Christopher Lowell and June Squibb in 'Marjorie Prime'. Credit: Joan Marcus Are we more than just our memories? It's a huge question, yet it only accounts for one of the many ideas being kicked around in Jordan Harrison 's Pulitzer Prize-nominated play. A decade after its L.A. premiere and a few years removed from its big screen adaptation, Marjorie Prime has finally arrived on Broadway — and it has plenty more haunting questions where that came from. Stepping into the Hayes Theater, the science fiction of it all may come as a surprise. The show has all the trappings of a typical family drama: an ailing mother, a tortured daughter, an impenetrable rift between them, decades worth of family pain, and a spouse doing their absolute best to hold everyone together. But there's one special element to heighten this family's troubles: the existence of Primes, AI holograms that begin as a malleable blank slate and gradually take on the identity of a deceased loved one, to keep their memory alive. June Squibb in 'Marjorie Prime'. Joan Marcus The Black Mirror-esque tech is meant to help people grieve, and when we first meet Marjorie (the inimitable June Squibb ), that's easy enough to understand. She's sitting on a couch, gently reminiscing with Walter ( Christopher Lowell ), who appears to be her husband, but is slowly revealed as a holographic version of him — Walter Prime. He coaxes her into eating some protein, reminds her of a treasured memory, and brings out her playful side. It stands in stark contrast to later interactions with her daughter, Tess (Cynthia Nixon). Tension ripples between them: unspoken history that finds Tess still stewing, even as she looks after her elderly mother. Tess is helped by her husband Jon (Danny Burstein) and the affection between them is palpable, though they have very different ideas of how best to keep Marjorie comfortable. When her memory slips, should they let Walter Prime step in to remind her? Should they feed him memories that she's already lost? Should that include the worst details of her life — or does she deserve to finally escape her greatest heartbreaks? And the questions spiral on. June Squibb and Cynthia Nixon in 'Marjorie Prime'. Joan Marcus At one point, Marjorie proposes an edit to an existing memory: What if her husband proposed in a more romantic venue, with a more romantic backdrop? She tells Walter Prime to feed her a better version of their engagement. It isn't what happened, but once she forgets the truth, what's so wrong about creating a new, better reality? "By the next time we talk, it will be true," she tells her holographic husband. These chilling moments are Marjorie Prime at its best. Though it lasts a brief 80 minutes, the play has plenty of time to stoke uncomfortable thoughts. It's a frightening thought experiment: a provocative play of ideas. The wheels are always turning, the subtext is layered with even more questions, and even the one-liners pack a weighty punch. Christopher Lowell in 'Marjorie Prime'. Joan Marcus But there's an emotional coldness to it all: and perhaps that detachment is by design. After all, the play's key character is a supercomputer, absorbing information and throwing it back in our faces. And then there's Marjorie's fading memory, another barrier distancing her from the world. Most of our time is spent with the characters sitting around, reminiscing and filling in the gaps of the history that makes them who they are — to each other and themselves. And while those scenes can be quite affecting, it's hard to forge our own connections with these characters when the bulk of their story is so rooted in the past. That's not to say the story is devoid of emotion. Burstein in particular grounds the production, with a heart-on-his-sleeve portrayal of Jon. His jovial energy fills the room, as does his frustrated anguish as life with the Prime grows impossibly complex. 'Chess' review: The infamous Broadway flop returns with Lea Michele, Aaron Tveit He's accompanied by plenty of talent. Squibb is notably making history with her latest return to stage: at 96, she is the oldest performer to open a Broadway show, but her work is sharp as ever. She's sly with biting one-liners and alert to the huge turn that comes in the play's second half. Elsewhere, there's a coldness to Nixon's Tess, but it doesn't keep her from packing a painful punch when the moment comes. Lowell, who made an impressive Broadway debut in last year's Cult of Love , sets an unsettling tone. His Prime is a reassuring presence for Marjorie, an obvious comfort to her in their quiet moments alone. You can almost forget he's a newly-formed version of her husband, cobbled together by fragmented memories. Almost. Because there is still that unnatural, inhuman element peeking just below the surface. Danny Burstein, Cynthia Nixon and June Squibb in 'Marjorie Prime'. Joan Marcus That feeling is complimented by the production, which fuses clever scenic design and lighting to create eerie transitions that communicate the passage of time and wordlessly progress the story with visuals alone. It's no surprise Marjorie Prime shares a lighting designer (Ben Stanton) with Maybe Happy Ending , the other sci-fi saga taking Broadway by story. Both embrace theatricality, ensuring that the script isn't doing all the heavy lifting when it comes to huge emotional shifts. For all the grief boiling over in Marjorie Prime, I walked away yearning to be more thoroughly wounded. But Harrison's script is less interested in piercing the heart than it is the mind. It's much too busy prodding at the bounds of humanity. What makes us who we are? How much can we rely on technology? Can it soothe us, numb us, replace us completely? Marjorie Prime offers few clear-cut answers, but does make one thing clear: There is no replacement for the power of human love and connection. And the absence of that is what keeps this show from truly leaving a mark on its crowd. Grade: B Close Source: https://ew.com/marjorie-prime-review-broadway-june-squibb-11863980