The Social Reckoning is the story of patriarchal caricatures breathlessly mansplaining journalism, ethics, and even mansplaining to any woman within earshot.
It is also a film about Facebook, the malicious destruction of the social contract for profit, the January 6th insurrection, and how little we value print media. In theory, it is an important film about an important topic. The problem is that it knows that it's an important film about an important topic, and behaves accordingly. In the end, The Social Reckoning only achieves self-importance.
Its politics are toothless, its views dated, and it lacks the courage to call out the guilty. Aaron Sorkin, who writes and directs, rushes to make the loudest point in the most inelegant way possible. As a result, his film resembles an actual Facebook post instead of a pointed manifesto.
It is unnecessarily convoluted and spans three time periods, with an unnecessary prologue and a maudling coda that highlight how it lacks the brutal economy of David Fincher's masterful The Social Network from 2010.
That film, also written by Sorkin, toyed with perspective to make a point. Though both films share a writer, they do not feel like they came from the same pen. Here, Sorkin repeats the split narrative without the follow-up. Even as Sorkin writes in a fictional version of Mark Zuckerberg (Jeremy Strong) sparring against a fictional former friend (played by Bill Burr), who berates Zuckerberg like a foul-mouthed Jiminy Cricket, his film is so unfocused it can't decide whether he's angry about the dangers to global democracy or simply the state of journalism today.
In one timeline, we follow reporter Jeff Horwitz (Jeremy Allen White) as he paternalistically teaches whistleblower Frances Haugen (Mikey Madison) the importance of ethics. Jeff is a classic old-school reporter: he doesn't know how to use a GPS, he uses a notepad instead of a laptop, and he exclusively watches old movies with showtunes. He also really dislikes women, young or old, and belittling them comes as naturally as breathing.
Now, I don't think the real Horwitz is like that, because the Horwitz on-screen isn't a real person. He is Sorkin, or the composite ideal that Sorkin casts himself as in every project he makes. He repeats famous Sorkinisms, loves to bring up films from half a century ago, and he hasn't met a condescension he didn't love.
His boss, The Wall Street Journal's bureau chief (Betty Gilpin), is a nag who gets in the way of his rogue methods. He has an intern whom he bullies and harasses (but in a fun way!) and, in one of the most fascinating train wrecks this year, mansplains mansplaining to Haugen, who risks everything for his approval. In the end, her achievement requires a fatherly pep talk and hand-holding from Horwitz, whose saintly nod bookends her sacrifice.
Sorkin is a clever writer who mistakes witticism for insight. His characters, who are less like people than different aspects of his shower arguments, still bicker gracefully. There is a delight in a well-crafted barb, especially in the hoity dismissiveness Sorkin's self-inserts tear into anyone lacking encyclopedic knowledge of musical theater. It's like Frasier without the self-awareness. It is also very sexist and dated.
The Social Network got away with some of this because of Fincher, a strict director with immaculate form. Directing himself, Sorkin lets his worst tendencies roam free. There is no sense of time or place, and Sorkin's quippy dialog drags the pace down at every turn. His visuals are as lifeless as the women he writes. It is a film built around the few monologues all your friends will share on Instagram in the coming months.
But it says nothing about its subject beyond superficial outrage. There is no why because we barely learn the how. It doesn't reveal why someone would work at a company like Facebook, and Sorkin pointedly refuses to name Donald Trump in a remarkably poor re-enactment of the January 6th coup attempt.
For a film supposedly mad as hell, such last-minute kowtowing only shows Sorkin lacks bite, and his bark is reserved for those who can't fight back.
