The show is rooted in personal loss. After the death of my dad, a beloved, behind-the-scenes guy in the music industry, I found myself grasping for traces of him: photos, recordings, fragments of his voice. In grief, my memory faltered. Oddly, what remained vivid was a surreal TV advert he once starred in, performing a burlesque routine and threatening to strip in public.
Around the same time, I read about emerging AI services that lets users simulate conversations with the dead, sometimes comforting, often deeply unsettling. In one case, the AI hallucinated that a lost loved one was “burning in hell.” That intersection of tech, memory, absurdity, and heartbreak, lit the spark for Dead Air.
This isn’t a play about my dad, although I borrow a couple of his jokes. It is a modern ghost story about the glitchy, glorious ways we keep the dead alive.
Review by Claire-Monique Martin
Dead Air at Greenwich Theatre is a production overflowing with ideas. Written and performed by Afrun Rose, the piece explores grief, artificial intelligence, emotional dependency, and fractured family dynamics through a contemporary sci-fi lens. The ambition behind the work is undeniable, and there are moments where its central concept feels genuinely exciting. Yet despite its strong premise, the production currently feels more like an intriguing work in progress than a fully realised piece.
The opening immediately establishes the experimental tone. Rose begins from the tech booth before entering the stage space herself, a choice clearly intended to blur the lines between creator, controller, and participant within the world of the play. In theory, it should feel unsettling and impactful — a theatrical signal that we are entering a manipulated reality. In practice, however, the moment lands awkwardly. Combined with the production’s largely singular lighting state, the opening initially feels less like a deliberate artistic decision and more like a technical mishap, creating confusion rather than tension.
The minimal staging places the emphasis almost entirely on performance and text. While this stripped-back approach allows the themes to remain front and centre, it also means the script and performances have little to hide behind. The sound design becomes one of the production’s more distinctive elements, particularly the use of synthesised vocals for AI Dad and the AI control system. At first, the distorted electronic voice is genuinely eerie and effective, capturing the uncanny discomfort of manufactured intimacy. Unfortunately, the effect becomes overused as the piece progresses, gradually losing its power and becoming repetitive rather than unsettling.
Where the play succeeds most is in its examination of grief and the desperate human instinct to fill emotional voids. There is a compelling emotional story buried within the material — not just the loss of a father figure, but the collapse of an entire family structure through trauma and miscarriage. However, the emotional narrative often feels overshadowed by moments seemingly designed more to shock than deepen understanding. The dynamics involving Mum and the new stepdad push toward confrontation and discomfort, but not always with enough emotional groundwork beneath them.
Rose’s performance is committed and emotionally open, carrying much of the production’s weight even when the script loses focus. She works hard to ground the material in emotional truth, particularly during the quieter moments where the play allows vulnerability to breathe.
What remains most striking about Dead Air is its potential. The ideas at its core are timely, unsettling, and theatrically rich. The relationship between grief and artificial intelligence feels increasingly relevant in a world fascinated by digital resurrection and emotional simulation. Yet the production currently feels caught between psychological drama, satire, and speculative sci-fi, without fully deciding what it wants to be.
There is absolutely something here worth developing further. With tighter storytelling, more restraint in its use of sound and shock imagery, and a clearer emotional through-line, Dead Air could become a deeply affecting exploration of loss in the age of artificial intimacy. At present, though, it feels like a bold early draft still searching for its final form.
