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Forgotten Password? "The Social Network" gets lost in its own complexities

Today on the chopping board: The Social Network (2010)

The Social Network is much like Facebook itself: a fast-paced, captivating entity that connects the complex threads of ambition, betrayal, and genius into a single, fascinating platform. This David Fincher film isn’t just about the rise of Facebook: it’s about the cost of success, the fragility of relationships, and the ruthless hunger for power in the digital age. From the opening scene, in which  Mark Zuckerberg and Erica Albright trade sharp, rapid-fire dialogue across a dimly lit bar, the film declares itself as something more than a tech billionaire's origin story. To its core, this film is an engaging drama fueled by the dynamic fight between ambition and betrayal. Jesse Eisenberg’s Zuckerberg is both captivating and elusive: a mind racing ahead of the world, yet incapable of truly connecting with it. Although the film is undeniably gripping, by compressing real life events into a spectacular drama, it simplifies its characters and events.

Eisenberg’s performance is mesmerizing. His Zuckerberg is less a social outcast than a machine in constant motion, processing interactions like lines of code. He doesn’t just talk in rapid bursts, he thinks that way, breaking relationships down into logic and efficiency. Some of the film’s best moments come in the silences, in the slight shifts in Eisenberg’s expression that reveal the calculations happening beneath his cold exterior. But Zuckerberg is so emotionally restrained, so defined by his intellect, that he risks becoming less of a person and more of a concept. The film reduces him to an obsessive, socially awkward genius without fully exploring the contradictions and human flaws that make him compelling. His motivations remain shallow throughout the film, driven by a desire for recognition and control, but the deeper psychological and ethical struggles behind his choices are left largely unexplored.

I found that the film’s most thrilling sequences are built on speed and momentum: the chaotic birth of FaceMash, the parallel depositions dissecting the past like a courtroom chess match; and Eduardo Saverin’s slow downfall, carried by Andrew Garfield’s raw and authentic performance. Yet, while these sequences keep the story engaging, they also simplify the real-life figures. Saverin is the betrayed friend, Sean Parker is the charismatic corrupter, and Zuckerberg is the cold genius. While these oversimplified, stereotypical roles work for drama, they don’t always reflect the complexity of their real-life characters. The supporting characters, particularly the Winklevoss twins, feel more like narrative devices than fully realised human beings, existing primarily to move the plot forward rather than contribute to the turbulent story in any meaningful way.

In my opinion, one of the film’s biggest deficiencies is its lack of curiosity about the bigger picture. It tells the story of Facebook’s founding very well, but leaves out the real-world impact of the platform itself. Mark Zuckerberg’s motivations are reduced down to personal grudges and the hunger for power, but the film doesn’t explore how his creation would go on to redefine the concept of privacy, impact global politics, and reshape the communication of the entire world. It’s a film does a good job in portraying ambition, but fails to portray consequence as well.

Despite all this, I think The Social Network remains one of the defining films of its time. It captures the shift in power from traditional institutions to those who control the digital world. It understands, with eerie foresight, the rise of the socially awkward but ruthlessly intelligent tech mogul. In a world where influence is measured in clicks and connection can be quantified in data, The Social Network serves as a time capsule that managed to capture the exact moment the digital age began its lethal race, which has not stopped since: it lingers like an open tab in the browser of history, never fully closed, always refreshing, waiting for the next update.

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I, Tonya, We, Fooled

Today on the chopping board: I, Tonya (2017)

In figure skating, the focus is on grace, precision, and control. But I, Tonya throws all that out the window, embracing chaos, violence, and a twisted version of the truth. Craig Gillespie’s film is fast-paced and darkly funny, combining mockumentary sequences (such as the breaking of the fourth wall) with the energy of a Scorsese film. The conventions of the film clearly try to make us empathise Tonya Harding while also indulging in the same sensationalism that made her an icon.

I think it's safe to say that Margot Robbie’s performance as Harding is the powerful source steering the engine of this film. She plays Harding with raw intensity, showing the tough exterior that hides a lifetime of abuse. One of the most powerful moments is when Harding pleads with Olympic officials after her skate lace breaks during the 1994 Olympic Games. Gillespie frames her face close-up, her makeup smeared, looking completely defeated. It’s a moment that captures her entire tragic story: not just the lost competition, but how she was constantly judged for things outside of her control.

However, while the film does a good job of making us feel for Harding, it is also undeniable that it takes liberties with the truth. One of the most questionable scenes is how the film handles the attack on Nancy Kerrigan. The film portrays Jeff Gillooly and Shawn Eckhardt as utter idiots, almost cartoonish in their incompetence, turning the violent incident into a silly mischief gone wrong. This approach shifts the tone, making it seem more like a comedy than a real tragedy.

By doing this, the film lets Harding off the hook. It suggests she had no idea what was going on, even though there’s evidence she may have known about the attack. The film makes her out to be a helpless victim of her abusive husband and his foolish associates, reducing a complex situation to a simple tale of innocence and victimhood. This revisionist take ignores Harding’s possible role in the crime and flattens her into a misunderstood figure rather than someone with a more complicated, morally ambiguous story.

