Her (2013)

Joaquin Phoenix, Amy Adams, the voice of Scarlett Johanssen

"That was weird," pronounced my movie mate after viewing Her on Sunday.

"Yes, but also strangely compelling," I said.

Whether you think Her is weird or compelling or both depends on your attitude toward technology, relationships, and/or long close-ups of Joaquin Phoenix's mustachioed mug. Writer/Director Spike Jonze, who specializes in The Weird And Compelling (Adaptation, Being John Malkovich, Where The Wild Things Are), has created a brilliant meditation on what constitutes "relationship" as well as the inevitable collision of humanity and technology. But unlike such tech-gone-rogue cautionary tales as I-Robot, Artificial Intelligence, The Terminator, or (fill in the name of your favorite Sci-Fi "it's learned to think!" flick), the damage is less violent but no less impactful.

I was curious to see this thought-provoking film, set in a pleasant, near-future Los Angeles where technology has advanced significantly enough to where humans can fall in love with their highly-evolved, talking computers. (It's also a future where apparently the waistlines of pants have been raised to new heights and a sort of washed-out, kindergarten yellow-orange-blue color palette has taken over fashion and design). For me, the film is a commentary on the increasing separation and isolation people feel in an increasingly digitized world, and how human connection becomes that much harder to accomplish. At the same time, Her is deeply romantic, where technology is simply the latest tool by which we express all-too-human longings and needs that require another human to satisfy. Still, whether relationships involve humans or machines, the outcome seems predictable.

By now, you know the setup: Mild-mannered writer Theodore Twombley mopes through his solitary routine, unhinged by the fact that his childhood friend-turned-wife (Rooney Mara) is now divorcing him. On a whim, he downloads a brand-new artificially intelligent OS1 operating system that promises to attune itself to his every need and thought. "Samantha," voiced with throaty enthusiasm by Scarlett Johanssen, not only manages the details of Twombley's external life, but her refreshing candor and curiosity also gain her entry into his internal life as well. When she inquires about the cause of his marriage's demise, Twombley says, "I hid myself away in the relationship." It's a line that any insecure, commitment-phobic, life-distracted person can relate to. It becomes easier, therefore, for Twombley to open up to a consciousness and personality that is always accepting, always supportive, and always there -- until, of course, she's not.

So much of filmmaking wisdom is of the "show, don't tell" variety, but Jonze's script allows the conversations and discoveries between Theodore and Samantha to roll out in organic fashion. These are the kind of getting-to-know-you moments of information, teasing, inside jokes, confession, and dream sharing that can be the foundations of love. Too many movies have characters exchange names and then fall into bed, so this kind of back and forth feels refreshing for a while. Until it goes on too long and starts to feel way too precious and we grow tired of staring at Joaquin's lip fur as he listens to Samantha purr.

There are some truly funny moments in Her, first having to do with the nature of his writing job, then with the 3-D video game he diverts himself with in the evenings (director Jonze voices the impertinent "Alien Child") as well as the "Perfect Mom" video game Theodore's pal Amy (Amy Adams) is programming. The shot of Theodore walking outside, deep in conversation with his OS device, which widens to show that everyone on the street is similarly engaged, is thoroughly ironic. There are also some awkward moments, mostly having to do with sex. "You're a creepy man," accuses a drunken blind date (Olivia Wilde), who only moments before had been engaging Theodore in French kisses and pleas for commitment. And Samantha's plan to utilize a human surrogate in her relationship with Theodore is painful to watch.

Ultimately, though, Her made me want to cry. You will no doubt be thinking, "Why, for heaven's sake?" Some see this film as being hopeful about love. I -- the repressed romantic -- see it as hopeless. With technology becoming more and more complicated and advanced, and more of the world being sucked into its embrace, Her seems less like a cautionary tale and more like a Coming Attractions reel for the future.

FYI: Jonze picked up a Best Screenplay honor for Her at the Golden Globe on Jan. 12.

"American Hustle" (2013)

Christian Bale, Amy Adams, Bradley Cooper, Jennifer Lawrence
Directed by David O. Russell


“We have to get over on all these people.”

