The Edge of Creation: How McNeal and AI are Redefining the Soul of Art

Ayad Akhtar’s play challenges us to face the uneasy truths about what happens when human creativity meets machine intelligence.

​By Grayson Patrick Trent, November 20, 2024

​In the dim glow of the Vivian Beaumont Theater, something extraordinary stirs. It’s not just the play—the narrative itself is remarkable, yes, but it’s the weight of what it forces you to consider that truly lingers. Ayad Akhtar’s McNeal isn’t content to let you sit back and absorb. It prods, it needles, it dares you to look closely at the uneasy relationship between human creativity and artificial intelligence.

​ And let me tell you, it doesn’t let you off the hook.

The air in the room felt alive that night, charged with a nervous kind of energy. Maybe it was the presence of Robert Downey Jr., larger than life even in a theater packed with admirers. Or maybe it was his counterpart—a “Metahuman Digital Likeness,” so lifelike it seemed to breathe along with him. Watching this virtual double step into the story alongside the actor himself, I couldn’t help but shift in my seat. It wasn’t just impressive—it was unsettling. You could see every micro-expression, every twitch of emotion, perfectly rendered. And that’s where it got me. Who owns a performance when part of it exists outside the actor? Downey Jr. called it “cybersecurity for your body and voice,” but it felt like more than that. It felt like a foreshadowing of something we aren’t entirely ready for.

The play’s story cuts even closer. Jacob McNeal, a revered novelist on the brink of irrelevance, partners with an AI chatbot to co-write what could be his final masterpiece. It’s a secret he guards fiercely—because isn’t there something sacrilegious about letting a machine into that sacred space of creation? And yet, I felt a pang of recognition watching him. As someone who’s wrestled with the blank page, the thought of a tool that never falters, never second-guesses itself, is intoxicating. But then, where’s the sweat? The struggle? The humanity? These questions haunted me, just as they haunt McNeal.

Sitting there, I couldn’t stop thinking about the parallels to our world. Writers today are already using AI. Some admit it openly—tools like Sudowrite help them push past blocks, refine dialogue, fill in the gaps. Others keep it quiet, afraid of being accused of cheating. And it’s not just writing. Musicians are experimenting too. Holly Herndon uses AI to create sounds no human could, while platforms like Spotify are drowning in algorithmic tracks made for profit, not passion. In visual art, the story gets even messier. Tools like DALL-E can spin up stunning images in seconds, but often by borrowing—without permission—from the work of real artists. The question is always the same: are these tools partners, or predators?

Even the Metahuman likeness on stage felt like a continuation of what we’re already seeing. Hollywood’s been playing this game for years. Peter Cushing in *Rogue One,* Carrie Fisher in *The Rise of Skywalker.* Impressive, sure, but also… uneasy. A deepfake of someone who’s no longer here feels less like honoring their legacy and more like holding onto something we should have let go of. And now, that technology isn’t just for movies. It’s everywhere. Downey Jr.’s warning about protecting his voice? It isn’t theoretical—it’s real.

I wanted to believe Akhtar’s story was fiction, but it felt too close. The lines between human and machine, creation and replication—they’re already blurring. And *McNeal* doesn’t try to draw neat lines. Instead, it asks you to sit with the discomfort, to wonder what we’re giving up in exchange for the convenience, the efficiency, the endless possibilities. Creativity, after all, isn’t just about the product—it’s the process. The messiness, the imperfections, the moments of doubt. Machines don’t have that. They can’t. Or at least, I hope they can’t.

By the time the curtain fell, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d just glimpsed the future. And it’s not a future that’s coming—it’s already here. Maybe that’s what Akhtar wanted us to realize. That AI isn’t just knocking on the door of human creativity. It’s already inside, sitting at the table, pen in hand. The question now is whether we’re ready to share the story, and if we’re okay with what might get left out.

-gpt ​💼🗡

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