Every time I look at my shelf of DVDs, intending to watch an untouched Criterion Collection film I bought aspirationally, I have to stop myself from picking up The Social Network instead. If someone forces me to name a favorite movie, this is always one of the contenders in my mind. I’m still irrationally bitter that it lost the Best Picture award to The King’s Speech in 2011. I brought a copy all the way to South Africa so my sister could watch it with me. I love this film.
An essential part of The Social Network’s appeal for me is Aaron Sorkin’s writing. No matter how technical the subject matter, he crafts dialogue that is almost musical in its rhythm. The film’s opening conversation perfectly captures this flow, as Erica tries to carry on a normal discussion while being constantly interrupted by Mark’s three-thoughts-ahead statements. Sorkin matches quick, witty conversation with an idealistic view of the world–his stories are grounded by a clear sense of morality, with protagonists who are trying to do the right thing despite the obstacles they face. His writing makes me believe in a better world, in politicians and lawyers who choose truth and justice rather than personal gain.
David Fincher has quite a different view of the world, a much darker and bleaker perspective. He is often drawn to violence and chaos, filling the movies he directs with characters who are delusional or framing their husband or serial killers. The darkness here is much subtler than in films like Zodiac or Gone Girl, but it still lurks around every corner. Through his eyes, The Social Network is not simply a story about a man building a website or about legal battles in boardrooms. It’s a look at how power warps perspectives, how the pursuit of even a worthy goal can become all-consuming, and how genius comes at a cost.
As collaborators, then, Sorkin and Fincher come together to paint a nuanced, complex picture that manages to walk the thin line between propaganda and condemnation. The film lets us draw our own conclusions about Mark Zuckerberg and his company, but informs us with a series of revealing parallels. As it begins, the view cuts from students partying at exclusive clubs to Mark sitting alone, coding in his dorm room. We immediately understand that he wants to be admitted to those social circles and that his actions throughout the film will be driven, at least in part, by his desire to prove himself to these people. Later, we watch Mark and the Winklevoss twins taking two different paths as they each explore the creation of a new website. Mark sees himself as above the rules, and he is happy to offend people and ignore social norms in service of his ideas, unconcerned about the collateral damage. The Winklevoss brothers, in contrast, assume that the system around them will work in their favor as long as they behave like gentlemen–and find themselves coming up second both in business and in sport. The whole film is bookended by two differing declarations about who Mark is, leaving the viewer to determine which perspective is the most accurate.
And, at its heart, the film shows us Mark’s values through the lens of his contrasting friendships. Eduardo invests both time and money to support Mark’s project, even before he knows whether it will be successful. He sees the two of them as a team, working together to create something revolutionary. Mark, though, views Eduardo’s successes apart from Facebook as competition and disloyalty, building up a list of grievances he ultimately uses to cut his friend out of their shared venture. In exchange, he foolishly shifts his allegiance to Sean Parker, whose flashy success and irreverent attitude align with Mark’s view of himself. Despite his paranoia, his drug habit, and his self-destructive tendencies, Mark chooses Sean. Even worse, Mark acts as if he doesn’t care that this choice hurts his friend. In his mind, the success of Facebook is worth any sacrifice, so he leaves Eduardo behind and moves on.
It’s hard to remember that Facebook had only been a public site for four years when this film was being made. The Social Network is eerily prescient in many ways, capturing Mark Zuckerberg’s close control of his invention, the legal proceedings he would be embroiled in, and the way the site would so quickly become ubiquitous around the globe. Most significantly, though, I think it foreshadows the way Facebook would redefine friendship–how easily it would tempt us to substitute a series of shallow connections for true relationships. And it reminds us to look up and ask ourselves if a website can fill our emptiness. Can it make us feel like we belong? As the film closes on Mark refreshing the screen over and over, hoping that Erica will accept his friend request, it seems that the answer is no.