{mosimage}

Though originally intended to provide an insight into human psychological reaction to robotic design, the concept expressed by this phrase is equally applicable to interactions with nearly any nonhuman entity. Stated simply, the idea is that if one were to plot emotional response against similarity to human appearance and movement, the curve is not a sure, steady upward trend. Instead, there is a peak shortly before one reaches a completely human “look”; but then a deep chasm plunges below neutrality into a strongly negative response before rebounding to a second peak where resemblance to humanity is complete.

This chasm — the uncanny valley of Doctor Mori’s thesis — represents the point at which a person observing the creature or object in question sees something that is nearly human but just enough off-kilter to seem eerie or disquieting. The first peak, moreover, is where that same individual would see something that is human enough to arouse some empathy yet at the same time is clearly enough non-human to avoid the sense of wrongness. The slope leading up to this first peak is a province of relative emotional detachment — affection, perhaps, but rarely more than that.

Read the original (translated) article by Masahiro Mori here.

Several explanations have been put forward to explain this non-intuitive pattern. A central hypothesis holds that the Uncanny Valley effect arises from a distributed network of brain-systems that act as an "emergency alarm", which becomes acutely enabled by the presence of high-verisimilitude anthropomorphic stimuli, and rings with alarm if patterns that signal crisis are detected, but also (while the alarm is enabled) will ring if certain patterns that signal a healthy social presence are not detected. [Hanson, 2003] Yet another theory suggests that the non-human traits of these anthropomorphic beings disturb us because they act as reminders of our mortality. [MacDorman, 2005]

Some roboticists have heavily criticized the theory, arguing that Mori had no basis for the rightmost part of his chart, as human-like robots are only now technically possible (and still only partially). David Hanson, a roboticist who developed a realistic robotic copy of his girlfriend’s head, said the idea of the Uncanny Valley was "really pseudoscientific, but people treat it like it is science." Sara Kiesler, a human-robot interaction researcher at Carnegie Mellon University, questioned Uncanny Valley’s scientific status, noting that "we have evidence that it’s true, and evidence that it’s not."

Uncanny Valley, to a large extent, explains why an emotive Shrek is more agreeable to us than the entire cast of Final Fantasy - The Spirits Within. The movie was the first major wide-released CGI film to feature photorealistic characters, and in turn brought about quite a bit of attention from movie critics and filmmakers alike. The Uncanny Valley theory is thought to be most prominent in Final Fantasy’s character movements. The characters also lack any visible perspiration, as well as eye and lip movements that seem "off" - probably two of the most difficult techniques to accomplish in computer animation. Despite advances in computer animation, some feel the Uncanny Valley affected two CGI films of 2004, The Incredibles and The Polar Express. The close dates of release led to many critics’ comparison of the two movies, with some preferring the deliberately stylized appearance of the characters in The Incredibles over the more human-like characters in The Polar Express (which were described by many critics as being "disturbing"). Pixar stated that the reason for stylizing the characters in The Incredibles was not due to an inability to make the characters more realistic, but an attempt to avoid the Uncanny Valley. Although not directly related, the Uncanny Valley does explain in length and with simplicity as to why characters drawn in a typical animé style, as well as more traditional animation styles, tend to be very well received. The same is true, by extension, of cartoonish mascots.

With modern-day gaming hardware and software becoming increasingly capable developers run the increasing risk of falling into the Uncanny Valley. One such example of this can be seen in developer Quantic Dream’s recent tech demo for its game Heavy Rain (working title), which has come under fire for uncanniness since it was first revealed at E3 2006. The trailer, which depicts an extremely realistic female character performing a monologue for the camera, is technologically impressive, yet many people have responded to it in a negative way, stating that there’s something about it that is unsettling. Similar problems plague developers of a host of other titles currently out on the XBox or the PS3. While realism may be an attractive attribute of a game, near-realism could turn a large number of prospective customers away from a production. It is for this reason that game developers and movie makers, more often than not, attempt to reach just shy of attaining a heavy degree of realism in their titles despite having the required technology.

The uncanny valley itself is where dwell monsters, in the classic sense of the word. Frankenstein’s creation, the undead, the ingeniously twisted demons of animé and their inspirations from legend and myth, and indeed all the walking terrors and horrors of man’s imagining belong here. In essence, they tend to be warped funhouse-mirror images of humanity and many if not most share one or both of a pair of common traits. The more obvious of these is overt, intimidating superhuman power, whether physical or paranormal, but the other is far subtler. Recent research suggests that the human idea of beauty may rest on a surprisingly simple foundation: symmetry. According to the study, symmetry of face and body suggests health and vigour — and therefore genetic fitness — while asymmetry implies the opposite.

Besides explaining the instinctive repugnance people tend to feel toward more mundane distortions of the human body, this can be extrapolated to include all manner of more exotic malformations. Unpleasant surface textures, exaggerated features or proportions, and incongruous, out-of-place additions or inclusions, even body parts that are not directly connected to one another yet move in concert, all reach deep into the primitive part of the human mind to draw forth fear and disgust.

The sharp knee-bend just before the Uncanny Valley is another interesting point in the curve - one that is often overlooked. Aesop may well be the earliest storyteller we know of to take full advantage of this peak. By casting his fables with talking animals, he was able to accomplish two important things. Stereotyping the animals — the sly fox being the best-known example — gave him and his listeners a quick shorthand characterization. Perhaps even more importantly, by eschewing humans, especially particular individuals recognizable to his audience, he could create enough metaphorical distance both to provide perspective on the lessons conveyed by the stories and to escape the retribution so many rulers in history have visited on those who would spread unpleasant truths.

These literary tricks have become mainstays, for they work exceedingly well. Humans might not be the only ones to exploit this fascinating psychological peculiarity. What of those hypothetical aliens at the far end of the chart? They may well find us as puzzling as we find them, and there may be a vast technological gap as well. How, then, might the two species find a way to communicate? The British SF author Christopher Boyce proposed an intriguing solution to this impasse. A carefully crafted species of artificial life form, tailored specifically to hit the aforementioned peak of appeal, could act as go-betweens, easing humans through the initial contact process. He describes a creature slightly smaller than humans, with a graceful bearing and attractive figure, large, appealing eyes, reddish deer-like fur, feline or doe-like facial features, soft, musical voice and laughter, and most importantly, a pretty smile. Boyce intended this brief sketch as an example, noting that the exact design might vary considerably from it. Still, it is worth noting the strong resemblance his musings bear to the anthropomorphic characters discussed above, reinforcing the supposition that animal-human combinations are deeply entrenched in the human psyche.

Uncanny Valley has applications beyond the merely physical. An article on drunkenblog uses the Uncanny Valley analogy to describe the frustration many computer programmers experience when using the AppleScript programming language.

Transsexuals who are in-transition between genders often experience an Uncanny Valley as their gender presentation shifts from their birth gender to their desired gender. As the transitioner develops their new gender presentation, strangers’ reactions exhibit the Uncanny Valley behaviour. The low point occurs when the transitioner presents a disquieting mix of attributes from both genders, as happens when he or she has not yet corrected or mastered all of the major aspects of the new gender presentation. At that point the early condescending tolerance gives way to disquiet, discomfort, even hatred. With further effort, practice, and sometimes surgery, the transitioner eventually emerges triumphant on the far edge of the curve. Some genderqueer people revel in the aforementioned Uncanny Valley of gender presentation, finding fulfillment by provoking others into questions, introspection, or alarm.

Another example is the lifestyle of people living in a foreign country. In the adaptation process to a new culture, especially if the culture is significantly different from the one a person is used to, native people’s reactions to a foreigner are somewhat mimicked by the Uncanny Valley. At first, when the foreign person acts significantly different enough from native people, he will be praised for trying to fit in (eg. the top of the first curve). When the foreigner has adapted to the native culture completely he fill fit in, but before that there is an awkward area where the native people expect the foreigner to act like them, but the foreigner is not yet completely able to do that: the Uncanny Valley. As an example, the transition from western European culture to the culture of the US might put a European in the middle of the Uncanny Valley, whereas if he would experience an Asian culture, he would be, instead, at a point in the first curve, before the Uncanny Valley.

Mori may not even have realised the implications of his work when he gave us the term. Its impact is not fully understood even yet. A lot of reaction to uncanny Valley is knee-jerk with movie-makers, game developers and the like shying away from trying to present the best possible visually. There has been very little done to map the Uncanny Valley in detail further to Mori’s work. Even Mori, by virtue of his work, admits that the uncanny Valley can be crossed. What is needed is the belief and the willingness to do so.

