Her is also a film that is as much about the audio as it is about the visual. Samantha, effectively untethered to a body, is the acousmetre that manifests herself around Theodore without ever actually being physically around him. At one point, while they are walking together, Samantha reveals that she had begun to feel sensory responses: the weight of her body, Theodore’s presence next to her, and even an itch on the back of her neck. Theodore remarks to his friend Amy (Amy Adams), “I feel like she’s really with me.” But, what I think is so beautiful about this clash between the physical and the metaphysical is that it lets Jonze communicate the contradiction of love both visually and aurally. It’s something that you can feel so viscerally in every bone of your being, while simultaneously being something that completely transcends physical sensation. It’s something that feels like an infinite ocean: the more love you feel, the more you give. Or, as Samantha puts it in one of the film’s most heart-wrenching scenes, “The heart is not like a box that gets filled up; it expands in size the more you love.”

And, finally, Her also explores our society’s dogged focus on only one kind of love: romantic love. By the end of the film, Theodore, heartbroken yet again, finds solace and growth in his friendships. He composes a message to his ex-wife telling her how much it means to him that she sculpted him into the person he is at the conclusion of the film. He doesn’t hide from the past he had with his ex-wife or wallow in it. He accepts it.