Anarchy Unleashed: The Social Network
- Mark Zuckerberg
Much has been made of The Social Network’s authenticity. What was real? What was fabricated? But what seems to be overlooked is this film was not meant to be a Mark Zuckerberg biopic; it was meant to be a moral parable for our modern times, a tale as timeless as it is emblematic of our current social identity.
At its core, this is a narrative about a man who gets everything he wants and nothing he needs. It’s a film about how lonely it is at the top. As such, The Social Network has understandably been compared to Citizen Kane in its depiction of a man who slowly exchanges his humanity for power. Citizen Kane, written, starring, and directed by Orson Welles as Charles Foster Kane, a newspaper magnate (and fictionalized version of William Randolph Hearst), follows the life of Kane, his friends, his marriages, his ascension and ultimately, his fall. The Social Network stars Jesse Eisenberg as Mark Zuckerberg (a fictionalized version of Mark Zuckerberg) as he too traverses the seas of alliances, betrayals, successes and ultimately, failures in his professionals, social, and personal life.
The comparisons between these films are obvious. Both films depict the journey men take in their effort to accomplish something great but lose something even greater in the process. Both films depict the shortcomings of men in light of what society defines as “success.” And both films depict the ultimate cost of man’s ambitions, highlighting the fact that in spite of their entrepreneurial ways these men are still naïvely idealistic, driven by a force greater than greed, fame, or wealth. There's an odd irony to the fact that their talents have won them extensive influence, but that extensive influence cannot convince anyone to love them. And make no mistake, love is what these men are truly after. Kane's friend Jed Leland says as much. Zuckerberg similarly reveals this need through his relentless search for approval from Erica Albright, the girl who got away. This desire for acceptance, in spite of their social pioneering, seems at once hilarious, and yet somehow, not funny at all.
Yet we've barely scratched the surface of this film. I’m reminded of a certain opinion piece from The Daily Beast published upon the initial release of this film. Its author, Rebecca Davis O’Brien, argued that the film was misogynistic, that its absence of a strong female lead who wasn’t a sexed-up groupie or vengeful ex-girlfriend was illustrative of our modern social sexism.
Indeed, this argument isn’t entirely without merit. The only woman of influence in the entire story, it seems, is Marylin Delpy, the second-year associate who urges Zuckerberg to settle out of court. And yet, the film doesn’t seem to glamorize the strength of men in the workforce today as much as mirror the inarguable truth that women are largely absent. Indeed, Elizabeth Wurtzel, Harvard graduate and author of Prozac Nation, argues that men have taken over Wall Street and Silicon Valley; but this isn’t entirely of man’s doing. Rather, “our culture, in its most powerful places, has gotten more sexist because women are not in powerful positions in these places. And it’s our fault… I think the movie just reflects what’s starting to happen.”
This depiction of women in film is a path not unbeaten by Fincher. Indeed, by now I have noted several times the depiction of women in Fincher’s films. Tracy in Se7en acts as little more than a foil to Mills. Christine in The Game is largely reduced to nothing more than a plot device. And even Daisy from Benjamin Button is left to her own accord for the majority of the film; only when reunited with Benjamin does her character seem to truly flourish. It’s no coincidence then, that Fincher eschews even filming sex or lust in his films. “I’d rather shoot porn,” he claims, “it’s more honest.”
But in The Social Network, Fincher takes this marginalization of women one step further, justly drawing the ire of women such as O’Brien. But before we all picket Fincher for his misogynistic ways, consider what the film actually argues. Screenwriter Aaron Sorkin doesn’t refrain from painting Zuckerberg – or any of his male leads for that matter – as emotionally stunted boys who feel the need to prove their worth by belittling others. Indeed, Sorkin seems to argue that this generation of kids shows little respect for authority, whether it’s by showing up to a board meeting in pajamas only to say “fuck you” or hacking the Harvard network with pirated pictures of female co-eds. But as such, who are they to know any better? For the geeky downtrodden, how are they to act when a girl willingly goes down on them in a grimy bathroom stall? These boys, Sorkin seems to argue, shouldn’t be lauded as much as pitied.
And yet, as much as Sorkin’s disdain for these geeks shines through, Fincher seems to counter with a sly retort. Sure, these boys are mean and vengeful. But look, they're young, rich, and most of all, ambitious. It's not that Fincher defends their actions; rather, he recognizes the appeal of coloring outside the lines, of flipping off the school board. They’re doing everything you always wish you had the balls to do. And look how much fun they’re having.
The Social Network marks Fincher’s most recent film (I’m writing this before the release of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo). While Fincher began his career studying renderings of pitch-black misanthropes, then graduating to a subtler meditation on mortality, the next stage in his creative career seems to point towards the dichotomy between creation and destruction. And indeed, The Social Network could be seen as the book-end to Fincher’s most overtly anarchic film, Fight Club. In many ways, these two films compare directly. They’re characterized by the same relentless narrative motion that propels the entire film, dropping you headfirst into the most defining moment in the lead character’s life and then letting him off the leash. They both deal with the hectic, and oftentimes alienating, search for purpose in our modern society. And while one man intends to destroy the world and start anew, another man bends technology to his will in an attempt to forge his legacy. They are both tales of misfit revolution and revenge. They both deal with the usurpation of authority, the self-aggrandizement of the male ego, and the oftentimes gleeful revelation that once you have enough power, you can get away with anything.
