Cogito Ergo Sum?

Yesterday, Meghan and I went to see Her. I was not impressed. I wasn’t emotionally compelled by the story, except to feel pity for the main character. I was not invested in the relationship (if you can call it that) between Theodore Twombly and Samantha, his OS. I wasn’t at all aroused by the parade of pathetically empty humans trying to connect (or sort of connect) sexually. My inner old man really took over for this film experience. I laughed a few times, but mostly I just felt uncomfortable. Intellectually, I understand the artistic merits of making the audience feel uncomfortable, but, in this case, I did not enjoy my discomfort on any level, aesthetically or otherwise. It was just discomfort, and an overarching sense of mental watch checking. When is this going to be over? I do not think we experienced an Aristotelian case of catharsis. This really wasn’t a tragedy, anyway. However, I can thank the film for giving me the opportunity to contemplate all of those freshman philosophy questions that have taken up much of humanity’s mental energy since abstract thought became possible.

One of the major questions the film brings to mind is reminiscent of Descartes Meditation. What is consciousness? Descartes, famously, determined that we think, thus we are. As Samantha, the AI OS thinks, develops, and, dare I say, evolves, she, predictably, puts that conclusion to a stern test. IS Samantha? Does she be? She seems to have the capacity for thinking, she makes apparently conscious choices, and she ultimately displays what could be free will. So is she real in the Cartesian sense?

Another major question the film demands the viewer to ask harkens back to that granddaddy of old thinkers, Plato. What is love? It might be that transcendent stairway that begins with physical attraction and proceeds to the plane of the intellect; however, the film’s central relationship complicates that concept by presenting an object of affection that is no real object at all. Can one have physical attraction for a nonentity? Scenes from the film might suggest that one can, but I am skeptical. Aristotle’s theories of love are also thrown for a loop, as the film makes his equation of two bodies and one spirit impossible to compute due to one missing body. (We will not wrestle with the devil of an idea of the soul.) So, can one love a (basically) inanimate object?

One of the more grounded scenes in the film occurs toward the end, when Samantha and Theodore are going through a difficult stretch in their relationship.  During one of many talks, Samantha pauses and sighs before a response to one of Theodore’s questions. Theodore asks, “Why do you do that?” Samantha does not know what he means. Theodore explains that she takes a breath sometimes before she responds. “You don’t breathe,” he tells her. Yes, Theodore, and what does that tell you? Samantha, in many respects, can be regarded as a rock that talks. She is a brain in the purely mechanical sense, albeit a brain that can convince itself that it can manifest feelings. She seems to be everything that a human being is, without the body. So, is she human? No. Is she alive? No. Can she love? Ah. That is a sticking point. After all, from Plato to Freud to Schopenhauer to Lou Gramm: does anybody really know what love is?

As an intellectual pursuit, I think this film was at least interesting. As a film, it was not my favorite. I will say, as a final word, that whatever future this film was set in, I look forward to the daily fashion of flannel pants, small- or no-collared Oxford shirts, and Buck-style shoes. I couldn’t see myself loving an OS (even one as pleasantly-voiced as Scarlet Johansen), but I could see myself styling in those fashion forward high-waist slacks. I would prefer a belt, however.