Duncan Jones: Happiness Deconstructed

It might be a little early to call it, but I’m going to say it now: Duncan Jones revels in the bittersweet.

As Jones’ stunning debut MOON was coming to a close, I couldn’t help but feel those oh-so-familiar pangs of bitterness in what appeared to be a happy ending. Oh, sure – Sam Bell escaped from his captivity. He escaped from his endless loop of perpetual servitude. And maybe that’s enough for most people; maybe, just maybe, that’s enough of a victory to merit celebration. But for this viewer, there’s something that nagging about the ending – I can’t think about Sam’s victory over Lunar Industries any more than I can think about him finally returning to Earth after his endlessly prolonged stay on the Moon. The only thing that I can think about is how utterly horrible Sam’s dream of returning home is going to be. This isn’t a happy ending – far from it.

Sure, sure: I heard the newscast that plays over the final scene of the film. I know that Sam will go on to take own the evil corporation that enslaved him and that he’ll get his revenge. That does not change the fact that the love of Sam’s life is dead, his daughter has aged beyond his recognition and his original host is already living whatever remnants were left of the life that Sam planned to return home to. And not only that, Sam is programmed to die in three years. All personal victories and philosophical notions of the inevitability of man’s death aside, this is not a happy ending. This ending is bleak. And as I mentally prepared myself throughout all of Jones’ sophomore release SOURCE CODE, I could not shake the feeling that it was happening all over again. The sheer inevitability of the logic that would be presented in the final few minutes of the film ensured one thing and one thing only: this was going to be another one of those “blink-and-you’ll-miss-the-horror” Duncan Jones endings.

And before I go any further, I want to make one thing very clear: I’m not faulting Jones for any of this. I’m not nitpicking or calling him out. In fact, I’m celebrating it – I love the bitter sweetness, the pure dichotomy of his push-and-pull endings. They make for far more enjoyable closure than the typical standard fare, because they don’t stop once the film does. If anything, they only give implied closure, and for those that require it, it’s there for the taking. Yet, for those of us who need a little bit more, he leads us down a path that can end as darkly or as happily as we see fit. You get the overwhelming feeling that the story you’re watching isn’t over; it’s just beginning, and what lies beyond the moment the audience is disconnected is anybody’s guess. Will they live happily ever after? Will they achieve everything that their hearts’ desire? Probably not. There is an understated stance that with all of the complexity of stories like these, there may not ever be a happy ending. So, instead, Jones chooses to end his films on a high note – the high note immediately prior to the one where the proverbial shit hits the fan.

Such is the case with SOURCE CODE. I don’t think I’ve ever been so horrified by a so-called “happy” ending in my life. It’s an ending so selfish, so inconceivably and purposely limited by the overarching scope of the film’s narrative that to fully reveal its true implications within the context of the film itself would be to end the movie in what might only be described as despair-porn. And that’s sort of what’s so amazing about it. Jones leads his audience into believing that this is a happy ending: that Colter Stevens gets the girl, gets to win and gets to live. All of which is true, of course, assuming that you ignore the fact that to get the girl he’ll have to pretend to be Sean Fentress for the rest of his life, to get to win he had to kill innumerable, additional people over and over again and to get to live he had to erase another man from existence. And they call this a happy ending.

This is a commonly missed point about the ending of the film that demands discussion. If you’ve yet to listen to the commentary on the SOURCE CODE BD, I strongly recommend that you check it out: Jones, Ripley and Gyllenhaal discuss the horrors of the ending in frank and succinct detail. This discussion solidifies the claim that these bittersweet endings may not be innate to Jones’ subconscious; rather, he seems to be very aware of them. His comments in regards to how amusing he finds the misdirection of the film’s “happy” ending mirror my own, and it makes his approach to closure an infinitely more compelling discussion:

“…each time source code is used, Rutledge is actually responsible for a whole new series of deaths, because when Colter is unable to stop the explosion on the train, there are a whole new set of casualties… We’ve got a number of casualties, we’ve got Sean Fentress dead, we have multiple source code realities which are permanent where the train has exploded because the source code has been run, we have a relationship that’s a mess, we have Goodwin that’s confused out of her mind… And it’s a happy ending. [laughs]” – Duncan Jones (via the SOURCE CODE BD audio commentary)

It doesn’t take a whole lot of thought to start putting together all of the disturbing pieces from the film’s shunned narrative devices into forming this unsettling continuation of the story. It’s enough for most people that the characters appear to live happily ever after, and yet for those in the audience that have followed the logic through to its obvious conclusion, there is an internal joke at play in the film, wherein there is simply no way that this can end well for any of the characters. It’s a fine joke, too: while those who take the film at face-value are content as Colter and Christina skip off into the sunset, the rest of us are sniggering behind her hands at the hell-storm that’s about to be unleashed on all of these people’s lives.

