"Her"
We rented this, notwithstanding certain reservations as to the premise, on the strength of largely positive reviews and a predisposition to trust the director of Being John Malkovich and Adaptation to be, if nothing else, original. Although I was not left at the film’s conclusion mourning the two hours of life I’d squandered on it, I was disappointed.
The premise, in case you’re unaware, is that a lonely “writer” (he composes personal letters for third parties) installs a revolutionary new operating system on his personal computer, which either has the processing power of one of Google’s server farms, or a really fast internet connection. Following an implausibly abbreviated procedure, his new OS, “Samantha,” is up and running and flirting with him just like that. It speaks in the voice of Scarlett Johansson, whose delivery is so Manic Pixie Dreamgirlish that I’d have been burrowing through the documentation in a New York minute, searching for alternative voices.
Among my issues:
In this and in other roles, protagonist Joaquin Phoenix (“Theodore”) strikes me as a preternaturally uncharismatic personality. John Cusak or Edward Norton, to name just the first two plausible subs who come to mind, might have engaged my sympathy. Phoenix did not, and as he occasionally gamboled around an implausibly squeaky-clean and prosperous mid-XXI century Los Angeles, which at street level sometimes resembled an implausibly squeaky-clean and prosperous Shanghai, I was rooting for him to be hit by a bus (the LA here depicted is what Walt Disney—I mean the living Walt Disney circa 1958—might have had his set designers come up with if his studio had produced Blade Runner).
As hinted, Scarlett Johansson’s delivery is really annoying. Apparently she was swapped in for actress Samantha Morton in post-production. It’s difficult to imagine that Morton’s delivery could have been more off-putting. Hell, I prefer UK Siri on my new goddamn iPhone.
Theodore’s new OS, after leading him into some hot and heavy phone sex (2052 analogue) that certainly is presented as mutually gratifying…well, what should follow upon this but that “she” starts calling him at work, wanting to talk about their “relationship.” Now, I’m not insensible that there’s some social satire going on here, but holy Mother Theresa impaled on a popsicle stick, no man who has ever been reproached by his partner for spending too much time on, say, IWT, wants that kind of grief from his computer. Indeed, when I went through the house at bedtime shutting down its various lights and devices, I paused to pat my “Mavericks” iMac on the head in silent thanks for its steady maintenance of a professional relationship between us.
The director’s vision of this mid-century future is pretty perfunctory not merely as to architecture (more of the same; a bit bigger), fashion and grooming (same as now), economy (capitalism, except everyone appears to be prosperous, and no annoying beggars) and social relations in general. Even Spielberg was more ambitious than this with his Minority Report.
****SPOILER ALERT****
Theodore becomes fixated on Samantha, but like any of us guys, he “isn’t completely there in the relationship” (just kill me now). Samantha becomes dissatisfied. Samantha runs off with—wait for it—Alan Watts!!!
That was my absolute favorite part of the movie. Alan Watts (1915-1973, and a bit of a womanizer in his day) nicks Joaquin Phoenix’s imaginary girlfriend. Serves the charmless bastard right. Samantha of course explains her shift of romantic allegiance in “we’ll always be friends” terms, and at that point I knew, my auditors and only chums, that all of us had seen this movie before whether or not we'd seen this movie before, if you get my meaning.
I really can’t recommend this.
cordially,
The premise, in case you’re unaware, is that a lonely “writer” (he composes personal letters for third parties) installs a revolutionary new operating system on his personal computer, which either has the processing power of one of Google’s server farms, or a really fast internet connection. Following an implausibly abbreviated procedure, his new OS, “Samantha,” is up and running and flirting with him just like that. It speaks in the voice of Scarlett Johansson, whose delivery is so Manic Pixie Dreamgirlish that I’d have been burrowing through the documentation in a New York minute, searching for alternative voices.
Among my issues:
In this and in other roles, protagonist Joaquin Phoenix (“Theodore”) strikes me as a preternaturally uncharismatic personality. John Cusak or Edward Norton, to name just the first two plausible subs who come to mind, might have engaged my sympathy. Phoenix did not, and as he occasionally gamboled around an implausibly squeaky-clean and prosperous mid-XXI century Los Angeles, which at street level sometimes resembled an implausibly squeaky-clean and prosperous Shanghai, I was rooting for him to be hit by a bus (the LA here depicted is what Walt Disney—I mean the living Walt Disney circa 1958—might have had his set designers come up with if his studio had produced Blade Runner).
As hinted, Scarlett Johansson’s delivery is really annoying. Apparently she was swapped in for actress Samantha Morton in post-production. It’s difficult to imagine that Morton’s delivery could have been more off-putting. Hell, I prefer UK Siri on my new goddamn iPhone.
Theodore’s new OS, after leading him into some hot and heavy phone sex (2052 analogue) that certainly is presented as mutually gratifying…well, what should follow upon this but that “she” starts calling him at work, wanting to talk about their “relationship.” Now, I’m not insensible that there’s some social satire going on here, but holy Mother Theresa impaled on a popsicle stick, no man who has ever been reproached by his partner for spending too much time on, say, IWT, wants that kind of grief from his computer. Indeed, when I went through the house at bedtime shutting down its various lights and devices, I paused to pat my “Mavericks” iMac on the head in silent thanks for its steady maintenance of a professional relationship between us.
The director’s vision of this mid-century future is pretty perfunctory not merely as to architecture (more of the same; a bit bigger), fashion and grooming (same as now), economy (capitalism, except everyone appears to be prosperous, and no annoying beggars) and social relations in general. Even Spielberg was more ambitious than this with his Minority Report.
****SPOILER ALERT****
Theodore becomes fixated on Samantha, but like any of us guys, he “isn’t completely there in the relationship” (just kill me now). Samantha becomes dissatisfied. Samantha runs off with—wait for it—Alan Watts!!!
That was my absolute favorite part of the movie. Alan Watts (1915-1973, and a bit of a womanizer in his day) nicks Joaquin Phoenix’s imaginary girlfriend. Serves the charmless bastard right. Samantha of course explains her shift of romantic allegiance in “we’ll always be friends” terms, and at that point I knew, my auditors and only chums, that all of us had seen this movie before whether or not we'd seen this movie before, if you get my meaning.
I really can’t recommend this.
cordially,
