An image of vertical actor, Aaron Oberst

Aaron Oberst on Vertical Drama, Faith, Fatherhood, and Finding the Work That Feeds His Soul

There is a very specific kind of actor who can walk into a heightened vertical drama, deliver a line that sounds almost impossible on paper, and somehow make the moment work.

Aaron Oberst is one of those actors.

To many fans of the vertical drama space, Oberst has become a familiar face through roles in projects like Daddy December, Surrender to My Professor, and The Maid Did It. He has played the dominant leading man, the complicated romantic figure, the emotionally charged husband, and, as he jokes, more than a few characters who could comfortably be described as “the asshole.”

But the real Aaron Oberst is far removed from the archetype many viewers know him for.

Off-screen, he is thoughtful, funny, spiritually grounded, self-aware, and deeply intentional about where his career is headed next. He is a husband, a father of two young daughters, an actor still pushing himself in the “acting gym,” and a performer beginning to ask harder questions about which doors are worth walking through.

“I’m so thankful for where I’m at and how I’ve been working,” Oberst says. “But as a dude who’s married with kids, it’s kind of just like, this isn’t really the best thing for me to be doing.”

That tension — gratitude for the opportunities, honesty about the cost, and a desire for more substantial work — sits at the heart of Oberst’s current artistic chapter.

In conversation with Talent In Borders, Oberst opened up about his accidental “Daddy” reputation, the changing vertical drama landscape, AI’s impact on actors, his faith, fatherhood, his unexpected path from physics to acting, and why he is ready for roles that are darker, deeper, stranger, funnier, and more emotionally substantial.

“The whole daddy situation just kind of happened.”

For Oberst, the fan response to his vertical drama roles has been both flattering and slightly surreal.

He understands that viewers have embraced him in a very specific kind of role, but he is quick to say that the persona audiences associate with him is not necessarily how he sees himself.

“The whole daddy situation just kind of happened,” he says with a laugh. “It wasn’t exactly something that I was going for. It’s funny. Also, not at all how I see myself, so it’s kind of wild.”

That disconnect may be part of what makes the performances work. Oberst is not simply playing himself with a costume change. He is often leaning into something far outside his own personality.

“I think also because it isn’t necessarily my normal personality, it’s kind of fun in a sense to jump into something that’s like, ‘I wouldn’t do this,’” he explains. “Somebody told me, ‘You always play the asshole,’ and I was like, ‘Yeah, you know what? I think you’re right.’”

Still, the work itself is not always as serious as the final product may appear. On set, especially in the vertical world where scenes are often intense, fast-moving, and melodramatic by design, laughter is part of the process.

“After they yell ‘cut,’ we’re just laughing like crazy,” he says. “Some of my lines are so ridiculous that as I say them, I’m laughing inside. And as soon as they yell ‘cut,’ I just bust out laughing.”

That humor has helped audiences see another side of him, particularly in The Maid Did It, a project many fans responded to because it allowed Oberst to play with comedy and timing rather than existing solely in the brooding romantic lead space.

“That was a really fun show,” he says. “We had so much fun on set, all of us, because we were all just hanging out.”

Fatherhood, family, and the roles that no longer fit the same way

While Oberst’s screen persona may be dominant, commanding, and often steamy, his real-life identity is grounded in family.

He is married and has two young daughters — one three years old and one nine months old at the time of the conversation — and fatherhood has changed not only his daily life, but also the way he thinks about his work.

His daughters, he jokes, are not particularly impressed by dominance.

“My three-year-old, anything that’s like, ‘Do this right now,’ is met with the most protest humanly possible,” he says. “But if I reverse psychology it, or if I’m just like, ‘Oh yeah, no worries, maybe you can do this,’ then she just goes and does it. It’s crazy.”

That tenderness and self-awareness are part of why Oberst is starting to look more closely at the roles he takes. He does not reject the vertical space. In fact, he speaks with clear gratitude about the opportunities it has given him. But he is also honest that, at this stage in his life, he is becoming more selective.

“I’ve done so many of those daddy roles,” he says. “I’m at a point now where over the last few months, I’m trying to get into other stuff.”

That does not mean he is opposed to romance, sensuality, or emotionally charged material. For Oberst, the distinction is whether that element serves a larger story.