Colter and Christian have founded a relationship on a lie, one that will take a miracle to be avoided for the duration of their lives together. It’s not just any lie, either – it’s a “holy shit, you’re actually a guy trapped in another guy’s body that has been using fifth-dimensional time-travel in order to get into my pants” kind of lie, and those generally don’t wind up going over too well in the long run. Not only that, but there are horrible other moral implications, as well. If it’s true that each source code run produces a new reality which succeeds in existing beyond the eight minutes they believe it to, then they have killed all of the people on that train over and over again in differing and permanent realities just to save them in a single one.

[Of course, there’s also a more optimistic spin to it, wherein these realities were already there and source code simply taps into and allows Colter to visit them, meaning these people would have inevitably died were it not for Colter’s heroic attempts to save each timeline from the same fate. But as comforting as this idea it is, it doesn’t overly jive with Jones’ apparent dark sense of humour.]

And so we come back around to the inherent selfishness of the ending. Of all of these horrific conclusions that can be drawn from the natural continuation of the storyline, none of them matter in the world of the film. In the film, all we care about is Colter Stevens getting the girl and saving the world. And he does. And we’re happy. The end. And what’s fantastic about how Jones handles the ending is that he chooses not to let us rest on our laurels and savour the romantic ending. Does he end the story at the freeze-frame kiss? No. Does he end it at their moment together at the “Bean”? No. Jones rightfully keeps the story going just long enough to remind us that, despite their apparent happy ending, there are some “OMG” moments going on in the background that, if you weren’t paying attention, you might have forgotten about. Jones holds up the mirror to the audience as if to say:

“I know you wanted your happy ending. Here it is. I crafted a fine one for you. Now stop and think about how the sheer insanity of this entire situation and these two people’s happiness may just have destroyed many, many other lives, both literally and figuratively. Think about that the next time you watch your favourite movie couple walk off into the sunset together.”

In this way, Jones deconstructs the notion of the happy ending by giving the audience just enough clues and reveals to demonstrate how monstrously unhappy the circumstances of the plot have made things. It would be like ending THE LORD OF THE RINGS on a shot of a wife being evicted by the bank because her husband, a solider who died in the war, is no longer alive to pay the bills. It would be like ending one of the James Bond films on a scene where a traumatized agent gets divorced by his wife over the shell-shock that has made it impossible for them to continue a romantic relationship. It’s cynical, and it’s pessimistic, but it’s kind of amusing in the way that it satirizes what the audience perceives as a victory.

There’s a metaphysical aspect to it, as well. Jones and Ripley may be conditioning us to the deconstruction of the archetypal happy ending, but he does it through a very particular device: a machine that creates an alternate reality, much the same way the art of cinema creates a temporary, alternate reality that we can visit, explore and interact with. Maybe we don’t get eight minutes in the source code – maybe we get two hours. This isn’t time-travel; this is time re-assignment.

So the next time you watch a movie, don’t forget to give a nod of your head to that poor soldier who left his family in tatters so that Frodo Baggins could be a damned hero. Because, you never know: maybe after the two hours are up and the lights come on, the world of the film just keeps going after we leave it, and those poor casualties of war need all the help they can get once we’re done with them.

d.a. garabedian


Top Ten Albums of 2011 (Plus Four More)

I’m a little bit late, but I’ve been away from my library for the better part of a month and have only now gotten a chance to sit down with all of my music and really make a decision about what I determined to be the “best” of 2011. Generally, I’m against list-making of this sort, because taste is so ridiculously subjective, and I would never be so arrogant as to claim that these are actually the best that the music world had to offer this year. Frankly, I haven’t even had a chance to catch everything that I wanted to catch, so this list is – and will always be – incomplete. That being said, it’s almost the end of January, and I really can’t stretch this out any longer. So, here it is: my ten fourteen favorite albums of the last year, in no particular order.

