Yes, Aaron Sorkin wrote 2010's The Social Network, a historical drama that recounted how sexist computer nerd Mark Zuckerberg launched Facebook. Now, Sorkin has returned with The Social Reckoning, which focuses on how one brave whistleblower revealed some of the sinister decisions Zuckerberg made to favor his finances over the well-being of Facebook users. But this time, Sorkin is directing in place of David Fincher. And this means there's no end to his stylistic indulgences, which have grown increasingly stale since his West Wing days.
Sorkin's predilection for banter, his oft-condescending tone, and his Newsroom tendency to depict women as sexy, scolding, or both, undermine the story he's trying to tell. Even his treatment of Zuckerberg (played here by Succession's Jeremy Strong) misses the mark, turning the tech titan into a caricature of capitalist greed. The Social Reckoning feels far less revelatory and far more like it's preaching to a choir — or more specifically, an all-male choir.
The Social Reckoning is misogynistic.
The problem begins with Sorkin's portrayal of whistleblower Frances Haugen, played here by Academy Award–winning actress Mikey Madison (Anora).
Sorkin introduces Facebook coder Frances with a leering eye. Cinematographer Jeff Cronenweth films her at her home computer, wearing thigh-high shorts. His lens tilts slowly down her bare legs to reveal leg warmers and dangling, naked toes. The shot lingers long enough you might wonder if this is a Tarantino joint. The specificity of the leg warmers, which are matched by knitted fingerless gloves, is later explained to be related to a medical issue rather than sartorial eccentricity. In this introduction, however, it just feels fetishistic.
This male gaze gets hornier as Frances begins meeting secretly with Wall Street Journal investigative reporter Jeff Horwitz (The Bear's Jeremy Allen White). He's staying at a hotel, so to deter suspicion about why she'd be there, she dresses up as if she's meeting someone for a date. In Sorkin's mind, this means low-plunging, skin-tight dresses with nude illusion lace that feel more suited to a red carpet. (And yes, even Madison's red carpet look for this movie's red carpet is more demure than her costumes in it!) So, even as Madison is sharply delivering technical dialogue, a medium or wide shot will revel in her cleavage and curvy figure.
Elsewhere, other heralded actresses, including Emmy winner Betty Gilpin and BAFTA winner Wunmi Mosaku, play more corporate figures dressed in mercilessly snug-fitting suits that draw attention to their busts and hips. And though Canadian Screen Acting nominee Anna Lambe, playing one of Frances' colleagues, isn't as relentlessly ogled, she — like every other woman mentioned — is essentially a scold.
Frances is giving Jeff all the info he needs to write his expose series. But along the way, she will repeatedly berate him and call him stupid. (He'll say she's "mean.") Lambe's role is mostly scorning Frances for her concerns about Facebook empowering extremist groups. Mosaku is a crisis manager who is sternly teaching Zuckerberg to look less like a robot ahead of his Senate Judiciary hearing. Gilpin's Wall Street Journal executive is 80 percent glowering, save for a one-on-one scene with Madison that seems to have been put there by Sorkin solely to beat the Bechdel Test.
And to that end, Sorkin's dialogue between Frances and Jeff is repeatedly infuriating. He seems to be trying to recreate the bouncy will-they-won't-they banter of the films of Frank Capra, who gets name-dropped by Jeff in a patronizing tone. (He chastises Frances for only knowing two of Capra's movies.) It's insulting to suggest that audiences can only be interested in the dialogue between these two if there's a flirtatious frisson. And frankly, the actors seem to resist that pressure, doubling down in the sternness of their characters. Still, it's galling that Sorkin's dialogue resolutely builds Jeff to be one of a dying breed, the intellectual man, when he's actually a tediously smug misogynist.
In the film, Jeff is a political reporter who wants to investigate Facebook without joining it, and doesn't even know how to use GPS. (He prefers paper maps in 2019!) He bullies his intern — whom he calls "the female one" — into joining Facebook so he can observe her experience for data collection. When he demands she like and reshare whatever crosses her feed, she worries people will believe it's really her, and he ignores her. Then, when a frustrated Frances accuses him of "mansplaining," he counters that women only say that when they're losing an argument.
Admittedly, White's charisma and a gentle tone that feels like he's stolen Ryan Gosling's voice softens the rough edges of some of these egregiously off-putting moments. But overall, what Sorkin imagines will entertain the audience so they'll eat the vegetables of this whistleblower story is actually poisoning the plate.
Jeremy Strong is an unfunny parody of Mark Zuckerberg.
In The Social Network, Jesse Eisenberg was widely praised for his depiction of Zuckerberg as an arrogant asshole, determined that he was the smartest guy in the room. In The Social Reckoning, none of that frat boy swagger remains. Strong, an award-winning actor in his own right, plays Zuckerberg stiffly, whether he's practicing his testimony or speaking to his staff. His arguments are flat and unconvincing, even as he faces one of the most pivotal moments in Facebook's history: whether to shut down President Donald Trump's ability to post on Facebook during the Jan. 6th insurrection.
It might be a technically accurate portrayal of the Silicon Valley icon. But it makes Zuckerberg look like a pencil brought to life by an incompetent Etsy witch. So, as he spouts his supposed faith in free speech or his determination to make Facebook an unstoppable financial juggernaut, there's an uncanny valley-like disconnect. Sorkin makes no attempt to connect how Zuckerberg from The Social Network, where he was a cocky yuppie in a bathrobe and shower sandals, might have become this pod person muttering about percentages in a bland business suit.
To Sorkin's credit, he brings in comedian Bill Burr as an emotive foil. Playing the role of Zuckerberg's counsel, he agitates and bellows, hitting the Facebook founder with some of the sharp words many in the public might love to throw at him. But it's a problem when a tertiary character who's in maybe seven minutes of the movie feels like the only real person, even though the movie is based on real people.
In the end, The Social Reckoning feels like a finger-wagging lecture. Perhaps Sorkin means to spice it up with Golden Age Hollywood banter, a portrait of Zuckerberg as a dead-eyed ghoul, and a slathering of sex appeal from the female cast. But Sorkin's dusty devices, problematic archetypes, and cringeworthy dialogue make the film feel instantly dated. Scroll on.
