From AL to AI
Despatches from a guest playwright
It’s been nose to the grindstone in the Valley this week...lots of project managing up at the building site and a deep dive into audio editing for the podcast.
Our Romanian tiler worked miracles, the painters started on the undercoats and cleaning and staining the wooden ceilings in the main building, and our electrician made a few tweaks to the placement of switches.
We are trying to bring three different contractors together – in the right order – to get the floors done.
Heatpump Paulo was here to prep the underfloor heating and Sr Manuel is getting everything ready for the polished concrete floor guys who are due in this week.
We’ve been battling to find the right colour and so visited another project a little north of us to choose the right shade of sand...and loved their colour.
So far so stressful...but on track despite the welcome rain!
The fabulous Joanna Hutchins has been staying here – advising us on marketing and a logo redesign; and audio masterer Pete Emmerson has been working round the clock to get the wine podcast episodes ready for launch (in the Spring).
I’ve been busy doing a little journalism and disinformation work on the side, and so I thought I’d hand the rest of this week’s despatch over to a guest artificial intelligence author and playwright.
It’s courtesy of Ana’s old boss, senior Swedish diplomat Johan, who shares my interest in AI…and who has been diving deep into ChatGPT.
Obviously robots will take over the world, as I have written about before, but they doing it in a very sneaky way which involves entertaining us greatly in the process.
Needing Val-ium
Call it an entry drug, but I think you’ll agree that whatever it was Johan asked the machine to do, it did it pretty well.
What follows are ChatGPT versions of life in the Valley in a number of styles as requested by Johan…I’m really not expecting you to read all of them, but they’re quite fun (for a machine!) please feel free to dip in and out of the three versions below!
DISCLAIMER: I would like to point out that (at this stage) this is not a fair or accurate representation of what life is like in Vale das Estrelas and with apologies to Adam Sandler (!?) and Simon & Garfunkel for being represented by a dog called Mario (who calls their dog Mario?).
Let’s face it we haven’t even got a sign as yet, let alone a chandelier, but the associated photos of our work in progress are all my own human work…
1. “Write a lifestyle article for NYT about the former BBC journalist Alastair and former Swedish diplomat Ana....Write the article in a somewhat sarcastic/ironic tone…”
Title: The Not-So-Simple Life: Romance, Renovations, and Reality in Rural Portugal
In the sun-drenched hinterlands of southern Portugal, where the rolling hills meet the expectations of retired escapists, former BBC journalist Alastair and his partner, ex-Swedish diplomat Ana, were set to pen their own pastoral symphony. Trading diplomatic dispatches and investigative reports for olive groves, vintage farm tools, and the supposedly tranquil farm life, the couple embarked on what was meant to be their 'golden years' project. Three years in, the sheen of their romantic venture, however, is showing signs of rustic tarnish.
"The local community? Absolutely lovely," Alastair insists, offering a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, overshadowed by the latest in a series of electrical mishaps—a chandelier hanging as precariously as his patience. His handyman journey, it seems, is paved with more obstacles than the local, pothole-riddled roads.
Ana, elegant and composed, had envisioned soirées under the stars, an endless stream of cosmopolitan friends mingling with simple, earthy local life. "You anticipate cultural exchange, vibrant discussions...," she muses, pausing as a crash resounds from the direction of what was once, presumably, a stable. One of their guests, Johan, the ever-dismayed Swedish ambassador, had discovered the 'antique' chair's weight limit.
Johan, whose diplomatic subtlety is as absent as the farm's Wi-Fi signal, has become the unsolicited critic of the pastoral dream. "Charming, yes, but one does require certain...basics," he comments, casting a disdainful glance at the tap, its water sputtering like Alastair's promises of imminent repairs.
The couple's narratives, rich with anecdotes of misjudged harvests and Google-translated conversations with local craftsmen, are testament to the trials peppering their idyllic retreat. "It's about embracing the imperfections," Ana insists, amidst Johan's murmurs about 'acceptable standards' of guest accommodation.
Their story, embroidered with the naïve optimism of city folk chasing rural fantasies, reflects a truth as clear as the wine they attempt to produce: the simplicity of country life is anything but. As I leave, dodging a loose floorboard, it's clear that amidst the cacophony of renovation, culture shocks, and unmet expectations, Alastair and Ana have found a chaotic harmony. It's not the dream they chased, but it's a reality they're learning to cultivate.