(Yes, there are fourteen albums. They’re the ones I thought merited mention the most for one reason or another, and while I found that ten would be too difficult – I’m lazy, I know – I found that there weren’t twenty or even fifteen albums that I thought shared the level of quality as the albums here.)


Neverending White Lights — Act III: Love Will Ruin, Pt. I


Daniel Victor’s much-delayed third entry in his musical experiment that includes as many guest vocalists as can possibly be herded into a single LP marks a bit of a departure for the artist, for several reasons. Firstly, this is first entry in the series that features Victor’s own vocals on half of the songs – up from less than a third on his previous offering, ACT II: THE BLOOD AND THE LIFE ETERNAL. Secondly, this is a double album, the latter part of which will be released sometime during 2012.

Though I still prefer his sophomore effort to this recent release, there is much to praise here: Victor’s tireless and admirable dedication to performing every single instrument himself is still intact here, and there is a wide variety of them to choose from. The album is a much more focused entry than his admittedly meandering debut, though this is to be expected when the album has essentially been cut in half. Still, at a running time of only (only!) fifty minutes, it puts the other albums astronomical runtimes to shame (78 and 70 minutes, respectively) and makes for a more concise listen.

Guest vocalists (including Todd Clark of Pilot Speed and Steve Bays of Hot Hot Heat) are all on the top of their game, but this is Victor’s chance to shine – his vocals are more varied and in control here, and it’s nice to hear him slowly abandon the gimmicky (albeit fascinating and original) nature of the project and simply embrace his own musical genius.


Eye Empire — Moment of Impact


It’s sort of rewarding to see this long-lost descendent of the Wind-Up Scene grow and thrive; it’s almost like discovering one of the bands that the individual members all come from all over again. And as great as it is to hear the band evolve from their Dark New Day roots into something more notably original, what makes this band truly noteworthy is the fact that it makes Donald Carpenter relevant again in a way that he hasn’t been in a long time.

As one of the best frontmen to come out of the Scene, Carpenter has been controlling audiences in front of me since I was a freshman in high school, and he’s no less powerful and commanding here. If anything, he’s grown in stature in the years since Submersed, and with a darker toned band behind him he really gets a chance to show off his range. Gone is the falsetto juxtaposition that so defined him in his early years, replaced with a dark growl that could only be hinted at previously.

The riffs are tight, the rhythms powerful and the hooks unsurprisingly grand in scale. Though a touch rough around the edges, this release is a notable step up from the previous, independent version of MOMENT OF IMPACT, and I expect they’re only going to keep getting better.


Incubus — If Not Now, When?


An excerpt from my earlier review of the album:

“It’s an excellent album that showcases the band’s versatility, even if you miss the energy of previous offerings or prefer a more outrageous performance from rhythm section Ben Kenney and José Pasillas than the subdued one they give here. It balances the band’s eclectic side – which was certainly becoming overripe by the time MORNING VIEW hit – and the commercial appeal of more recent records into something entirely new. What is interesting about the album is that despite its avoidance of anything resembling the musical absurdity of earlier albums, it achieves nothing within the realm of “mainstream”. While many unhappy fans may descry the album as “pop”, it is nothing of the sort; with a few notable exceptions – such as follow-up single and album standout, “Promises, Promises” – IF NOT NOW, WHEN? is noticeably devoid of the massive hooks that make an Incubus record what it is. This is a restrained and subdued batch of songs that is sure to be endlessly divisive among fans, calling back to mind the question of who, if anybody, this record is for; if the answer does not lie somewhere in the realm of the open-minded listener, then it must fall squarely on the shoulders of a maturing group of talented musicians that grew weary of screaming when a whisper will suffice.”


Twin Atlantic — Free


This album surprised me quite a bit, keeping in mind the eclectic nature of this band’s debut, VIVARIUM, which was something of a hit-or-miss offering – I was in love with about half of the songs, while I found the rest deeply forgettable. This may have had something to do with the quirky idiosyncrasies that I’m sure to some made the band what they were, but they kept me at arm’s reach, disassociating the music and becoming almost self-aware in their emotional disconnect.

Almost all of that is gone on their follow-up, FREE, and it’s for the better. Though Twin Atlantic’s frontman Sam McTrusty still has a frighteningly unique sense of melody, he’s managed to rein himself in just enough here to deliver miraculous hook after miraculous hook without compromising any of the things that make him special – including the almost ridiculously apparent Scottish accent that permeates his vocals.