“I don’t mind steaminess at all if it’s a small part,” he explains. “If it’s an action or a drama and there’s a little bit of steam, dude, that’s in everything. But it’s a totally different thing when that’s the focus.”

The actor’s current mindset is not one of regret. It is more of a recalibration.

“This career choice is so full of rejection,” he says. “There are so many closed doors that you kind of just got to walk through the open ones. I’m finally getting to a point now where I’m like, okay, maybe not every open door is meant to be walked through.”

Going full-time and learning which doors to walk through

Oberst made the leap into acting full-time two years ago, on June 1. Once he made that decision, his mindset was simple: work.

“Once I did that, I was like, well, whatever I get, that’s what I’m doing,” he says.

That willingness to say yes helped him build momentum in a difficult industry. The vertical drama space, in particular, gave him something many actors spend years chasing: consistent experience.

“We’re all so stoked to be working so much and getting this much experience,” he says. “In a time where movies, film, and TV have been a lot slower, I’ve been so stoked that this industry just kind of popped up.”

He sees vertical dramas not as a lesser form of entertainment, but as a legitimate training ground and a rapidly evolving medium. The pace is fast. The emotions are heightened. The production schedules can be intense. But for an actor, all of that becomes practice.

“I look at all the work as an acting gym,” he says. “You work, you get better, you try new things, you expand yourself, you experience new stuff. It becomes an experiment in what’s next. What else can I do to push myself?”

That hunger to keep evolving is what is pulling him toward other genres.

He would love to do horror. He would love to do action. He would love to do thrillers. He is especially drawn to characters with duality — the romantic figure who is not what he seems, the good guy with something darker underneath, the role that allows him to move between charm and danger.

“I auditioned for something where you think he’s the good guy and the romantic dude at the beginning, and then you find out he’s the serial killer later,” he says. “That sounds like so much fun. I want to do that so bad.”

A black and white image of vertical actor, Aaron Oberst

The emotional residue of playing difficult characters

For all the fun Oberst finds in performance, he is also candid about the emotional cost of certain roles.

Because he did not come through a traditional conservatory path, he has developed his process through classes, on-set experience, and instinct. His approach is immersive. He tries to live as much of the character as possible while he is working.

That can be powerful on screen, but it can also linger.

“Sometimes being these people, I’ll forget that I’m wearing somebody else,” he says. “A project will wrap, and I’ll be feeling a certain way, and I’ll be like, ‘Oh yeah, I’m still wearing that character.’”

Oberst has become more conscious of the need to separate himself from the people he plays, especially when the characters are cruel, regretful, emotionally damaged, or morally compromised.

“I’m finding anchors to become myself again,” he says. “Sometimes you just kind of lose yourself a little bit. You pick up emotional baggage that isn’t yours.”

One role in particular stayed with him longer than he expected.

“I did a role in April that was pretty horrible,” he says. “The character himself was not a good person. I hated it. I would love to never do a role like that again.”

The production was demanding, with long hours and heavy emotional material. When it ended, Oberst had to reconnect with himself — not as a character, but as Aaron.

“I had to find who I am, what I like, what part of me is me, and what part of me is not any of these people that I’m playing,” he says. “That’s a whole other learning curve.”

For Oberst, acting is not just external transformation. It is an internal negotiation. The work asks him to feel deeply, but life asks him to come home whole.

Faith, kindness, and staying grounded

Oberst’s faith is another throughline in the conversation. It is not something he presents performatively, but it is clearly part of how he makes sense of his life, his career, and the choices in front of him.

That can seem surprising to some fans who primarily know him from steamier vertical drama roles, but Oberst does not see faith and artistry as mutually exclusive. He sees his career as a path filled with open and closed doors, discernment, and constant adjustment.

He also keeps a phrase on his Instagram that reflects the kind of person he wants to be: “Kindness is currency.”

“It is true,” he says. “Also, sometimes we’re all human. I wish I could be kinder. It’s a good reminder for myself.”

That reminder matters even more when he is playing harsh or arrogant characters.

“Since I do play these assholes quite often, that stuff can kind of bleed into normal life,” he says. “So I have to be very mindful of that.”

