Robots, as we all know, are made of math: numbers and algorithms and precisely coded programs that determine their every action. Still, we can’t help but seek humanity amidst their wires and artificial synapses, a glimmer of something organic, something real. This is never more clear than in films that place an android in the role of the ideal romantic partner, one who can be literally programmed to be everything a woman could want. In both Susan Seidelman’s Making Mr. Right and Maria Schrader’s I’m Your Man, we see this play out in two very unconventional relationships.
While these two films are presented as light-hearted sci-fi comedies, they nevertheless tap into a philosophical conversation about the nature of sentience: If a robot seems to possess human-like emotion, as though it’s capable of falling in love, at what point do we consider it (for all intents and purposes) alive? And if a machine can mimic a person to the extent that it can engage in a romantic relationship that an actual human being finds emotionally fulfilling, then does it really matter if it’s experiencing organic love as we know it, or just an artificial approximation? This question will have implications not just for the robots, but for the women who find themselves falling in love with them.
Ulysses in Making Mr. Right is no Gigolo Joe from AI: Artificial Intelligence – he isn’t designed to serve a romantic function at all. In fact, his creator Dr. Jeff Peters (John Malkovich, who also plays Ulysses) has constructed him for a scientific purpose. Since humans are ill-equipped to withstand the long periods of isolation required for deep space travel, he serves as a logical replacement. His programming gives almost zero consideration to human interaction – it simply won’t be needed of him. But before he can be sent on his epic space mission, he first has to do a PR tour, and for that, the company that owns Ulysses hires a publicist, Frankie Stone (Ann Magnuson), to give him a crash course in human behavior.
Here, too, romance is hardly an objective. Frankie is horrified that Ulysses seems to have developed a crush on her. All the same, in her efforts to introduce him to humanity, she is in fact molding him into the type of man she prefers. She encourages (albeit begrudgingly) his natural curiosity, showing him television shows and allowing him to explore the contents of her purse. Despite being made in the image of a callous and misanthropic scientist, with Frankie’s guidance Ulysses becomes kind, sensitive, and loving.
Their romantic attachment to one another has a stubborn persistence – although she recognizes the absurdity of dating an android, she doesn’t put that much effort into discouraging his affections either. In fact, she clearly finds it charming, especially in contrast to her ex-boyfriend, a politician running for Congress whose every social interaction is tinged with cynical opportunism. But although they end happily enough, Ulysses’ one robotic tendency – the fact that he short-circuits whenever experiencing an extreme (read: sexual) emotion – is a niggling reminder that however human he may seem, Frankie is still romantically involved with a machine.
In I’m Your Man, by contrast, the relationship is not a happy accident, but entirely intentional. Maren Eggert plays Alma, a scientist who has agreed to test out a new robotic dating service and gauge its ethical value in exchange for research funds. Alma is entirely skeptical that an android could replicate human romance – even if one was programmed to meet her exact tastes, the knowledge that it was a machine would be off-putting enough to prevent her from emotionally engaging with it, let alone falling in love. When she is given Tom (Dan Stevens) to test drive, she struggles to hide her distaste for the whole affair. He is charming, affable, and eager to please, designed to replicate not just her specific preferences, but initiate actions that most women, statistically, find appealing. We learn early on that Tom’s algorithm develops as it receives new feedback, determining which actions elicit a positive or negative reaction. He confidently tells her at one point that the more time they spend together, the more often he’ll say or do something that will please her, and the fewer “mistakes” he’ll make.
This is an interesting point, because we do see this over the course of the film – he begins to feel more in tune with Alma, and less focused on pleasing her as a part of his official capacity as love robot. From her perspective, these changes mimic the process of falling in love: She thinks that she’s getting to know him better, and that he’s becoming more human. But is that actually the case, or is what we’re seeing just finely-tuned, state of the art software becoming more sophisticated?
The central conflict of Alma (and Frankie, to a certain extent) is not whether to develop an emotional connection with the robot in their life – that happens regardless of their intentions. But instead, it’s an internal struggle of whether to accept that love, knowing that it comes from an artificial place. Is it better to be alone, having chosen not to embrace the inherent lie of carrying out a romantic relationship with a human-shaped mass of technology? Or is it better to be happy, even if that your chosen partner isn’t human and, in the case of Alma, loves you because that’s what it has literally been designed to do?
Both Making Mr. Right and I’m Your Man feature two confident, self-possessed women who have been unlucky in love, and are given a chance to have an unconventional relationship with a mechanical paramour who has been molded into the perfect partner. But while Making Mr. Right gives into the fantasy, I’m Your Man questions the entire premise of it, which has implications that go far beyond the realm of sci-fi romance. Whether or not we settle for a lie, the convenient delusions of happiness is a question that lurks beneath every rapidly disintegrating relationship, even when there aren’t any robots involved. 