The band bring their A-game, too, maintaining their strange sense of timing and all-over-the-map riffage. The stylization is just varied enough to keep the record interesting for its forty-six-minute runtime, though it may have benefitted from a few hard cuts late in the game. Still, it’s a sonically unique contribution to this year’s rock output.


Yellowcard — When You’re Through Thinking, Say Yes


After a three year hiatus and five since their latest studio offering, Yellowcard returns with their most concise, consistent album to date. This is pop-punk at its finest, and at a brisk 37 minutes the band get in and get out almost before you realize they were there, leaving us only to wonder whether they ever left at all. This album -which was followed up later in the year with an appropriately all-acoustic rendition of the LP from top to bottom – gives pop-punkers exactly what they need: high-tempo slabs of power chords with massive choruses and a few melodramatically overwhelming ballads to round it all out. With some of the most memorable tracks the band has produced since their debut, it’s a nice return to their original sound after a few bloated (but nonetheless creatively fascinating) detours.


Dark New Day — Hail Mary


Another long-delayed release, the aforementioned VICIOUS THINKING (now-titled HAIL MARY) finally sees an official release despite the fact that the band doesn’t really exist anymore. Coupled alongside an album of b-sides – not to mention the oddly-timed release of another album, the upcoming NEW TRADITION – Dark New Day might just be the most prolific band that doesn’t actually exist anymore.

This album suffers from one thing: its track-listing. Despite what some shuffle-heads might think, track ordering is one of the most important elements of an album, and this proves it: the track list that the band officially released makes this a much less interesting album than the one that was originally leaked. Sacrilegious as it might be, I’ve manually re-ordered the tracks to the original listing for digital purposes, as the album is vastly superior in that form.

What’s interesting about this album is the way that it almost entirely abandons the abstract sound of the band’s debut, TWELVE YEAR SILENCE, in favor of a balls-to-the-wall rock ‘n’ roll album and, for the most part, it really works – there are some genuinely fierce chest-pounders among the dozen tracks, as well as some nearly poppy hooks that are almost too sparkly for the dark, dour instrumentation and lyricism. But that’s what makes the album so interesting: Hestla’s massive vocals move the tracks from sinister to communal in a single line, never pausing to let you think about the juxtaposition.


Evaline — Woven Material


Here’s an interesting, obscure album. Leaning almost towards prog-rock in their expansive arrangements, Evaline doesn’t seem to give a shit about the difference between a seven-minute crescendo of an opener, an under-three-minutes rock ‘n’ roller and a pop-rock hook-fest; they’re all here, and they’re all smothered under a blanket of atmospheric, experimental noise. Admittedly, at nearly an hour the album is a tough pill to swallow and makes for a significantly heady listen. There is so much going on here that the heaviness and spacial intensity is almost overwhelming, and it can be – this album is anything but light, almost demanding attention. It’s worth the full sit-through for that phenomenal closer, though – “All In My Mind” is one of the best tracks of the year.


Explosions in the Sky — Take Care, Take Care, Take Care


Explosions in the Sky have been trying to top their pivotal THE EARTH IS NOT A COLD DEAD PLACE for almost a decade now, and I think it’s become something of a moot point. A new Explosions album is something to celebrate – especially seeing as this one is their first in almost five years – and whether or not it stacks up to their seminal work is irrelevant; this is a spectacular album, through-and-through. They are one of the cornerstone bands of the post-rock movement, and nobody does bombastic beauty like Explosions.

TAKE CARE, TAKE CARE, TAKE CARE marks a new turn for Explosions: it’s the first time they use vocal sampling – as minute as it is – in a track, the wonderful and surprisingly short “Trembling Hands”. It’s something I’d like to see the band delve further into on subsequence offerings, as it adds a whole new sonic layering to the band’s distinctive sound, almost giving them a whole new palette to play with. And although the band has dabbled in spoken-word contributions to their tracks once or twice on THOSE WHO TELL THE TRUTH, it’s nice to see them using the voice as another inarticulable instrument.

But a new Explosions album is exactly what you’d expect it to be: another 45 minutes of pure, musical bliss, with all of the highs and lows falling neatly into place just as they’re supposed to. TAKE CARE is no different.


