Why Do We (Bot)her to Try Love?

Robot lovers have always been the subjects of sci-fi and dystopian fiction fantasies. They’re futuristic but uncomfortable—a perversion of our relationships with unfeeling machines. Though the rise of artificial intelligence chatbots has made this conclusion somewhat harder for the chronically online to reach, a lack of humanity is nonetheless undeniable. However much you love your artificial partner, its love for you or anything else is, at worst, programmed and, at best, reluctantly up for debate. “Maybe Happy Ending”—the Broadway rendition of the original South Korean play by Will Aronson and Hue Park—attempts to challenge this idea through its futuristic use of technology. The production simultaneously questions the relationship technology will have with humans in the future and with itself.

“Maybe Happy Ending” follows the lives of two outdated helper bots—robots made for assisting an owner—in late 21st century Seoul. By then, a multitude of new and improved models of helper bots already exists; all the retired bots are sent off to the same residential junkyard, including Oliver (Darren Criss). The play opens with “World Within My Room,” a song that demonstrates his daily routine: reading his Jazz Monthly magazine subscription, buying replacement parts, and watering his plant, HwaBoon—adorably featured in the playbill. While he insists that he hasn’t been retired and is merely counting the days till his owner, James, returns for him, the 12 years he spends in his unit, helpfully tracked by a digital clock on stage, seem to suggest otherwise—although this does nothing to shake his resolve. It’s only when his next door neighbor, Claire (Helen J. Shen), in need of a working charger, inserts herself into his life that Oliver’s plans and priorities begin to change. 

Claire’s introduction marks an expansion of Oliver’s world, as the wide black screens the set designers used to create the box-like atmosphere of Oliver’s apartment slowly inch and slide apart to let her in. The robots fall into a routine: Claire borrows his portable charger every day and returns it at the same set time. Slowly, she ebbs at his walls and catches him off-guard by changing the times she returns it, forcing her way into his apartment to rearrange his things and trying to uncover details of his past that further intertwine with her life. The characters couldn’t be any less alike, but it’s in this vein that the thoughtfulness of the costume, prop, and set design crews shines. 

Oliver, a third generation model, never fails to mention the sturdiness of his design, justifying the exchange his designers had made of new and flashy for trusted and timeless. He’s guarded and stuck in his ways but sure of his passions, as reflected in his old-timey taste in clothing; he’s partial towards tweed blazers, leather briefcases, and 1950s’ cookie-cutter aesthetics. His room is no different, covered from floor to ceiling with every jazz album and magazine in existence—remnants of the all-encompassing nature of James’s love for him. 

On the other hand, Claire is fifth generation, sleek, and seamlessly capable of everything the third-generation model isn’t, but her lack of durability reveals just how little care went towards her design. Her battery health will deplete by the day until she’s inevitably left with no choice but to stay stuck to the wall, charging. She’s a fluid force of nature, trying her hardest to keep her life together, yet she’s unsure of what it’s all for. We see this with the beanbag she keeps alive by duct taping all of its rips and tears and the decorations around her apartment that embody some sense of upbeat trendiness but are void of any clear direction. Furthermore, her only inheritances from her former owners were commercial and impersonal: designer clothes, a car, and the password to her own internal system. She confuses her lack of personal attachments with a chance at freedom. 

By the time they meet, both of their shelf lives have dwindled down to a matter of months; they care less about extending the time they have left than getting all the closure they can—although this is where their motivations diverge. For Oliver, closure means confronting the truth about why James left him behind; for Claire, closure means accepting that there is no such thing as a universal romantic experience. Their differences highlight an already electric dynamic, seen through their vocals. Criss’s melodious longing for the past in “Where You Belong” and Shen’s skillful portrayal of a desperation to live the rest of her life to the fullest in “The Way That It Has to Be” are interrupted by their constant bickering and sharp humor. This element is showcased in “The Rainy Day We Met,” when they have to come up with a fake love story for themselves. The occasional solos from Gil Brentley (Dez Duron)—a personification of James’s and Oliver’s favorite Jazz musician—appear intermittently and suddenly throughout the play, but he’s always a pleasant surprise. The black screens often shift to reveal him behind set pieces, or he is raised up using some electric platform beneath the stage; he sings ballads, jazzy tunes, and whatever else the situation calls for.

This tension fades away when the bots get to know each other and, by consequence, begin to change. Upon discovering that Oliver plans on tracking down James at his new home on Jeju Island, Claire invites herself along as an indispensable asset to his mission—the fifth generation model comes with a driver's license!—and with the sole mission of witnessing fireflies dancing in the forest. However, they discover a new purpose along the way while being in each other’s company. Claire, having witnessed first-hand the destructive nature of human love from her former owners, wants to shield Oliver from a journey that will only hurt him. Meanwhile, Oliver wants Claire to live and love—preferably with him. 

The unexpected spotlight of this musical is its technology. What appears to be simple black screens used to block out unnecessary surroundings reveal themselves to be a tool used for much more. They are often used to represent the bots’ internal functions, such as when Claire’s search results on Jeju Island fireflies are projected onto the screens or when the holograms bring to life the stored memories of Oliver and Claire with their previous owners while the two of them are sharing their lives. By taking advantage of holographic imagery and technical sound effects, “Maybe Happy Ending” submerges its audience in every sensation and emotion the bots are learning how to feel for the very first time, creating an even more immersive experience. 

The goal of “Maybe Happy Ending”—rather than giving an hour and 40 minute presentation on why robots can love too—is to portray the limits humans place on their capacity for love in a very literal metaphor. While Oliver and Claire are held back by their respective biases regarding love—Claire is bitter; Oliver is idealistic—they both have something to learn from their time spent together: relationships are about trying something new and getting the most out of knowing one another. “Maybe Happy Ending” encourages its audience to free themselves from their internal programming and live a little, even if that ends with going from strangers to friends to lovers and back to strangers. Overall, this performance paints an exciting picture of the future of Broadway plays; it introduces fresh musical talent and paves the way for the increased role of digital graphics in productions to come.