Indeed, the rustic symphony wouldn't be complete without the barking bravado of Mario, a robust, territorial canine that Alastair and Ana inherited with the property. Mario, who evidently missed the memo about playing the loyal, serene farm dog, adds a layer of adrenaline to the already unpredictable farmstead life.
"Darling Mario, our unexpected guardian," Ana quips, her words dripping with irony as the dog snarls at the heels of a long-suffering postman. "He's protective of his domain," she explains, though one gets the feeling that 'his domain' encompasses more geographical and emotional territory than anyone anticipated.
Mario’s presence is an unpredictable whirlwind, often sending guests into a mild frenzy. His particular animosity towards handyman projects seems to mirror Alastair's own frustrations. "He's an excellent barometer for my repair work," Alastair jokes nervously, after Mario's aggressive inspection of a newly-installed, already-leaning fence. "If Mario doesn’t like it, it’s probably not up to par!"
The dog's antics come to a head during a dinner party designed to fuse Alastair and Ana's old world of diplomatic finesse with their new, earthier existence. As tensions around the table rise, courtesy of Johan’s critique of the appetizers’ authenticity, Mario contributes to the dialogue with a growling tirade, prompted by a local cat daring to encroach upon his self-declared kingdom.
Johan, already teetering on the edge of diplomatic decency, stands abruptly, his chair toppling as he declares, "This place is a circus, not a retirement paradise!"
The room freezes, save for Mario's satisfied tail-wagging. It's a picture of chaos, frustration, and thwarted dreams, painted against a backdrop of genuine effort and adaptation. And yet, despite the disappointments, the unforeseen hurdles, and the far-from-postcard-perfect reality, Alastair and Ana share a look of resilient determination.
As my stay concludes, it's clear their adventure is one characterized by challenges and unexpected guardians. It’s messy, it's real, and it's theirs. In the disarray, they’re not just surviving but evolving—learning the language of the land, the soul of compromise, and perhaps most importantly, that perfection lies in embracing the imperfections, Mario included.
Do also check out the work my JSK Fellowship colleague Simon Willison is doing with OpenAI’s image generator DALL-E 3.
“I've been exploring how the new DALL-E image generation thing works and it is absolutely fascinating,” he says.
Here’s a link to his work for those of you who like a deep dive. The man’s a genius...albeit an eccentric one.
2. “Now turn the above into a manuscript with dialogue for an Adam Sandler style slapstick comedy. Include suggested camera takes…”
Title: "Rustic Ruckus"
[INT. RUNDOWN FARMHOUSE - DAY]
(Camera PAN around the disheveled interior of a once-grand farmhouse. The sound of something FALLING off-screen. Alastair (Adam Sandler), a frazzled man in overalls, stands holding electrical tape, bewildered.)
Alastair: (shouting) Ana! I fixed the... (something sparks) ...nevermind!
(Camera CUTS to Ana, a sophisticated woman, her aura contrasting starkly with the mud on her boots.)
Ana: (resignedly) Darling, the chandelier is hanging like my grandmother's earrings. Do something!
(Camera SWINGS abruptly to a mangy but robust dog, MARIO, as he barks at a rat escaping through a hole in the wall.)
[INT. FARMHOUSE KITCHEN - DAY]
(Camera FOLLOWS a rat scurrying past as Johan, a pompous man in a suit clearly not designed for farm life, enters, nose wrinkled in distaste.)
Johan: (snobbishly) I expected 'rustic charm,' not 'pre-war destitution.'
Alastair: (grinning nervously) You feel the authenticity, right? Embrace the... uh... immersive experience!
(Camera ZOOMS IN on Mario growling at Johan, who recoils, knocking over a precariously placed vase.)
[EXT. FARMHOUSE - OLIVE GROVES - SUNSET]
(Camera SHOOTS the group walking, each dodging the random holes that Mario digs.)
Ana: (dreamily, to Alastair) Imagine, in a few months, all this will be a sprawling olive grove.
Johan: (sarcastically) Yes, and I shall be the king of Sweden.
(Mario barks and CHASES after an imaginary entity, pulling Alastair who's holding his leash, causing him to FALL into a mud puddle. Camera FOLLOWS everyone’s shocked faces.)
