, so help me God.
The maps that show up on the screens of the alien ships were inspired by weather maps, which are an underutilized visual reference in the genre. Jupiter Ascending is so wild in so many ways, so the sense of realism and almost familiarity we get from these maps offers a good anchor.
Alien interfaces tend to be either over-engineered (giant hologram map) or super minimalistic (single floating circle), but these maps strike an interesting balance. We also have some less-common colour schemes for sci-fi interfaces—vibrant pinks, oranges, and the elusive neon beige.
I think if Jupiter Ascending was released today, it’d have a warmer reception. Partly because furries now have more cultural cachet. But also because, in a sci-fi landscape where almost everything is an adaptation, sequel, prequel, or reboot, this movie and its software design are a welcome reprieve—goofy, maybe, but not just a rehash.
The Expanse: Space Tinder
The Expanse (2015-2022), a TV adaptation of the also-incredible book series, includes a lot of interfaces that manage to make a space opera feel both impressive and familiar. It does have some pitfalls like “screen that’s transparent for only cinematography reasons.”
But the show also puts a lot of effort into making detailed and realistic interfaces characters interact with, even if it’s just for a moment. Enter this dating site, Low Gravity No Pressure.
I love that even once we’ve advanced enough to live deep in space, dating sites can still have that smarmy “HOT SINGLES IN YOUR AREA” vibe.
With all the layered, semi-transparent text blocks, we maintain the aura of banner ads and popups without them actually existing here. And some of the text itself is delightfully stilted, just like a real dating site. Like a user named NIGHTBANDIT31 leading with “Ok… so lets start.” And apparently everyone is pansexual.
This is such a far cry from every other sleek space nav interface we see in this show and in sci-fi in general. I love it.
D.E.B.S.: Dinervision
The main thing about D.E.B.S. (2004) is that it does not give a fuck. There are so many decisions in this film that I will never have answers for, including but not limited to every single use of technology. And it is such a gift.
I’m calling this specific instance “dinervision” because I don’t know how else to describe this sequence of events:
1. The main D.E.B.S. enter the crowded lobby(?) of the school for D.E.B.S, which is inexplicably a diner(?)
2. They sit at a booth complete with a bottle of “D.E.B.S. Tomato Ketchup.”
3. A waitress(?) attempts to take their order.
4. Their boss somehow reveals unto the D.E.B.S. a dossier of highly classified information in the form of a giant hologram right in front of their table.
5. Documents start to spill out of the hologram, creating a zany pastiche.
6. The D.E.B.S. are prepared for their mission!
I’m not sure this one even counts as an interface. I don’t remember anyone actually controlling anything. I think this projection just kind of happens to them.
Whatever! Still rocks!
Underwater: All the bits and bobs
Underwater (2020) is a movie about what if bisexual lighting was red and green. All that glowy tech on the walls of Kristen Stewart’s isolated submarine does wonders for both her complexion and the overall ambiance of being hunted.
As far as the interfaces themselves, there’s a nice mix of glitchiness and oversimplified Spy Kids (2001) aesthetics. Much like the plot and KStew's chiseled little pixie face, the interfaces here are shadowy and uncertain but never lose the plot. We see what matters, and it feels just real enough.
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I particularly appreciate the ease of swiping to self-detonate.
Usability slay!
Blade Runner 2049: K’s spinner
Blade Runner 2049 (2017) is in my Letterboxd top 4 for several reasons: beautiful art direction, a killer soundtrack, an interesting look at cultural dehumanization, and a ton of cool-ass screens.
The coolest of which is the control panel in K’s spinner, which is Blade-Runner-speak for “cop car.” I know, I know. Bear with me. What makes this interface work is what makes this whole movie work.
The displays in K’s car come off as warm and lived-in, yet hostile.
Like, who’s really using this interface? Is it supposed to be easy for them?
Similar to its predecessor, Blade Runner 2049 is a movie obsessed with the definition of humanity. It’s so richly textured with ways people have carved out meaning and value for themselves around a central emptiness. So it’s an amazing strategic move to make some of the film’s most-used tech so not human-readable.
Is it different for replicants? Does it matter?
It’s also interesting to compare K’s car interface to some of the screens we see at the ultra-wealthy replicant manufacturer, Wallace Corporation:
In the world of Blade Runner 2049, roundness, negative space, and visual clarity is largely a thing of the past reserved for the ultra-wealthy.
In sci-fi movies and TV shows, screens within the screen offer a second layer of escapism. There’s no doomscrolling in sci-fi, no TikTok panic or Twitter becoming a dating site for transphobes. Instead, we get distinctive digital environments that complement unrealistic wardrobes, interior design choices, or entire plot lines. If the setting is dystopian, it’s at least aesthetic.
In a world where everything on the internet is the same 4 rectangles, these fictional interfaces offer little pockets of delusional hope for what our screen time could be.
Severance: The numbers
Maybe an obvious choice, but it’s deserving. The interface at the centre of the severed employees’ endless workday is a seemingly nonsensical matrix where you group together numbers that seem bad. No context, no feedback. Just “pick the ones that make you feel scared.” They drop into a box, which is satisfying. There’s some kind of quota. It’s unclear.
