Love & Human, The Bull Wanstead
You’ve likely heard it all before: an eager young scientist takes up a research post in a remote lab, working under the wing of a mad genius. Love & Human doesn’t stray far from this well-worn trope, and at first glance, it appears to be yet another rehash of familiar sci-fi storylines. However, beneath the surface, there’s something more original - though you have to dig to find it.
Our eager young scientist is AJ, played superbly by Torin Rhys, who brings an infectious energy and excitability to the role. AJ. goes to work for Harvey, a bumbling, overworked and socially awkward scientist portrayed with great nuance by Jacob Freda. Harvey has created the world’s first AH - or ‘augmented human’. This is a hyper-realistic humanoid robot, played with impressive dedication and control by Constanza Pucci. Her every movement feels calculated and eerily robotic. It’s a very committed cast, and it’s a shame the storyline doesn’t quite match their capability.
From the start, Harvey’s social ineptitude is on full display. He fumbles through a greeting with AJ quickly conks out at his desk. Over time, we realise AJ is hardly more socially adept than Harvey. Annabeth herself is a classic science fiction concept: a humanoid robot who can ‘speak, act, and think’ like a real person. As AJ quips, this isn’t exactly ‘an original idea’. That’s part of the problem. The central premise is one we’ve seen countless times. In a world where AI has already become integrated into daily life, humanoid robots no longer shock or amaze. If one showed up tomorrow, I’m sure most of us would merely shrug. So when a play tackles this topic now, it has to really have something to say. Unfortunately, Love & Human doesn’t quite seem to know what that is.
Clocking in at just over 40 minutes, the play hints at deeper commentary but doesn’t take the time to explore it. This is not to say there aren’t brief, intriguing moments. A key question, for instance, is ‘What do you do with a human that isn’t human?’ The script gestures toward the ethical implications of unchecked tech, the flawed people driving innovation, and the dangers of power in the wrong hands. It’s a shame these ideas are never fully developed.
The show’s advertising promises a story of a scientist falling in love with his robot, suggesting a look at relationship power dynamics and blurred boundaries between man and machine. However, this framing actually undercuts what could have been a much sharper critique. The more compelling thread isn’t the budding romance; it’s the humans behind the AI, who are so evidently deeply flawed, immature, and emotionally unprepared to ‘play God’.
Rhys and Freda breathe real life into AJ and Harvey. Their quirks and faults are deeply relatable. Harvey is stressed and exhausted, needing AJ to remind him to rest, just like he would his robot. AJ is impulsive and jealous. This play could easily have made a stronger statement about the tech industry’s major players: socially awkward, ethically muddled individuals making world-changing decisions. One question we’ve all been asking as of late: do they even know what it means to be human?
In a standout moment, Annabeth asks Harvey, 'Why are you being weird?’ It’s played for laughs but lands with weight, highlighting how disconnected the creators are from the very humanity they’re trying to replicate. There’s something quietly sinister about a robot understanding human interaction better than its makers.
Samuel Winner’s writing includes flashes of insight, particularly in the use of Gen-Z-coded language, which makes the characters feel current but also contributes to a sense of immaturity among the developers. These are people concerned with whether they can, not whether they should. This, I believe, is the power dynamic the play should lean into more.
Unfortunately, the final act falls flat. Multiple twists arrive suddenly and feel unnecessary. The play would have benefitted from an extra 15–20 minutes of character development and thematic focus. As it stands, the ending feels rushed and unearned, and the play ultimately seems unsure of its own stance. Yes, our relationship with technology is explored. Yes, there’s commentary on the risks of giving immense power to emotionally underdeveloped people. Sadly, Love & Human never fully commits to these questions. It doesn’t need the romantic subplot to make its point, the ethical issues are already unnerving enough.
Overall, this is a well-acted, well-directed piece with moments of promise, but ultimately, Love & Human feels like a missed opportunity. It hints at a richer conversation about humanity, tech, and power, but never quite finds its voice.