Where I love and champion The Social Network, I find myself torn on The Social Reckoning. There’s plenty of good, even great, material: kinetic dialogue and dynamic performances sell the themes’ vitality with stellar urgency. But Sorkin’s mundane direction and lack of interest in visual or emotional engagement dilute its efforts considerably.
The 2010 film The Social Network is one of the 21st century’s finest films. Directed by David Fincher and written by Aaron Sorkin, it offers disquieting insights into unchecked narcissism building empires, and it has aged far too well in a world dominated by social media. The Social Reckoning, with Sorkin now writing and directing, examines the consequences of that same narcissism washing its hands of responsibility. The film’s worrying observations on corporate power and algorithmic brain-rot are extremely potent, and probably justify the price of admission alone. But instead of a riveting story, this timely sequel is more of an adequately made op-ed.
Let’s be clear: Sorkin is a brilliant writer. From The West Wing onwards, his explorations of dense, volatile topics through vigorous speech and character are impeccable. However, his direction, while competent, leaves something to be desired. Even in his best writing, Sorkin has a habit of trading in emotion for self-aggrandising displays of cleverness. When working with astute directors like Fincher, this isn’t necessarily a problem. But without that filter to nurture his best tendencies and rein in his worst ones, Sorkin’s work can feel more like lectures than storytelling. The Social Reckoning, for better or worse, is unfiltered Sorkin.
Dramaticising the 2021 Facebook leaks, the film follows Francis Haugen (Mikey Madison), a Facebook data scientist. Since watching her friend become radicalised to far-right extremism, Francis has been secretly investigating Facebook’s algorithm. Her findings: Facebook’s algorithm actively pushes ordinary people towards extreme circles. Rather than connection or factual accuracy (getting rid of fact-checking altogether in 2024), Facebook encourages misinformation and rewards divisive drivel designed to anger.
Sorkin captures this despair with grim gravitas. Everywhere she goes, from casual dates to shopping during the Covid-19 pandemic, Francis witnesses people spouting obvious drivel and dangerous pseudoscience under the guise of free speech. Facebook’s engagement-based design is eroding people’s grip on reality, trading facts for feelings of outrage. It’s not a novel observation for those internet-savvy enough, but the film ominously, if repeatedly, demonstrates how Facebook’s profit-over-people philosophy devolves sanity.
Sorkin’s knack for biting dialogue brings out marvellous performances. Becoming increasingly disillusioned with Facebook, Francis shares her findings with investigative journalist Jeff Horwitz (Jeremy Allen White). The two trade impassioned exchanges about Facebook’s conduct, their contrasting personalities of persistence and paranoia allowing for discussions on corporate accountability and the sinister emergence of tribalism. The characters are not particularly intricate; Horwitz feels like little more than a mouthpiece for the importance of truth. Yet the actors imbue them with personality, with Allen giving his role wit and probity. Madison, a revelation in Anora, delicately walks the tightrope between fear, awkwardness, and shrewd intelligence, becoming the film’s soul. Her arc defends honesty and integrity, a fitting choice that makes Francis a worthy heroine amid a sea of typifications.
Just as electric are the scenes with Mark Zuckerberg (Jeremy Strong), Facebook’s founder and The Social Network’s anti-hero. Replacing Jesse Eisenberg, Strong’s stubborn, rigid portrayal is pitiful and terrifying. His delivery is as quick-fire as the dialogue, but Zuckerberg’s previous, albeit twerpish, humanity is long gone. He’s still that same manchild who couldn’t handle being told no, but he’s also a myopic coward who craves power but none of its responsibilities. It’s a chilling performance that rivals Madison’s in its viscerality. Of all the verbal zingers, the best occur between Zuckerberg and Bill Burr’s character, his one advisor with no desire to be a sycophant. They showcase the depravity of Zuckerberg’s megalomania with blistering clarity.
Unfortunately, passive direction adulterates much of this good work. Information, statistics and jargon are thrown around, but, unlike better Sorkin scripts, they lack sufficient resonance. Because we have no scenes between Francis and her ex-friend Kaylee (Portia Doubleday), the film tells their previous normal rather than showing it, denying the human attachment that drives the best stories, including The Social Network. Verbal exchanges and inner conflicts are photographed matter-of-factly, underselling the urgency save for the odd moment of blocking. Francis’s observations about Facebook corrupting people make for strong scenes. Still, they, and her declarations of wanting to help, not harm, Facebook, are repeated constantly in the same pattern of denial and witness. For such an enthused dialogue writer, Sorkin’s story structure is unusually clockwork.
Despite this, the thematic principles are classic Sorkin in their conviction. Democracy is the best form of government, as Jeff sagely says, but that doesn’t mean it’s the best solution for every problem. Giving anti-vaxxers, political demagogues, COVID deniers or moon landing conspiracy theorists an equal platform to scientists, historians, doctors and fact-checkers isn’t free speech; it’s validating idiots at the expense of safety and truth, or capitalising gullibility as Bill Burr’s character eloquently argues. These are observations as concerning as they are powerful, even if a lack of visual prowess undermines their weight.
A look into the January 6 insurrection serves as the culmination of the film’s cautionary themes. Thousands of Americans stormed Congress and attempted to murder politicians because they’d been lied to and falsely believed an election had been stolen from them. Social media, including Facebook, played an integral role in goading people to commit this act of treason. Sorkin’s direction comes alive in this sequence. The rapid editing, violent camera angles, and even darker colour palette all sell the horror of this day, arguing that tech companies that chose avarice over accountability were culpable in this terrorism, destroying ordinary people’s lives and souls. A devastating visual choice involving Kaylee drives this home. It’s a film that’s rightfully furious about where we are and where we’re going, and it offers plenty of thought-provoking material. If only it had more dramatic punch beyond the surface level.
Where I love and champion The Social Network, I find myself torn on The Social Reckoning. There’s plenty of good, even great, material: kinetic dialogue and dynamic performances sell the themes’ vitality with stellar urgency. But Sorkin’s mundane direction and lack of interest in visual or emotional engagement dilute its efforts considerably. The film has enough urgency and craft to recommend it to the curious. But the quantifiable difference between Sorkin’s writing and direction has rarely been more apparent.
The Social Reckoning is now playing in cinemas nationwide
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