Oct 21 2012 Talk, Hirata Oriza, Kichijoji Theatre
Three sisters: Irene (Ikumi), a hikkimori shut-in from 17 years old, has pretended suicide and
replaced herself with an android in a wheelchair. It has the same memories and
reactions as Ikumi, but the other sisters notice a difference when talking with
her. The robot assures them it is capable of human-like maturation: “That’s the
me I’ve grown into; you didn’t know that me,” says the living one, who unexpectedly
appears to have tea with them.
The story
Akira, the son hasn't made up his
mind where to go to study overseas. The older sister plans dinner with 2nd,
fish or meat, decide on Saba, sending the robot, who is late when chatting with
other robots at the supermarket. “tsugitsugi
to hanashi shimasu”. The robot doesn't like aimaisa, so they have to specify who is eating and where they sit.
(Actually, the robot merely rolls in, speaks (an offstage actor on a speaker),
and rolls off. It looks like a robot, a series of orbs, drawing humor from the
schism between perceived machine and middle-aged female locutions.
Then
the wheelchair-bound Ikumi rolls in on cable, her head downcast and face
frozen. Some mouth movements but not synched. Something is quite strange in
this realistic family portrait—iwakkan,
uncanny, but not intentional I fear. The father was a genius inventor, creating
20 robot generations (including their servant), as well as supervising busy laboratory.
Taught his son about averages and trends by counting waves at the west beach.
Just had bones reinterred there. Mother passed away long ago; he three years.
The second daughter’s husband, a
teacher, brings red Bordeaux, but returns car so he can drink relaxedly, with
white. All these choices, many arbitrary or built on micro-calculations, displaying
human ability to act on fuzzy logic with decisiveness?
Sakamoto, a girlfriend from the
jazz circle at university goes to see why Akira has been staying away—turns out
that he, too, has decided to quit to work. He almost hits her as he pushes her
out of the house; she returns later; he proposes, saying he’s decided to drop
out.
The living Ikumi walks in, somewhat
startling the sisters (not because they didn’t know; because she rarely leaves
room). She is alive and well, just shut up in her room, an android had replaced
her when they pretended she committed suicide. She drinks tea, then retreats to
room as others enter.
It is a party to celebrate the
father’s death anniversary, and wish Nakanosan off to Singapore, where he’s
found work with outsourced company. Maruyama, father’s colleague, appears with
his new wife. She’s young, a student from another zemi. She had an affair with Nakano, who is going off so won’t become
a prof; she wanted to be a prof daughter, 30. Nakano seems to have fallen for
Ikumi, and comes by to repair her android occasionally, never having found out
what really happened.
The climax: Ikumi android recalls
playing jigsaw with Maruyama sensei when he was visiting the house one day. He
kissed her. Everyone shocked, Maruyama doesn't remember; android Ikumi insists
she is infallible. Then the actual Ikumi comes out, saying, “I was just a 6th
grader, had my period, only half a girl. I don't remember. We humans can forget.
We can forget.” Maruyama leaves in a huff, accusing them of faking her death
unfairly.
Nakano admits he might have been
to blame. At the beach, she’s packed a picnic, he had just entered college, he
tried to kiss her, she cried and ran away. Then she died, he thought.
The robot serves saba and all sit down. The eldest sister
and android chat a little longer, remembering old times. “We have to work!” lights.
Not quite there yet
There were some interesting
intellectual ideas—a robot chatting at market, how much memory will we retain
when we “outsource” our bodies to a representative android (like a cell phone),
trauma and distorted memories possible for a robot? And the android not being
to “read the kuki” to know what is
apt or not, just coming out with honne.
But there were few touching scenes, or even believable ones; the story seemed
to stretch to make a point, and we were aware of the childish pleasure of
seeing a humanlike toy. However, as Hirata said at his talkback, only the
fourth attempt in 4 years, keep trying to succeed.
Robots present a staging problem
for Hirata, known among other things for his quasirealistic non-frontal
positioning of actors. Actors come and go freely in his private/public spaces—here,
the living room, Taisho style, of a wealthy scientist—the older sisters and visitor
Sakamotosan spending much of the time with their back turned towards the
audience. However the robot, entering from the upstage side, can only slant and
come forward a meter or so, then
roll back. Robots lifelike presence is only animated by seeing the full frontal
face, with facial movements. The android Jeminoid likewise rolls in from the
side, attached by a controlling cable. Her face, slightly downcast, is never
seen from the profile or back, but always full on.
Another problem is that, like
dogs and children, in W.C. Fields’ observation, they steal the limelight.
Whenever they are on stage their uncanny presence is the focus of the action;
no matter if the dialogue ignores them, they are necessarily On. Yet unlike bunraku
dolls which display breathing, displaying their steady presence, these machines
can only roll backwards and forwards, blink, or open their mouths to show
animatedness. We never get the sense that there is an intelligence behind the
cold plastic, just that they are being skillfully manipulated by an offstage
controller, the tinny speaker unpersuasive as a preprogrammed voice—the timing
was too good! If robot movement can only approach humanity with mechanical
burps and bumps, why should language be fluent? A different style of
delivery, of pauses while factoring responses, would show the mechanistic
distinction among human “colloquial dialogue” and robotic programmed responses.
However it will take further generations, and some getting used to, before emotional
empathies can be aroused towards the mechanical objects, or their too-fantastical
fictional owners/avatarees.
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