The Social Network

Written at the time of the film's release...(although, here, outdated links have been deleted and more relevant ones have been inserted...and then, I'll post the thing on "Facebook"...which is so "Meta")

"Saving Facebook" ("Every Creation-Myth Needs a Devil")
or
"There's Somethin' Happenin' Here (What It Is Ain't Exactly Clear)"

"O wonder!
How many goodly creatures are there here!
How beautious mankind is!
O brave new world,
That has such people in't!" (The Tempest, Act V, Scene 1)

Maybe it is too early to make a movie about Facebook (out of MySpace and Friendster) and the ramifications of our Brave New World of cyber-relationships. Maybe it is a little too "street-corner sage" to predict The End of the World As We are Sorta Familiar With it (But Not Really...More Acquaintances, Really). But, it is interesting to see a story about the Frankenstein behind the Monster, if only to see how each reflects the other.

And even though we're secretly rooting for The Monster.

And, at this point in time, there isn't a better team to make The Social Network than Aaron Sorkin and David Fincher. Sorkin, the mad savant behind some of the better TV shows of the past decade and a half, has always written about people and their "issues," and how personality impacts policy. Fincher has matured from an ILM tech (who was happy to fly cameras through coffee-maker grips**) to an intricate observer of societal pressures on the psyche. For the two of them to make this particular story is a Friend Invitation made in Hollywood Heaven.  "Accept" it. But, you can't "Ignore" it.

The movie begins with a date going badly between Mark Zuckerberg (Jesse Eisenberg, late of many movies with "...land" in the title) Harvard wall-flower, and Erica Albright (Rooney Mara—she'll play Lisbeth Salander opposite Daniel Craig in Fincher's big-budget version of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo), an acquaintance. Anyone familiar with the machine-gun dialogue that writer Sorkin is known for, had better duck for cover—or wait for this on DVD so you can...play...it...slooooowly—for he now has an automatic weapon for a word-processor, and a co-conspirator in Eisenberg who can milk every nuance out of a line, despite hyperventilating it at debate-competition speed. His Zuckerberg is a "no Dolby/no squelch" type of unreadable conscience, and Eisenberg plays it with a deadness behind the eyes that interprets the world as a problem, if not necessarily a challenge. He's a bit too candid for a first date, and she stomps off, which sends him on a mission, simultaneously trashing her on his blog (LiveJournal) and culling the pictures of every woman on campus to create a "Who's Hotter" web-competition that becomes so popular so instantly that it crashes Harvard's web-infrastructure.

He becomes both famous and infamous for the stunt, guaranteeing he'll never get a date in college, and attracting the wrath of the college's board, and the interest of two preppies attempting to create an exclusionary social network on the web. He goes them several steps better, making a system open to everyone on campus that trumps their attempts, and as it gains "friends," expands throughout the college system.

Hindsight is 20/20, and Sorkin constructs the film as a series of depositions after the fact (of Facebook's success) as everyone who thinks they've been burned by Zuckerberg testifies to his vague promises and dealings under the table.*** Of course, they have every right to sue—but they'd only sue if "The Facebook" was a success—and the underpinnings and double-dealings don't resemble a fight for satisfaction, or a Noble Quest, so much as resembling a snake eating its own tail. ****

Which brings us back to Frankenstein and his Monster. The film itself is expertly done—it is a complicated story of hidden motivations and the presentation of masks before public faces—and Sorkin and Fincher manage to navigate us through the maze of the story, even though one feels there is no cheese at the end. The experience is a bit hollow, which may be a part of the point.

Because the Facebook experience is hollow, as well. As hollow as Zuckerberg, as portrayed in this film, is. While it is nice that one has the opportunity to "re-connect" with old friends in a virtual environment and satisfy everyone's need to (as one friend commented on blogging) "talk about what you had for lunch," one wonders why one has to re-connect at all...especially if the relationship wasn't maintained in the first place. Not enough time in the world to meet? Because a "real" relationship takes time, takes effort, "gets messy?" Facebook provides the illusion of "staying in touch," without actually touching. Like Zuckerberg's abortive "date," a lot of time is spent broadcasting, but not interacting.

There are, of course, exceptions. But the fact of the matter is Facebook's cyber-community is not a "Brave New World" at all. Just the opposite. It provides a substitute in lieu of commitment. A panacea in a life thought to be full to bursting and without risk. The most precious commodity we can give is time—slices of our lives and our selves. Facebook is a pacifier—a mass-Hallmark card that we can spend a few heart-beats picking out, and send away without a thought and not even sweat the cost of a stamp.

It soon becomes a numbers game—a collection, like the celebration of the 1,000,000th friend portrayed in the film. But who are those million people?  Facebook doesn't know or care. It's just a number. A number of casual relationships, that may lead to something else, but probably won't. A collection, nice to look at, but more often, ignored. Trophies, and ones that don't need to be polished or buffed up.

It's a new world of blithely arrested development, in the image of its creator, where love and commitment do not compute, and the only thing close to it is "hope"—translatable as keystroke F5.

* Except for some dodgy freezing breath-work, the biggest special effect will be invisible to you until the closing credits.  Nice.

