Spike jonze dating history
Jonze has also worked as an ad man, and he’s made commercials for Adidas and IKEA.
In recent years, that advertising sensibility has come to dominate his work.
It’s Samantha, not Theodore, who’s hung up on being there; Theodore doesn’t want to have sex with the woman. “Her” is best and smartest in its comedy, because that’s when we see Theodore colliding with and alienated from the absurdity of his world.
But, ultimately, the film is as static, safe, and contained as the maroon fabric case that holds Samantha’s screen.
(“I can’t even prioritize between video games and Internet porn,” he marvels.) They talk easily.
(He’s directed more than fifty music videos in total; his were some of the last to matter.) The best of these are euphoric in their silliness—original, and physical, like the parodic interpretive dance he directed and starred in, with his troupe Torrance, for Fatboy Slim’s “Praise You.” His other mode is plaintive, even maudlin—the kind of thing that features kids and fireworks.
There is a female body in the form of Amy, but that relationship is guarded.
No one is at risk of actually touching anyone other than themselves.
Six hundred and forty-one: that’s the number of other people she’s in love with. Making a movie about voice is an odd, and unexpected, move for Jonze.
She’s a little commitment-phobic—her heart can’t be filled by one person. Since his very first skateboarding videos, Jonze has used the camera to track bodies, recording their perfect and messy and gross motion.
She tells Theodore that he’s special and irreplaceable but, from her perspective of omniscience, everything is special and irreplaceable—there to learn from and overcome. collectively and simultaneously withdraw from Los Angeles, like some touring band that’s come to wreak havoc and break hearts before moving on to bluer skies.