Oberst’s awareness is one of the most compelling things about him. He is not dismissive of the roles that helped build his audience, but he is also not blind to how they affect him. He is grateful, but not complacent. He is ambitious, but not careless. He wants success, but he also wants alignment.

The vertical drama boom, AI disruption, and what comes next

Like many actors working in the vertical space, Oberst has been watching the rise of AI-generated content with concern and curiosity.

He has seen the industry shift quickly. He has noticed work slowing down for some actors. He has watched platforms experiment with AI content, even as many fans continue to advocate for real performers.

“This year has been pretty busy,” he says. “I’ve been jumping from gig to gig, and the vertical space has been so kind to me. But over the last month or so, I’ve had a lot of people say, ‘Yeah, dude, it’s slowed down a lot for everybody.’”

Oberst describes AI as disruptive to the vertical ecosystem, particularly because the space expanded so rapidly.

“They pretty much doubled production this year, year over year,” he says. “Then all of a sudden there’s just a ton more work for all of us actors, which would be great.”

His hope is that audiences will ultimately make their preferences known through engagement.

“I’m hoping that the fan base and the clicks and the views and the numbers speak for themselves,” he says.

Still, Oberst is not entirely dismissive of AI’s potential. He can imagine a scenario where AI experimentation allows platforms to test different genres and story structures, which could eventually open doors for more live-action work outside the standard vertical soap formula.

“Most of us actors, the soap operas are great, the genre situation is totally fun, but we’d all love to be doing action or horror or thriller,” he says. “Maybe these apps are going to be able to take some more risks in different genres and trying different stuff.”

He also believes vertical storytelling itself is not going away. In fact, he has worked on projects shot both vertically and horizontally, and he sees that hybrid model as part of the future.

“The vertical medium, it’s on your phone,” he says. “I don’t think it’s going anywhere. I feel like that’s probably the future of a lot of filmmaking.”

At the same time, he has become more cautious about contracts and likeness rights. After seeing other actors talk about the issue, he began using an AI clause.

“I have an AI clause that I started using last year,” he says. “Before that, there’s a whole year’s worth of work where nobody was even thinking about AI.”

An image of vertical actor, Aaron Oberst, in character

Community, collaboration, and the actors who keep showing up

One of the defining qualities of the vertical drama world is how small and interconnected it is.

Oberst speaks warmly about many of his peers, including Tess Dinerstein, Sophie Jordan Collins, Autumn Noel, and Sarah Moliski. Many of these connections go beyond vertical sets; some began years earlier through commercials, smaller gigs, and the unpredictable overlap of the Los Angeles acting world.

Sarah Moliski, he says, is one of his favorite people.

“We met on one of my very first gigs in LA,” he says. “She’s one of the coolest, funniest, and most hardworking people that I’ve met in this industry.”

He describes her as someone constantly moving between acting, casting, ambassador work, and relationships with different apps and platforms.

“She’s working 24/7,” he says. “It’s wild. I don’t know how she does it.”

Tess Dinerstein also comes up with clear admiration. Oberst credits her with encouraging him to do this interview.

“Tess is great,” he says. “People reach out sometimes, and I’m like, is this something I actually want to do or not? Tess had great things to say.”

The community may be niche, but it is global. Oberst is aware that view counts can be enormous while daily life remains unchanged.

“You see view counts and you’re like, whoa,” he says. “But a lot of those views are not in the U.S. It’s global. I’m in LA, in a little two-bedroom duplex. Nobody — it’s not what it looks like. One hundred sixty million views? My life is the same.”

That perspective keeps him grounded. Visibility does not always equal financial security. A viral project does not eliminate uncertainty. An actor can be recognized by fans online and still be looking for the next job as soon as one project wraps.

“As soon as you wrap one of these shows, sometimes I’ll have another gig booked,” he says. “But it’s right back to unemployed.”

From physics to acting: “The answer is right under your nose.”

Before acting became his full-time path, Oberst studied physics.

He was drawn to the mysteries of quantum theory, particles, waves, dimensions, and the strange behavior of matter at the smallest levels. Even now, he lights up talking about it.

“I find physics very interesting, especially quantum and all the weird things,” he says. “On a quantum level, atoms do not behave like macro physics behaves.”