** Personally, I'd like to get back all those hours spent on "ZooWorld."

*** An image that kept coming to mind every time I thought of writing this review, where it would subsequently be published...on B/C-L's's Facebook page.

The Killer (2023)

WWJWBD?

or

Skepticism is often mistaken for cynicism. (Suuuure, it is...)

Stick to your plan.

 

Anticipate. Don't improvise.

 

Trust no one.

 

Never yield an advantage.

 

Fight only the battle you're paid to fight.

 

Forbid empathy. Empathy is weakness. Weakness is vulnerability. 

 

Each and every step of the way ask yourself: what's in it for me? 

 

This is what it takes. 

 

What you must commit yourself to...if you want to succeed.

Simple.

 

It's the mantra by which the hired sniper (played by Michael Fassbender and unnamed except for some wildly amusing aliases on his I.D.'s and credit cards—he can't be accused of identity theft but might be in violation of the recent writer's strike) of David Fincher's The Killer (based on a graphic novel series by Alexis Nolent—ndp Matz—and Luc Jacamon) lives his life and dutifully repeats to himself after all the anticipation stops and he's actually required to pull a trigger—and only then, if his pulse-rate is hovering at 60.

It's the waiting that kills you. He keeps his body in shape with daily exercise, a light diet of protein—McDonald's...really?—and his mind focused with a steady stream of The Smiths and the aphorisms constantly scrolling through his head. 

 

He is in Paris, taking up temporary residence in an abandoned WeWork space across from a plush Paris penthouse that he constantly eyes for any sign of activity...or of a target. He's received an assignment, but the intended corpse is late. And this gun-man hates that. It's rude, for one thing. And if his intel is wrong about this, what else is off-track? Not that he knows anything about the target. He's not there to judge. "My process is purely logistical," he muses "narrowly focused by design. I'm not here to take sides. It's not my place to formulate any opinion. No one who can afford me, needs to waste time winning me to some cause. I serve no god, or country. I fly no flag. If I'm effective, it's because of one simple fact: I. Don't. Give. A. Fuck ."

But, he does, as far as the inefficiency goes. Cameras are everywhere. And though he purposely dresses as a German tourist to discourage any recognition...or interest...he can't help but think that his constant presence will gradually work against him, despite his M.O. of "redundancies, redundancies, and redundancies." On "Annie Oakley jobs" like this one, it's the details. "It only takes a few episodes of 'Dateline' to know there are countless ways to trip yourself up. If you can think of a dozen, you're a genius. I'm no genius." Later, he will get nostalgic: "When was my last, nice, quiet drowning?"

Maybe he should have waited until the guy got in the hotel pool. It wouldn't be a very interesting idea for a movie if everything went according to his plan. And little-by-little, that mantra becomes increasingly irrelevant and The Great Anticipator finds that he must improvise...a lot. The redundancies, redundancies, redundancies become complications, complications, complications. And, for once, he has to deal with the consequences as they hit closer to home. He finds it tough to be a target.

"I blame you...for having to bring my work home," he muses at one point. 

 

The Killer is fine, if you don't mind spend spending so much time with a conscienceless sociopath who has the advantage of never having to stick around for the aftermath—that's just something he never needs to calculate. But, when the tables turn and he actually has to give one of those fucks, there is no apparent empathy shift. He's still the coldly calculating death merchant with a penchant for pretense. And given his track record for playing sublimation and even mechanization, Fassbender is the perfect guy to play him. He's on-camera for most of the movie's running time, constantly in the sights of the view-finder and those types of marathons are tough to pull off. But, he does it with a seeming ease as the toughest thing his character can do is crack a smile.

Ultimately, it's a revenge movie—his clients don't like the outcome of the job he was hired for and so they go after him—and he has to methodically go up the chain, finding his contact, finding out his contacts, and taking them out one by one. He finds out "who", but the "why" is a bit of a mystery, unless you ascribe his own philosophy to their motivations: "From the beginning of history, the few have always exploited the many. This is the cornerstone of civilization. The blood and mortar that binds all bricks. Whatever it takes, make sure you're one of the few, not one of the many." And so he goes about his business. Whatever it takes.

Fincher's direction is full of his feints and slights of hand—the time-transitions in a cut, the "impossible" shots (he did start out in special effects and he's in his wheel-house in a CGI-world—see the video below), all carefully controlled, composed and edited with a distinctive *snap* to them. It all looks simple, but what it takes to achieve that effect is extraordinarily complicated. That it's in service to another "revenge" plot is a bit disheartening. That it's something Fincher has wanted to make for years is more than a little depressing.

Fincher is such a craftsman, that he shouldn't be punching down. Maybe he had an extra commitment to Netflix for making Mank. Maybe he wanted to see if he could curb his instincts for budget and length and make something spare with both. Maybe the option to the graphic novel's film-rights were going to lapse. Or maybe this is his attempt to make a comedy ( although I've always considered Fincher's Fight Club more of a comedy) with its assassin who seems to have grown his habit for internal monologue watching "Dexter." Maybe it's his way of making a "John Wick" movie (why you'd want to, aside from the absurdity of it, escapes me). But, this is more This Gun For Hire than Le Samouraï.

