The existence of artificial intelligence, as we know it in 2024, is a mechanical and structural process based on reasoning that follows the mechanics of writing—texts that are inherently lifeless, as there is no actual thought involved, only a thread of reasoning stretched between two points. Just like in an essay or a written test, it generates a vast amount of "blah-blah-blah," any cliché-filled drivel that, though well-structured, is ultimately the essence of a lifeless text. Consequently, most people, conditioned by an educational system that prioritizes passing tests and assessments over genuine understanding, develop a disinterest in exercising the acquired knowledge afterward, focusing only on memorizing content for that specific test, that one situational environment. This fosters a mechanical concept of learning, one in which knowledge is treated as a functional method meant solely for passing exams, rather than for meaningful reflection.
I'm mentioning this because here, you allowed your ideas to come to life in Her. I truly appreciated the way every highlightable element, whether a stone or a box in the room, had something to say or reflect upon. This is essential, so essential, for a cinematic experience. In Chapter 1, the protagonist finds herself in the boundless forest that brushes against an abyss, forcing her to turn back the way she came. A massive house with its sparse inhabitants, indifference to faces, the dominance of black, the void—all are there to reflect, to connect. In Chapter 2, the future, a new beginning—but once again, the abyss waits at the door when new possibilities arise, when it's time to define her future. She finds herself surrounded by interconnected houses, bound by endless walls with no doors she can enter, and figures without shape, face, identity, desires, or ambitions when she leaves her room through dreams. In Chapter 3 (by the way, the humor here aligns closely with my broken sense of humor—the princess wanting to raise taxes by 15% for those who dislike her "decision" made me genuinely laugh! And it also demonstrates a plurality of narratives and approaches, moving away from the melodramatic), a confined, claustrophobic space, where a catharsis and escape occur, not moving forward this time but descending into the depths of her most intimate values and goals, with no distractions, no pause. And in the end, she returns the way she came, after achieving her objective, once again encountering the abyss and a change of scenery. When she finds some certainty about who she is and what to do, she flees to escape the extraordinary and now, trapped in the mundane, she must climb the difficulties she once descended and return to where she began, only to face the same questions again. Until she has the courage to step into the darkness, to cross the abyss, to break the fantasy that something is holding her back.
In Chapter 4, there's an effort to synthesize ergonomics (a Greek word formed from ergon—work—and nomos—norms—which essentially indicates the greatest result with the least effort, without long-term or repetitive consequences). Two things she lacks, as she wanders aimlessly, fantasizing about what she is not. In truth, she is not ergonomic. She doesn’t know what she works for, nor does she adhere to any logical norm. She is the peak of chaos, the result of inconsequential disorder and repetitive daydreaming. Then, she runs, as she always does, because that's her instinct when she doesn’t know what to do, discarding everything she finds along the way—passive-aggressive compliments and insults—because at that moment, running away was essential. She encounters the abyss once again after opening the door, continuing to run into the darkness, only to stop midway, as always, because she no longer has the strength to continue.
In Chapter 5, it’s a grand return, reflecting life stages, abandoned dreams, people left behind, bitter memories, until she once again faces the abyss. Not with answers, but with the realization that she is nothing, that she can do nothing, that she exists for no particular purpose, that she is a mere object of an external, unrelated will—devoid of malice, merely cause and effect. She is freed when she finds an identity, a purpose, a path that doesn’t inhabit darkness but rather the light brought by truth and self-knowledge.
I reviewed the five chapters, and when the title screen reappears, is the game interesting or well-written? Not really; it is tedious and drawn-out, suffering from a lack of rhythm, tackling classic themes without fluidity, with bursts of humor and a fixation on the mundane without gameplay elements that openly define it as a game. Mechanically, that is how a text with a soul is interpreted—something bad. Because the soul has no purpose, no destination, no sequence, no structure, nowhere to arrive; it embodies a will, is the bearer of a construction, a desire residing in the creator and extending to their creation, where, through experience, it connects with people and stories, not because it is beautiful, but because it is alive. The construction here, established in Her, is a profound search for free will, for learning how to let go but also loving those who choose to return.
Whenever I like a game, and I feel that the author has something to say with a specific project, I leave a song. Her reminded me of this song: