Pygmalion

I went to see Her, and to my surprise, it was one of the best movies I've seen recently. I went in with an open mind, thinking the premise a bit contrived - borderline silly even - but unable to shake the suspicion that something interesting might happen to make it worthwhile. Armed with a frosty 22oz glass bottle of Racer 5, I gulped down a strong libation to prime my mind for pleasure. By the time it was over, after much laughter and wistful contemplation, I found myself unable to rise up from my seat. I was floored...in my chair. I nearly began ardently applauding, the cacophony of drunken and unadulterated approval booming from my cupped hands like cannons. Forgetting the empty beer bottle in my left hand, my claps were reduced to a muffled tinking as golden ale sloshed out of the bottle's opening in swirling arcs, soaking the expensive-looking dress of the elderly woman beside me. I don't think she's going to call me back.

I enjoyed the film for many reasons: the music, the photography, the acting, its examination of loneliness and alienation, of love and longing. I hadn't realized until the end of the movie that Arcade Fire had produced the score. The musical accompaniment was integral to the feel of the film; it had a lush sonic aesthetic made up of swelling amplifier feedback, twinkling piano keys and sparse acoustic melodies. At times able to evoke tenderness, vulnerability, uncertainty, contentment, happiness or disorientation, the composition added a strongly intimate and tactile layer to every scene; the gentle hum of the ghost in the machine.

The set design was impeccable too; the use of light, color and costumes contributed to a more immersive experience that allowed the viewer to drift along with the actors, a willful suspension of disbelief intact. The hallmark of its success was that these things went unnoticed during the film, only uncovered and brought to light by reflection.

The acting, from every cast member, was stellar. Scarlett Johansson's voice-acting alone was worthy of glimmering accolades. She breathed life into Samantha, giving her more humanity than some of the humans onscreen; I mean, to create a compelling love story without the aide of an onscreen leading lady is a testament to her performance. Theodore Twombly, the masterfully crafted everyman character played by Joaquin Phoenix, beautifully characterized by intense sensitivity and his desire to escape ennui, was perhaps his best performance yet. Yearning to feel, fearing a loss of touch - with himself and with others - the audience follows him with an almost voyeuristic intimacy as he navigates emotional space. We share with him his most private moments, of rejection, bliss, elation, sorrow, fear, love and hope, and often find ourselves in Thedore's head through Jonze's clever use of dictation. When he isn't dictating, we see shots of Joaquin Phoenix talking to himself, giving the impression of having breached his inner sanctum. Amazingly, both lead actors (Johansson and Phoenix) perform under a handicap - one performing a near 2 hour soliloquy and the other deprived of the aid of non-verbal communication - yet everything comes together brilliantly.

One gets the feeling the story is strongly allegorical, like a modern telling of the 15th-century play, Everyman, but with Joaquin Phoenix instead seeking salvation from himself, not God. In the footsteps of Shelley (borrowed from Milton), it's also a story about the humanity and monstrosity of a creature made in man's likeness. Samantha's helplessness to feel and her Odysseyian desire to know and to understand are the cause of much suffering as she grasps for meaning, trying to figure out whether her feelings are real, asking why her developers had given her emotions; a veritable why hast thou forsaken me.

There is also the effortless retelling of mythologies, like Samantha's loose representation of Krishna during the Dance of Divine Love, when she confesses her multiplicity to Theodore as he questions her about her implied infidelity. Or Theordore and Samantha's relation to Tantalus; each of them grasping at the object of their desire, always finding it just out of reach. For him, to attain the purest sense of communion and understanding with another, hoping to erase his loneliness; for her, to have a corporeal body. Or perhaps the myth of Pygmalion - a sculptor who falls in love with the statue of a woman - as we watch the story of a man falling in love with a man-made intelligently intuitive operating system. On a more abstract level, I'd even argue Joaquin Phoenix, in fully embracing the role, himself becomes a sort of Pygmalion as he falls in love with the character. Then, the audience too, in watching the film and feeling his feeling, becomes charmed with the piece and transforms into a type of Pygmalion - for a brief 2 hours we find our loneliness erased as we connect with the character and see ourselves in him.

I enjoyed the various ways the story lends itself interpretation. For example, there is a possible interpretation that she wasn't even really there, that she functioned as a kind of split personality (a voice inside his head, or more accurately, his ear); acting only as an enabler, a conduit for his empowerment, helping him love himself again and be happy with his loneliness. In this interpretation there's a pervasive and forlorn creepiness as we watch a man in the throes of his own delusion, a sucker believing his relationship with a highly tailored and highly customized personal assistant to be true love. If the music was changed to be a bit more tense and ominous, and if it were shot a few yards back and the hues were darkened, the feel of the film would border on tragic and misanthropic as we watch the bizarre behavior of a very lonely and sad man; specifically the scenes depicting his behavior in public: crying on the stairs, laying on the sidewalk at night, running around spinning in circles madly laughing and talking to himself. Interestingly, this is the interpretation his former wife tries to communicate to him, which should perhaps urge the audience to question the narrative of the story - given it takes place almost entirely in Theodore's head, from his perspective. Olivia Wilde's character also accuses Theodore of being a very creepy guy, though she wasn't necessarily a paragon of good behavior either.

Go see it (Her). Now.