Aaron Sorkin’s “The Social Reckoning,” a sequel to 2010’s David Fincher-directed “The Social Network,” is hitting theaters as part of a surge of tech geek takedowns that includes documentaries on Elon Musk and Theranos’ Elizabeth Holmes, as well as Luca Guadagnino’s upcoming comedy “Artificial” about OpenAI’s Sam Altman.
Still, its timing couldn’t be worse.
Cursory and hollow, it recounts the true story of Wall Street Journal reporter Jeff Horwitz (Jeremy Allen White) and Facebook whistleblower Frances Haugen (Mikey Madison), a disenchanted data engineer on the company’s civic integrity team, who paired up for a 17-part investigative series that provided proof of what people already sensed: Facebook boosted misinformation and rage-bait to juice user engagement at the cost of our country’s mental health.
The script ends shortly after Haugen testified before Congress in October 2021, noting that the carpet in her waiting room had recently been swapped out because of bloodstains from the Jan. 6 Capitol attack. The film rewinds to that day, too, and attempts to squeeze drama from slow-motion reenactments of the rioters, which Alexandre Desplat scores to an overbearing military dirge as Mark Zuckerberg (Jeremy Strong) and his good little Facebook soldiers mull over whether to take down the U.S. president’s incendiary posts.
Back in our own reality, Zuckerberg and the president just had lunch last week. At this point, we’re all so psychically drained that the only response we can muster to this vacant period piece is: So what?
Sorkin has my sympathies. The future moves faster than a film in development. And he fundamentally gets the peril we’ve put ourselves in by entrusting Zuckerberg, who is, at minimum, an ethically askew man. After all, Sorkin’s own screenplay for “The Social Network” remains a prescient masterpiece.
But the movie’s problems go beyond arriving simultaneously too slowly and too soon for Zuckerberg’s endgame, where his emptying social media empire has him gambling his fortunes (and ours) on AI. Expanding his scope from Harvard to the planet, Sorkin now aims to show that we’re all trapped in Zuckerberg’s insensitive mind view. Cold computer speak has infected everyone like a virus. When Madison’s Frances goes on a blind date, her online match says he appreciates that the internet makes it simpler for singles to pair up “within their own vector.” The buddy-buddy Winkelvoss twins’ version of the app might actually have been better for the world.
Meanwhile, Zuckerberg, who mostly stays on the sidelines of the movie, is now a mighty billionaire and, as Strong plays him, a dour, lifeless dork. Gone are the beer bashes, the thrill of invention and any hint that Zuckerberg lusted for something — women, attention, clout — other than a quarterly earnings report. This Zuckerberg is no longer made of flesh and blood but ones and zeros. Pity Strong couldn’t play the CEO after his bro-y 2024 mutation into MMA-fighting Marky Mark. At least that guy is amusingly ridiculous. Trapped in this stiffer, earlier incarnation, the only acting Strong is able to do is poke his head straight up from his shoulders until he resembles a retractable pen.
Worse, all the other characters in the film talk just like him: charmless, frigid and quick to cut each other off with snippy corrections. I could forgive that if it was just Facebook’s employees: Madison’s quavering, exasperated Frances, the co-worker (Anna Lambe) who insists she and Frances are merely colleagues, not friends, even after their company frittered away the meaning of the word, and a media relations executive (a smooth Billy Magnussen) who gets the scariest line, coolly insisting that “we’re post-government around here.” After all, these are the folks who saw “The Social Network” and still wanted to work for Zuckerberg.
But the opposition is steeped in that same monotone rudeness. Sorkin must have adored that earlier film’s opening scene where Rooney Mara insults a clueless Jesse Eisenberg because he’s written three-dozen takes on it. At Sorkin’s version of the Wall Street Journal, everyone up and down the masthead — editors, writers, even interns — insults each other with such relish that someone should be written up by HR. The fast-and-furious dialogue hits its nadir when Madison’s Frances slips Jeff important documents that he can’t even read because she nonsensically starts chattering about the looming coronavirus.
Here’s where you say that this is just how Sorkin writes characters. And here’s where I counter that a movie about how algorithms destroy humanity has to have some credible humans in it, if only to illustrate its own point.
Instead, Sorkin’s protagonist-bots come with bolted-on personality quirks. White’s journalist is a Luddite who would rather be late to his own job interview than use Google Maps. He comes across as so clueless that the audience can barely credit him for his reporting work winning an eventual Pulitzer — he’s just soulful eyes and a cellphone ringtone that tinkles old show tunes.
Madison, 15 years the junior of the real Frances, is too young to convince us that her character truly believes she can turn Facebook into a digital utopia. An ultra-online 20-something, she was a front row witness to Gamergate, yet somehow she’s shocked to overhear about middle-school girls getting bullied on Instagram. Her character wears legwarmers and knit wristlets to the office as protection against the air conditioning, which also serves to emphasize her company’s interpersonal chill.
Yet, bizarrely, the script makes Frances dress like a sex worker whenever she sneaks to Jeff’s hotel to slip him some corporate secrets. It’s a disguise, she explains, although the gag is so forced that it’s just as easy to believe the literal-minded girl is taking her Deep Throat identity too seriously. Or perhaps Sorkin just wanted to remind audiences that this awkward creature is the same actor who won the Oscar stripping off in “Anora.”
A few moments do work, like an opening showdown between a drunk blond (a nasty-great Portia Doubleday) and two cops that gets live-streamed to the web, and Zuckerberg’s congressional coaching sessions with his crisis team, played by Wunmi Mosaku and the comedian Bill Burr. From what we learn of Burr’s Charlie Garrigan, an insider who sold his Facebook stock too fast and then wrote a negative New York Times editorial against the company, he seems to be inspired by early co-founder Christopher Hughes, which would made him the only other callback character from “The Social Network.” But Sorkin has changed his name and upped his age, so as fun and ferocious as Burr is, we also spend his scenes feeling a little confused.
Do we learn anything new about Facebook itself? No. Still, I appreciated how dismissive Frances gets when asked to confirm small scandals that she finds too piddly to care about, like Jeff’s suspicion that Zuckerberg is goosing his posts so that positive comments outrank negative ones 32 to 1. That’s just obvious, her posture says. Facebook is over two decades old and he still hasn’t made many friends.
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