Netflix's 'Inventing Anna' is not my journalist life. But it does give me flashbacks.
Little good comes from a journalist trying to dissuade you from believing the latest fictional account of another journalist.
And yet, here I am, weighing in on the depiction of a reporter in Netflix’s new series "Inventing Anna."
So predictable of us, this gut reaction whenever TV or film comes up with another version of what we do for a living. This is especially true when the actor is portraying, sort of, a real-life journalist, and thus elevating our colleagues' profile. We pick that apart like cats on a codfish.
One might be tempted to think envy plays a role here, but to you journalists reading this, let me stress that I do not mean you. You would never.
Here I go: Real journalists never persuade criminal defendants to reject plea deals so we can use the unfolding tragedy of their lives to reboot our stalled careers. We don’t hide our professional identities to circumvent a jail’s visitation rules or help defense lawyers build their cases. And we don’t give defendants clothes from our own closets to produce the right look for their courtroom appearances.
And now, if you haven’t already seen it, you probably can’t wait to watch Shonda Rhimes’ "Inventing Anna." If you love to hate journalists, this series will make you swoon.
Intrigue, glamour and not quite reality
"Inventing Anna" is based loosely on a 2018 New York magazine story by Jessica Pressler, titled, “Maybe She Had So Much Money She Just Lost Track Of It.” The series is about the two women in this story: The journalist, a now fictional Vivian Kent, played by Anna Chlumsky, and her subject, Anna Sorokin, better known as Anna Delvey, played by Julia Garner.
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Sorokin was a 25-year-old con artist who, for a while, convinced New York’s elite that she was a wealthy heiress from Germany determined to build an exclusive arts club for people like them. Clever Anna swindled about $200,000 from banks and hotels, and people who thought they were her friends. At one point, she managed to steal a private jet to attend business magnate Warren Buffett’s invitation-only annual meeting in Omaha, Nebraska.
Vivian is a disgraced journalist trying to revive her career at the fictional Manhattan magazine. She shares a corner of the newsroom nicknamed Scriberia for its veteran residents, a wise-cracking threesome who apparently have all the time in the world to help Vivian soar to new investigative heights, without any credit. This happens in newsrooms all the time, on camera.
The series is what we’ve come to expect from the unlimited talents of Rhimes – full of fast-paced intrigue, glamour and double crosses, and behind-the-scenes glimpses into the playgrounds of the obnoxiously wealthy.
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New York Times reporter Emily Palmer, who covered the real trial of Sorokin in 2019, offers a thoughtful critique of how journalism is portrayed in the series:
“For a show that includes a reporter among its producers, the writers pay little attention to what true or at least ethical reporting looks like.
“Yes, office politics can influence decisions and relationships within publications, as in most workplaces. And yes, good reporting can include flattering and even befriending sources only to air their dirty laundry. But the series hinges on a moment when Vivian convinces Anna to forgo a generous plea deal and go to trial against the advice of her lawyer, all so Vivian can score a career-redeeming article. In the real world – or at least in the journalism world – that could have been the story’s biggest scandal.”
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We’re supposed to feel sorry for Vivian, and sometimes I do. She is pregnant and married to a man who can’t understand why her career should ever come first. She is dramatic, with the boundaries of a toddler. She bursts into a meeting of white male editors to declare that she has a better idea than all of them – and gets away with it. Again, this always happens.
Life in a real newsroom
I’ve been a journalist for more than three decades, the first two spent in a newsroom run mostly by men and fueled by turf wars. It was impossible to watch Vivian attempt to climb out of that barrel of crabs and not have some warm and fuzzy flashbacks.
Vivian is a woman who is pushy and loud – in a newsroom, which took me back to my first weeks as a reporter at The Plain Dealer. A colleague who called me Connie Tyler Moore – it was not a compliment – pulled me aside for a brief tutorial on appropriate newsroom behavior. “If you don’t stop being so cheerful,” she said, “everyone here will hate you.”
When I laughed, she grabbed my sleeve and pulled me closer. “This is exactly what I’m talking about. No one needs to hear this.” In that moment, I was a 36-year-old first grader in need of her mommy.
Twenty-two years later, I was a juror for a prestigious journalism competition. So exciting. We were divided into groups and assigned to various tables in a large room. During one of our group’s discussions, someone said something funny, and I laughed. Moments later, a man whose work I had admired for years walked over from another table and stood next to me.
Me! He was going to talk to me!
He leaned in and, for everyone to hear, said, “You’re very loud. Could you lower your voice?” He walked away and no one said a word. Fortunately, by then I was a 57-year-old middle schooler. I called my five best friends, told them what happened and named him, every time.
The truth about media attention
Go, Vivian, I may have whispered once or twice during those nine episodes.
In a scene of searing truth about our profession, Vivian confronts Anna’s lawyer, Todd, after his client is sentenced to four to 12 years in prison. Despondent about this, Vivian describes who Anna will be by the time she gets out: “She’ll be a lonely, middle-aged woman whose life was stolen from her.”
She glares at Todd.
“What?” he finally says. “What do you want me to say? You didn’t make her do the interview? You didn’t use her? She didn’t end up getting a longer sentence because of all of the media attention?”
“Sorry,” he adds, without apology, “but you got more clicks, Anna got more time. Plain and simple.”
Well, that was harsh.
Connie Schultz is a columnist for Paste BN. She is a Pulitzer Prize winner whose novel, "The Daughters of Erietown," is a New York Times bestseller. Reach her at CSchultz@usatoday.com or on Twitter: @ConnieSchultz