A few days before I saw the movie Her, a futuristic romance set in Los Angeles a few years from now, I read an article on my iPhone app Flipboard. The article was about Casey Storm, the costume designer for the film, who was starting her own clothing line featuring clothes “that echo the outfits worn in the movie.” The article noted the presence of the heavily featured high waisted pants and pastel, collarless button-down shirts (for men). My intrigue in the film immediately blossomed.
A few days later I saw the film and was simultaneously amazed and weirded out for 125 minutes. First of all, as a person fascinated by and interested in cinematography, I can say I was blown away. For me, not just the individual shots, but the entire concept of the cinematography was unique. The closest thing style-wise to this film that I can think of is an Apple commercial. Both the film and the commercials heavily feature pastel, low-contrast color schemes, super shallow depth of field, and robotically smooth camera moves. The look of the film transports you to the near future, sanitary yet inviting, where computers “live” with humans in meaningful relationships.
The world of Her is a world of extreme human-computer interaction. This is the nightmare of parents come to fruition, yet there is no zombie-like quality to these cell-phone zombies; the world where human interaction is minimal is peaceful. Despite a central conflict of computer-beings versus “bodies,” this film certainly does explore complete immersion in social network addiction, to the point of eliminating the human on the other computer completely.
Enter Theodore Twonbly, portrayed by Joaquin Phoenix. In a role far more sensitive yet equally as emotional and vulnerable as his other well-known roles, Phoenix is a professional letter writer, in an emotionally detached future. When he’s not working, he plays a 3D interactive exploration video game complete with a cursing midget alien and mourns his impending loss of his long-time wife. Revealed from the start in soundless, short, emotional cutaways, the viewer learns of Theodore’s termination and eventual divorce ending an eight-year marriage. Turning to other means of happiness, Theodore openly welcomes Samantha, the husky, sweet voice of a hyper-intelligent and high-speed operating system.
Her has a way of sucking you in and spitting you out: the audience is emotionally moved by the happiness, sweetness and sincerity of Theodore’s relationship, but then they are instantly reminded that Theodore is in fact in a relationship with a piece of software. The lines that Scarlet Johansson utters as Samantha are almost grotesque—she is frighteningly human. She “learns” all the time; she sees what Theodore’s phone camera sees; she can write her signature on the phone screen; she is capable of an intimate relationship with a human (Theodore is satisfied as well); she wakes up Theodore at night to tell him she loves him; she captivates you and freaks you out.
Director Spike Jonze certainly does a good job of creating a mesmerizing, emotional piece of art, but in the end I find myself wondering what exactly the audience is supposed to take away from the film. Obviously we are meant to see the current over-attachment to electronics in modern society, portrayed in almost a satirical manner, but at the same time Theodore is shown to be a happier person with a software girlfriend than with an human wife. The film’s redeeming qualities are its amazing cinematography and its moments of extreme catharsis. Overall, whether to see it as a piece of art or just as a reminder to stop looking at your phone once in a while, Her is a must see.
