‘The Social Network’ Review: The Definitive Computer Nerd Thriller

It’s pretty remarkable when a mere website can define an entire generation.

TheFacebook.com started as a social networking project that Mark Zuckerberg created to stand out amongst Harvard’s elite minds. It was created to be an exclusive place for Harvard students to socialize, browse pictures, join groups, list interests, send messages, and meet people. Most importantly, it was made to be cool.

If David Fincher’s “The Social Network” teaches us anything, it is that Mark Zuckerberg is not, nor has ever been, cool. No matter how much he wants to be a part of the exclusive clubs reserved for the good looking and socially adept, he’ll always be an outsider in a hooded sweatshirt and Adidas sandals, even today.

When Zuckerberg realized this inevitability of life, he did what any other genius computer programmer would do –- he started his own club. Lucky for Zuckerberg his little exclusive Harvard club has grown into the second most visited website on the Internet (behind Google) and has transformed him from awkward Harvard computer nerd to world’s youngest awkward billionaire.

Tonight, “The Social Network” makes its world premiere as the opening film of the New York Film Festival, with plenty of hype and high expectations. I hate to clog Internet servers everywhere with more glowing praise, but the Facebook movie soars. Under the brilliant direction of Fincher, the tight, swift script by Aaron Sorkin, and the talented young cast, “The Social Network” excels.

It’s strange to consider the fact that Fincher and Sorkin created a successful thriller out of the controversial beginnings of a website, but the film even makes typing code seem dark, mysterious, and exciting.

At the film’s heart, the fast-paced two hours result in a story about friendship, loyalty, betrayal, revenge and human nature. It’s Aaron Sorkin’s modern Russian novel brought to life by David Fincher.

The film opens with Zuckerberg and his girlfriend breaking up at a Boston bar, in a scene that is simply perfect and possibly the film’s most memorable. Before the opening credits finish Fincher has a scene that serves as a recurring theme and sets the tone for how Zuckerberg treats those close to him.

The soon-to-be Facebook founder is quickly established as a narcissist, confident and obsessed with his own virtuosic ability, but very much an outsider. The sharp exchange between the two bounces back and forth quicker than a Chinese ping-pong championship. In fact, the four-and-a-half minute scene contains nine pages of dialogue.

We realize that Zuckerberg rarely concerns himself with conversations not worth a couple seconds of his mind, especially with people that attend lowly institutions such as Boston University—even if that person is his girlfriend.

Talking is simply not something Zuckerberg is particularly good at, not when it involves any human emotion or tact in conversation. The audience is shown a calculated and determined college student who is happier drinking alone and writing code than hanging out in the company of friends.

Eisenberg plays Zuckerberg’s character with a cold arrogance that seems to mock everyone: his friends, investors, even the audience. Eisenberg plays the role as though he already knows he is better than everyone, but he’s trying to figure out a way to prove it. He’s the perfect smug nerd who inherited the world before his 25th birthday.

Zuckerberg’s relationships are utilitarian in nature, nothing more. His girlfriend was to improve his image. Eduardo Saverin, played subtly and emotionally by Andrew Garfield, was Facebook’s original CFO and co-founder. The film depicts him as a real 20 year-old—naive, personable, scared. It also shows that Zuckerberg used him for the site’s start-up money and ditched him once the site became a massive hit. Zuckerberg’s other friends were used as programmers — worker bees to help fulfill his dreams.

The only person’s opinion Zuckerberg respected more than his own was Sean Parker, co-founder of Napster, party enthusiast, and fellow kid-genius. It was the perfect role for Justin Timberlake to re-introduce himself to the film community as a serious actor, simply because it’s Timberlake playing himself. He’s a quick-talking cool guy whose charm oozes out of each sentence; the anti-Zuckerberg. Timberlake has a long way to go before he is considered the Facebook generation’s Marky Mark, but this is a far better start than “Fear.”

It is terrifying to watch the exponential growth of Facebook. The world’s most addictive website is partially responsible for our increasingly impersonal society of e-mails, tweets, texts, sexts, and G-chats.

It’s the center of our web-centric universe, it’s the local diner where the baby boomers hung out, the grungy bars where Generation X drank and listened to music, except, for better or worse, we don’t have to put on pants to get there.

In an information-addicted age it’s a voyeur’s dream, a harmless stalker’s fantasy, and your average Joe’s lifeline to people forgotten ages ago.

Facebook is much more than a website, it’s a cultural phenomenon that has transformed the way we communicate. What started as an exclusive way to meet people has become the most important website on the Internet.

During the press conference after this morning’s screening Fincher, Sorkin, Eisenberg, Garfield, and Timberlake were asked if they had personal Facebook accounts.

Sorkin used an account for three months while researching the script, and then canceled it. Eisenberg opened an account for less than a month. Timberlake doesn’t operate a personal account. Fincher “saw the website over someone’s shoulder once.” Only the lanky Brit, Andrew Garfield, currently has his own account, and he’s only been on the wagon for three months now.

It’s ironic that the same exclusive people who Zuckerberg originally wanted to attract, the elite, find no need or desire to join his network—to in some abstract way, be his friend.

That is how the audience is left, Zuckerberg alone with his computer, refreshing a screen that isn’t likely to change. Still searching for a life he thought he’d have found. It’s one of the few seconds of emotion Eisenberg allows his character to exhibit. He’s changed the world, but he’s still an outsider looking for an invitation.