We sat down for an exclusive interview with Alfrun Rose, writer and performer of ‘Dead Air’. Inspired by her experiences of loss and real-world AI technology, it follows grief-ridden Alfie, who uses AI to digitally resurrect her father after his death.
‘Dead Air’ runs from 13th-16th May at Greenwich Theatre- Tickets here.
Dead Air brings together grief and AI. Where did the first spark for this story come from?
My dad died before his time in 2023, right as AI chatbots were taking off so it was in the air. Shortly after his death, my cousin told me my dad had visited him in a dream. I was angry because he didn’t come to me. Which I thought was a funny reaction. Everybody told me I should just talk to him. Talk to him how? A medium? Into the void? But like him, I don’t believe in an afterlife of any sort. If there had been a Faustian deal to be done, in the height of my grief I would have done it. I was desperate for him to haunt me. Then in 2024, I watched a documentary about grief bots: AI that replicates a dead person using their texts, videos, and data. Everyone’s first reaction, including mine, is: that’s creepy. But the human desire to resurrect the dead is ancient. Jesus, Orpheus, Frankenstein, zombies. I wanted to explore what it costs you to raise the dead.
The piece explores the ethical implications of AI, particularly for vulnerable people. What concerns feel most urgent to you right now?
These companies have identified a profound human vulnerability, grief, and they’re monetising it. In the play, Alfie is addicted to her grief bot because she’s lonely and it offers comfort. But comfort is also a business model. There are now at least seven wrongful death lawsuits against OpenAI for irresponsible conduct towards vulnerable people. The EU’s 2024 AI Act, enforceable from August 2026, prohibits exploitative AI practices and specifically flags vulnerable users, but does a grieving person count as vulnerable? That’ll take years to define. Meanwhile these companies have enormous money and political influence. We forget they’re not charities. They operate on the Silicon Valley ethos of “move fast and break things.” The thing being broken here is people’s grief. That feels urgent to me.
You’ve spoken about the potential impact of AI on the theatre industry itself. What concerns or questions do you think artists need to be engaging with right now?
I’m still working out what I think. I don’t think the real threat isn’t replacement, it’s economics. AI can replicate voices, writing styles, and faces, which means jobs disappear, and only financially secure people can afford to be artists, which means we get an even narrower perspective on the world than we already do. That worries me. But I also remember when streaming devastated the music industry, and what happened was people wanted more live experience, not less. Most musicians now make their money from touring, not sales. The silver lining is that every technology that’s ever threatened jobs has also created new appetite for human presence. And I think that is already the reaction that people are having. I suppose we have to do what humans do best and adapt.
As both writer and performer, how does it feel to embody Alfie’s experience so closely?
I love it. I play all six characters: Alfie, her mum, the AI dad, his best friend John, the awful boyfriend, the AI company. The challenge is giving each of them genuine reality and perspective while also living inside Alfie’s feelings about them. Alfie is a stretched, darker version of me. Being this close to the material has been challenging and I have had to stay mentally disciplined, and remind myself that ultimately it isn’t me. Alfie follows every worst instinct, acts on every intrusive thought, then gets her AI dad to validate her side of the story. As a writer it was delicious to create a deeply imperfect person surrounded by imperfect people and still make them all sympathetic. Performing Alfie is a rollercoaster, she is very funny and self aware whilst being completely detached from reality. Any actor would love to play this role, she is funny, a bit unhinged and goes through a big emotional journey.
When audiences leave Dead Air, what feeling or question do you most hope stays with them?
People who’ve lost a parent keep telling me they’ve thought the things Alfie does, they just never acted on them. There’s a real catharsis in watching someone follow their darkest impulses in a safe space where nobody gets hurt. I think that’s undervalued, especially in a world where we’re all in therapy practising healthy communication. But underneath the darkness and the laughs, Dead Air is really about the value of human connection, however messy and imperfect and frustrating it is. I hope audiences leave thinking about the people in their lives that are important to them, maybe with a tiny shift in perspective, a little more empathy. And I hope they’ve laughed a lot along the way.