(“I can’t even prioritize between video games and Internet porn,” he marvels.) They talk easily. She gets to work organizing his inbox, efficiently sorting and deleting his past.

Six hundred and forty-one: that’s the number of other people she’s in love with. Making a movie about voice is an odd, and unexpected, move for Jonze.

She’s a little commitment-phobic—her heart can’t be filled by one person. Since his very first skateboarding videos, Jonze has used the camera to track bodies, recording their perfect and messy and gross motion.

There is a female body in the form of Amy, but that relationship is guarded.

No one is at risk of actually touching anyone other than themselves.

The design is antiseptic and telegraphs wealth, the furniture pulled from the pages of a Design Within Reach catalog.

The worst thing you could do is get a stain on something.

Samantha’s disembodiment means that Theodore never has to deal with anything sticky, bloody, or wet—anything other than a pleasing, metallic surface.

At first she is jealous that she doesn’t have a body.

(Remember that this is the man who served as a producer and sometimes director for MTV’s “Jackass.”) His most memorable work has been as a director of exuberant, sometimes wild, music videos: he’s filmed the Beastie Boys, the Breeders, Björk, Elastica, the Notorious B. G., the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, (who did the soundtrack for his movies “Where the Wild Things Are”), Arcade Fire (who did the soundtrack for “Her”), and many others.