We Are Your Robots

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Ethan Lipton’s We Are Your Robots dives headfirst into the Artificial Intelligence conversation with easily the most entertaining theatrical foray into the subject yet. We’ve come a long way from the 1960s science fiction series Lost in Space robot B9 with its now legendary line, “Danger, Will Robinson!” and Lipton is not averse to quoting Noam Chomsky, the father of modern linguistics and one of the founders of the field of cognitive science, to make a point. Further, when was the last time you heard American computer scientist and mathematician Donald Knuth’s philosophy of “.8 is enough” quoted in a musical?

The mood is lighthearted from the moment you walk into the theater. Hovering over the stage is what appears to be a large detail of an 80s-style audio cassette tape that has been anthropomorphized, or in this venue “robo-morphized,” to reveal what could be two eyes and the hint of a line for a mouth. The screen is in fact a scenery robot complete with huge arms of mylar ducting. It is a given that the audience members’ innermost thoughts while they wait for the show to begin will be digitized and on view on the screen. “Did I see a Peter Brook play here once?” “Did I leave the burner on?” “Move to Norway.” “I could eat a dozen steamed dumplings right now.” “Chilly in here.” “Should’ve gotten a drink.” “If I start with ten and add one push-up a day…” “Go see the chiropractor.” “I don’t know anyone anymore.” “Young people.” “Should’ve peed.”

The stage has four circular orange platforms (right out of 1960s era TV specials) that are occupied by the musicians: guitarist Eben Levy, saxophonist Vito Dieterle, bass player Ian Riggs, and lead singer Ethan Lipton. Lipton is also responsible for the book and lyrics while all four men are credited with composing the score. While each of the three players stays put on his individual disc, Lipton roams freely through the space coming forward to the edge of the stage and at one point performs a number crossing a gangway separating the front and rear orchestra sections disappearing into the darkness at the side exit of the house leaving his fellow musicians alone to jam onstage. He appears seconds later from the back of the stage climbing over a low wall not missing a beat.

While the musicians are exemplary, it is Lipton who does the heavy lifting in the show. With what amounts to a very witty hosting duty, his singing voice is one that is rich and quite comfortable in various genres. Director Leigh Silverman keeps him moving and talking at all times, always engaging the audience even when he is being upstaged by his “Grandpa Morrie,” a Roomba that speaks (and sings) in Roomba-ese. Morrie has the audience wrapped around his finger, rather circuitry, when Lipton asks him to wait backstage and Morrie can’t make it back up the ramp without help. Morrie later duets with Lipton and at one moment stops cold. Lipton’s attempts at restarting Morrie fail (is this what Roomba death looks like?) until bass player Riggs offers a battery from his own mouth to recharge Morrie. The whole audience goes “Awww” and applauds.

One of the particularly strong suits of Lipton’s piece is its persuasiveness: the response to the question “What are you made of?” is “It’s really a lot of stuff. Too many things to mention. But I will share this: each one of us contains just one screw. Isn’t that surprising? If the design is sound enough, you don’t need a lot of screws. I think that’s the lesson there.”

As if we weren’t already creeped out by the now all-too-real prescience of 1984’s Orwellian Big Brother from the coincidence of items we peruse in any one of our social networks “magically” reappearing in others, Lipton speaking for the band of robots posits, “We are all making predictions based on the data, digital and otherwise, that you provide. Because of course, each one of you leaves a trail of data everywhere you go. Every moment of your lives, you are oozing data. And outside of this theater, that data is being harvested by governments, corporations, bandits, you name it…all you have to do tonight is act like a human being.”

Robots can only be as sarcastic as the individuals that program them, right? “Some of you are wondering if we possess consciousness. Frankly, we’re wondering the same about some of you…Some philosophers believe dogs have the most sophisticated kind of consciousness, what’s known in certain circles as guilty consciousness, and that can be described as: there once was a stick of butter on the table, and then there wasn’t.”

We’ve all realized that artificial intelligence fails in one very important aspect: its lack of nuance, so Lipton kicks it up a notch to account for basic values. “You trained us to be able to navigate serious moral dilemmas. I know that if I were your friend, and I saw you in a stage play, that afterward, when greeting you on the street, my assignment would be to tell you that I loved it. And that if I didn’t actually love it, my assignment would be to find something in it I could love.” Oh, if only it were that easy for humans. Humans would squirm and remark, “What a challenging role!”

Lipton’s lyrics, like his ongoing patter, are very clever and provocative. In what, in another situation, by title alone would seem to be a love song, “Everything But You” reveals a robot’s emotions, for lack of a better word: “I am actually deeply ambivalent about everything but you/ I can find a valid equivalent for everything but you/I’m exceedingly unsure about 100% of absolutely everything, everything but you, that is to say.” Things are chancy when English isn’t your mother tongue. Please refer to the classic Monty Python sketch, “Dirty Hungarian Phrasebook,” for further confirmation.

Director Silverman with her own obvious deep fascination and delightful wit gives Lipton free rein in his playfulness. As she offers in a program interview, “Their humanity, as robots, is what the audience wants.” A musical starring robots could have gone in so many directions. The experimental and dissonant art punk movement that merged rock with electronics in the New Wave music of the 1970s gave us groups like Devo that coyly embraced kitschy science fiction in their stage shows. Where Devo was costumed in yellow haz-mat suits, we see from photos of a previous incarnation of We Are Your Robots that the original idea for the band was something akin to grey garage mechanic jumpsuits. Costume designer Alejo Vietti has now opted for dressing the four men in dapper shiny gray suits (with smart black “code” appliques on the arms) and black ties, recalling early Beatles attire. Considering the sax-heavy and bass-heavy arrangements for the score, they could be GQ models playing a week at The Bluenote.

In addition to the already mentioned playing spaces, scenic designer Lee Jellinek provides a vast canvas for projection designer Katherine Freer to let loose all manner of visuals from cuddly kittens and puppies to internet scrollings. Her pre-show audience mental meanderings help set the tone for the show. Adam Honoré’s lighting, particularly evoking the undersea for the “whale song,” provides winning atmospheric touches. Nevin Steinberg’s sound design, in addition to the requisite subtle robotic creaking, grinding and bleeping, is particularly engaging in his creation of language that we can almost understand for Morrie, the roomba.

Until now, we may have all been governed by Isaac Asimov’s Three Laws of Robotics, which were guidelines to create an ethical system for humans and robots: first, a robot cannot harm a human, or allow a human to be harmed by inaction; second, a robot must obey human orders, unless they conflict with the First Law; third, a robot must protect its own existence, unless it conflicts with the First or Second Law. Asimov saw fit to later write a Fifth Law, which is very much to the point: a robot must know it is a robot, meaning it is presumed that a robot has a definition or a means to apply it to its own actions. It’s quite safe to assume Asimov would have had an enjoyable evening at We Are Your Robots.

We Are Your Robots (through December 8, 2024)

Theatre for A New Audience and Rattlestick Theater

The Polonsky Shakespeare Center, 262 Ashland Place, in Brooklyn

For tickets, visit http://www.tfana.org

Running time: 80 minutes without an intermission