[INT. FARMHOUSE - MAKESHIFT DINING ROOM - NIGHT]
(QUICK CUTS between faces as everyone sits around a barely standing table, eating under the dim light. Mario is eyeing Johan's food.)
Johan: (muttering) Savages...
(Suddenly, Mario LEAPS onto the table, causing chaos. Everyone stands, Johan's chair falls backward, and he ends up on the floor covered in food. Camera CIRCLES around the chaos.)
Johan: (shouting) This place is a circus, not a retirement paradise!
(Alastair and Ana look at each other over the mess, a moment of silent communication. They start LAUGHING. The camera PULLS BACK, capturing the messy scene.)
Alastair: (raising a toast) To our circus!
[EXT. FARMHOUSE - DAY]
(Camera PANS the farmhouse, workers repairing, and Mario chasing a ball that Alastair throws. Alastair attempts to fix a sign that reads “Welcome to our Paradise.” It’s crooked.)
Alastair: (shouting with hands cupped) Perfection!
(Camera ZOOMS OUT as the sign falls over. Laughter echoes as the screen fades to black.)
---
"Rustic Ruckus" encapsulates the comedic chaos of dreams clashing with reality, punctuated with slapstick humor, situational comedy, and the endearing message that true joy lies in embracing life's perfect imperfections.
3. “Now rewrite as a heavy existentialist drama as if written and directed by Ingmar Bergman...”
Title: "Shadows Over the Olive Groves"
[INT. DIMLY-LIT, SPARSE FARMHOUSE - DUSK]
(The camera slowly PANS around the bleak interior, capturing the shadows creeping from the corners of the room. Alastair, a man in existential torment, stands in the center, surrounded by the decay of his ambitions. His face is a landscape of deep regret and longing.)
Alastair: (whispers to himself) Where did the dream dissipate in this labyrinth of reality?
(CUT to Ana, her face half-swallowed by darkness. Her eyes, lost in thought, are like deep wells of water on the verge of overflowing.)
Ana: (voice hollow) We sought paradise...only to be handed purgatory. Why does fate mock us?
[A mournful VIOLIN CONCERTO begins to play, setting a somber mood.]
[EXT. BARREN FARM LAND - TWILIGHT]
(The camera MOVES OVER the neglected land, the soil of which seems to beg for relief under the weight of the dying light. It SETTLES on Johan, his figure a stark silhouette against the fading sun. His expression is one of disdain and disillusionment.)
Johan: (coldly) This land is a mirror, reflecting the barrenness we carry within. We are but shadows, thrashing against the inevitable embrace of night.
(The WIND HOWLS, as if in response to his bleak proclamation.)
[INT. FARMHOUSE - NIGHT]
(The scene is barely lit by trembling candlelight, the flickers casting an eerie dance of shadows on the walls. The dinner table is a battleground of clashing worldviews. Mario, the dog, is a silent, brooding presence, his growls a low undercurrent of brewing storm.)
Johan: (sneering) Look around! This festering wound we call 'hope'—it festers, it rots! It's a delusion!
(Alastair's face tightens, a quiet rage simmering beneath as he tightly grips his fork.)
Alastair: (through clenched teeth) You see decay because your soul lacks the courage to acknowledge the beauty in suffering, in striving!
(Camera CLOSE-UP on Ana's face, her gaze distant.)
Ana: (softly, to no one) We are fragments...mere fragments in the vast mosaic of despair.
[EXT. OLIVE GROVE - DAWN]
(Camera follows the characters walking separately among the trees, their loneliness palpable in the expanse of nature. The sky begins to LIGHTEN, a cruel reminder of another day's burden.)
Alastair: (voice-over) Each dawn mocks us...a cyclical curse, pulling us further from the dreams of yesterday.
(Camera PANS UP to the sky as the first light of day breaks. The music swells to a dissonant CRESCENDO.)
[FADE OUT]
Thanks...Ana chose the colours and the design...and we're super-happy with it! Thanks for the AI tip...normal human-centred service shall be resumed next week!!
Great post. Fascinating. And we see your Heatpump Paulo and raise you our Solar Dave. (Returning this week to plug holes in the roof drilled for solar panel legs, so we can remove the buckets from the bedroom.)