Writer-director Cord Jefferson makes a truly explosive film debut with American Fiction, a hilarious and clever adaptation of Percival Everett’s novel Erasure that is that rarest of things in 21st Century American cinema – a satire with actual teeth, unafraid to be misunderstood and happy to offend if it needs to. Updating Everett’s 2001 book to 2023, it tackles race and white guilt in the modern American media landscape through big laughs and meta absurdity, taking shots at everyone from white consumers of ‘Black Pain’ movies and books to the Black writers willing to feed that market to the academic class who think they’re above it all.
Jeffrey Wright plays Thelonious ‘Monk’ Ellison, a Black author from a wealthy family who specialises in writing stories inspired by ancient history and myth and is sick to death of the boxes that Black artists in America are put into, wanting to stay as far away from stories of poverty or slavery or police violence as possible. The problem is that no one wants to read his novels, while Black trauma porn sells exceptionally well, wins prizes, and earns reviews with the buzzwords ‘urgent’, ‘raw’, and ‘important’, all of which matters a bit to Monk and a lot to his agent.
Angry at being overlooked, Monk (using the pseudonym Stagg R Lee) writes a book that dives into all these stereotypes, initially titled ‘My Pafology’ and later retitled to simply ‘Fuck’. It’s an exercise done mostly as a joke for himself but, of course, the book is a smash success, even more so when Monk and his agent come up with the backstory that Stagg is on the run from the law. Reluctant at first to take the gag too far, Monk’s need for money (his sister has recently died very suddenly and his mother needs more and more care as she succumbs to Alzheimer’s) pushes him to embrace the lucrative lie to the fullest.
Jefferson’s jokes take no prisoners, and they’re pretty much all hilarious and not just in the dialogue – a particular moment where a white critic proclaims the importance of ‘listening to Black voices right now’ is framed in just the funniest way possible. Though there are some long stretches without gags, when American Fiction is at its comedic best, it’s right up there with Theater Camp and Rye Lane as one of the year’s funniest films. From earnestly liberal white critics to a celebrated Black writer – Sintara Golden, as played by Issa Rae in a fun performance – who comes from a privileged background and writes her poor Black characters just as exploitatively as a white author might, Jefferson is happy to make everyone look a fool, including his audience.
You have to be prepared to be insulted – I myself am guilty of embracing lazy ‘progressive’ buzzwords in prior reviews of minority-led films – to get the most out of American Fiction, but it’s more than worth it, and there is a sensitive streak here too whenever Monk can escape the Stagg persona and just be himself with his family. Wright, in his first truly leading role in a film since 2018 after five years of being one of the best ensemble players in the business, plays every note beautifully, embracing the silliness when he needs to but also able to prove genuinely affecting.
Sterling K Brown also does his best work in ages as Cliff, Monk’s chaotic and slightly estranged brother, and the scenes between him and Wright, as well as between Wright and Myra Lucretia Taylor as the Ellison family’s long-time housekeeper Lorraine, are properly moving. Jefferson makes sure to put the most sentimental family stuff in right as the madness with Stagg reaches its peak, jumping between tones with skill and confidence to keep you on your toes.
So many recent ‘satire’ films have been too afraid to really hit home and, in its joke-forward boldness, American Fiction doesn’t just take its obvious targets to task, but also the well-meaning but overly nervous state of the industry in general and, inevitably, eventually itself, with a sharp left turn ending in which Jefferson essentially admits his own culpability. It could be seen as an easy way out, but Jefferson also makes sure to save his darkest, most uncomfortable laughs for last – in American Fiction there’s no escaping every trap of being a Black artist, but that doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy the ride.
Jack Blackwell – Film Reviews 