Foo Fighters — Wasting Light


There are simply no bad songs on this album. It’s eleven tracks of pure, perfect rock ‘n’ roll, delivered in proper analog fashion right to the ears of music enthusiasts everywhere. What’s truly wonderful about this album is how simple it is; more than that, however, it’s how easy Dave Grohl and co. make it seem. There is an elegance to how sincere and earnest this batch of tracks is. They haven’t been over-thought, they haven’t been overproduced, they simplyare, and that’s a wonderful and rare thing.

It may lack the diversity and creative experimentation of the under-rated ECHOES, SILENCE, PATIENCE AND GRACE, but it never sets out to be what that album is. In fact, it sets out to be the exact opposite of that album and it succeeds in heroic fashion, carving and conquering a niche on the completely other side of the rock spectrum and proving that you don’t need to go “artsy” to be real.

This is real.


Childish Gambino — Camp


There aren’t other albums like CAMP. There just aren’t. Regardless of who Glover is when he’s not in the studio or on the stage, this is a remarkable album. The sheer audacity of the lyricism should be marvelled at by every word-slinger that speaks the English language. There are so many references, puns and allusions that it’s nearly impossibly to pick them all up, even if you spent the time to study them. Glover doesn’t just give Kanye and Pete Wentz a run for their money when it comes to remediated lyrics, he takes them to school and shows them that they weren’t even playing the same game as he was.

This album has it all: standard hip-hop with the female hooks, catchy beats, dramatic ballads, a dipped-toe into dub-step and even a closing monologue that could only come from a writer and actor of Glover’s caliber. It runs maybe a song or two too long, but it’s hard to argue with the results when they’re this damn good. His voice is unique, his flow is varied and he’s even got the chops to sing his own hooks when he feels like it. Dramatic, powerful stuff.


Family Force 5 — III


Another excerpt from a previous review:

“III is not a mash-up on a song-to-song basis; III is a mash-up on an album-wide basis. And in that way, III is something of an album-oriented release: an LP whose strength lies in its context amidst not only the rest of the tracks on the album, but the rest of the tracks in the group’s catalogue. The low-key stomp of rave-esque track “Tank Top” would not be a tenth as effective as it is if it were not immediately followed by the beautifully polished ode to ’90s boy-band pop, “Not Alone”. The juxtaposition between genres now takes place on a song-to-song basis, rather than on a verse-to-verse basis. This is a band that does every genre, and does every genre well: from hardened hip-hop to soaring pop, back through dub-step and out again through punk-rock, the band has no boundaries. No limitations. They don’t need them.

III is not the sound of Family Force 5 completely abandoning their roots, throwing in the towel and going mainstream. III is the sound of Family Force 5 coming to terms with what philosophically makes the band tick and then filtering it through a variety of genres. Because, let’s face it; rock ‘n’ roll has never been enough for this group of musicians. They want it all, and III is the album where they finally take it. Just because they actually play their instruments doesn’t mean they can’t write a glaringly gangster hip-hop track.

Get on outta here.”


Taking Back Sunday — Taking Back Sunday


After nearly a decade, Taking Back Sunday reforms to their original lineup, releasing a self-titled disc in the process. And it might just be the best thing that’s ever been recorded under the moniker, regardless of the artists involved and rivalling even that of their timeless debut, TELL ALL YOUR FRIENDS.

The range on this album is particularly surprising, and it seems to pull from across the band’s entire catalogue, even if the original members weren’t always involved. There are blistering tracks that sonically pull from their Long Branch brethren Brand New, there are punk-rock scorchers that recall their early days and there are soaring power ballads that have become a staple of the group throughout their many varied lineups.

But there are new sounds, too, and bringing Nolan back into the fold is the best thing that could have ever happened to this group. Lazzarra and Nolan have never sounded better together, and they don’t even skip a beat bringing everything back around, sounding somehow simultaneously like both their younger selves and men who have matured and grown over a decade.

The hooks are huge, the musicianship is genuine and the passion and intensity is tangible. These boys are happy to be back together, and you can feel it in every note.


