Alvin Soprano doesn’t follow trends. She disappears, reinvents, and returns with work that speaks louder than any announcement ever could.
Known for her surreal, emotionally layered machinima films, Alvin Soprano has been creating movies inside video games since 2007. Her next release, The Witching Hour, is a serialized horror anthology that explores the final moments of life, each episode revolving around deaths that occur exactly at 3:33 a.m. But beneath the haunting premise lies something more intimate: a reflection on time, memories, and the strange conversations we have when we know the end is near.
We caught up with the elusive auteur to talk about her upcoming series, why she doesn’t chase the spotlight, and what brings her peace when the cameras are off.
Hi Alvin. Let’s start with your upcoming series—The Witching Hour. Where did the idea come from?
The original film was something I filmed in 2020, in The Sims 4. It was 46 minutes long, very quiet and eerie, and it kind of disappeared with everything else when I deleted everything off my channel in 2021. But the idea never stopped playing at the back of my head. I’d be making something else and the clock would hit 3:33 a.m., and I’d remember that The Witching Hour never reached its true potential. So I finally listened to the voices in my head. Now it’s an anthology. One character per episode. One death per month.
So each episode ends in a death?
Yes. That’s the only constant. You meet someone in the last moments of their life, and you watch how they respond to it. Sometimes they fight. Sometimes they reflect. Sometimes they negotiate. In every case, death itself appears, not as a villain, but as someone the characters reflect on.
Why 3:33 a.m.?
It’s symbolic, of course. The so-called “witching hour.” But mostly it’s just the stillest, strangest time of night. It’s when nothing distracts you. It’s when things you’ve buried resurface. I wanted to set these stories in that specific atmosphere, where people aren’t running from death. They’re literally sitting in a room with it.
Let’s shift for a second. You’ve been making machinima since 2007. What keeps you going?
I don’t think of it as a career. I think of it as my gameplay style. I don’t “play” games the way most people do. I use them to make movies. That’s been the way it is since I was twelve. I do this because it brings me peace. It’s the only thing that really does. And no matter what else happens in my life, I always return to it.
You’ve had some long breaks, though. Gaps of years. What happens during those times?
I live. I fall apart. I get back up. I grow. I change. But even if I’m not releasing anything, I’m still building scenes or writing. There’s never been a point where I wasn’t creating in some way. I just don’t always share it.
You’re known for keeping a low profile with very little social media. Is that intentional?
Definitely. I don’t like the internet. I grew up online, and I saw what it can do to people. I want my work to speak for itself. That’s why I delete everything sometimes. Not out of drama, but because I just need silence. I’m not trying to be an influencer. I just want to keep creating what I create without trying to be a sell out.
What does your private life look like right now, when you’re not creating?
I keep it simple. I paint. I stay up late. I spend time with my boyfriend and my cats. I read. I take walks at weird hours. I’m not very social, but I feel things deeply. I like old things. I like being alone. It’s not glamorous, but it’s mine.
Do you ever want to be A list-famous?
No. I just want to be good at what I do. I want to create things that people remember, not because of me, but because it made them feel something they couldn’t explain. That’s the goal. Everything else—followers, views, press—that’s all just noise.
What’s something people misunderstand about you?
That I’m dark or depressed because I make horror. I’m not. I make horror films because it gives me clarity. I laugh a lot. I love memes. I’m very silly in private. I just happen to be interested in the emotional and spiritual weight of things. That’s not sadness. That’s just my nature.
And finally, what do you hope The Witching Hour gives people?
Time to think. Time to feel. Time to sit in silence and ask, “If this were my last hour, what would I say?” If it does that for even one person, I’ve done what I came to do.
Source: https://ventsmagazine.com/2025/07/23/making-death-feel-intimate-alvin-soprano-on-the-witching-hour/