#Her spike jonze broll movie

He’s about to shoot the sixth take of scene 45 of Her, in which his protagonist, Theodore Twombly, engages in some languid, quietly flirtatious bonding with his operating system while riding an elevated train. Center Studios, a lot in downtown Los Angeles the best-known tenants of which are currently Mad Men and The Voice. “Let’s go again! Right away!” It’s the morning of June 21, 2012, and Jonze is on Stage 6 at L.A. “I always wanted it to be a relationship movie,” he says, “and that was at odds with it being high-concept-y.” For all his imaginative conceits, Jonze is, in his way, a realist he’s less interested in playing with the technologically extraordinary than he is in demonstrating the ways in which it can burrow into our most private selves. The result is not just a cautionary meditation on romance and technology but a subtle exploration of the weirdness, delusiveness, and one-sidedness of love. But just as he did in Being John Malkovich and Adaptation, Jonze uses the gimmick to unlock a door to unsmirky human feeling. Her springs from a notion that could be played as rimshot contemporary satire: A sensitive, lonely guy (Joaquin Phoenix) coming off a rough divorce falls head over heels for a woman who’s literally custom-made for him-the artificially sentient female voice of his new computer operating system. Like his other work, it is searching, disarmingly sincere, and melancholy in surprising places. The film, a wistful adult romantic drama set in a near-future L.A., is the first Jonze has written on his own as well as directed. It may be the most personal film yet from a director who has long juggled so many personae that his actual identity remains deliberately elusive, even after twenty years in the spotlight. Her is not about the woman in the photo so much as it is about the man longing, perhaps hopelessly, to connect with that woman.

#Her spike jonze broll movie

The movie that grew from that gesture will have its world premiere as the closing-night attraction of the New York Film Festival on October 12 and will open in New York on December 18. “Huh, that’s still there!” he says, pleasantly surprised. On the one that he finally decided felt right, he had written three lowercase letters in black marker: her. Then he took it off, replaced it with another, and then another. When Jonze started to write his newest film, he made a small editorial addition to the image-a ragged piece of a yellow Post-it note that he stuck on the glass over the photograph. A memory of this girl, in this beautiful, funny forest.” “The mood of a day without the specifics. “It feels like a memory,” he says, raising his fingers toward the photograph.

Specifically, for a grown-up who wants room to think.

His home is large enough to accommodate a crowd, but it’s designed for a party of one. Jonze grew up on the East Coast but has recently spent much of his time in Los Angeles, and the loft feels capacious enough to accommodate his many selves-one can imagine the skateboard brat of the eighties heel-flipping across the floor while the subversive-music-video prodigy of the nineties blasts the Beastie Boys and the still precocious but mature film artist of the last ten years shuts out the noise and works alone at his desk. Around a corner from where we’re standing, a bedroom glows behind a wall of curtained glass, but the flow of Jonze’s sunsplashed Lower East Side living space allows him to pad barefoot from where he writes to where he plays music to where he has meetings to where he eats to where he hangs out.