 

If he was looking to make art, he was aiming a little low.

"Of those who like to put their faith in the inherent goodness of mankind,

 I have to ask, 'Based on what, exactly?'"

Don't Make a Scene: Mank

The Story: Publisher William Randolph Hearst puts Screenwriter Herman J. Mankiewicz in his place, literally and figuratively.

In Mank, David Fincher's realization of his father's screenplay about the writing of the movie Citizen Kane, the relationship between Hearst and his mistress, Marion Davies, and Mankiewicz is background, a significant part of his life that informed the formation of the project which he'd conceptualized with the title "American." Davies and Mank knew each other through Charles Lederer, her nephew and a screenwriting pal of Mank's. As a result, Mankiewicz started to accompany Lederer on weekend trips to Hearst's castle, "La Cuesta Encantada," in San Simeon, California. Hearst and Mank became gossipy friends—Mankiewicz was renowned for his wit, and it was what attracted Welles, as well. But, he was also an alcoholic, and...those trips stopped happening.

Mank speculates that Mankiewicz's cozy relationship was soured by his seeing Hearst's and M-G-M head Louis B. Mayer's use of the studio to orchestrate a smear campaign against 1934 gubernatorial candidate Upton Sinclair, a progressive. And when Sinclair lost, Mank, in his disappointment as well as in his cups, takes his bitterness out on the power-brokers. That doesn't play well. And his wit doesn't save him from the consequences and the very expensive rug is pulled out from under him. Righteous indignation may be personally satisfying, but it has penalties, no matter how righteous.

And that's when the Parable of the Organ-Grinder's Monkey comes in. I've briefly talked about the ironies of Mank (in my review of it) and another telling little example of Welles' influence is the insertion of a fable which casts a shadow on the tale—something he did in Mr. Arkadin and The Trial. The Parable of the Organ-Grinder's Monkey is a lesson in perception and how it can be wrong; the monkey assumes that he's the one in power, given the attention paid to it, rather than the reality of it being merely a distraction, a small—and rather helpless—participant. The chain around his neck may be made of gold. But, it's still a chain. Without it, and without the accoutrements provided the monkey, he's just a monkey...of no particular worth.

And with that metaphorical rejoinder (to Mankiewicz's own), Hearst lets him know who's in charge, and shows him the door. End of story. End of the party. End of the relationship. 

End of lesson.

The Set-Up: In flashback, as he's about to confront Orson Welles (Tom Burke) about receiving a writing credit for his script "American," Herman J. Mankiewicz (Gary Oldman) recalls his final meeting with William Randolph Hearst (Charles Dance). At one of Hearst's elaborate costume parties, Mankiewicz has gotten drunk—drunker than usual—and he talks about a story he wants to write, one that is a fanciful metaphor for the host. It does not go over well, and after Mankiewicz vomits on the floor, the guests scatter, leaving Mankiewicz alone with his host. The party's over.

Action.

INT. SAN SIMEON - NIGHT - (FLASHBACK - CONT'D) 79

MANK faces HEARST, motionless in the great, shadowy, echoing chamber.

HEARST Mank, Mank...

MANK What I said - was more in sorrow than in anger, Willie.

It's dead still. The two men alone in the room. HEARST crosses to MANK, and putting a fatherly hand on his shoulder, turns and guides him toward the exit.

HEARST Are you familiar...  

HEARST ...with the parable of the...

HEARST ...organ-grinder's monkey?

HEARST Now, the organ-grinder's monkey is tiny in stature, 

HEARST ...and having been taken from the wild, he's naturally overwhelmed... 

HEARST ...by the enormous world around him. But every morning, a sweet elderly woman...

HEARST ...dresses him in a fine suit of clothes. 

HEARST She fits him with a red velvet vest adorned with pearl buttons...

HEARST ...and a handsome red fez with a silk tassel...

HEARST ...she slips on brocade shoes that curl...

HEARST ...at the toe...and he's paired with a fine gilt music box on an exquisite gold chain, 

HEARST ...fastened to his neck, and his neck alone. 

HEARST Whenever he ventures into the city to perform he thinks: 

HEARST ...what a powerful fellow I must be. 

HEARST Look how patiently everyone waits just to watch me dance.

MANK (softening blow) Wha- Willie -

Hearst grips Mank's shoulder a touch more.

HEARST And wherever I go, 

HEARST he thinks...

HEARST ...this music box must follow - and with it, this... 

HEARST ...poor, downtrodden man. 

HEARST And if I chose not to dance, this sorry street peddler would starve...
As they reach the front door:
EXT. SAN SIMEON - NIGHT
HEARST as he eases MANK out.

HEARST And every time I do decide to dance - 

HEARST - every time - 

HEARST ...he must play. 

HEARST Whether he wishes to or not.

(pause) 

HEARST You've had a bit too much to drink, Herman. 

HEARST I'll get Raymond to drive you to the station. 

HEARST Good bye.

MANK'S POV

As the door is shut firmly in his face.

Mank

Words by Jack Fincher

Pictures by Erik Messerschmidt and David Fincher

Mank is available on Netflix