The premise of David Lowery's A Ghost Story is very simple indeed. A man (played by Casey Affleck) dies in a car crash, only for his spirit to remain in the land of the living to watch over his grieving widow (played by Rooney Mara). He stays with her in the home they made together - a home, we will come to learn, that she wanted to leave, despite his wish to remain in the quiet, isolated area he felt so comfortable in. It sounds like the stuff of emotionally manipulative Hollywood schmaltz, but Lowery's interests stretch much, much further than themes of sorrow and the search for closure. It reaches way into the cosmos, seeking to understand our place in the universe and within the infinity of time itself.
One of the most striking aspects of A Ghost Story is the appearance of the ghost itself. Draped in a white sheet complete with cut-out eye holes, Affleck drifts through the film with slow steps, longing stares and brief fits of rage. As his lifeless body lies on the mortuary table, the camera lingers for what seems like an eternity, as we wait for the jump-shock that horror movies have taught us to expect. However, when he sits up slowly, sheet still draped over his face, and begins to study his surroundings like a lost animal, the effect is miraculous. It's certainly chilling, but also oddly beautiful. I don't know if much thought went into the design and weight of the white sheet, but Affleck manages to express himself astonishingly well without the benefit of being visible. Things start to get weirder and more ambitious as Mara's character moves out of the house to move on with her life.
We witness the passing of time from the ghost's perspective. In the blink of an eye, a Hispanic family has moved in. This enrages him, and the family experience poltergeist activity. Then, some party-goers inhabit the house, before it is eventually knocked down and replaced by office buildings. Still the ghost stalks the corridors waiting for... something, occasionally conversing with the ghost next door. Time passes like half-remembered memories, and we eventually come full circle. Made quickly and cheaply shortly after post-production for Pete's Dragon had been completed and reuniting Lowery with his Ain't Them Bodies Saints stars, the slow and deliberate paceof A Ghost Story will likely put many viewers off, especially those seeking out a traditional spook tale. But patience is a virtue, and the effectsare long-standing, resonating far deeper than most movies could ever dream of.
David Lowery's strangely-titled Ain't Them Bodies Saints doesn't just tip its hat to a bygone era of film-making, but attempts to completely recreate the heavily visual but emotionally complex work that swept through cinemas during the 1970's, especially in America. The early work of Terrence Malick is a particular inspiration here, as vast Texas fields and looming thunderclouds play as the backdrop to the doomed love-story at its centre. On top of being a love-letter to one of finest ever decades for cinema, it manages to tell a compelling, if often isolating, little story in its own right.
Bob Muldoon (Casey Affleck) and Ruth Guthrie (Rooney Mara) are two reckless young lovers. We meet them in the midst of an argument that is quickly laughed off as Ruth announces she is with child, but it doesn't take long for their passionate romance to be cut short. When Bob drags Ruth into his world of petty crime, they find themselves locked in a shoot-out with the police that ends when Ruth wounds Deputy Wheeler (Ben Foster). Bob takes the blame and is incarcerated for 25 years to life, and the two attempt to maintain their relationship through written correspondence. A few years later, Ruth learns through the lonely Wheeler that Bob has escaped from prison and is no doubt coming for her.
The film moves into more predictable territory following Bob's escape, as we follow him on his slow-burning journey across state lines, employing the assistance of friend Sweetie (Nate Parker) to help him creep gradually closer to Ruth without being detected. As Ruth struggles between longing for her true love and the realisation that running off with a now-hardened criminal may not be the best thing for her daughter, Wheeler lets his affections known. A gentle, morally-upright man respected in the community, he offers her a safe passage and undoubtedly a better life, but Ruth still finds herself drawn to the dangerous outlaw lifestyle. Her father Skerritt (Keith Carradine), having watched over Bob as a child, has a somewhat resentful sympathy for their love, and warns Bob of a group of ne'er-do-wells who arrives in town in search of him.
The cast are excellent in their roles and compliment Lowery's desire to tell an emotionally complex story with fewer words than you would expect. Affleck is at his best when he is carefully treading the line between volatile and gentle, injecting Bob with a sympathy despite his characters occasional dark turn, and Mara perfectly captures Ruth's inward struggle between comfort and danger. Yet most impressive of all is Foster, toning down his usual wide-eyed shtick and showing a softer side perhaps not seen since Six Feet Under. For all its melancholic poetic narration and tormented gazes into the distance, the film tends to betray this approach when the dialogue comes, as the character spell out their predicaments when there's no call for it. More frustratingly, Lowery keeps the mysterious aspects of his movie a bit too close to the chest, as the reasons behind the appearance of the men hunting for Bob's head is teased but left infuriatingly unexplained. A bit like the title, it is alluring but seemingly hollow.
