Spike Jonze doesn't waste any time introducing us to the technology at the center of Her. "An operating system that can mimic human sentience?" a dangerously lonely Joaquin Phoenix wonders after catching glimpse of an ad in a transit station. "Don't mind if I do!" (He doesn't actually say that, don't worry.) But by the time we're meant to believe that such a world can seamlessly integrate characters like Scarlett Johansson's automated voice Samantha into the lives of living, breathing men and women like Phoenix's Theodore, we're already established residents of this arresting, icy, quivering world the filmmaker has built. We meet Theodore midway through his recitation of a "handwritten letter" he penned on behalf of a woman to her husband of many years. That's his job — tapping into his own unique sensititivies to play ghostwriter for people hoping to adorn their spouses, boyfriends, girlfriends, parents, and children with personal notes of personal affection. Theodore is no independent contractor; he's part of a thriving company, and we almost get the feeling that the folks on the receiving end of these letters are in the know. Before we ever encounter Samantha, we're embedded in the central conceit of the movie: emotional surrogacy is an industry on the rise.
What makes Jonze's world so palatable is that, beneath its marvelously eerie aesthetic, this idea is barely science-fiction. Theodore, humbled and scarred by a recent divorce from lifelong love Catherine (Rooney Mara, who contrasts Johansson by giving a performance that, for a large sum of the movie, is all body and no voice), accesses the will to go on through interractions with video game characters and phone-sex hotlines. But the ante is upped with Samantha, the self-named operating system that Theodore purchases to stave off loneliness, deeming choice a far less contorting one than spending time with old pals like Amy (Amy Adams)... at first.
Samantha evolves rather quickly from an articulate Siri into a curious companion, who is fed and engaged by Theodore just as much as she feeds and engages him. Jonze paces his construction of what, exactly, Samantha is so carefully that we won't even catch the individual steps in her change — along with Theodore, we slowly grow more and more enamored and mystified by his computer/assistant/friend/lover before we can recognize that we're dealing with a different being altogether from the one we met at that inceptive self-aware "H-hello?" But Jonze lays tremendous groundwork to let us know this story is all for something: all the while, as the attractions build and the hearts beat faster for Samantha, we foster an unmistakable sense of doom. We can't help but dread the very same perils that instituted one infamous admission: "I'm sorry, Dave. I'm afraid I can't do that."
But Jonze's sci-fi constructs are so cohesively intertwined with his love story that our dread doesn't exactly translate to an anticipation of HAL's hostile takeover. Her wedges us so tightly between Theodore and Samantha that our fears of the inevitable clash between man and machine apprehend a smaller, more intimate ruin. As Samantha's growth become more surprising and challenging to Theodore, to herself, and to us, the omens build for each.
And although all three parties know better, we cannot help but affix ourselves to the chemistry between Theodore and Samantha, and to the possibility that we're building toward something supreme. A good faction of this is due to the unbelievable performances of Phoenix — representing the cautious excitement that we all know so painfully well — and Johansson, who twists her disembodied voice so empathetically that we find ourselves, like Theodore, forgetting that we have yet to actually meet her. The one castigation that we can attach to the casting of Johansson is that such a recognizable face will, inevitably, work its way into our heads when we're listening to her performance. It almost feels like a cheat, although we can guarantee that a performance this good would render a figure just as vivid even if delivered by an unknown.
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In this way, Her is as effective a comment on the healthiest human relationships as it is on those that rope in third parties — be they of the living, automated, or greeting card variety. In fact, the movie has so many things to say that it occasionally steps on its own feet, opening up ideas so grand (and coloring them so brightly) that it sometimes has trouble capping them coherently. Admittedly, if Spike Jonze had an answer to some of the questions he's asking here, he'd probably be suspected of himself being a super-intelligent computer. But in telling the story of a man struggling to understand what it means to be in love, to an operating system or not, Jonze invites us to dissect all of the manic and trying and wonderful and terrifying and incomprehensible elements therein. Just like Samantha, Her doesn't always know what to do with all of its brilliance. But that might be part of why we're so crazy over the both of them.
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At 20 years old, Miley Cyrus now has two full years of adulthood under her belt. And, from the looks of things, she's psyched about it. On Saturday, Cyrus performed at her friend and collaborator DJ Borgore's Christmas Creampies concert at the Henry Ford Theater in Hollywood, Calif. sporting a shorter 'do, belly chain, and knee high python boots. This outfit was a wardrobe malfunction waiting to happen. But Cyrus, who shared the stage with a near-naked pole dancer, looked positively modest in comparison.
Strippers and side boob and snakeskin, oh my! After much pondering and chin stroking, we've decided that there is only one logical explanation for the aesthetics of this performance: Soon-to-be-married lady Cyrus was practicing for her bachelorette party.
We present to you, Miley's Steps to the Perfect Hen Party:
1. Find the perfect outfit. You know, something that just screams "I'm about to settle down!"
2. Enlist the help of some adult performers; they know all the best moves.
3. Grind up on some dude who's not your fiancé. It's your last chance!
Hey y'all, she's just being Miley!
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[Photo Credit: Chelsea Lauren/WireImage (3)]
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Pink is one brazen, sassy broad, and that's why we love her. While her hair — and her name — may be the color of baby blankets and cupcake frosting, "sweet" has never been the first word chosen to describe the rocker. In her new video for "Blow Me (One Last Kiss)," which premiered Thursday on MTV, Pink's kick-ass, take-no-prisoners demeanor is on full display.
Even before watching the video, the song's title and lyrics promise something a bit cheeky. What a great use of parenthesis, Pink, you're so punny. (Because, you know, on the surface you're telling some guy to blow you a kiss, but what you really mean is you want him to just f***k off. I get it! It's funny!) Pink shows that she means business with the lyrics, too, calling her ex out on his crap with lines like, "No more sick, wh*skey dick, no more battles for me." Hell no, you don't have to take that from him!
For all the song's sauciness, the "Blow Me (One Last Kiss)" video begins surprisingly tame. It's black and white, for starters, and the landscape has a sleepy, ethereal quality to it. And Pink's dress! It's Marie Antoinette meets Helen of Troy — and Pink looks soft and pretty. Unusual, right? Good thing it's not long before Pink is stripping down, throwing blood red wine in her stupid boy's face, and enacting a full-blown Carrie revenge on those who jilted her. Attagirl.
By the way, it was polite of Pink not to wear white in the wedding bit. The bride probably appreciated it.
One last note, by about the fourth listen this song takes on a "Call Me Maybe" level of catchiness. Just sayin'.
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[Photo Credit: Sony Music Entertainment]
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Pink Blow Me Video