But while the subject fascinated him, the academic path began to feel wrong. During one semester, while deep into higher-level mathematics, he became depressed and unsure of what he was doing with his life.

“I was in the gym, praying, talking to myself, just like, ‘What the hell am I going to do with my life?’” he recalls. “I thought it was going to be this, and I don’t think it’s going to be this.”

He had already taken some theater courses because certain physics classes were unavailable, so acting was somewhere in his mind. Then came a moment he has never forgotten.

“I got the sense in that moment that the answer was right under my nose,” he says. “That was the phrase: ‘The answer is right under your nose.’”

He looked down.

He was doing push-ups on a medicine ball. The ball said “reactor,” but his hands were covering the “re” and the “or.”

The only visible word was “act.”

“I was like, ‘Oh, okay,’” he says. “I dropped out and started taking classes.”

It is the kind of story that sounds almost too cinematic to be real, but perhaps that is why it fits him. Oberst’s path has not been linear. It has been a series of signals, risks, open doors, closed doors, and choices made before the outcome was guaranteed.

Accents, bedtime stories, and the unexpected training of fatherhood

Oberst is still actively working on his craft. At the time of the conversation, he was taking accent coaching classes, including work on a British accent.

“One thing about having kids is that because I read to them so often, I get to practice so many different voices,” he says.

His three-year-old daughter, he shares proudly, already reads — something that amazes him because reading was difficult for him as a child.

“When I was 12, they were making me read out loud in class, which was so embarrassing because I was so bad at it,” he says. “I was stumbling through words, and people next to me were like, ‘Dude, how old are you?’”

Now, as a father, he gets to turn reading into play. Voices, accents, characters — all of it becomes part of bedtime and part of training.

“It’s fun because I get to practice all the different weird voices,” he says.

That childlike joy is central to how Oberst views acting. He still sees performance as play, as pretending, as the chance to experience memories that are not technically real but feel real in the body.

He remembers working background on Babylon, where he was part of a large battle sequence with choreography, horses, weapons, and bodies moving everywhere.

“I had a sword,” he says. “This guy had a spear, and we were doing this fight scene. Horses would go past on either side. Dudes would be running through. In my mind, yeah, there are cameras everywhere, but I have memories of a medieval battle that are so visceral.”

For Oberst, that is the magic.

“That in itself is just so much fun,” he says. “It’s the whole reason why I do this. It’s the child in me that just wants to play pretend.”

The films that shaped him

When asked about independent films he loves, Oberst admits that he does not always mentally categorize movies by budget or distribution. He thinks of them simply as movies that moved him.

Still, a few titles come to mind.

He names Dallas Buyers Club, noting Matthew McConaughey’s complete transformation. He brings up The Boondock Saints, one of his favorite indies, and Blue Ruin, a smaller revenge thriller he admires. Fight Club has been a favorite for years. He also mentions Running with Scissors and Before the Devil Knows You’re Dead, while praising the emotional force of Amazon’s Undone.

“It’s live action, but they overlaid the live action with animation,” he says of Undone. “It becomes this really psychedelic trip, but some of the best emotional scenes that I’ve ever seen in anything were from that show.”

These references say a lot about Oberst’s taste. He is drawn to transformation, moral ambiguity, emotional intensity, and stories that push form. He appreciates actors who disappear into roles, and he is clearly hungry for the kind of material that allows him to do the same.

An angled full-body image of vertical actor, Aaron Oberst

The next version of Aaron Oberst

Aaron Oberst is in a transitional moment — not leaving behind the vertical space, but expanding beyond the version of himself that space has most often asked him to play.

He is grateful for the work. He is aware of the fans. He is thankful for the experience. But he is also listening to his life, his faith, his family, and his instincts.

He wants the next thing to have weight.

“I would like to do something that’s meaty and substantial,” he says.

That could mean horror. It could mean thriller. It could mean action. It could mean comedy. It could mean a character who begins as one thing and becomes another. What seems clear is that Oberst is ready for roles that challenge him differently — roles that let him use the range fans have only begun to see.

The vertical drama world may have introduced him to a larger audience, but it does not define the limits of what he can do.

