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The Social Network: A Pie in the Face for Zuckerberg

11 minute read
Richard Corliss

Here’s a novel way to try to deflect attention from a movie you think portrays you unfairly: the day it opens, go on Oprah and announce a $100 million gift to the Newark, N.J., school system. That’s what Mark Zuckerberg, the 26-year-old billionaire founder of Facebook, did last Friday. He insists that the alignment of his Winfrey windfall with the world premiere of The Social Network at the New York Film Festival was purely coincidental. That could be true. But few may believe him, so unflattering is his portrait.

The briefest summary of this fast, caustic, super-brainy entertainment is that Zuckerberg, then a 19-year-old sophomore at Harvard College, was a brilliant, prickly loner — “He doesn’t have three friends to rub together,” a rival says — who created a website that gave him, at last count, 500 million friends. Zuckerberg can be seen as a disabled hero, like a legless man who invents a better wheelchair, or a tragically flawed king, like Superman with a Kryptonite chip embedded in his brain. Either way, the film says, geniuses are abnormal. The obsessive focus that these blessed, cursed minds bring to their goals often excludes social peripheral vision. They don’t notice, or care about, the little people in their way. Zuckerberg, incarnated by Jesse Eisenberg (The Squid and the Whale, Zombieland) with a single-mindedness so cool as to be lunar, isn’t inhuman, exactly; more post-human, a series of calculating algorithms. He is his own computer code — complex, and to most of those who know him, unfathomable.

To pursue his upward trajectory, Zuckerberg must walk in a straight line, over live bodies. Did he filch his social-network idea from the Harvard Connection, dreamed up by upperclassmen Divya Narendra and twins Tyler and Cameron Winklevoss? When Facebook went global, did Zuckerberg stiff his roommate, business partner and closest friend, Eduardo Saverin, out of the hundreds of millions of dollars Saverin deserved as the company’s CFO? The Social Network, which plays out these issues via their ensuing, overlapping lawsuits, doesn’t exactly arbitrate, but its sympathies are clear enough. As written by Aaron Sorkin (Syracuse, class of ’83) and directed by David Fincher (did not attend college), the movie’s Mark Zuckerberg is a genius — and, as nearly everyone in the film calls him, an asshole.

(See Aaron Sorkin and David Fincher on the making of The Social Network.)

If you want to embarrass any adult, show him what he was like as a teenager. The real Zuckerberg, in his brief stint at Harvard, was in some ways mature beyond his or anyone’s years and in other ways a clumsy adolescent. As revealed in e-mails leaked on the Internet and cited in a recent New Yorker profile, he boasted a vindictive streak nearly as impressive as his intelligence. The young man whose site popularized friend as a verb was also fond of another F word. When asked in an e-mail how Facebook acquired its information from Harvard students, he replied, “people just submitted it … i don’t know why … they ‘trust me’ … dumb f___s.” And when quizzed on his plan of action against the Winklevosses: “i’m going to f___ them.” He had a great notion, whether it was his or not, and the business instincts to bring it to fruition. Earlier Internet entrepreneurs made millions of dollars selling sex; Zuckerberg would make billions selling friends — and if need be, the film reckons, selling them out.

(See TIME’s 2010 cover story on Facebook.)

The opening scene plops the spectator into a Boston restaurant with Zuckerberg and his girlfriend Erica (Rooney Mara, soon to be Lisbeth Salander in Fincher’s remake of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo). Worst date ever. He rattles off imperious judgments like Triumph the Insult College Dog (“You don’t have to study … because you go to B.U.”), while she tries shooting down his helium-filled self-regard (“What part of Long Island are you from — Wimbledon?”). Erica, finally announcing that they’re no longer a couple, is the first to toss Zuckerberg down the A-hole. She’s exasperated but, even more, exhausted. “Dating you,” she says, “is like dating a Stairmaster.” She’s Sisyphus, and he’s the rock.

Angry at being dumped by Erica, Zuckerberg gets drunk and, at his dorm computer, has a purely adolescent inspiration: FaceMash, a college site that displays photos of two coeds and urges participants to vote on who’s hot and who’s not. This earns him a reprimand from school officials for the crime of hacking and a visit from those tall, blond, handsome jocks, Cameron and Tyler Winklevoss (both guys played, in an astonishingly subtle trompe l’oeil of special effects, by Armie Hammer). In most other films set at a college, the twins would be the preening, privileged Aryans who torture the lonely nerd until he gets his revenge. Here, though, Zuckerberg is also an overdog: the child of a psychiatrist and her dentist husband, he attended Phillips Exeter Academy (where he was on the fencing team) and was recruited by AOL and Microsoft before he decided to attend Harvard. Zuckerberg’s defense, in Fincher and Sorkin’s version of the Winklevoss trial, is that “they came to me with an idea. I had a better one.” Yet the Winklevii (as Zuckerberg dubs them) claim Zuckerberg misled them for months, promising to work on their site while he perfected his own.

For help running the business side of “the Facebook,” as it was then called, Zuckerberg turns to his roomie Saverin (Never Let Me Go‘s Andrew Garfield), a Brazilian Jew with a dazzle quotient Zuckerberg lacks and envies. But Zuckerberg is ahead of his BFFN — Best Friend for Now — in seeing the site’s potential and finds a slicker ally in Sean Parker (Justin Timberlake), co-founder of Napster. Parker, who is older by 4½ years, shares Zuckerberg’s vision: he sees the site as “a once-in-a-generation, holy s____ idea,” suggests that the be dropped from the name (“Just Facebook; it’s cleaner”), and hooks Zuckerberg up with big-time investors. Without warning, Saverin claims in his deposition, Zuckerberg cut Saverin’s 30% share of the company to less than 1%. Parker, the smiling, coke-addled seducer, becomes president of Facebook.

