Spike Jonze's Her Review

The story of Spike Jonze’s fourth feature film, Her, revolves around a man, Theodore (Joaquin Phoenix), who falls in love with Samantha (Scarlett Johansson). The catch of their relationship is that Samantha is trapped inside a computer – she has no body, and exists only as a sentient operating system. Jonze sets out to create a deeply compelling love story in his film, and does so quite well. The problem with Her, though, is that the compelling love story is not the one between man and machine, but rather, Theodore and his ex-wife Catherine (Rooney Mara).

            Before Theodore begins his relationship with Samantha, he has ended his relationship with Catherine. Or rather, she left him, because, in her words, “he couldn’t put up with real emotions and tried to put me on Prozac.” But before the demise of their marriage, there was true, passionate love, which Jonze shows the audience in montage form interspersed throughout the film. These montages, both cinematically and emotionally, are the most beautiful moments of the film. In a film laden with lingering, awkward close-ups, the montages instead pull back the camera and show the two caressing each other, laughing, smiling, and sometimes, even fighting. And we see the relationship end, with Catherine, tears in her eyes, sitting at the kitchen table, and Theodore looking upon her with his hands on his hips, tired and hopeless. But it’s beautiful, visible love, regardless of its end.

            But of course, this relationship was not meant to be the emotional core of Her. This distinction falls to Theodore and Samantha. And unfortunately, it happens to be the weak link in a film that surrounds it with fantastic secondary elements. Too much screen time is devoted to Theodore, sitting in his bed, or lying on a beach, simply talking to Samantha. And while Jonze’s intent of having the viewer solely focus on their relationship in these scenes is evident, he goes overboard with awkward close-ups of Joaquin Phoenix’s face. The camera hovers, and a feeling of intrusiveness sweeps through the theater, and it becomes hard to maintain focus on the screen, as Theodore speaks in a high pitched, nasally squeak that matches the awkwardness of the cinematography. The awkwardness is not derived from the fact that a man is dating his computer, but rather, that Jonze forces this relationship to be observed from an angle much too uncomfortable. Theodore is an awkward person, and Phoenix capably shows this part of his personality. But his awkwardness is not enjoyable in these scenes from the perspective of the theater seat.

            It is saddening that these close-ups and minimalistic man-computer scenes do not fully convey the beauty that the rest of the film does. Awkwardness aside, Phoenix’s performance is a passionate one, and his emotion regarding his relationships is strong. His eyes are heavy when he is sad and starry when he is happy. Amy Adams, as Amy, delivers a fantastic performance in support. Amy’s relationship with Charles (Matt Letscher) takes a toll on her, and the tiredness is visible on her face. She too begins a relationship with her operating system, and though it is platonic, Amy’s face begins to show more life as the film moves towards the conclusion. Chris Pratt, playing Theodore’s work companion Paul, is happy-go-lucky, and his lively, passionate smiles clearly show his love for both his girlfriend Tatiana (Laura Kai Chen) and the world around him.

            The soundtrack of the film is also fantastic, and matches up extremely well with the themes of love, happiness, and compassion. The preeminent indie band of the new millennium, Arcade Fire, scored the film, and their music provides a quirky, post-modern sound to the film. The soundtrack, full of slow, melodic piano rhythms, occurs mostly in the enjoyable montage portions of the film, and strengthens the passionate emotion seen on screen. The final scene, one of the most emotional in the film, would not be so without the fantastic post-rock instrumental piano piece that accompanies it.

            Jonze’s postmodern visuals, long a trademark in his films, also helps to set the mood of the film. The mis en scene is almost never symmetrical, and each of the sets is filled with low furniture and bright, aesthetically pleasing colors. Jonze also pumps a large amount of red and white into his design, whether it is in the color of clothing or in the luscious, bright lighting. These colors, symbolizing the purity and passion of love, are strong visual motifs that carry a large amount of emotional weight on their own accord.

            So while the main focus of the film is lacking, the supporting elements stand strongly enough on their own and make Her an enjoyable film. Jonze is a talented filmmaker, and even though, at some moments, the awkwardness overpowers the surrounding features of the film, the visual and audial aesthetics show a true beauty and passion. These features may not be the main element of the film, but are the definitive reason for buying a ticket to the movie.