For Oberst, every role has been practice. Every set has been a lesson. Every open door has taught him something — even the ones he may not walk through again.

And now, with more discernment, more experience, and a clearer sense of self, he is looking toward what comes next.

“I’m stoked where I’m at,” he says. “Very, very thankful for all this, very thankful for verticals in general. But yeah — I want to move into other stuff.”

For an actor who once looked down and saw the word “act” waiting between his hands, that next chapter feels less like a pivot and more like a continuation.

Aaron Oberst is still listening.

And the work, it seems, is still calling.

Connect with Aaron on Instagram

Sophia Delucchi Isn’t Just Acting – She’s Living Every Moment

There’s something unmistakably magnetic about Sophia Delucchi – a presence that feels both grounded and luminous, like she’s fully aware of the moment she’s in, yet already reaching toward what’s next.

When we connect, she’s warm, thoughtful, and effortlessly engaging – the kind of person who makes conversation feel less like an interview and more like catching up with someone you’ve known for years. But beneath that ease is a performer deeply committed to her craft, one who doesn’t just step into characters – she dissolves into them.

In the ever-evolving world of vertical storytelling, Sophia is not only finding her footing—she’s helping define what’s possible.

From Stage to the Screen

Long before vertical dramas, Sophia’s foundation was rooted in performance – specifically, musical theater.

Raised in Northern California’s East Bay, she eventually made her way to Los Angeles to study at AMDA College of the Performing Arts, splitting time between LA and New York. Like many performers, her original trajectory pointed toward Broadway.

But timing had other plans.

“I always thought I would end up in New York doing Broadway,” she says. “And then the pandemic happened.”

What could have been a derailment became a pivot.

“It gave me time to slow down – time I never would have allowed myself otherwise. And that’s when I started exploring TV and film.”

That exploration would eventually lead her into the vertical space – an industry still defining itself, but one she’s already helping shape.

Still of vertical actress Sophia DeLucchi filming

The Vertical Evolution: From Formula to Freedom

Sophia entered vertical storytelling at a time when the format was still heavily templated – predictable tropes, repeated character archetypes, and limited creative deviation.

“It was very cookie-cutter for a while,” she explains. “CEO billionaires, single moms, very similar storylines.”

But now?

“It’s such a treat when something pushes the envelope.”

And that shift isn’t accidental.

Sophia is quick to point out that vertical storytelling is uniquely responsive to its audience.

“This space is different because the audience has a voice. They’re asking for stronger female arcs, different stories – and we’re starting to see that.”

That responsiveness is fueling a creative evolution – one she’s genuinely excited about.

I’ve had scripts come through recently that really impressed me. I’m hopeful. I think we’re heading in a really good direction.

“Once I step into character, Sophia is gone.”

Chemistry, Connection, and the Art of Becoming Someone Else

If there’s one thing Sophia clearly thrives on, it’s connection.

Not just with audiences – but with her scene partners, often under intense, accelerated conditions.

“You meet someone 20 minutes ago in hair and makeup,” she says, laughing. “And your first scene is professing your love.”

It’s a dynamic that would rattle most people – but for Sophia, it’s where the magic happens.

“I love creating chemistry. I really love it.”

That ability stems from her training – but also from something more instinctive.

“Once I step into the character, Sophia is gone.”

And in that disappearance, something powerful emerges.

“It’s like being an escape artist. You step into another world – and for that moment, it’s completely real.”

The Emotional Cost of High-Speed Storytelling

Vertical productions move fast. Extremely fast.

Scenes jump from heartbreak to romance to chaos – sometimes within the same hour.

“One minute you’re filming a kidnapping, the next you’re on a romantic date, and then your dad dies,” she says. “It’s a lot.”

And while the stories are fictional, the emotional toll is very real.

“Your nervous system doesn’t know it’s fake,” she explains. “You go home exhausted, and you have to remind yourself – ‘That wasn’t real. You’re okay.’”

It’s a level of emotional immersion that requires both discipline and recovery – especially when projects stack back-to-back.

“I did four in a row once. No breaks,” she says. “And I hit burnout. It’s something we have to be really mindful of.”

“It’s like being an escape artist – you step into another world, and it’s completely real.”

Building a Character: Music, Memory, and Mannerisms

Sophia’s process is as intentional as it is intuitive.

