David Fincher’s The Social Network is the finest American film of the year, a brilliantly written, engrossingly crafted and superbly performed work that resonates like a sort of Citizen Kane for contemporary culture.
The Social Network is anchored by Jesse Eisenberg’s compellingly weird performance as programming wizard and world’s youngest billionaire Mark Zuckerberg, the man who unquestionably deserves the most (but not sole) credit for the creation of the communications phenomenon that is Facebook.
As portrayed by Eisenberg, Zuckerberg is a classic 21st century tech nerd, long on brains, but short on social skills such as empathy and charm. The film opens with him being dumped by his girl, somewhat understandably, in the famous Harvard hangout The Thirsty Scholar. Back in his campus dorm room, the hurt and mildly inebriated young man responds in the only way he knows how: by slagging her off online, on his blog. His initial lashing out at one girl escalates into a lashing out at most of the women at Harvard in a sophomoric, and decidedly misogynist, online prank that showcases his programming brilliance but results in an official reprimand from the university administration.
His talent now obvious to much of the university, Zuckerberg is approached by twin brothers Cameron and Tyler Winklevoss (portrayed by the unrelated actors Armie Hammer and Josh Pence, who are transformed into identical twins by an astonishingly seamless bit of CG) with an offer to write and program an elitist appeal dating site for Harvard students.
Impressed by their social status (they are impossibly handsome, row for the university, are members of a very elite campus club, and are part of a wealthy family), the wannabe social climber Zuckerberg instantly agrees to take on the work, but in a flash or two of inspiration takes their concept much further, deciding in the process to do so without the involvement of the Winklevoss brothers and their business manager partner (Max Minghella). Calling on his best friend Eduardo Saverin (Andrew Garfield) for financial support and a few other friends to help with programming, Zuckerberg is now on course, to paraphrase the film’s tag line, to make 500 million friends, a billion dollars, and a few enemies.
After the disappointingly turgid Benjamin Button, director Fincher is himself back on course with this riveting cautionary tale, aided and abetted by Aaron Sorkin’s note perfect script, which plays like both a mystery (did Zuckerberg cheat his business associates and his best friend?) and a tragic character study (wealth and fame attained, but at what cost?). There has been some debate over how much of the story as portrayed is accurate, and how much is inspired by the real events and people involved, but whether or not the film takes some liberties is unimportant (and really, has there ever been a biopic or film based on real events that hasn’t played with the truth for the sake of better story telling?).
There hasn’t been a better film that so astutely portrays the contradiction that lies at the heart of the culture of living and socialising online; we have the ability to be in constant contact with more people than ever before, but the forum is at such a physical remove that quantity does not in any way equate with quality.
For people like Zuckerberg, who lack the basic social skills to to carry on such activities as dating, the online realm is both a protected sanctuary and an arena where a person’s very ability to create and manipulate the realm itself can garner the admiration that cannot be gained through ‘normal’ physical interaction.
Much has been written in recent years about the now suspected prevalence of mild forms of autism in people with extremely high IQs, and watching Eisenberg’s interactions with everyone from his best friend to university administrators and lawyers feels very much like one is watching someone who is blighted with some form of this. His eyes rarely display warmth and true engagement with others, except when he can’t contain his excitement about being in the company of those whose social status he covets (the Winklevoss brothers) or whose personality and sociability he envies (Napster founder Sean Parker, portrayed as an engaging hustler by Justin Timberlake). He is however possessed of extraordinary self assurance about his abilities, and in the scenes where he focuses his arrogant disdain towards those who take him to task for his actions, Eisenberg burns with a cold fury that is extraordinary to watch.
The last scene brings us back to the film’s ‘Rosebud’, and is a summation of Fincher’s and Sorkin’s feelings about the mode of social intercourse that Zuckerberg has played such a crucial role in ushering in; the irony of the film’s title is perfectly reinforced, and it is almost impossible not to feel sympathy for one of the most remarkably unsympathetic central characters in recent American cinema.