{mosimage}

Though originally intended to provide an insight into human psychological reaction to robotic design, the concept expressed by this phrase is equally applicable to interactions with nearly any nonhuman entity. Stated simply, the idea is that if one were to plot emotional response against similarity to human appearance and movement, the curve is not a sure, steady upward trend. Instead, there is a peak shortly before one reaches a completely human “look”; but then a deep chasm plunges below neutrality into a strongly negative response before rebounding to a second peak where resemblance to humanity is complete.

This chasm — the uncanny valley of Doctor Mori’s thesis — represents the point at which a person observing the creature or object in question sees something that is nearly human but just enough off-kilter to seem eerie or disquieting. The first peak, moreover, is where that same individual would see something that is human enough to arouse some empathy yet at the same time is clearly enough non-human to avoid the sense of wrongness. The slope leading up to this first peak is a province of relative emotional detachment — affection, perhaps, but rarely more than that.

Read the original (translated) article by Masahiro Mori here.

Several explanations have been put forward to explain this non-intuitive pattern. A central hypothesis holds that the Uncanny Valley effect arises from a distributed network of brain-systems that act as an "emergency alarm", which becomes acutely enabled by the presence of high-verisimilitude anthropomorphic stimuli, and rings with alarm if patterns that signal crisis are detected, but also (while the alarm is enabled) will ring if certain patterns that signal a healthy social presence are not detected. [Hanson, 2003] Yet another theory suggests that the non-human traits of these anthropomorphic beings disturb us because they act as reminders of our mortality. [MacDorman, 2005]

Some roboticists have heavily criticized the theory, arguing that Mori had no basis for the rightmost part of his chart, as human-like robots are only now technically possible (and still only partially). David Hanson, a roboticist who developed a realistic robotic copy of his girlfriend’s head, said the idea of the Uncanny Valley was "really pseudoscientific, but people treat it like it is science." Sara Kiesler, a human-robot interaction researcher at Carnegie Mellon University, questioned Uncanny Valley’s scientific status, noting that "we have evidence that it’s true, and evidence that it’s not."

Uncanny Valley, to a large extent, explains why an emotive Shrek is more agreeable to us than the entire cast of Final Fantasy - The Spirits Within. The movie was the first major wide-released CGI film to feature photorealistic characters, and in turn brought about quite a bit of attention from movie critics and filmmakers alike. The Uncanny Valley theory is thought to be most prominent in Final Fantasy’s character movements. The characters also lack any visible perspiration, as well as eye and lip movements that seem "off" - probably two of the most difficult techniques to accomplish in computer animation. Despite advances in computer animation, some feel the Uncanny Valley affected two CGI films of 2004, The Incredibles and The Polar Express. The close dates of release led to many critics’ comparison of the two movies, with some preferring the deliberately stylized appearance of the characters in The Incredibles over the more human-like characters in The Polar Express (which were described by many critics as being "disturbing"). Pixar stated that the reason for stylizing the characters in The Incredibles was not due to an inability to make the characters more realistic, but an attempt to avoid the Uncanny Valley. Although not directly related, the Uncanny Valley does explain in length and with simplicity as to why characters drawn in a typical animé style, as well as more traditional animation styles, tend to be very well received. The same is true, by extension, of cartoonish mascots.

With modern-day gaming hardware and software becoming increasingly capable developers run the increasing risk of falling into the Uncanny Valley. One such example of this can be seen in developer Quantic Dream’s recent tech demo for its game Heavy Rain (working title), which has come under fire for uncanniness since it was first revealed at E3 2006. The trailer, which depicts an extremely realistic female character performing a monologue for the camera, is technologically impressive, yet many people have responded to it in a negative way, stating that there’s something about it that is unsettling. Similar problems plague developers of a host of other titles currently out on the XBox or the PS3. While realism may be an attractive attribute of a game, near-realism could turn a large number of prospective customers away from a production. It is for this reason that game developers and movie makers, more often than not, attempt to reach just shy of attaining a heavy degree of realism in their titles despite having the required technology.

