In his latest short film, Joseph Niebich Nybyk transforms an everyday annoyance—the humble Captcha—into an absurd, heartfelt odyssey about identity, faith, and the small but relentless tests life throws at us. What begins as a joke about proving you’re “not a robot” evolves into an allegory for the invisible hurdles we face just to feel seen. Drawing on influences from Beckett to Monty Python, Nybyk balances existential humor with sincere human insight, inviting audiences to laugh, reflect, and perhaps see their own struggles in a new light. In this conversation, he talks about the genesis of the idea, the absurd beauty in the mundane, and why he’ll never look at a green checkmark the same way again.
This film transforms the simple act of solving a Captcha into an epic spiritual journey. What inspired you to elevate such a mundane moment into something so mythic and profound?
Actually I do that all the time. It drives my girl crazy. Why can’t we just have a cup of coffee! Honestly, it started as a joke—I was just frustrated trying to prove I wasn’t a robot for the tenth time that day. And that’s when it hit me: Captchas are like these odd little gatekeepers between the digital world and our human identity. That sparked the idea—what if failing or passing a Captcha wasn’t just a tech hiccup, but a Job-esque test of the soul? From there, it snowballed into something deeper: how do we prove our humanity in a world that increasingly questions it? Elevating that moment felt natural once I leaned into the absurdity—and the existential truth hiding underneath.
Is the Captcha a metaphor for something deeper in your writing—perhaps the invisible barriers we all face in daily life?
Absolutely. The Captcha represents all the tiny tests we face every day: the little doubts, the imposter syndrome, the need to constantly prove our worth—to ourselves, to others, to society. It’s that feeling of being seen but not recognized, like shouting “I’m alive and kicking” into a void and getting no response. In the film, that split-second interaction with a machine becomes a stand-in for every unseen struggle people go through just to feel acknowledged. It’s mundane, but it’s also universal—and that’s where the metaphor really lives.
There’s a clear absurdist humor to the premise. Were you influenced by any particular writers or filmmakers known for their existential comedy—like Beckett, Ionesco, or maybe Monty Python?
Yes, those influences are definitely baked in along with the original obvious influence of the DuPlass Brothers THIS IS JOHN. Beckett was a huge touchstones, especially his ability to mine deep meaning from circular dialogue, repetition, and the absurdity of trying to make sense of a senseless world. There’s definitely a bit of Waiting for Godot in waiting for a green checkmark to prove you exist.But I’d be lying if I said Monty Python didn’t also leave a big fingerprint. Their ability to swing from the profound to the ridiculous in a single line really inspired the tonal balance I was aiming for. I wanted audiences to laugh at the absurdity of it all—clicking traffic lights to prove you’re human—but then have that laughter transform slowly into recognition. That strange place between comedy and existential dread is where the film lives.
The protagonist is an “average, ordinary man.” How do you write a character like that without making him feel generic? What human truth were you trying to uncover through him?
It’s actually quite easy. The first step is to live an interesting life and the second step is to surround yourself with crazy, beautiful wonderful people who always have your back and are always down for some sort of hi-jinx. Your friends are the best source material imaginable. So you start with one of them and then you make them appear ordinary until slowly peeling back layer after layer. For me, the key is always specificity. He’s not just a man; he’s this man. He has a particular way of stirring his coffee, a specific kind of quiet resentment about his job, a personal mythology around why he always triple-checks his front door. Those tiny details are what make a so-called “average” person feel real—even heroic.
The human truth I wanted to explore through him is that quiet desperation so many people carry—the desire to be seen, to matter, to know that your existence isn’t just a glitch in someone else’s system. His struggle to solve the Captcha becomes this poetic stand-in for anyone who’s ever felt like they have to fight just to be acknowledged. In that sense, he’s not generic at all—he’s all of us.
At what point in the writing process did you decide that this ‘battle with a browser’ needed to involve ‘higher powers’? Are we talking divine intervention… or just really strong Wi-Fi?
Most of my films have an element of faith so it was always there. And I knew from the start I wanted his quest to revolve around updating his status to the ubiquitous Feeling Blessed. The rest of the film evolved organically and by organically I mean by doing rewrite after rewrite until it finally came to me.
How closely did you collaborate with director Mark Stewart Iverson on shaping the tone? Was it always meant to blend faith-based themes with digital satire?
Mark was a godsend just like in the film. He’s so talented and fun to work with. He’s everything you want in a director. We were on the same page from day 1 in regards to tone and I offered him the job because of his background in faith-based film. His first feature screened at all the major faith-based film festivals from Zion to Branson; from Orlando to Arizona. We were really lucky to have him.
Did you have a specific social media platform in mind when writing the “status update” scene—or is this a universal commentary on our addiction to online validation?
Great question—it’s definitely more of a universal commentary, though I’d be lying if I said a few platforms didn’t sneak in subconsciously. The “status update” scene was meant to distill that very modern urge to perform our identity—to package ourselves into something likable, shareable, and, ideally, validated in the form of likes and hearts. And at the end of the day, nothing says self-actualized like one of your friends who’s flat broke, all alone, and feeling anything but blessed, tagging the latest post “Feeling Blessed.”
To answer your question, I wasn’t targeting one platform in particular because the addiction to online validation is everywhere now. Whether it’s Instagram, X, TikTok—even the comments section of a news article—there’s a never ending push to prove we exist by being seen. That scene was about capturing that moment of quiet panic when a post goes unnoticed, and you start to wonder: if no one reacts to me, am I still real? It’s funny, it’s touching, and it’s deeply human.
Your script straddles comedy and spiritual allegory. Was it hard to balance the humor with sincerity, or do you think the two naturally complement each other?
That’s just kind of what I do. It’s always come natural to me. I went through a lot of trauma as a child and humor is what got me through.
What’s your own relationship with technology? Have you ever had a moment where a Captcha made you question your own humanity?
Great question. I’ve had moments where technology has made me question my sanity, but not my humanity. Unless you count that one time my car wouldn’t start because it had the wrong download.
My relationship with technology is complicated. I love what it can do—we rely on it for so many things. But I also feel the constant hum of anxiety underneath it all. There’s this sense that I’m being measured, tracked, and trained to respond a certain way. That’s where the idea for the film really took root—those moments when tech isn’t just a tool but a mirror, reflecting back all our insecurities about worth, identity, and control.
So one too many Captchas later, I started asking: What if the machine is right? What if I really don’t belong? And from that existential joke came a story that I think a lot of people can relate to—because we’ve all had that moment where the tech makes us question if being the human in the loop is nothing more than being the blood with which the wheels of capitalism are oiled.
Finally, what do you hope audiences take away from this short film? Is it just a good laugh—or is there a deeper message about agency, identity, or redemption buried in the code?
Love and laughter and a light-hearted sense of connection to something bigger than ourselves that is always there, but not always recognized. And generally speaking I just wanted to bring a sense of levity to people’s lives and for everyone not to take online validation like it’s a matter of life or death. That being said, a few likes and shares would be nice. Lol.
