“Her” is a love story. It’s the charming tale of how I fell in love with Spike Jonze. Spike found me, disparaged by my previous relationships with the likes of Baz Luhrmann and Gavin Hood. Most recently, I had just gotten out of a bad fight with David O. Russell, who had made some… interesting choices for American Hustle. It wasn’t so much the choices that had made us fall out, it had been the fact that he wouldn’t apologize for them. I can only take so much melodrama from one man.

But I digress. Spike found me, torn apart by mediocre directing, poor cinematography, and unoriginal book-to-film adaptations and sequels and he swooped me up in his arms and reawakened me to the world of good films.

“Her” is perfect. The worldbuilding is astounding: from ludicrously high pants to beautiful cityscapes and intricately futuristic designs in each individual room, Jonze has paid an intense amount of attention to detail. Each casting decision has been made absolutely perfectly: Joaquin Phoenix’s beautiful sheepish but likable writer, Amy Adams’ adorable and supportive videogame designer, and most notably Scarlett Johansson’s amazing portrayal of a computer AI that someone could fall in love with. The film’s cinematography, too, is the best that you can find (with the possible exception of “Gravity”, the film who took this year’s cinematography oscar). Artistically low apertures, incredibly subtle lighting choices, and a beautiful appreciation for the use of colors that aren’t simply orange or blue makes “Her” a movie that could win my heart with the sound off (not that that is a good idea – Arcade Fire wrote the soundtrack and it’s great). The sheer subtle mastery of each choice boggles the mind: with a simple camera and a bedroom, “Her” finds a way to communicate lonely-dark, sad-dark, calm-dark, bright with energy and bright with frustration.

As should be the focus of any film review, however, the truly astounding piece of “Her” is its plot. With the slightly odd premise of a man falling in love with his computer, “Her” executes a poetic story about loneliness and technology. It reminds me of a modern version of “Fahrenheit 451”, in which Bradbury’s similarly beautiful writing talks eloquently about the growing superficiality of our culture, powered increasingly by our obsession with living in our own little worlds, separate and unquestioningly entertained by each of our devices. It is similar too in its ability to understand that some technology is good but some is damaging. “Her” definitely communicates to us that such a relationship would be fine, but it also serves as a warning not to become too caught up in ourselves and the individual sense of humanity that that might encourage.

More than any heavy-handed message, “Her” is a just a poem. It lets you interpret it in myriad ways, but all-in-all the central message is one about how people (programmed or otherwise) fall in love and fall apart.