Every character begins the same way:

A visual collage
A curated playlist

“I build a full playlist for every character,” she says. “It’s my lifeline.”

Music becomes the emotional anchor – helping her transition instantly between scenes, tones, and states of mind.

“It helps me lock into the moment.”

She also draws inspiration from real life – subtle behaviors, gestures, and habits.

“We used to study people in school,” she explains. “And now I pull those mannerisms into characters.”

It’s how authenticity is built – not through imitation, but observation.

“The audience has a voice in this space – and they’re asking for better stories.”

Improvisation, Freedom, and Finding Joy on Set

While many actors rely heavily on structure, Sophia thrives in spontaneity.

“I love improvising,” she says. “That’s when you’re really living as the character.”

Some of her most memorable moments weren’t scripted at all.

“There are lines people respond to – and I’m like… that was just me.”

That creative freedom was especially present in one of her more comedic projects:

“My Boss Thinks I’m a Boy,” a wildly different tone from her more dramatic work.

“I put that wig on and just lived,” she laughs. “It was so much fun.”

“AI can’t live and breathe in a character. That’s what makes this work human.”

The Reality of AI – and Protecting What’s Human

As vertical content grows, so does concern around AI-generated performances.

Sophia doesn’t shy away from the conversation.

“It’s tricky,” she says. “We’re all trying to figure out how to protect ourselves and our likeness.”

What concerns her most isn’t just the technology – but what it replaces.

“What I love about this space is the community,” she explains. “The connection between creators and audiences.”

And that’s something AI simply can’t replicate.

“It can’t live and breathe in a character.”

Who She Wants to Work With Next

When asked who’s on her dream collaboration list, Sophia lights up.

“I’d love to work with more of the girls,” she says. “We need more female-driven stories.”

But on the opposite side?

“I’m waiting for the day I get to work with Noah Fearnley – I’d love a rom-com with him. And I’d love a drama with Eric Guilmette.”

It’s not just about working – it’s about creating something meaningful.

“Our paths will cross. I know they will.”

Why It All Matters

At its core, Sophia understands something fundamental about storytelling:

People don’t just watch content – they feel it.

“I want to create something people can turn to – on a good day or a bad day – that makes them feel something.”

And in a world that’s increasingly fast, fragmented, and artificial – that kind of connection matters more than ever.

Final Thoughts

Sophia Delucchi isn’t just part of the vertical wave – she’s part of its evolution.

She brings discipline from the stage, adaptability from the screen, and a deeply human approach to every role she takes on.

Whether she’s navigating high-stakes drama, embracing comedic chaos, or building characters through music and memory – one thing is clear:

She’s not just acting.

She’s living every moment of it.

Connect socially with Sophia on Instagram and TikTok.

An image of music composers for television and film, Mark Batson, top and Chris Hanebutt, bottom

Inside The Alabama Solution: Composers Mark Batson & Chris Hanebutt on Scoring America’s Hidden Crisis

The acclaimed composing duo opens up about their creative process, emotional challenges, and the real human stories that shaped the score of HBO’s groundbreaking documentary.

Few documentary scores in recent memory have carried the emotional weight of The Alabama Solution, HBO’s unflinching look into the brutality, corruption, and slave-like conditions inside Alabama’s prison system. Shot largely by incarcerated men using contraband phones, the film is not only a revelation, it is a confrontation. And the sonic world behind that confrontation was crafted by composers Mark Batson and Chris Hanebutt, whose work amplifies the humanity and heartbreak embedded in every frame.

Speaking with Batson and Hanebutt reveals a creative partnership built on trust, humility, and a shared respect for storytelling. Their collaboration, spanning years across multiple projects, finds a new depth in this documentary, where music becomes both witness and vessel for truth.

Finding the Emotional Center

“When we work on film, the goal is never to overshadow the story,” Batson says. “It’s to honor it, to amplify what’s already there.” That intention became far more than philosophy when the duo first saw the raw footage from The Alabama Solution. “What we saw was alarming,” Batson recalls. “Atrocities on a level people don’t associate with the United States. Reporters aren’t allowed behind the scenes. To see it on screen was shocking.”

