EAT + PLAY

With Lauren Gunderson’s contemporary sci-fi drama “anthropology,” Barefoot Theatre Collaborative continues to stretch beyond its reputation for original musicals (“Bar Boys,” “Mula sa Buwan”) and into more adventurous territory. This is not only one of its few straight plays in recent years, but also its first foreign work — and a relatively new one at that. Like last year’s “We Aren’t Kids Anymore“ it reflects a clear curatorial intent: Barefoot is chasing the present, courting younger audiences with material that speaks directly to their mental headspace.

And that instinct is paying off.

At first glance, “anthropology” invites easy comparisons to “Black Mirror” — particularly the episode “Be Right Back,” where grief and artificial intelligence intersect in eerily similar ways. Gunderson’s play follows Merril, a software engineer who reconstructs her missing sister Angie using data harvested from her digital footprint — texts, emails, voice notes — until what begins as a coping mechanism turns into something more unsettling. When the AI version of Angie begins to suggest that the real Angie might still be alive, the play tilts into techno-thriller territory with a nod to “The Lovely Bones.”

But the intrigue is not the point — at least, not entirely. Beneath its speculative premise, “anthropology” remains grounded in something more familiar and more painful: the contradictions of love, especially within families. Merril’s relationship with Angie is textured with guilt, resentment, and now longing, the kind that resists neat resolution. The AI becomes not just a tool for grief, but a mirror — one that reflects not only who Angie was, but who Merril remembers her to be, and perhaps even who she needs her to be.

If Gunderson’s writing occasionally gestures toward the expected, it is Barefoot’s production that elevates the material into something genuinely compelling.

Under the direction of Caisa Borromeo, the play becomes a meticulously crafted piece of stage technology. The design is striking in its simplicity: a clean, almost Apple-like aesthetic anchored by a circular playing space, designed by Sarah Facuri, with modular set pieces that shift fluidly between Merril’s physical surroundings and her digital world. Above it hangs a movable ceiling element that subtly compresses or expands the space, creating a sense of confinement without ever resorting to literal walls.

Lighting designer D. Cortezano complements this with a palette that feels distinctly digital — cool, precise, and glowing. Those little flickers aren’t just technical glitches but a visual shorthand for the shaky nature of human memory and a loosening grip on reality.

Most impressive, however, is the production’s use of live video, courtesy of Cuecraft Studio.

Rather than relying on pre-recorded projections, the creative team opts for real-time interaction between stage and screen — a decision that introduces both risk and exhilaration. In lesser hands, this could easily collapse under technical strain (and I’ve seen that happen in two productions). Here, it becomes the production’s defining strength. This seamless integration of live-feed performance blurs the boundary between human and machine, reality and simulation. 

At the center of this is Maronne Cruz, whose performance as Angie is nothing short of remarkable. Even before she appears onscreen, her voice work establishes a delicate balance —recognizably human, yet edged with an artificiality that never quite settles. When she finally materializes visually, the calibration becomes even more exacting: she is at once present and absent, familiar and estranging. It is a performance that understands the paradox at the heart of the play — that to be convincing, the AI must be almost, but never entirely, real.

Opposite her, Jenny Jamora carries the emotional weight of the production with a performance of quiet intensity. Acting often against a screen, she nonetheless creates a fully realized emotional landscape — one marked by loneliness, anxiety, fleeting hope, and an undercurrent of guilt that gradually surfaces. Her Merril is not always likable, but she is genuine, and this humanity anchors the play.

The supporting cast is less consistent. Jackie Lou Blanco brings an edge to the role of the mother, suggesting a history of personal struggle and instability, though her performance occasionally feels out of sync with the ensemble’s overall tone. Mikkie Bradshaw-Volante, meanwhile, makes the most of a role that is somewhat underwritten, delivering what the script requires even if it offers limited room to expand.

These, however, are minor blemishes in an otherwise cohesive production.

But what ultimately lingers about “anthropology” is not its mystery, nor even its technological spectacle, but its immediacy. This is a play that feels attuned to the present moment — not because it is about AI, but because it understands the emotional conditions that make such technology appealing. Loneliness, grief, the desire for connection, the temptation to retreat into curated realities — these are not futuristic concerns, but current ones.

Barefoot Theatre Collaborative, in taking on a work like this, demonstrates a growing confidence in both its artistic identity and its audience. It is positioning itself not just as a producer of popular fare, but as a company capable of engaging with contemporary ideas in form as well as content.

And in “anthropology,” it succeeds — thoughtfully, inventively, and with a technical ambition that signals even greater possibilities ahead.

‘anthropology’ runs until March 29, 2026 at Areté, Ateneo de Manila University, Quezon City.