Not content with toying with our pre-quirky/ironic film-making preconceptions of how a movie should play out with the mind-blowing Being John Malkovich (1999), or going all-out self-reflexive with a blocked writer in Adaptation (2002), former music video director and Jackass co-creator Spike Jonze spins the traditional movie romance on it's head with Her. Set in a very believable near-future, it's the story of a lonely man who falls in love with a computer voice. It is the stuff of sci-fi and clever-clever satire. Or so you would think. Her, even with the absence of a physical female lead, may just be one of the most honest and heart-warming romances in recent memory.
Theodore Twombly (Joaquin Phoenix) writes love letters to husbands, wives, sons, daughters and any others loved ones that require his services. He spends his life in front of a computer verbally dictating his achingly romantic letters for BeautifulHandwrittenLetters.com, a service for people who want to vocalise their love but have no way to express it. Theodore is the best at his job, yet in the real world, he finds himself pining for his soon-to-be ex-wife (Rooney Mara), and chatting with strangers late at night on sex lines. He goes on a disastrous date with a beautiful woman (Olivia Wilde), but seems unable to connect with anyone in the real world.
When he hears about an innovation in technology, called OS, which activates an artificial voice that can organise your life, answer your questions, or simply be your best friend, Theodore gets Samantha (voiced by Scarlett Johansson), who quickly evolves to develop an adorable personality of her own. Soon enough, Theodore finds himself falling for her, and she for him, as they connect solely through an earpiece in Theodore's ear. It's a fad that quickly catches on, and people are soon falling for OS's throughout the country.
It sounds like the stuff of Orwellian satire, but there's no post-apocalyptic landscapes, no government agents watching through holes in the wall, and certainly no flying machines. The future of Her is nigh on utopian; the streets are spotless, the people happy, and no signs of class divide or social disorder of any kind. The film could easily have become another analysis of the dangers of technology and how we would rather send a text message than look someone in the face. The whole thing sounds gimmicky, a horror film about the rise of the iEverything, but this is as human a love story can be, even if the other half is the husky, wonderful voice of Scarlett Johansson. Her shows the joys of technology as much as the darker side.
It's Johansson's vocal performance that really allows the film to work, meaning that it's not just about a weird guy who gets off by talking to a computer. She does the incredible trick of making her a three dimensional character. It seems natural that a lonely guy like Theodore would fall for her, and Phoenix, sporting an unflattering moustache, capitalises on his staggering beast-in-a-cage performance in The Master (2012) - a film he should have beaten Day-Lewis to the Best Actor Oscar for - with another knockout performance. He's incredibly subtle, capturing more in a mumbled line than any Oscar-baiting monologue could. He's a heart-breakingly lonely soul, and when things inevitably get a bit difficult for the human/cyber couple, you really ache for him.
Her doesn't go down the route of Theodore craving human contact - the film is more complex than that. Samantha, with her infinite capacity to evolve, struggles to understand her own existence. It doesn't get bogged down with existential waffle, so we get to witness Samantha's child-like confusion and instinct to see and learn everything. Along with work friend Paul (Chris Pratt) and his recently separated best friend Amy (Amy Adams) (who both have love stories of their own), Theodore learns what it's like to love, and all the soul-breaking pain that comes with it. Her is wonderful and sad: a love story that even the most heart-hearted singletons living in this touch-screen world would find hard not to relate to.
One of the most striking aspects of A Ghost Story is the appearance of the ghost itself. Draped in a white sheet complete with cut-out eye holes, Affleck drifts through the film with slow steps, longing stares and brief fits of rage. As his lifeless body lies on the mortuary table, the camera lingers for what seems like an eternity, as we wait for the jump-shock that horror movies have taught us to expect. However, when he sits up slowly, sheet still draped over his face, and begins to study his surroundings like a lost animal, the effect is miraculous. It's certainly chilling, but also oddly beautiful. I don't know if much thought went into the design and weight of the white sheet, but Affleck manages to express himself astonishingly well without the benefit of being visible. Things start to get weirder and more ambitious as Mara's character moves out of the house to move on with her life.
