AI video tools like Veo 3, Runway’s Gen-3 updates, Higgsfield, and Nano-Banana are reshaping what individual creators can produce. But as video AI models accelerate, one truth becomes clearer: the only lasting competitive advantage is taste. In this deep dive, technologist and media strategist Andy Beach explains why creative judgment, not just tools, defines the future of filmmaking and real-time storytelling.
The last year has made one thing impossible to ignore: the curve on video AI is bending faster than anyone expected. Veo 3, Nano-Banana, Higgsfield, Runway’s latest updates, OpenAI’s multi-shot toolchain; every new release pushes the baseline higher. And because these systems run in the cloud, because they’re wrapped in friendly interfaces, because they’re fed by the same aesthetic defaults, the floor rises for everyone at the same time.
It’s starting to feel like the early DSLR wave all over again. Overnight, everyone could shoot something that looked “professional.” And yet, almost immediately, you could also tell who understood composition and light and who just had a nice sensor. The tool lifted the floor, but judgment pulled the ceiling farther away.
That’s where we are with AI video. These models will happily give you cinematic compositions, expressive lensing, atmospheric lighting, even decent blocking. You can ask for a crane shot in a foggy street at blue hour, and it will deliver an answer that looks more expensive than anything you could have done on your own six months ago. And that creates a strange tension: when everything looks pretty good, how do you tell what’s actually good?
The answer, now more than ever, is taste. And sitting right next to it is something we talk about less often but rely on constantly: critical thinking. AI can generate, suggest, remix, and improvise, but it can’t evaluate the truth of what it creates. It can’t tell you whether a scene aligns with the internal logic of your story, or whether the visual grammar makes sense, or whether the model has drifted into nonsense. That part still belongs to the human in the loop — the ability to question what the system gives you, test it against your intention, and decide whether it’s actually serving the work.
Taste, in this context, isn’t a preference for certain colors or compositions. It’s an operating system. A filter. A way of structuring judgment when the options multiply faster than you can review them. You see it in how a filmmaker selects a single take from twenty. You see it in how a worldbuilder adjusts light to guide the eye instead of showing off the engine. You also see it in how an editor shapes rhythm in a space where every shot is infinitely adjustable.
AI doesn’t simplify these decisions, in fact it multiplies them. You used to spend hours trying to get a shot to look the way you imagined. Now you can have fifty versions in front of you before your coffee cools. The problem shifts. Instead of fighting the render queue, you’re fighting ambiguity. Instead of struggling to make something work, you’re sorting through options that all work on the surface but don’t necessarily point toward the version that’s right for the story you’re trying to tell.
This is why real-time tools like Unreal, which at first glance look threatened by AI video, actually gain importance. Unreal still forces you to understand the physics of a scene. It asks you to solve blocking, light, color, motion, scale, and tone with intention. It doesn’t give you coherence for free the way some of these models do. You have to create it. And the artists who understand how scenes fit together, structurally and emotionally and visually, are the ones who can look at AI-generated material and instantly see what belongs and what doesn’t.
If AI is the firehose, real-time engines are the scaffolding. Together they create a new kind of workflow where taste becomes the gatekeeper between abundance and intention.
This plays out differently across roles. For directors, taste shows up in how they choose the version of a moment that feels emotionally honest instead of visually impressive. For cinematics editors, it’s in how they create rhythm inside sequences where every variation is technically flawless but not necessarily meaningful. For Unreal artists and worldbuilders, it’s in the ability to use AI as inspiration without letting it flatten the project into the same diffuse, moody style everyone else is generating. For technical artists, it’s in how they protect the integrity of a shot when AI-generated elements collide with real-time simulation and lighting.
Taste is the connective tissue across these disciplines. It’s the part of the work that still belongs entirely to the artist.
And taste is built the same way it always has been. By looking at the world, by studying film and photography and architecture, by noticing how light behaves, by committing to decisions earlier, by limiting variables instead of adding them, and by shipping work that forces you to confront your own instincts. You build taste by developing constraints you can trust, especially in a moment when the tools encourage endless exploration.
The reason taste becomes the moat is that everything else converges. Models converge. Tools converge. Asset libraries converge. Everyone can get something that looks good now. Studios aren’t looking for people who can generate volume. They’re looking for people who can create clarity. People who can take an unpredictable stream of AI outputs and shape it into a world with internal consistency. People who can integrate AI into real-time pipelines without losing the core identity of the project. People who can make confident choices, not because they explored every option, but because they know what the work is trying to say.
Taste doesn’t automate. It doesn’t scale with model size. It doesn’t appear because a tool gets better. It’s the part that compounds with every project you finish and every decision you make that you can stand behind.
AI video tools are powerful. They’re expanding what individuals can do by an order of magnitude. But they also collapse the distance between “looks impressive” and “means something.” When everything is possible and everything is plausible, the artists who stand out are the ones who can turn that flood into intention. The ones who can choose the version of a moment that feels inevitable, even in a space where the tools can generate almost anything.
That’s the work now. And that’s the moat.
If this framing clicks for you, sitting at the intersection of hands-on craft, accelerating AI shifts, and the structural forces reshaping how stories are made, well good news. That’s the work I explore every week in Engines of Change. It’s a place where I track how the tools evolve, how the creative stack reorganizes, and how artists build a point of view inside systems that won’t stay still.
CG Pro’s community sits right in the heart of that change. You’re the ones learning the hard skills, experimenting with new workflows, and trying to make meaning inside tools that update faster than schedules. If you want to follow the broader map behind it, the patterns, the architecture, the decisions that shape the next layer of creative work then you’re welcome to come hang out with us.
Click this link for a free month for CG Pro readers so you can try it without committing to anything.
See what you think. If it helps you find your footing in this new wave of tools and ideas, I’d love to have you in the mix.
Andy Beach is a technology strategist, advisor, and author specializing in the intersection of AI, media, and digital transformation. As the former CTO of Media & Entertainment at Microsoft, he led groundbreaking work in cloud production, AI-driven workflows, and next-generation content archives, helping global studios, sports leagues, and media organizations adapt to accelerating technological change.
Today, Andy advises emerging startups shaping the future of AI-enhanced storytelling, real-time content creation, and media technology, including companies like FlikForge and Slink It. His writing explores how each new wave of AI reshapes creative roles, production pipelines, and the business models underlying modern media.
A frequent speaker at international industry events and a board member of The Alliance for Media & Entertainment, Andy provides thought leadership on AI video generation, interactive media, and the evolving creative stack.
What is “taste” in the context of AI video creation?
Taste refers to the creator’s ability to make intentional decisions like choosing shots, color, framing, pacing, and coherence, not just generating visuals with AI tools.
How does AI impact creative workflows for filmmakers?
AI accelerates ideation, previs, and iteration, but it increases the volume of choices. Creators must evaluate which options align with their story, style, and emotional goals.
Will AI replace the need for real-time engines like Unreal?
Real-time engines remain essential because they enforce physical coherence, such as lighting, scale, blocking, and camera logic, which are skills AI video does not fully understand.
Why is taste considered the last moat?
As AI models converge in quality, the differentiator becomes judgment: the ability to shape abundance into clarity and create work that feels intentional, not generic.