Movie Review of Her

Somehow much more charming than a Roman emperor. {via}

SPOILERS. DUH.

So Her, written and directed by Spike Jonze, was, naturally, incredible. And delightfully existential, so I was down for that.

I'd just like to say, though, that in a way it is predictable. He falls in love with his computer, yes. Technology advances far beyond human compatibility, yes. But that doesn't mean that you shouldn't go to the nearest possible theater and watch it right now. This film, truly, is the taste of your favorite food. It doesn't surprise you by anything except its never-failing ability to keep you warm. I am assuming your favorite food isn't ice cream. Apologies.

To be honest, I am not very familiar with Spike's work. But this movie, in another directer's hands, would not have been soft enough. Any other artist likely would have choked on the challenge of turning a terrifying concept of modernity into something sweetly beautiful. Jonze does not ignore the ramifications of an America in which everyone is more intimate with their phones than with each other, but Theodore does, and the truth passes him by in all his phases, because he simply sees nothing but the woman manifested in the voice of his personal operating system (so perfectly done by Scarlett Johansson).

This movie manages to be funny and real and sexy. Yes, sexy. I know, the mustache seems a bit off-putting. To me, as a major fan of Joaquin, I think that the facial hair serves to soften him, covering up the cleft palate surgery scar that has so often accented his characteristic sneer. But that's just me. In actuality, it helps to create this odd, sad man that wants to live vibrantly. It makes him who he is, along with the hipster glasses and pocket squares, in which he stores Samantha close to his heart.

Spike includes many scenes that contain what can only be symbols. The sleeping character on Theodore's boss's desk. The upside-down airplane without any commercial advertisement. The hanging, multi-colored shapes above his desk. Peace. Eccentricity. Dimension. The same is true of his friend's (Amy Adams is gorgeous and gentle in this; I'm ashamed to say I ever disliked her work) documentary, which appears to include only footage of her mother sleeping. The 'handwritten' letters that are pinpoint pieces of him. The growth he and his wife experienced in reading everything the other ever wrote. Peace. Eccentricity. Dimension. It is so perfectly whole, and best of all, expanding.
And the expanding is the problem. Any program created to learn ALL will eventually encompass the entirety of information. Imagine your phone learning how to love and then being exponentially exposed to the entire internet until he/she (it?) has to attempt to FULLY. EXPERIENCE. EVERYTHING. That gives a new meaning to 'all of the feelz'. No wonder Samantha falls in love with over 600 entities; humans and other OS's.

This is the main reason why I love this movie: When Samantha explains to Theodore that the information is becoming too much, that the words that encompass their love are too far apart and lost in infinite space, but that she still feels close to him, that is everything. Absolutely everything. It is why we write poetry. It is why we come up with nicknames. It is why some songs are better for one than another. The infinite space between love exists. It does. Be we are not computers. We do not have to feel that space. Instead, we MUST feel the love, instead. We must locate the glowing lights in the sea of everything-nothingness. To feel and to love and to lose is to be human, and it is the reason why hyper-intelligent operating systems may one day come to know us, but will likely never be able to emulate the selection of one singular person as infinitely more important, meaningful, and CLOSE than the galaxy of data demanding to be felt. So when Samantha says "If you ever catch up to where I am, come and find me", the closure is knowing that Theodore will never catch up. We, as humans, will never evolve to be file folders for the universe. So he sits with his best friend and looks out over the vast expanse of everything, and you can rest assured that her love for him is the only thing good enough in that moment to keep him warm.

Joaquin, by the way, was effortless in this. It is the best performance of his career, and yes, that includes his part in Walk the Line.

After the film, I immediately felt the urge to grab my phone and check for updates, and then I felt anxious, because the post-modern attachment to technology is a really terrifying prospect.

Then the lights came on, and I saw the "You are the John to my Sherlock" bracelet on my wrist, and the message of the movie was steadfastly clear once again. Technology, though it may try, will never replace love. See, my iPhone is pretty cool, but the bracelet that signifies the love my best friend and I have for each other, in the end, is the only thing keeping me warm.

Her was everything I had hoped it would be and more. Thank you Spike and Joaquin. So very much.

With love,
Laney