People have theorized a lot about what this application actually does. I ignore them all. I don’t want to know yet. I am having too much dreadful fun.
Like the rest of the show, the numbers task interface is uncanny and opaque. It’s simultaneously outdated and cutting-edge nefarious. This interface also captures the feeling of working an American tech job during the January 6 insurrection better than anything I’ve ever seen. What makes a good day’s work? What are we really doing here?
Jupiter Ascending: Flowy lines
Jupiter Ascending (2015) is so original and so unfairly maligned, and its interfaces are a perfect example of why. The Wachowskis are here to “yes and” us to another galaxy and back. A movie can have a surfing dog and pools of goopified humans and interesting interstellar maps, so help me God.
The maps that show up on the screens of the alien ships were inspired by weather maps, which are an underutilized visual reference in the genre. Jupiter Ascending is so wild in so many ways, so the sense of realism and almost familiarity we get from these maps offers a good anchor.
Alien interfaces tend to be either over-engineered (giant hologram map) or super minimalistic (single floating circle), but these maps strike an interesting balance. We also have some less-common colour schemes for sci-fi interfaces—vibrant pinks, oranges, and the elusive neon beige.
I think if Jupiter Ascending was released today, it’d have a warmer reception. Partly because furries now have more cultural cachet. But also because, in a sci-fi landscape where almost everything is an adaptation, sequel, prequel, or reboot, this movie and its software design are a welcome reprieve—goofy, maybe, but not just a rehash.
The Expanse: Space Tinder
The Expanse (2015-2022), a TV adaptation of the also-incredible book series, includes a lot of interfaces that manage to make a space opera feel both impressive and familiar. It does have some pitfalls like “screen that’s transparent for only cinematography reasons.”
But the show also puts a lot of effort into making detailed and realistic interfaces characters interact with, even if it’s just for a moment. Enter this dating site, Low Gravity No Pressure.
I love that even once we’ve advanced enough to live deep in space, dating sites can still have that smarmy “HOT SINGLES IN YOUR AREA” vibe.
With all the layered, semi-transparent text blocks, we maintain the aura of banner ads and popups without them actually existing here. And some of the text itself is delightfully stilted, just like a real dating site. Like a user named NIGHTBANDIT31 leading with “Ok… so lets start.” And apparently everyone is pansexual.
This is such a far cry from every other sleek space nav interface we see in this show and in sci-fi in general. I love it.
D.E.B.S.: Dinervision
The main thing about D.E.B.S. (2004) is that it does not give a fuck. There are so many decisions in this film that I will never have answers for, including but not limited to every single use of technology. And it is such a gift.
I’m calling this specific instance “dinervision” because I don’t know how else to describe this sequence of events:
1. The main D.E.B.S. enter the crowded lobby(?) of the school for D.E.B.S, which is inexplicably a diner(?)
2. They sit at a booth complete with a bottle of “D.E.B.S. Tomato Ketchup.”
3. A waitress(?) attempts to take their order.
4. Their boss somehow reveals unto the D.E.B.S. a dossier of highly classified information in the form of a giant hologram right in front of their table.
5. Documents start to spill out of the hologram, creating a zany pastiche.
6. The D.E.B.S. are prepared for their mission!
I’m not sure this one even counts as an interface. I don’t remember anyone actually controlling anything. I think this projection just kind of happens to them.
Whatever! Still rocks!
Underwater: All the bits and bobs
Underwater (2020) is a movie about what if bisexual lighting was red and green. All that glowy tech on the walls of Kristen Stewart’s isolated submarine does wonders for both her complexion and the overall ambiance of being hunted.
As far as the interfaces themselves, there’s a nice mix of glitchiness and oversimplified Spy Kids (2001) aesthetics. Much like the plot and KStew's chiseled little pixie face, the interfaces here are shadowy and uncertain but never lose the plot. We see what matters, and it feels just real enough.
I particularly appreciate the ease of swiping to self-detonate.
Usability slay!
Blade Runner 2049: K’s spinner
Blade Runner 2049 (2017) is in my Letterboxd top 4 for several reasons: beautiful art direction, a killer soundtrack, an interesting look at cultural dehumanization, and a ton of cool-ass screens.
The coolest of which is the control panel in K’s spinner, which is Blade-Runner-speak for “cop car.” I know, I know. Bear with me. What makes this interface work is what makes this whole movie work.
The displays in K’s car come off as warm and lived-in, yet hostile.
Like, who’s really using this interface? Is it supposed to be easy for them?
Similar to its predecessor, Blade Runner 2049 is a movie obsessed with the definition of humanity. It’s so richly textured with ways people have carved out meaning and value for themselves around a central emptiness. So it’s an amazing strategic move to make some of the film’s most-used tech so not human-readable.
Is it different for replicants? Does it matter?
It’s also interesting to compare K’s car interface to some of the screens we see at the ultra-wealthy replicant manufacturer, Wallace Corporation:
In the world of Blade Runner 2049, roundness, negative space, and visual clarity is largely a thing of the past reserved for the ultra-wealthy.