See TIME’s NewsFeed for the irony about the Facebook crash alluded to in The Social Network.

See pictures of Facebook’s headquarters.

A film this rich emits all kinds of literary and cinematic reverberations. One thinks, just among the Zs, of Philip Roth’s Zuckerman Unbound, about the unwanted attention a novelist gets after writing a blockbuster best seller; and of the zip and sass of the Airplane!, Naked Gun and Hot Shots! movies made by the Zucker brothers. The Social Network, for all its 21st century interests, is connected to social dramas from the 1970s: fact-based films that created severely flawed protagonists and addressed big, contemporary themes, never stopping to worry about the youth market or the Hollywood edict of a happy ending. The honor roll would include The Godfather, The Parallax View, Taxi Driver, Serpico, All the President’s Men and Network, a scalding satire that foresaw the rise of demagogic newscasters and the know-nothing America whose outrage they could cannily tap.

(See the 100 best movies of all time.)

The Social Network‘s most obvious touchstone is Orson Welles’ Citizen Kane; Fincher has called it “the Citizen Kane of John Hughes movies.” IndieWire’s Todd McCarthy detailed The Social Network‘s kinship to that Greatest American Film: a rich young man’s rise in a burgeoning medium (in Kane, the daily newspaper), as recollected by his colleagues; his difficulty communicating with women; his estrangement of his best friend, etc. But there are also similarities between Zuckerberg and Kane‘s director, star and co-writer. Immense in achievement and ego, both men revolutionized their media. Both wanted their names stamped all over their work (Facebook, in its early days, was proclaimed on every page “a Mark Zuckerberg Production”). Both men alienated their early sponsors and friends. And both were amazing, almost unnatural, prodigies. Citizen Kane, Welles’ first feature film, opened two weeks before his 26th birthday. Zuckerberg became the world’s youngest billionaire by 23; The Social Network opens four months and two weeks after his 26th birthday.

And the John Hughes part? Well, this is not high school but college — Harvard College, the college — and though the movie has sex and drugs (and a thrumming underscore by Nine Inch Nails’ Trent Reznor), the lust here is for Internet immortality, or a piece of that action. The competition among Zuckerberg’s eventual adversaries is for tens and hundreds of millions of dollars. Like Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps, which opens on Friday, The Social Network takes place in a man’s world. Aside from Erica, the elusive creature whose two scenes bookend the story, the women are either eager bodies, possessive squeezes (Saverin’s girlfriend Christy, played by Brenda Song, drags the film down in her few scenes) or spear carriers of exposition (Rashida Jones as a junior lawyer on Zuckerberg’s team).

The TV shows Sorkin created — Sports Night, The West Wing and Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip — all focused on people packaging concepts as either entertainment or enlightenment. Sorkin did plenty of research into the founding of Facebook and talked to many participants but acknowledges that he was relieved when Zuckerberg refused to cooperate. Within the perimeter of known facts, he fictionalized part of Zuckerberg’s biography, including his loser status with the ladies. (Zuckerberg has been with the same woman since his Harvard days.) We should almost refer to the film’s central character as “Mark Zuckerberg,” with quotes. As Sorkin told New York magazine’s Mark Harris, “I don’t want my fidelity to be to the truth. I want it to be to storytelling.” One resists the temptation to throw the most famous line from Sorkin’s play and film A Few Good Men — “You can’t handle the truth” — back at him. But movies are stories, not depositions; and Sorkin is following the dictum from John Ford’s The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance: “When the legend becomes fact, print the legend.”

(See a 2000 TIME story on The West Wing.)

Fincher, who like Zuckerberg was gainfully employed (at George Lucas’ special-effects company ILM) while still a teenager, empathizes with his subject. He can remember being the smartest, youngest man in the room, facing the skepticism of his dull elders. And because Sorkin is a solitary writer and Fincher a field-marshal director, the two have differing views on creativity. “For Aaron,” Fincher says in the movie’s press notes, “invention is somebody sitting alone in a room … and for me, invention is swindling the right people.” In other words: making movies.

Almost nobody today makes them better; conjuring the mood, inspiring the crew, shaping a superb group of actors into a faultless ensemble. After his who-knows-what’s-real early thrillers (The Game and Fight Club) and his beautiful, backward love story The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, Fincher here is closest to the serial-killer docudrama Zodiac. The muted tones and prowling camera make The Social Network a neo-noir, stalking the truth. Make that Rashomon versions of various truths. Again, like films of the ’70s, this one ends with a question mark. To the rapt viewer, Fincher and Sorkin say, You finish the movie.

(See TIME’s review of David Fincher’s Zodiac.)

However critical The Social Network may be of certain things Zuckerberg allegedly did, its tone and tempo are very Mark — at least the movie Mark. The film is like a video game at warp speed, but for the ear-brain instead of the eye-hand. It’s determined to say it all and say it wittily at blinding speed; Sorkin’s script was expected to play at 2½ hours, but with the actors speaking at an amphetamine pace and Fincher directing them like a NASCAR official who lost his red flag, the picture came in at two hours flat. And like Zuckerberg, Sorkin and Fincher simply ignore any in their audience who can’t keep up. But the rewards for paying attention are mammoth and exhilarating. This is a high-IQ movie that gives viewers an IQ high.

See 10 people caught on Facebook, including the White House gate crashers.

See a Q&A with Ben Mezrich on his Facebook book.

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