The uncanny valley itself is where dwell monsters, in the classic sense of the word. Frankenstein’s creation, the undead, the ingeniously twisted demons of animé and their inspirations from legend and myth, and indeed all the walking terrors and horrors of man’s imagining belong here. In essence, they tend to be warped funhouse-mirror images of humanity and many if not most share one or both of a pair of common traits. The more obvious of these is overt, intimidating superhuman power, whether physical or paranormal, but the other is far subtler. Recent research suggests that the human idea of beauty may rest on a surprisingly simple foundation: symmetry. According to the study, symmetry of face and body suggests health and vigour — and therefore genetic fitness — while asymmetry implies the opposite.

Besides explaining the instinctive repugnance people tend to feel toward more mundane distortions of the human body, this can be extrapolated to include all manner of more exotic malformations. Unpleasant surface textures, exaggerated features or proportions, and incongruous, out-of-place additions or inclusions, even body parts that are not directly connected to one another yet move in concert, all reach deep into the primitive part of the human mind to draw forth fear and disgust.

The sharp knee-bend just before the Uncanny Valley is another interesting point in the curve - one that is often overlooked. Aesop may well be the earliest storyteller we know of to take full advantage of this peak. By casting his fables with talking animals, he was able to accomplish two important things. Stereotyping the animals — the sly fox being the best-known example — gave him and his listeners a quick shorthand characterization. Perhaps even more importantly, by eschewing humans, especially particular individuals recognizable to his audience, he could create enough metaphorical distance both to provide perspective on the lessons conveyed by the stories and to escape the retribution so many rulers in history have visited on those who would spread unpleasant truths.

These literary tricks have become mainstays, for they work exceedingly well. Humans might not be the only ones to exploit this fascinating psychological peculiarity. What of those hypothetical aliens at the far end of the chart? They may well find us as puzzling as we find them, and there may be a vast technological gap as well. How, then, might the two species find a way to communicate? The British SF author Christopher Boyce proposed an intriguing solution to this impasse. A carefully crafted species of artificial life form, tailored specifically to hit the aforementioned peak of appeal, could act as go-betweens, easing humans through the initial contact process. He describes a creature slightly smaller than humans, with a graceful bearing and attractive figure, large, appealing eyes, reddish deer-like fur, feline or doe-like facial features, soft, musical voice and laughter, and most importantly, a pretty smile. Boyce intended this brief sketch as an example, noting that the exact design might vary considerably from it. Still, it is worth noting the strong resemblance his musings bear to the anthropomorphic characters discussed above, reinforcing the supposition that animal-human combinations are deeply entrenched in the human psyche.

Uncanny Valley has applications beyond the merely physical. An article on drunkenblog uses the Uncanny Valley analogy to describe the frustration many computer programmers experience when using the AppleScript programming language.

Transsexuals who are in-transition between genders often experience an Uncanny Valley as their gender presentation shifts from their birth gender to their desired gender. As the transitioner develops their new gender presentation, strangers’ reactions exhibit the Uncanny Valley behaviour. The low point occurs when the transitioner presents a disquieting mix of attributes from both genders, as happens when he or she has not yet corrected or mastered all of the major aspects of the new gender presentation. At that point the early condescending tolerance gives way to disquiet, discomfort, even hatred. With further effort, practice, and sometimes surgery, the transitioner eventually emerges triumphant on the far edge of the curve. Some genderqueer people revel in the aforementioned Uncanny Valley of gender presentation, finding fulfillment by provoking others into questions, introspection, or alarm.

Another example is the lifestyle of people living in a foreign country. In the adaptation process to a new culture, especially if the culture is significantly different from the one a person is used to, native people’s reactions to a foreigner are somewhat mimicked by the Uncanny Valley. At first, when the foreign person acts significantly different enough from native people, he will be praised for trying to fit in (eg. the top of the first curve). When the foreigner has adapted to the native culture completely he fill fit in, but before that there is an awkward area where the native people expect the foreigner to act like them, but the foreigner is not yet completely able to do that: the Uncanny Valley. As an example, the transition from western European culture to the culture of the US might put a European in the middle of the Uncanny Valley, whereas if he would experience an Asian culture, he would be, instead, at a point in the first curve, before the Uncanny Valley.

Mori may not even have realised the implications of his work when he gave us the term. Its impact is not fully understood even yet. A lot of reaction to uncanny Valley is knee-jerk with movie-makers, game developers and the like shying away from trying to present the best possible visually. There has been very little done to map the Uncanny Valley in detail further to Mori’s work. Even Mori, by virtue of his work, admits that the uncanny Valley can be crossed. What is needed is the belief and the willingness to do so.