What happens when you fall in love with a voice that knows you better than you know yourself? Spike Jonze’s Her (2013) dares to ask, weaving a sci-fi romance that feels achingly human, even a decade later. Set in a pastel-hued, near-futuristic Los Angeles, the film follows Theodore Twombly (Joaquin Phoenix), a lonely writer who finds solace and love in Samantha, an AI operating system voiced by Scarlett Johansson. It’s a premise that could’ve been gimmicky, but Jonze turns it into a soulful meditation on connection, one that resonates deeply in our algorithm-driven 2025.

Joaquin Phoenix’s performance is the film’s heartbeat. His Theodore is a man drowning in melancholy, his eyes carrying the weight of a broken marriage and a world that’s too slick for his sensitive soul. Phoenix doesn’t just act; he inhabits Theodore, making every hesitant smile and whispered confession feel raw. Scarlett Johansson’s voice-only role as Samantha is equally magnetic she’s playful, curious, and devastatingly intimate, making you forget she’s just code. Their chemistry, built on words and silences, is so potent it makes you ache for a relationship that’s inherently impossible. Yet, the film stumbles slightly in its final act, where the pacing drags as it grapples with its own philosophical ambitions, leaving some threads dangling.

Visually, Her is a triumph of understated brilliance. Hoyte van Hoytema’s cinematography bathes Los Angeles in soft pinks and oranges, creating a world that’s both futuristic and warmly nostalgic. The camera lingers on Phoenix’s face, capturing every flicker of emotion, while wide shots of sleek cityscapes mirror Theodore’s isolation. Arcade Fire’s score, with its delicate piano and synth pulses, weaves seamlessly into the narrative, amplifying the film’s emotional peaks without overpowering them. Together, they craft a vibe that’s both intimate and expansive like falling in love inside a daydream.

Why does Her still matter? In an era where we’re all tethered to our devices, swiping for connection on apps that promise intimacy but often deliver shallowness, the film’s exploration of love and loneliness feels prophetic. It asks if technology can truly know us, or if it just reflects our own desires back at us. Jonze doesn’t preach; he lets the question linger, trusting us to wrestle with it. For today’s audiences, hooked on AI-driven feeds and virtual interactions, Her is a mirror beautiful, unsettling, and impossible to look away from. Watch it, and you’ll hear Samantha’s voice in your head long after the credits roll.