The film also simplifies the idea that Harding was constantly unfairly judged because of her working-class background. While it’s true that figure skating was (and still is) elitist, the reality is more complicated. It was a known fact in the figure skating community of the time that Harding was a talented but inconsistent skater, and her scores reflected both her skill and her mistakes. The film’s portrayal of her as a genius victim of prejudice ignore the complicated truth of her career.

All in all, I, Tonya is definitely a gripping film with great performances and a unique style. But by bending real life events to fit its particular narrative, one constructed partially by Tonya Harding herself, it leaves us questioning how much of the story is really true. In trying to reclaim Harding’s story, it risks distorting it, just as the media did years ago. In my opinion, the film’s greatest irony is that it’s as much about spectacle as it is about truth, just like the world of figure skating: where makeup and sensational twirls hide the abuse and darkness.

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How does it feel? "A Complete Unknown" feels exactly like a rolling stone

Today on the chopping board: A Complete Unknown (2024)

Bob Dylan. A mystery, a weirdo, and a true musical genius constantly reinventing himself and defying expectations. It is safe to say that A Complete Unknown captures and embraces his puzzling persona, abandoning the conventions of a usual biopic, and more so serving as a  collage of moments that shaped him on the verge of becoming a legend.

Upon entering the movie theater for the screening of this film I truly did not know what to expect from it. Upon leaving the theater however, after getting over the confusion induced by the film, which I will discuss later, I can say that for the first time, I had an “I get the hype” moment about Timothée Chalamet’s performance. James Mangold’s A Complete Unknown is not a conventional biopic but more of a portrait of the person, an attempt to capture Bob Dylan’s emerging genius rather than lay out his life story in a structured way. Additionally, Timothée Chalamet doesn’t just imitate Dylan, he fully inhabits him, nailing the voice, the mannerisms, and the enigmatic quality that defined his persona during his early years as a 19 year old musician drifting in the intimidating sphere of the New York folk-scene.

Mangold avoids the usual three-act structure of music biopics, choosing instead a moreloose approach that carries itself. The film moves in fragments, some intimate, others more detached.. While this creative choice creates an immersive atmosphere, it also leads to a lack of drive in the story. At its best, the structure allows for deep, affecting moments, at  its worst, it feels like a collection of beautifully shot scenes without an actual connecting thread.

I found that the film’s most impactful elements are the scenes of  Dylan’s visits to Woody Guthrie’s hospital room, in which Dylan, still unsure of himself as an artist and trying to find his own voice, approaches his idol with a mix of admiration and unease. These scenes are sound and feel very different from the rest of the film: they are quiet yet deeply moving, they feel very intimate, showing the passing of the torch of folk music from one generation to the next. In my opinion, it is these scenes that tie the story together, rather than the scenes of how Dylan’s career progressively rose.The stillness of these scenes and the unspoken communication between Dylan and Gurthie, resembles the fact that he felt like Gurthie was the only one able to understand his situation, therefore these small, quiet interactions between the two speak volumes without relying on heavy dialogue.

Another standout moment of the film is Dylan's first encounter with Joan Baez, a moment captured with great intensity. It is clear from the first moment they interact, that their clashing personas create a complicated and engaging chemistry, but the film avoids over-romanticising their relationship, instead presenting it as an encounter of two artists with separate yet intertwined paths.

Similarly, the scenes portraying Dylan's early club performances are truly breathtaking, capturing the raw energy of an artist finally letting his voice be heard in a smoky, barely lit club packed with others of his kind. These scenes remain the most immersive scenes of the film, giving the the viewers the sense of sitting in the crowd and listening to the leading figures of the 1960s folk scene at their very best.

In my opinion it is undeniable that Chalamet’s performance is the film’s greatest strength. Many actors in biopics settle for surface-level mimicry, but he captures Dylan’s restless energy and distant, awkward personality very well. His voice is particularly impressive as well, not just an impression, but a full embodiment of Dylan’s unique style of singing and rhythm.

Yet despite a seemingly perfect casting, A Complete Unknown seems to  struggle with its own structure. It manages to evoke a certain mood throughout most of the scenes,  but doesn’t always build on it. Mangold ensures every scene is visually beautiful, but there’s little story tying them together in a way that gives the film forward motion. The scattered pace mirrors Dylan’s own unpredictability, but it also makes the film feel disjointed, lacking a clear story arc.

But maybe it was all intentional: Dylan himself never followed a straight path, and neither does this film. It’s occasionally frustrating, often fascinating, and despite all criticism it stays relentlessly committed to its own rhythms, just like Bob Dylan did throughout his early years. A Complete Unknown does not try to explain Bob Dylan or make him more appealing to a wide audience:it actually just offers a glimpse into his world, a collection of moments from his life that feel real and authentic rather than neatly arranged in conventional ways.