Hanebutt’s first reaction was visceral. “I cried,” he admits. “I knew the system was bad. But when you see what these men recorded, the beatings, the fear, the conditions, it’s worse than anything your imagination can create.”

The two composers were brought onto the project by music supervisor Sue Jacobs and worked closely with director Andrew Jarecki and producer Charlotte Kaufman, who had spent six years immersed in the story. Their mission was clear: translate a truth this heavy into music that could bear its emotional gravity without manipulation or melodrama.

“Our job isn’t to overshadow the story – it’s to amplify it.” – Mark Batson

Scoring Human Pain Without Exploitation

One of the film’s most devastating moments involves the death of Stephen Davis, whose body, brutalized beyond recognition, is presented to his grieving family. The sequence demanded sensitivity beyond technical craft.

“That scene was the most challenging,” Batson says. “The director had lived with the temp score for years, so the emotional nuances were ingrained. Creating original music that met the moment and surpassed what they were used to took immense focus.” Hanebutt estimates they scored the scene “ten to twelve times” before arriving at the version that finally resonated. “Some scenes require experimentation, others require restraint,” he says. “This one required both.”

What guided them? The people the story belongs to.

“I kept thinking about the men inside,” Batson explains. “People like Kinetic, who is essentially a hero of the film. When I spoke with him, he had this calm, peaceful demeanor, like he’d found joy in hell. That grounded me. Anytime I hit a creative wall, I thought: these men are risking their lives to tell the truth. Our challenge is nothing in comparison.”

A Creative Partnership Without Ego

The fluidity of Batson and Hanebutt’s collaboration is striking, especially in an industry known for artistic clashes. “We never step on each other’s toes,” Hanebutt says. “I’m a guitarist first. Mark’s a pianist and classically trained. We naturally divide roles. Sometimes it’s my melody, sometimes it’s his. The only goal is excellence.” Batson agrees. “We don’t bring ego into the studio. If Chris has a better idea, we use it. If I do, we use it. It’s seamless.”

Hanebutt credits Batson for helping him sharpen his own creative resilience. “Mark’s years with Dr. Dre taught him a level of patience and discipline I’ve learned from. He’s great at staying clear-headed under pressure.” And they both acknowledge the specter all creatives face.

“Imposter syndrome is real,” Hanebutt says with a laugh. “Every time the director compliments the music, I think he’s messing with me.” Batson nods. “As artists, we’re constantly questioning our work. That’s part of growth.”

“This film needs that huge cultural moment – the one where everyone says: You have to watch this.” – Chris Hanebutt

The Cultural Moment the Film Deserves

As their score makes its way into viewers’ consciousness, the composers are hopeful about the public’s willingness to confront the documentary’s harsh truths.

“People say, ‘It’s on my list,’” Hanebutt notes. “But this is heavy material. It needs that big cultural ignition point, a Joe Rogan moment, or something equally massive, to get people to watch.” The filmmakers have already held more than 65 screenings throughout Alabama in schools, churches, and community spaces. And the documentary has climbed HBO’s trending chart, rising to the No. 2 spot behind Superman.

“That was huge,” Batson says. “To see a story like this being discussed alongside mainstream blockbusters, it shows people are paying attention.” But awareness is only the beginning. “America has the highest incarceration rate in the world,” Batson continues. “Other nations have figured out how to rehabilitate people, how to prepare them to re-enter society. We haven’t. The conversations need to start there.”

Hanebutt adds, “And these men, who filmed this at great personal risk, they finally got to tell their story. That alone is powerful.”

A Story That Doesn’t End Here

For Batson and Hanebutt, scoring The Alabama Solution wasn’t just a creative assignment. It was a moral and emotional undertaking, a responsibility to the men whose lives and voices form the backbone of the film.

“I believe in redemption for everyone,” Lindsey (Talent In Borders) says in closing, sharing her own experience doing prison ministry. “The more we humanize these stories, the more impossible they become to ignore.” The duo agrees.

“This film is going to stay in people’s subconscious,” Batson says. “It’s supposed to.”

And as audiences continue to discover the documentary, the score composed by Batson and Hanebutt will echo beyond its scenes, carrying the weight of stories that demanded to be told, stories that now finally have a chance to be heard.

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