An Open Letter to Fans of The Social Network
Hey, Everyone…
David Fincher’s going to be okay. I'm sure millions of you lit up Facebook and Twitter last night with outrage and suicide notes because he lost the Best Director award to Tom Hooper, and because The Social Network fell to The King’s Speech for Best Picture of 2010. But I’m sorry to tell you that the greater of the two did, in fact, win.
“But The Social Network rocked!” you say, “The King’s Speech was just a stupid arty English movie about a handicapped rich guy from history!”
Yes, The Social Network rocked. Fincher, Aaron Sorkin and their cast did an amazing job in making Ben Mezrich’s book interesting (Sorkin’s much-deserved Best Adapted Screenplay Oscar goes beyond award-worthy and tiptoes into miracle territory). But like so many of Fincher’s movies, it had no heart; that’s not to say the people behind it didn’t care, but the characters on screen were essentially geniuses squabbling over who would get to be the biggest billionaire for creating a new era of Connectedness Through Disconnectedness. The film’s two non-android characters, Erica and Eduardo, were rewarded with emotional rejection and obscurity for daring to care about people. As in the past, David Fincher delivered a fascinating, technically perfect and relevant movie whose electricity stems from a lack of warmth.
My next pick for best movie was The Fighter, and the only reason it lost to The King’s Speech on my meaningless wish list was because it contained only one tour de force performance—Christian Bale’s Supporting Actor win for his turn as a cracked-out ex-boxer was as foregone a conclusion as Best Animated Feature going to Pixar Entry X (sorry, I mean Toy Story 3). But The King’s Speech had two actors doing amazing things. Colin Firth absolutely deserved Best Actor; he didn’t sleepwalk through King George VI’s stutter, he made me believe—as Bale did—that he had real emotional and physical problems that he could no longer hide behind. His pairing with Geoffrey Rush as the king’s speech therapist, Lionel Logue, made for one of the most inspirational and sad leading duos in recent memory.
But instead of dwelling on our differences, Fans of The Social Network, let’s review some of the bizarre Oscar night shenanigans that I think we can both agree kind of sucked. First target: The Hosts.
I don’t know what was up with James Franco, but during the entire evening he wore the expression of an eight-year-old boy acting like a 1940s movie star, punctuated by frequent looks of closed-eyed concentration, as if he were trying really hard to remember the name of that Jeff Bridges cowboy movie.
For her part, Anne Hathaway deserves some kind of recognition for Best Prolonged Julia Roberts Laughing Montage; I can’t be sure, of course, but I suspect she bogarted the champagne from every attendants’ swag bag and re-fueled between commercials. To her credit, she did offer the evening’s two moments of honesty:
She giggled that the ceremony represented the “young, hip” Oscars, which I figured the Academy would’ve rather kept in a behind-the-scenes memo. But I guess bubbly hates secrets.
She also lamented the fact that her getting naked in last year’s Love and Other Drugs failed to land her Academy recognition. Sadly, she didn’t demonstrate what she was talking about for home viewers. It’s about commitment, Anne. Commitment…
Can we also agree that the people in the control room were assholes? They gave Melissa Leo what seemed like five minutes to ramble and cry through an unprepared acceptance speech; but started up the “Play Them Off” music about a minute in to Shaun Tan and Andrew Ruhemann’s heartfelt, prepared thanks for the ten years of support they received in bringing their animated short The Lost Thing to life. The whole night was like that: The many beautiful faces of the machine were allowed to sparkle, while the gears in its bowels received a spritz of diluted oil.
I’m not going to pick on Kirk Douglas, ‘cause that’s not fair. I will pick on whatever genius decided to trot out what I thought at first was an animatronic Voldemort with a dying battery in its voice box, but later discovered was the withered shell of a living legend. I mean, what am I supposed to do, sitting at home, watching this? Be reverent? Fuck no! I’m going to riff on the fact that it looks like whatever plastic surgeon gave Douglas burn-victim eyes also stapled a ball sack to each of his ears. I’m going to wonder aloud if the show had been moving too quickly for an Oscars broadcast, so they brought out old Kirk to pad the run-time. These are cruel, shameful things that I did last night, and I place the blame squarely at the hooved feet of the ceremony’s booking agent.
It’s not all grim, though, gang. At least True Grit was shut out of every category (I would’ve given it Best Costume over Xerox in Burtonland, no contest, but I'm fine with absoulte failure, too). And I’m sure Natalie Portman brought tears to Leighton Meester’s eyes, offering the star of The Roommate hope that her over-the-top psycho performance will net the CW star similar accolades this time next year. Seriously, Academy? Natalie Fucking Portman for Black Swan? Y’all need to watch some non-Oscar-bait movies to help you recognize crap when it’s pirouetting right in front of you.
I wonder, did anyone think to ask Isabella Boylston what she thought of Portman’s speech—or, more importantly, how that fabulous dress accented the actress’s baby bump?
(If you’re confused, just Google “Portman + baby + homewrecker”.)
Sorry, I’ve veered wildly off-topic here. Um, yes, things will be just fine, kids. For me, anyway; all my vicarious Oscar dreams came true last night. Yours didn’t, but so what? At least your pick for film of the year isn’t in the process of being butchered and re-released in order to reach a younger audience that would likely neither appreciate nor see it of their own volition anyway.
I’d like to ask that if you haven’t seen The King’s Speech that you don’t let these sour grapes keep you from watching a really great movie. It may surprise you by how un-stuffy and unconventional it is as a historical drama.
To be fair, I’ll also appeal to fans of The King’s Speech, who haven’t given Fincher’s movie a try, because it’s about snot-nosed kids who don’t know the value of real work (true, if you’re comparing computing to coal mining): Don’t let the techno-babble and quick-cutting scare you off from enjoying an entertaining and important film. It’s just as valid and well-executed as any nominee of the past decade. The Social Network deserves your attention and respect.
Thanks for indulging these thoughts. I’ve written them just as much for me as for you (can you tell?), my darling, dear Fans of The Social Network. Feel free to pass this along to anyone you think might need it, or simply forward it to your friends with the subject line, “Who does this snotty douche think he is?”
Either way, I win—which is more than I can say for True Grit. Ha ha ha ha ha ha.
Sincerement,
Ian