A perfectly bittersweet film that captures the wonders of love and technology, and wonders where they're headed in the modern age.

Rating: 10/10 (23 February 2015)

I remember first looking at the poster and marvelling at the vibrant hipster-ness of it all; wondering whether the bold pink background and the ever-so- slightly neglected moustache was part of some manicured irony. But Her is sincere at its heart, and is no more of an elaborate fashion statement than Wes Anderson is a hipster who dresses his worlds in sumptuous arraignments to avoid any feeling. The world of this film, in which people wear cut-off trousers, live in open, stylized apartments and are inseparable from their technology, is just a reflection of where we are now and where we are headed. It's a near future look at the Apple Generation – obsessed with the latest refreshment of material trends, living in a world of perfect technological shortcuts – and although there is some obvious satire in this, like the job Joaquin Phoenix has at 'handwrittenletters.com' writing love letters on behalf of couples, the film isn't mocking or necessarily judging these people so much as it is just speculating how we would just romantically navigate in a world like this. A common criticism seems to be that the film, like the state of much of the population in it, is emotionally disconnected and that the concept of people having romantic surrogates to write letters on their behalf is implausible, which I don't understand. These are just one of the many ways in which people are utilising short-cuts in their lives, technological or otherwise, to reduce their energy and commitment to a task. We do it constantly; we're always finding ways of reducing the distance from A to B. What this film doesn't portray is a world of Orwellian automatons complete devoid of emotion. There is still genuine feeling in the world, but the problem is that people are becoming less capable of expressing it.
Theodore Twombly, the reserved and melancholy protagonist, awkward and slightly askew like his name, is played with absolute tenderness by Joaquin Phoenix. He's both fragile and innocent and youthfully exuberant and seeing a tentative smile on his face was like seeing Toby Maguire, if he was a far more convincing actor. Phoenix is so far removed from his role in The Master that I struggle to accept the two are the same person. That is a wonderful thing. And what he has to do here, in communicating and falling in love with a disembodied voice, is drawn on his emotions without the usual external stimuli and still make it convincing. But it's not entirely due to Phoenix that his journey is so captivating to watch. His character experiences throughout the film the aching pains of the purgatorial post-break-up, the surging currents of falling in love and the precariousness of that position, and revitalisation in a new awareness of one's situation - all of which the film beautifully captures as it feels in a constant state of heightened feeling. The film exists in this odd amalgamation of the Los Angeles and Shanghai, of smooth sweeping walkways and scattered shrubbery and neon, and so it looks perfect and comforting but it's also artificial. Early on in the film when we see Theodore walking home against the tall imposing cityscape I was reminded of Lost in Translation, in which a lively and personable city just furthers the sense of inward isolation. All this gestating emotion is also captured in the soft and occasionally subdued palette, which looks as if all the warmth and energy is just under the surface, waiting to burst forth. Often the most vibrant object on screen is Theodore himself, with his wonderful array of shirts, because he's a lonely beacon of colour in a world he's too detached from, ya see?
But the film doesn't make the mistake of condoning Theodore's isolationism, or romanticising his inwardness and failure in maintain healthy relationships. The Operating System which he purchases, which is advertised as being able to adapt and perfectly implement itself in his lifestyle reflects this; he wants something that can entirely meet his needs and support him, because he hasn't quite built the momentum to do that himself. Enter Scarlett Johansson, in disembodied form, as Samantha, whose performance, like Phoenix's, is a testament to her versatility. She, as this artificial intelligence, seems so far removed from an emotionally dulled robot, the blossoming relationship between her and Theodore requires little, if any, active suspension of disbelief. She is effervescent, sweet, seductive, thoughtful, caring, and the smallest displays of vocal presence, from giggles of delight to breathy and nervous sighs were halfway there in making me fall in love with her too. In Under the Skin, Johansson plays an alien who arrives on Earth effectively a blank slate and throughout her journey we see a slowly growing and struggling humanity, and here Johansson takes a similar path, in that she is an intelligent A.I that we witness become more sentient and aware until it begins to develop its own life, the fundamental difference being that she is designed to specifically emulate human behaviour, and is convincing at it.
As the film goes on and Theodore deepens his relationship with Samantha, we see from him past relationship with Catherine, played by the ever scintillating Rooney Mara, why he is probably drawn to her in the first place. In the many warm and polaroid-like flashbacks with Catherine, everything is alive and awash in the great highs of love, but when she actually makes an appearance in the present she accuses him of neglecting her needs. Amy Adams also warrants a mention, and here is the first time I've seen her playing an ordinary person just going through the motions of life.
There is much philosophical subtext beyond the confines of this review, particularly in the implications of what actually happens to Samantha and her fellow A.I in the end. There is a suggestion of enlightenment, of some crystalline world not yet ready to us, but the film itself feels so damn pure.