First, a disclaimer: I’ve read Walter Isaacson’s Steve Jobs biography, the tome upon which Steve Jobs the film is based, over three times now. It’s an exceedingly thorough yet brisk read, and one that paints a fascinating and from my approximation, genuinely fair portrait of the man. It contains far more anecdotes, accounts, and characters than a two-hour film adaptation could ever replicate; and it provides far more insight into Jobs’ past and mentality. This is all meant to say I will be discussing Steve Jobs the movie strictly as a movie, not as a point of comparison against the book.
Second, some context: Anyone who knows me understands my admiration for David Fincher. He is one of the few directors whose creative vision and technical prowess has the ability to elevate material beyond what is on paper. On many levels, Fincher is Jobs: a wunderkind thrust onto the public stage before he was completely ready; a visionary force whose need for control over the entire creative process is often overshadowed by his notoriety for difficult and sometimes alienating demands for perfection. He would be more overtly regarded as brilliant if not for his propensity to simply not care about others people's’ opinions.
Anyone who knows me also knows that I consider Fincher’s 2010 magnum opus The Social Network the most insightful, emblematic, and transcendent film of the 21st century. This is no hyperbole; The Social Network is the greatest film, creatively, emotionally, technically, of my lifetime (so far). So imagine my excitement upon learning that Aaron Sorkin, the rapid-fire screenwriter of The Social Network, had been hired to script the Steve Jobs movie. Imagine my exuberance when Sony and Sorkin approached David Fincher to direct. The prospect of Fincher reteaming with the same creative team, depicting the OG of all tech geniuses, was the perfect lining of the stars.
Sadly, this alignment would not last; Fincher dropped out, the script moved to Universal, and the role of Jobs was given to Michael Fassbender, generally a good actor but for the role of Jobs, was someone who at best, garnered reserved satisfaction and at worst, evoked outright skepticism. Danny Boyle, the kinetic director of Trainspotting, Slumdog Millionaire, and 127 Hours, was hired. This new creative team was by no means sub-par; but in comparison to what could have been, I couldn’t help but watch this movie wondering “What if...?”
So, let’s talk about Steve Jobs. Eschewing the usual through-the-years structure of most biopics, Sorkin essentially presents a three-act vignette of Jobs, with each act taking place prior to key product launches spanning 15 years. Sorkin’s decision to distill Jobs’ life story into three disparate days is frequently compelling and occasionally brilliant; each act is overstuffed with dramatic potency, as if the powder keg of years’ worth of shunned recognition and dismissed dreams were all set to go off on these days.
Sorkin’s concentration of space and time certainly allows the story a canvas for heightened conflict, but it also quickly wears thin when you realize the repetition of the story arcs. Steve Wozniak, Jobs’ oldest friend and co-founder of Apple, is relegated to beg for Jobs’ recognition of his team’s contributions on three occasions. It’s an interesting angle but not a compelling enough question to ask repeatedly. Similarly, Joanna Hoffman, Jobs’ confidante and maternal figure, seems to fret about the punctuality of each product launch about as much as compelling Jobs to mend things with his daughter. By the third act, these characters aren’t so much people as they are different vehicles to raise issue with Jobs. At one point, Jobs even notes that “it seems like five minutes before every launch, everyone gets drunk and decides to air their grievances.” It’s meant as a deflective joke; but it’s more sad than funny.
Upon leaving the theater, I felt satisfied -- the Jobs depicted was as compelling as advertised -- but not captivated. I recalled my first time watching The Social Network, how I instantly played it a second time, eager to experience that indelible rush of impulsive determination all over again. The Social Network seemed to excel in ways Steve Jobs simply couldn’t match. It took me a while to figure it out but in hindsight, it was pretty evident all along.
First, The Social Network, ostensibly about the creation of Facebook, actually represented far greater dramatic ambitions than simply the invention of something -- you could easily swap in the creation of the first automobile or telephone and still maintain the same dramatic endpoint. The object at the center of The Social Network was not nearly as important as the themes surrounding it -- the cost of ambition, the loss of innocence, the perception of class, the ruthlessness of will. The Social Network was about Facebook, but it was not a Facebook movie. Steve Jobs is a movie about Steve Jobs and a Steve Jobs movie. He’s an immensely fascinating personality, and one that easily justifies the existence of this movie. But at the end of the day, this was an examination of one man’s life and nothing more.
Second, the structure of The Social Network amplified its drama in a way Steve Jobs attempts but couldn’t maintain. Cutting between three separate timeframes -- the Zuckerberg of Harvard, the Zuckerberg sued by Eduardo, and the Zuckerberg later sued by the Winklevoss twins -- The Social Network contextualized Zuckerberg from disparate viewpoints, as hero, villain, and something in between. The film’s juxtaposition of a young, naive Zuckerberg against his older, wearier self further shaded Zuckerberg as a boy learning to play in a man’s world. In comparison, Steve Jobs also spans three timeframes, but largely remains chronological. There is nothing wrong with linear chronology, but it lessens the contrast between the Jobs that was and the Jobs that will be. The common through-line in Steve Jobs is his fragile relationship with his daughter, Lisa. It’s meant to be the central backbone that helps define Jobs as a father and as a person; but his interactions with Lisa are so fleeting and oddly forgettable that it dulls the Jobs character by proximity.
Much has been made of Jobs’ abrasive behavior in real life. And with Danny Boyle as director, Steve Jobs loses some of the titular character’s caustic bite and begins veering into indulgent humanism. Ever the polite and generous professional from what I can tell, Boyle largely succeeds with the material but struggles to restrain his kinetic visual flourishes. Early on, there is a joke about dimming the red exit lights from the auditorium; without fail, Boyle cuts to a handheld close-up of a red exit sign; it’s jarring and unmotivated and unnecessary. Later on, there are two instances of images awkwardly superimposed in frame: once with the text of song lyrics flashing across the walls as Jobs debates between which to quote, and the other with the video of a rocket launch as Jobs recounts an anecdote. Like a wagyu steak, the meat should be good enough on its own. Keep the flourishes on the side. But perhaps Boyle’s greatest miscalculation is the ending. After flying so high for two hours, sticking the landing to a story like this was always going to be a challenge. But Boyle over-indulges in his sentimental instincts, latching onto the one maudlin note in Sorkin’s script and plays it up like a Lifetime movie. The final minutes of the film land with an emotional thud that mean well, but come across as cheap.
I can’t guarantee I will ever stop believing this movie would’ve been better under Fincher, largely because I don’t think I’m wrong. Boyle is a perfectly functional director with a strong style; but in this instance, his decent nature is diametrically opposed to that of his subject. Jobs’ disdain, arrogance, and general fuck-you attitude comes close to shining through, but doesn’t fully translate. Ultimately, Steve Jobs the movie is perhaps most like Steve Jobs the person: oddly disappointing in areas but astonishingly brilliant when it wants to be.
