“What is the importance of form?” a young man sitting in front of me asked during question time. “What kind of amazing things would be possible once you were no longer shackled to the idea of making a robot that looks like a human?” It seemed an odd question to ask considering how integral the human form had been to the android we’d just seen. “Her skin was the hardest,” the robot’s creator, Professor Hiroshi Ishiguro, said later, when asked by a child if making Geminoid F had been hard. “Human skin, it’s not like plastic, it’s much softer…” He was pinching himself as if still incredulous.
I did feel at times that I was in a dream. The slowly fading lights, the voice of the robot over the speakers, the gentle blinking of Geminoid F herself. “Of course the robotics were extremely hard also,” Professor Ishiguro added, his hands folded in his lap, skin on skin.
That’s how the android first appeared to us. As a shadow sitting on a dark stage, too still to be human, but possibly still enough to be an actor. I stared at it for a while, briefly entertaining the idea that on stage was a mannequin, and that the real robot was in the audience somewhere. The crowd was a mix of probably-humans of various ages and I wondered what they were expecting; what I was expecting. The lights dimmed.
Geminoid F solidified slowly, rising from the dimness. In the growing light I could see that she was dressed quite stylishly in a black lace dress and heeled boots. She was reciting poetry. A blond girl, Bryerly Long, was sitting opposite, frail-looking and as still as the android had been earlier.
The story of Sayonara: Android-Human Theatre is about the gentle relationship between these two characters. Long’s character is dying, and her father has bought Geminoid F to comfort her. An interesting premise, as robots are not known for their tenderness, but it seemed to work. A pre-recorded voice spoke for F and the two of them discussed death and recited poetry in English and Japanese, and briefly, in German and French.
After a little while, the play began to feel like a vessel for a robot-poetry recital. However, the second half of the play introduced a male actor with a more vibrant stage presence as a kind of robot furniture removalist. Talking to an outsider on his phone, he interacted in a much more physical way with F, even at one stage turning her off in the middle of a poem. Her slumping forward was a kind of death, and later on, when he slung her over his shoulder there were a few seconds where I was amazed he treated her like that.
As a play it was relatively strong. From Long’s performance it wasn’t clear if she was trying to match her manner to the android, but for those interested in poetry as a short play it was enjoyable. However as a spectacle it was amazing. The slight delay in her replies and the power cord leading from her chair were all that stopped me believing Geminoid F was just a reserved actor. Judging from the responses of others – some audience members didn’t even realise the android’s voice was pre-recorded – they had been mesmerised too.
The Q & A afterwards was equally fascinating, with Professor Ishiguro discussing the ‘near future’ and how he already has a robot clone teach his classes in his absence. Director Oriza Hirata added, “I am an artist, therefore it is my responsibility to see the future.” I didn’t have any questions to add, I was simply glad that I’d had an android read me poetry once before I died.
“Do you think they’ll ever truly experience consciousness?” someone asked from the back, and the young man sitting in front of me answered softly, “They already do.”
(Notes from the) Tasmanian Poetry Festival
Blog — Currajah