Billed as “a feature documentary about the Instagram generation,” Jonathan Ignatius Green’s “Social Animals,” from the outside, sounds like the least appealing elevator pitch ever. It conjures up images of interchangeable teenager talking-heads discussing the evils of Instagram, an inappropriately somber narrator, and a preachy third-act lesson about how capitalism is corrupting our children through their smart-devices and how we must all of us abandon our technology in favor of a more humble existence.
Thankfully, the documentary “Social Animals” is not that, at all. Instead, it’s a well-crafted character study about three disparate people who have nothing in common except for the possession of an Instagram account. “Social Animals” accepts Instagram as an entrenched part of American culture and the film is not trying to excise social media from the lives of teenagers so much as it’s curious about how teenagers live online.
First, Green introduces us to Kaylyn, an absurdly privileged Instagram model and celebrity. All of fifteen years old, Kaylyn spends her days taking business advice from her millionaire father, working on her budding clothing line, and obsessing about hitting “500K” followers on Insta. She lives in Calabasas, California and is honestly a little insufferable.
Green then introduces us to Humza, a seventeen-year-old daredevil Instagram photographer from Queens, New York. Humza is a talented photographer (he’s credited with some of the film’s drone photography), whose skill has garnered him some mild Instagram fame. Humza’s bridge-climbing stunts have gotten him into trouble once or twice, and his fame has lost him some street cred and ruined a friendship. Still, Humza is a well-adjusted, worthy kid who’s overall better off for the existence of Instagram.
Finally, we meet Emma. Unlike the other two, Emma’s just a typical girl living in Ohio. She’s not an Instagram celebrity, nor does she aspire to be one. And yet, Emma obsesses over her Instagram the way a celebrity might, curating the pictures she posts to keep her brand pure. She lists “the rules of Instagram:” only one picture a day, never two selfies in a row; on weekdays post at 9:30 am for the most likes, on weekends an hour later. Emma is smart, charming, and relatable—and the victim of a calculated cyberbullying campaign at her high school. Her former best friend—who now dates her ex—spreads rumors around their school about Emma’s alleged promiscuity (Emma says, “I would understand [calling me a “ho”] if I was a ho, but, like, I didn’t do anything.”) Eventually, Emma transfers to a new school—only to encounter even worse drama there.
Kaylyn’s story is depressing, maddening, and even terrifying, Emma’s relatable and sad, and Humza’s utterly fascinating and unpredictable. “Social Animals” paces out each of their stories perfectly; you’re always happy to get back to one character or the other after spending time with the other two.
One thing that “Social Animals” makes clear, intentionally or not, is that social media never fundamentally changed the way that kids (or adults) interact with one another. Body image issues, self-possession, privilege, skill—these all existed long before the advent of MySpace. Social media simply exacerbates these pre-existing parts of the human condition. Would Kaylyn or Emma’s life be substantially different if not for Instagram? Likely not, as much as they might take exception to the notion.
“Ever since I was little, I’ve always wanted to be a Victoria’s Secret model, and like be a Victoria’s Secret Angel, like that’s one of the biggest things I’ve ever wanted to do in modeling,” Kaylyn says (remember, she’s fifteen). She posts risque photos on Instagram, and often gets comments like “HOT” and “SOOOO PRETTY” and “LOVE HAIR.” “I don’t know, I think that’s interesting, that people think so highly of me and they don’t even know me,” she says. Her parents don’t seem to mind that their daughter is the sort of person who thinks “LOVE HAIR” equals “thinks highly of;” instead they take her to pageants and pay for a clothing line and further encourage her materialism and lack of self-awareness. It’s a terrifying, and eye-opening, glimpse into obscene wealth and cultural idiocy.
Interspersed throughout the film are teenaged talking heads, where kids discuss their relationship to social media (be assured, thank goodness, that at least there is no self-serious narrator). And as much as that makes “Social Animals” sound like a shitty YouTube video, director Green has found some really bright young people, whose soundbites he uses infrequently enough to supplement—not overpower—the stories of Kaylyn, Humza, and Emma. Like those stories, these interviews demonstrate how social media simply provides another venue for insecurities that exist independent of Instagram.
“Social Animals” is a cunningly visual film—cinematography credit on the film goes to Martim Vian, Julian King, Josh Kraszewski, Michael Stine, and Eric Ulbrich. Every shot is intentionally composed to rival anything on Kaylyn or Humza’s Insta feed; Green is never once lazy with his framing choices. It’s very refreshing to come across a documentary film of this small scale that so smartly utilizes its environments to create what is, importantly, a visual story.
This came out of left field. After expecting to hate “Social Animals,” it’s clear that the film is essential viewing. Not least because of the following Kaylyn monologue, that we leave you with now:
“In my point of view, a celebrity is kind of somebody who’s famous, and somebody who lives, like, a great life, who’s, like, always in the spotlight, and always, like, loving their life, like wealthy, like rich, famous, nice cars nice house nice clothes nice everything.” [B+]
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