Top Hugh Grant F-Bombs, ranked:

#1: "Fuck-a-doodle-doo."
#2: "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity fuck!"
#3: "That better not be the B359." "It's the B359." "Fuuuuckkk it!"

A very singular type of viewing experience— beguiling and mystifying in nearly every way. It slowly hooked me into its strange and isolated story, and the 1 h 43 min runtime disappeared so quickly that now all I remember is just the unique atmosphere it evoked.

One thing I didn’t pay much attention to through all my rewatches in the past 4 years is how this film opens and closes with Theodore’s letters. The first one being an impersonal, distant version of him, a letter disguised as a form of intimacy and connection— but it’s all fake. We grow even more apart in this world despite its crowds of people and vast cityscapes, and the longing for something real is so overwhelming. Theodore embodies this longing so deeply, but, by his last letter, the beautiful words he writes ring true because he’s lived them.

Spike Jonze, please pay for my therapy bills.