Slouching toward Facebook

Here at the Northwest Corner, we don't review hit movies. If professional screen critics are reviewing a movie in every newspaper in the country, I'm not going to waste my time trying to compete. You're better off checking out the film on Rotten Tomatoes. The only exception has been "Slumdog Millionaire," but my post discussing that film was written the day after its opening in Seattle, well before anyone dreamed it would win the Oscar for best picture.

So I won't try to review "The Social Network." The fictionalized account of Mark Zuckerberg's invention of Facebook, which opened nationally last night, has been reviewed favorably by virtually every critic across the country. In addition, the film and its director (David Fincher) are the subject of a feature-length, five-page article by David Denby in this week's New Yorker. The film is already notorious. It is highly controversial in its unflattering portrayal of Zuckerberg; it deals with the perhaps defining societal change of the past decade; it purports to reveal the world of a tiny but influential segment of today's youth to their elders -- and to their peers and to themselves. For all these reasons, the film will be widely viewed, and no doubt, win many awards.

It's an important film. It is well directed and extremely well acted. Until I read the Denby review, I expected it to be little more than a below-the-belt attack on the kid who is today the world's youngest billionaire. It's not exactly that, and it's certainly much more. I saw it last night. I loved the film, and I recommend it.

Just two observations -- any more, and this post would, in fact, end up being a review! The film's Zuckerberg is a brilliant Harvard student who is obsessed with creating something that will set him apart in the eyes of the world. Because of this obsession, together with his underlying personality, he has little patience or concern for the feelings of the people around him. As the film points out, he creates a social network of 500 million "friends," but ends up with not one real friend of his own.

Regardless of whether the fictionalized Zuckerberg bears any resemblance to the real Zuckerberg, the fictionalized Zuckerberg is not unique in the world's history. Many, if not most, great artists, scientists, musicians, philosophers -- those great enough to change their world -- have had an equal or greater inability to relate normally and compassionately with others. Their devotion to their art, to the pursuit of their dreams, is so all-involving that they seem unable to take the time or devote the minimal energy needed to empathize with even those most eager to provide help and support.

The movie's Zuckerberg says and does monstrous things. But he never seems a monster. His cruel behavior toward others reminds me of the absentminded slaps we might give bugs that land on our arm. The blows are fatal, but not really intentional. We have always recognized that greatness of accomplishment may sometimes overshadow lack of human decency. We admire Caravaggio's paintings, even as we deplore the events of his life. It's not that we excuse anyone, even a genius, for cruel and thoughtless behavior -- but we nevertheless applaud the contributions of such geniuses to our world.

My second observation is simply that Jesse Eisenberg is a wonderful actor. I first remember him from "The Squid and the Whale," a 2005 film (under-rated, in my opinion) in which he played a sensitive teenager -- a boy who idolized his father, a boorish professor, and was in danger of following in his father's footsteps. He shows the same sensitivity in his portrayal of Mark Zuckerberg. His Zuckerberg can behave in the most cruel and callous manner, making jokes -- often very funny jokes -- that devastate the people about him. And even while he trades his soul for an elusive, always-receding goal of internet "connectivity," trampling on the feelings of everyone around him in the process, pain and confusion flicker across Eisenberg's face, revealing his character's bewildered inability to understand the dislike and hatred he arouses, especially in the people he most wants to impress.

I liked Eisenberg's Zuckerberg, even while I deplored his actions. He was very funny and very bright. I admired his excitement and his ambition. I liked the way he talked, which is the way bright college kids tend to talk. I felt sorry for his inability to accept and respond to the friendship that his best friend and business partner offered him, and to the affection that his girlfriend -- who dumped him during the opening credits -- had obviously once felt for him.

But then it was easy for me to like him -- he had never squashed me underfoot like a bug.

There is much more to this film -- many deeper concerns to appreciate -- than these two quick observations. Go see it.