Movie Review: The Greatness of The Social Network, Ten Years Later

Before The Social Network came out in 2010, the discourse surrounding it was mostly skepticism and jokes about “a Facebook movie”; a premise that, on paper, doesn’t sound like much of an interesting movie at all, let alone one that would go on to become arguably the greatest film of the 2010s. Masterfully directed by David Fincher and written by Aaron Sorkin, The Social Network defied expectations upon release, receiving glowing praise from critics, grossing $225 million on a $40 million budget, and racking up eight Oscar nominations, including three wins for Sorkin’s screenplay, Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross’ brilliant score, and Kirk Baxter and Angus Wall’s editing. Needless to say, people loved it. But even then, no one predicted the prescience the film would go on to have, as Facebook has evolved from a novel and innovative way to stay connected with people to a dangerous and invasive platform that’s become a haven for misinformation and has regularly committed breaches of privacy.

For those who haven’t seen it (and if you haven’t, it’s on Netflix at the moment; go watch it immediately), The Social Network chronicles Mark Zuckerberg (Jesse Eisenberg) and his invention of Facebook, from its inception at Harvard in 2003 to its status as the most popular social media platform in the world. But really, that’s a basic, bare-bones description that doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface of what makes The Social Network a masterpiece. As approached by Fincher and Sorkin, the film is a Shakespearean tale of ego, greed, and betrayal; Zuckerberg in the film is a tragic character in a league with Citizen Kane’s Charles Foster Kane, the Godfather trilogy’s Michael Corleone, and There Will Be Blood’s Daniel

Plainview, among others. The film opens on Zuckerberg and the girl he’s dating, Erica Albright (Rooney Mara, making the most of her limited screentime), having a conversation at a bar on campus. They start off discussing SAT scores in China, and by the end of the scene, they’ve broken off their relationship. The scene is laced with Sorkin’s signature bracing, biting dialogue, as the two talk circles around each other and lay the foundation of the movie’s central themes. In perhaps the most important line of the movie, Erica tells Zuckerberg “you’re probably gonna be a very successful computer person. But you’re going to go through life thinking girls don’t like you because you’re a nerd. And I want you to know, from the bottom of my heart, that that won’t be true. It’ll be because you’re an a—hole”. Erica only appears again in one scene much later in the movie (which I’ll get to eventually), but her shadow hangs over the rest of the entire story and the decisions made by Zuckerberg. It’s a brilliant opening scene, and an exemplary way to kick off a movie and let the audience know exactly what they’re in for.

The rest of The Social Network matches that opening in excellence; from a filmmaking perspective, it’s simply a perfect movie. Every single element works— Sorkin’s screenplay is a scathing evisceration of a man driven by petty grievances with others and an absolute need for everything to work out his way (not to mention it’s stacked from top to bottom with quotable lines); Fincher applies the same precision and craftsmanship he has in other great works like Zodiac and Se7en (the former of which is my personal favorite of his, a film I could write another entire essay about); Eisenberg’s performance as Zuckerberg brings the coldness and quiet ruthlessness necessary for the part, matched by an excellent supporting cast including Andrew Garfield as Facebook co-founder Eduardo Saverin, Justin Timberlake as Napster founder Sean Parker (who owns a stake in Facebook), Armie Hammer in a dual role as twins accusing Zuckerberg of intellectual property theft, and more; Reznor and Ross’ score is haunting, primarily using minimalist piano and synths to create a singular atmosphere. The film is firing on all cylinders, one of the rare instances where every single aspect comes together to create a near-flawless product.

Rewatching the film on Wednesday, I was struck by how eerily prescient it was, seen through the lens of the past decade and how social media has both dominated our lives and damaged them in the years since the film’s release. After getting dumped by Erica in that opening scene, Zuckerberg heads to his dorm and puts together a blog entry, where he outright types “Erica Albright is a b-tch” and publishes it for the whole campus to read. In a later scene where he encounters Erica again, she tells him “the internet isn’t written in pencil, Mark, it’s written in ink”; in 2010, this line may have been brushed off as just another example of the sharp and witty dialogue Sorkin was known for with works like The West Wing and A Few Good Men, but now, it’s a mantra that everyone with any social media accounts should memorize and take to heart. Once you post something, it’s out there permanently, and there’s nothing you can do about it. In the same scene, Erica tells him “you write your snide bulls— from a dark room because that’s what the angry do nowadays”, a line initially pointed just at Zuckerberg, but could now stand in for all the immature idiots in corners of Reddit and, yes, Facebook (to pick just a couple sites), taking out their anger on strangers and acquaintances alike with arguments over trivial matters, making themselves look pathetic in the process.

But even the cynicism of The Social Network couldn’t predict the lows that Facebook has stooped to since. In 2014, Cambridge Analytica acquired personal data from millions of Facebook users without consent; in 2016, this data was used for political ads and was suspected to have involvement with that year’s election. This breach of privacy has a predicate—in 2003, pre-Facebook, Zuckerberg launched a Harvard-exclusive site called Facemash that culled photos from the university’s database in order for guys to rank girls at Harvard based on how attractive they are, a cruel and misogynistic violation of both privacy and decency that, nonetheless, seems quaint in comparison to the massive, large-scale breach that Cambridge Analytica pulled off. Facebook has also become a playground for insane conspiracy theorists and idiots spreading hate speech; in 2018, United Nations human rights officials found links between the site and genocide in Myanmar, where military officials used the platform, which is ubiquitous in the country, to spread misinformation and incite violence against the Rohingya people, a minority. This preceded large-scale massacres against the people, which led a significant amount to flee to Bangladesh. That same year, Facebook exposed private photos from 68 million users to apps that were not authorized to access these photos. And the list goes on.

So, The Social Network can seem like nothing in comparison to the problems with Facebook in the years since its release. But in many ways, it functions as a precedent for our connection with social media, and as a biting study of a man driven by his ego, steamrolling those in his path and more concerned with growing the largest social media platform in the world than with the people who get hurt in the process of doing so. In the film’s brilliant final scene, Zuckerberg stares into his laptop screen as he sends a friend request to an old acquaintance who he’s grown disconnected from, refreshing the screen over and over as he waits for a response, as The Beatles’ “Baby You’re A Rich Man” plays over the soundtrack. On the movie screen, superimposed text reads “Mark Zuckerberg is the youngest billionaire in the world”, yet in the scene, Zuckerberg appears the loneliest we’ve seen him, as he displays the same addiction that millions of people now have to social media. It’s a scene that holds extra weight now, as what started as an exciting and innovative way to connect with friends has turned into a platform that’s arguably done more damage than good, and this scene forces us to contemplate the realities of the situation. It’s a phenomenal capstone to a masterful film, one that only grows in resonance with time, and deserves to be considered the greatest of its decade.

By: John Maescher