At its core, this is a narrative about a man who gets everything he wants and nothing he needs. It’s a film about how lonely it is at the top. As such, The Social Network has understandably been compared to Citizen Kane in its depiction of a man who slowly exchanges his humanity for power. Citizen Kane, written, starring, and directed by Orson Welles as Charles Foster Kane, a newspaper magnate (and fictionalized version of William Randolph Hearst), follows the life of Kane, his friends, his marriages, his ascension and ultimately, his fall. The Social Network stars Jesse Eisenberg as Mark Zuckerberg (a fictionalized version of Mark Zuckerberg) as he too traverses the seas of alliances, betrayals, successes and ultimately, failures in his professionals, social, and personal life.
The comparisons between these films are obvious. Both films depict the journey men take in their effort to accomplish something great but lose something even greater in the process. Both films depict the shortcomings of men in light of what society defines as “success.” And both films depict the ultimate cost of man’s ambitions, highlighting the fact that in spite of their entrepreneurial ways these men are still naïvely idealistic, driven by a force greater than greed, fame, or wealth. There's an odd irony to the fact that their talents have won them extensive influence, but that extensive influence cannot convince anyone to love them. And make no mistake, love is what these men are truly after. Kane's friend Jed Leland says as much. Zuckerberg similarly reveals this need through his relentless search for approval from Erica Albright, the girl who got away. This desire for acceptance, in spite of their social pioneering, seems at once hilarious, and yet somehow, not funny at all.
Yet we've barely scratched the surface of this film. I’m reminded of a certain opinion piece from The Daily Beast published upon the initial release of this film. Its author, Rebecca Davis O’Brien, argued that the film was misogynistic, that its absence of a strong female lead who wasn’t a sexed-up groupie or vengeful ex-girlfriend was illustrative of our modern social sexism.
Indeed, this argument isn’t entirely without merit. The only woman of influence in the entire story, it seems, is Marylin Delpy, the second-year associate who urges Zuckerberg to settle out of court. And yet, the film doesn’t seem to glamorize the strength of men in the workforce today as much as mirror the inarguable truth that women are largely absent. Indeed, Elizabeth Wurtzel, Harvard graduate and author of Prozac Nation, argues that men have taken over Wall Street and Silicon Valley; but this isn’t entirely of man’s doing. Rather, “our culture, in its most powerful places, has gotten more sexist because women are not in powerful positions in these places. And it’s our fault… I think the movie just reflects what’s starting to happen.”
This depiction of women in film is a path not unbeaten by Fincher. Indeed, by now I have noted several times the depiction of women in Fincher’s films. Tracy in Se7en acts as little more than a foil to Mills. Christine in The Game is largely reduced to nothing more than a plot device. And even Daisy from Benjamin Button is left to her own accord for the majority of the film; only when reunited with Benjamin does her character seem to truly flourish. It’s no coincidence then, that Fincher eschews even filming sex or lust in his films. “I’d rather shoot porn,” he claims, “it’s more honest.”
But in The Social Network, Fincher takes this marginalization of women one step further, justly drawing the ire of women such as O’Brien. But before we all picket Fincher for his misogynistic ways, consider what the film actually argues. Screenwriter Aaron Sorkin doesn’t refrain from painting Zuckerberg – or any of his male leads for that matter – as emotionally stunted boys who feel the need to prove their worth by belittling others. Indeed, Sorkin seems to argue that this generation of kids shows little respect for authority, whether it’s by showing up to a board meeting in pajamas only to say “fuck you” or hacking the Harvard network with pirated pictures of female co-eds. But as such, who are they to know any better? For the geeky downtrodden, how are they to act when a girl willingly goes down on them in a grimy bathroom stall? These boys, Sorkin seems to argue, shouldn’t be lauded as much as pitied.
And yet, as much as Sorkin’s disdain for these geeks shines through, Fincher seems to counter with a sly retort. Sure, these boys are mean and vengeful. But look, they're young, rich, and most of all, ambitious. It's not that Fincher defends their actions; rather, he recognizes the appeal of coloring outside the lines, of flipping off the school board. They’re doing everything you always wish you had the balls to do. And look how much fun they’re having.
The Social Network marks Fincher’s most recent film (I’m writing this before the release of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo). While Fincher began his career studying renderings of pitch-black misanthropes, then graduating to a subtler meditation on mortality, the next stage in his creative career seems to point towards the dichotomy between creation and destruction. And indeed, The Social Network could be seen as the book-end to Fincher’s most overtly anarchic film, Fight Club. In many ways, these two films compare directly. They’re characterized by the same relentless narrative motion that propels the entire film, dropping you headfirst into the most defining moment in the lead character’s life and then letting him off the leash. They both deal with the hectic, and oftentimes alienating, search for purpose in our modern society. And while one man intends to destroy the world and start anew, another man bends technology to his will in an attempt to forge his legacy. They are both tales of misfit revolution and revenge. They both deal with the usurpation of authority, the self-aggrandizement of the male ego, and the oftentimes gleeful revelation that once you have enough power, you can get away with anything.