The Parlor Mob — Dogs


A few new faces hailing from Red Bank, New Jersey make their triumphant breakthrough with DOGS, and it feels perfect. Balancing Rush-meets-Jack-White vocals with contemporary-classic rock ‘n’ roll instrumentation, The Parlor Mob should be huge, and I feel like they might be in the near future. They deserve to be, anyway. There’s a diversity on this album that is rare on an album of this sort, even on the Foo Fighters’ excellent bid for rock LP of the year, WASTING LIGHT: one moment they’re flying by the seat of their pants with high-tempo riffs and blistering solos, the next they’re tearing everything down for back-to-back ballads. It’s nice to see a band that’s not afraid to take out the acoustic for a third of their album and somehow still manage to feel like they’re bringing the intensity and rock.

And for that reason, DOGS never becomes dull. There’s no time for it to get dull. On an album like WASTING LIGHT, you eventually realize that you’re getting slab after slab of tight rock, whereas here you’re never really sure what’s coming. And at only 42 minutes, the briskness is noticeable – you start the album, and before you know it, it’s over. And somehow, you still find yourself humming along to every single song on the album – these tracks are memorable, they’re distinct, and the album is of the perfect length to make sure you never get a chance to forget a second of it. This is a band to watch.


Greek Fire — Deux Ex Machina


Greek Fire, the offshoot of Story of the Year, finally releases their debut album in the form of DEUX EX MACHINA, and it’s stunning. It’s incredible how much of this album works flawlessly: everything from its short running time (37 minutes and eight tracks) to the gloriously and seemingly effortlessly tight musicianship. There is a ton of diversity here for such an impressively short amount of time, and the band members really get to flex their chops; acoustics, furiously tempo’d riffs and even sonic, effects experimentation.

But what’s really remarkable is how good Sneed sounds on vocals. No matter how many times fans have wondered aloud what it would be like to hear him take the mic center-stage instead of backing up Dan Marsala, I don’t think anybody was really prepared for how impressive his range is, his knack for lyricism and his melodic articulation. No matter the tempo, his voice falls right in line and manages to rein everything in under his control.

Phillips’ guitar-work is impeccable, as always, but it’s the bass that truly stands out: not only is it a pleasant surprise to find it so high in the mix, but it’s also a pleasant surprise to find that the bass lines are unique, complimentary and distinct. Everything about this band is working together in perfect harmony, and it’s something that’s rare and spectacular to behold. I expect big things to keep coming from these guys.


d.a. garabedian

social networking, the time-bomb and creation dichotomy

David Fincher’s “Facebook film” has been recently accused by some people [read: a lot of people] for being sexist. Aaron Sorkin has even had to make a public statement regarding it. Admittedly, I have not read said statement, mostly because I don’t think he needs to defend himself – I would never consider the film sexist in any way, and yes, that’s probably because I am a man.

True, the women of THE SOCIAL NETWORK have minimal parts, they scare and perturb our characters and are often delegated to shameless background effects wherein they are getting drunk, having sex, smoking pot or doing any other number of “amoral” activities. In fact, the depiction of women in this light is so nearly complete that it’s difficult not to sympathize with the sexist stigma that has been thrust upon the film. And yet, these naysayers seem to be completely ignoring that one, tiny, major factor that dispels the absolution of that depiction. More on that in a minute.

None of this is to say that these women are representative of all women everywhere. Far from it, in fact. Truth be told, they are not even the only gender to be depicted as amoral in the film: many of the peripheral men are equally if not more so. These amoral placeholders are caricatures, mere abstractions that are perceived by the characters as an idealistic state of affairs.

Indeed, despite any complaints to the contrary, these stereotypes do serve a purpose: it represents a lifestyle that the characters want, regardless of what the viewer may personally feel about it. This demoralized behavior is revered by the characters, an idealized, perhaps misguided goal; at least for a little while, anyway. It is Edouardo’s insane girlfriend that shatters this misconstrued notion of idealism and presents that fantasized and imagined social structure as fraudulent.

Yes, the film heavily covers the ground wherein women are represented as pure social idealism, but to stick to that perspective as the only point-of-view of the female gender in the film is to ignore the key motivation for the protagonist: his ex-girlfriend, Erica Albright. She is, for all we know and are given privy to, a seemingly composed and mature woman, existing on the complete opposite end of the spectrum from the other female (and male) students littered across the film. To ignore her presence – which is felt continuously despite her minimal appearance – is to ignore the exception to the rule.

Let’s back up a bit and consider an archetypal representation of a character, whether they be male or female. The most important and well-known of these characters is Charles Foster Kane from the famous masterpiece CITIZEN KANE, whose character goes his entire life attempting to lash out at the world for one psychological reason or another (which is an entirely different discussion altogether) until he eventually creates a world of his own where people will have to play by his rules and he has all of the control.

