feedingbrett’s review published on Letterboxd:
It is banal of me to state at this point that sitting through Her is a profoundly and emotionally resonating experience, each run through seemingly more charged than the last, penetrating me unlike anything I have ever encountered in my life as it reveals layers of myself that I often suppress, ensuring the competent functioning of my day to day life. The film releases the lock within me and floods all of its components out, gaining a sense of relief that is simply indescribable, but simultaneously the raging flood would become moments of reflection of my own unattained desires and deepening fears of my ultimate outcome, stripping my eyes dry with every little piece of my subconscious that comes into the spotlight.
Questions are constantly left for me to ask; querying the greater forces of the universe or simply whispering to myself with great pity and sorrow on why even up to now that I am deprived of life’s greatest joy; the concept of love existing as a mutualistic pathway, a process of giving and receiving that allows a companionship between two strangers to collectively grow with one another. Her realistically exposes how a relationship would eventually evolve in considering with the changing individuals within it, seeing one another as different from what they once were, highlighting negativity and unsatisfaction that would inevitably lead to their separation to avoid further toxicity.
Strangely enough, it was in my envious yearning that made this such an emotionally wrecking experience rather than the expected sense of empathy and nostalgic reflection from seeing the course of Theodore and Samantha’s relationship. I sat there, staring intently, watching how wonderfully fortunate Theodore and Samantha is, to have found one another, to need one another, to endure with one another, to develop with one another, to dissolve from one another, to possess that sadly temporary bond that allow their life to be fulfilled even within a concise and foreseeable time frame. I found myself unable to efficiently see Theodore for who he is, instead I fade myself within the frame and donning this character’s skin; to feel what he feels at that given moment, to be there and have someone laugh and converse with you in a manner that is not simply for the sake politeness, to hold onto another in a such a state of adoration to the point where it feels like desperation, to sit next to that significant other whilst leaning one’s head on that person’s shoulder, listening to the subtlety in their respiration that speaks more of the world than the speeches that come from a philosopher’s mouth.
I fear that one day such perfections in life would never come to me, reaching a death that would undoubtedly be filled with sorrow and regret, enduring life as a survivor rather than enthusiast. 21 years have already passed by in my life, and I have spent much of my formative years attempting to find that critical piece that would allow me to view life for what it truly represents, time expended in showcasing the extent of my own heart, the potential for myself to be a valuable piece of another person’s life, to transform them as they would me. Why could life be so cruel? Why does it allow me to feel such things? Why doesn’t it clearly reveal to me the flaws of my ways, and when feedbacks do appear, why is it difficult for me to follow them wholeheartedly? Am I a doomed individual? Am I the outlier of life’s pure definition? A large part of me is proud of the happiness derived from love that has entered into the lives of many, but I cannot help but shed tears for myself indulgently as I stand excluded of exploring life’s greatest attribute. Her would never lucidly be the optimistic and life-affirming journey that it wants to be, it would always find a way to emotionally crumble my strongest of foundations, to the point of almost impossible recovery.