When I was a kid, my parents bought me my first robot. Except this was in the early 70s, so it wasn’t a real robot - it was a fuzzy effigy, a mechanized kitten thing. The kitten was tethered by co-joined wires to a long battery box which also served as a remote control. It could walk forward…stop…walk forward…stop; it might have even meowed, too - but I honestly don’t remember. Anyway you get the idea; the kitten wasn’t very exciting, and it certainly didn’t replicate the fun of owning a real cat. In other words, the kitten reacted but it did not interact. It bore no true resemblance to a real cat. It was supposed to be neat because it was a robot, but that’s really all that was neat about it. digital-fingerprint@geardiary.com
Bear in mind the kitten was given to me not long after the “incident” when I had convinced my brother that he wanted to trade his incredibly cool Christmas robot (the one that showed a mini-movie of things blowing up on its stomach screen complete with sound effects) for some doll that I had received, so perhaps there was some parental bait and switch going on there.
Now granted, Mark’s robot didn’t interact, either. But it at least looked like a robot was supposed to look, which made all its other shortcomings moot. Man, I wish I still had my brother’s robot…for so many reasons.
But I digress.
A few decades passed, and toys got a lot more sophisticated. Fast forward to the late 90s: remember the Furby? Yeah, I bought one of those, too. Mine was brown and white, and it looked like Gizmo from Gremlins. What I liked about that little guy, beyond the fact that it was under $50, was that it was cute, it didn’t look like a creepy pet effigy, it was hackable, and if you put a couple of them together they would interact via their infrared ports. Granted, Furbies didn’t directly interact with humans (even though some people swore theirs did), so they weren’t quite as far up on the robotic evolutionary chain as I wanted. But they were definitely a step in the right direction, and for $35 I had no reason to complain.
In 2001, I got to review a Sony Aibo. At the time, this robot was retailing for $1500. It was programmable, interactive, and the closest thing to a true robotic pet that had ever been seen, at least by me. It also looked like a schizophrenic cross between a dog and a cat. Aibo’s plastic body was not conducive to cuddling or petting, and I had trouble getting past the fact that it was trying to look like a mash-up of real animals…but not.
See, here is my thing: I know what dogs and cats look like, act like, and feel like. So if you give me a robot made to resemble a dog or a cat, it will come with certain built-in expectations. These types of expectations may not apply to anyone but me, but they will still be there, and I won’t be able to get past them. These pet-type robots are too close to the animals they are meant to mimic, and yet they generally fall very short of the experience of owning an actual dog or cat. In another example of how hard I am to please, if the robot looks too similar to the animal it is meant to mimic, I will simply find it creepy. Witness the Yume Niko Smile; need I say more?
The answer then? Give me a robotic toy that is not based on an animal with which I am familiar. Make it a baby, so it’s cute. Make it lovable. Make it receptive to touch. Make it interactive. Make it programmable. Make it responsive. Make me want to pet it, hold it, touch it. Make it…
…a baby dinosaur named Pleo.