Focus on that. It’s the concept that Sydney Prosser/Edith Greensley (Amy Adams) holds out to boyfriend /business partner Irving Rosenfeld (Christian Bale) to get him to brainstorm the Swindle that will save their swindling asses. She utters the line three-quarters of the way through American Hustle, and after all the tumult and complications the plot has put these characters through, we can’t wait to see what they’ll come up with. We know it’s gonna be juicy.

Why do we love a good hustle? Are we born with larceny in our hearts? Are we so greedy as a culture that we get the hots entertaining the notion of grifting other folks? Give us The Sting, The Grifters, The Great Train Robbery, The Great Escape (hell, give us The Wolf Of Wall Street), and we’re thrilled. It’s not called “American” for nothing, and this Hustle straight has us. Watching this whiz-bang ride of a movie, we’re as hungry for the takedown as the conning characters. Why? Because maybe at heart we all feel like poor schnooks ourselves, and sticking it to someone else makes us feel just grand.

American Hustle is loosely based on the ABSCAM scandal of the late ‘70s, in which the FBI was able to nail politicians for taking bribes. Certainly, congressmen and others in high office who take home attaché cases of cash in exchange for legislative favors is a concept we’re against. But this film is also about the price to be paid for daring to upset the undercurrents and utilizing a kind of To Catch A Thief justice.

Over-eager FBI agent Richie Di Maso (Cooper), looking to make his bones at the Bureau, practically shoves the booty down the pols’ throats while drooling in anticipation of the bust, which almost routs the operation. He isn’t smooth enough to swing the sting himself. He needs the duo of Rosenfeld & Prosser, whom he’s busted for small-time loansharking. He’s strong-armed the lovers into working his takedown scheme in return for reduced sentences. The trio proceeds to hook Carmine Polito, the mayor of nearby Camden, New Jersey, by claiming ties to a wealthy sheikh who can bankroll the redevelopment of the then-in-decline Atlantic City in light of newly approved gambling legislation. As Irving gets closer to good-guy Polito, the two develop a real rapport and he begins to have misgivings about the entrapment scheme. More complications ensue as Irving and Sydney clash over how to handle Di Maso, who keeps trying to raise the stakes. Sydney seemingly transfers her affections to the hyper Di Maso, while Irving’s neglected, pathetically narcissistic wife (Jennifer Lawrence), ignorant of her husband’s predicament, further mucks up the works.

What this movie has for it is incredible style and dynamic performances from the cast. The pacing and montages owe a nod to Scorsese, while the start-in-the-middle technique owes a nod to Billy Wilder and Tarantino. But director Russell – whose serio-comic oeuvre includes Spanking The Monkey, Flirting With Disaster, The Fighter, and Silver Linings Playbook -- is no slouch. The music placement – Elton John’s “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road,” ELO’s “Long Black Road,” Tom Jones “Delilah” (telegraphing or underscoring the action) -- is brilliant. The sets, costumes, and dynamite soundtrack scream the ‘70s, though at times the styling approaches kitsch as Sydney’s every braless outfit plunges to her navel and curlers emerge as the must-have accessory of the era.

The acting is astonishing. You can’t even believe that British, once-buff Batman Bale is buried inside this pot-bellied, comb-overed Lawn Guyland shyster; he so disappears into the character that the movie is easily hijacked by the histrionics of Cooper, in a perm as tightly wound as Richie’s emotions, and by floozy Jennifer Lawrence. Cooper’s take on an Italian mama’s boy with off-the-chain ambitions is startling. Amy Adams is consistently good, this time taking on not only Sydney, but Sydney’s impersonation of a cool British banking heiress who mercilessly teases and fleeces Richie. And JLaw, who seems at first too young for the role of Irving’s clueless wife, creates a unique characterization of both dunderheadedness and vulnerability. There is so much great acting and design on display here that you won’t know which way to look.

Sure, like any piece of art if you examine it too closely you’ll see the flaws. But who cares. The fix is in, kids. Let American Hustle get over on you. Your senses will be delighted and your thirst for cinema larceny will be quenched. You may be hustled, but fair exchange is no robbery.