Now, I don’t claim to say that this is exactly the same story as in NETWORK. There are similarities, yes, but that isn’t the main point. The point is that we are drawing a correlation from a character that has existed forever in fiction: the male protagonist with issues of power, of control and with the brilliance and wit to achieve whatever it is that he desires. This description fits Sorkin’s Zuckerberg – not to be confused with the real Zuckerberg – to a tee.

There is one main, gigantic difference, however: context. A framework. A timeframe. Charles Foster Kane did not begin to create his own little world until he was well into his life. He was middle-aged, possibly older: it took him a lifetime to begin to create and construct a world for himself.

We don’t live in that world anymore. We live in a world of hyper-speed and hyper-space and hyper-everything. We live in a world where the potential for anything is within the reach of the fingertips of anybody, anywhere. Within the reach of kids no older than you or I. Within the reach of kids younger than you and I.

When Charles Foster Kane’s second wife leaves him, he tears the world to pieces. He smashes and breaks everything in his room, lumbering around in his apparent old age with all of the self-destructiveness and tendency towards tantrums as a child. He tears the world to pieces because, in being robbed of youth, he was denied the ability to grow up.

We don’t have those problems anymore. The creation and destruction of the world is within the grasp of kids who don’t need an emotional or psychological reason to have their maturity stunted; their maturity is already stunted because they haven’t matured yet. Aaron Sorkin’s Zuckerberg is jealous, greedy, socially inept and vengeful, as are most teenagers, or even students in the post-secondary level of education. There’s a reason that the Winklevoss twins are set up as this incredible dichotomy of gentleman-like behavior and knee-jerk, immature reaction.

With creation must come destruction, and Mark Zuckerberg is capable of both. He can create a world of social networking that connects millions of people across the world just as easily as he can destroy the only social world that he has in the real world. And he can do this because of all of his virtues and vices.

But Zuckerberg’s primary motivation (at least, what we are intended to believe is his primary motivation) exists because he is at the mercy of his emotional and hormonal maturity level. He starts and expands Facebook in order to get back at Erica, whom he feels he has something to prove to. He casts Edouardo out of the company because of his petty jealousy over his best friend’s acceptance into the Final Club that he wanted to get into.

Now, I don’t profess to claim that these vices are out of the reach of wiser, older men than Zuckerberg. Any person of any age is guilty of such sins. But these vices are amplified by the pain of puberty, an inevitable part of growing up: the world becomes at the mercy of every wave of testosterone of every brilliant boy with the will to change, to create, to destroy. Again, these vices are not limited to the male gender, although they are stereotypically associated as such. The female gender is just as capable of destruction as the male, though for the sake of this particular narrative it is necessary to counterpoint the protagonist’s gender against the opposing one.

Why does this matter? Again, let’s go back to Erica’s relationship to Zuckerberg.

The pubescent male gender – if we are to accept the stereotypical view of their self-destructive nature – is essentially a ticking time-bomb of hormonal action. Yes, I am over-generalizing, but I would rather over-generalize than miss the point through varied considerations. This time-bomb can create, can destroy, can alter and change the world around it. Every human being has this ability towards action, whether they be old or young, male or female; but it is the pubescent male that is the most volatile, the most prone towards surges of hormonal action and reaction, at least as far as archetypes and narratives are concerned.

What Fincher’s film does is show what happens when we’re not careful with how we treat the time-bomb. Yes, it’s easy to write it off because we essentially wound up on the creation end of the dichotomy: Facebook was made, no harm was done except to those immediately around Zuckerberg. But consider his first foray into viral networking, FaceMash: after his break-up with Erica, he decides to destroy and belittle the world of women as an act of vengeance. Yes, these are petty acts, but they are vague abstractions of what we’re capable of.

The film therefore becomes something of a horror story, a cautionary tale about contemporary society wherein the juxtaposition between emotional immaturity and intellectual superiority can be combined to shape the world to the whims of the rashness of youth. When every child who has yet to adequately mature out of the hellishness of puberty is given the power to touch the world, we will inevitably wind up with a few cases where destruction trumps creation.

Handle with care, lest we foolishly blow ourselves to smithereens.

d.a. garabedian