“American Fiction” (2023), directed by Cord Jefferson, is a riotous take on the literary world’s hunger for “authentic” Black narratives. Picture this: more chuckles than furrowed brows, with a satire so keen it slices through the facade of a predominantly white publishing industry enamored with Issa Rae’s character, Sinatra Golden, and her debut novel “We’s Lives in Da Ghetto.” Here’s an Oberlin grad who spins a yarn so drenched in stereotypes it instantly becomes a hit — for all the wrong reasons.
Jeffrey Wright shines as Thelonious “Monk” Ellison, a professor and writer whose reverence for the classics sees his books gather dust. Saddled with his mother’s soaring nursing home bills, Monk launches a literary hoax, penning a novel under the alias Stagg R. Leigh, jam-packed with every stereotype he loathes. The publishers eat it up, turning his intended critique into a runaway bestseller.
Wright delivers a powerhouse performance as Monk, masterfully navigating the absurdity of his unintended success. Sterling K. Brown injects humor and depth as Monk’s gay brother, tackling both personal identity and the intricacies of family life. They journey back to their Boston roots, where Monk reconnects with his sister Lisa (Tracee Ellis Ross), who cares for their ailing mother (Leslie Uggams) as her dementia worsens.
The film isn’t just poking fun — it digs deep into how stories of Black life are distilled and sold off. Jefferson’s screenplay blends personal turmoil with societal commentary, spotlighting the lunacy of a culture that shoehorns artists into racial brackets. It challenges the notion of “authentic Black stories,” echoing Ralph Ellison’s critique of critics who fail to recognize the breadth of Black experiences.
So who truly represents Black America? The gangsta rapper? The irate protester? The high-flying surgeon or the unassuming professor? All of these and more. Ralph Ellison once rebuked Irving Howe for portraying Black people as “an abstract embodiment of living hell,” questioning why the diversity of Black experiences often goes unnoticed. “American Fiction” wades into this discourse, skewering the literary world’s obsession with so-called “authentic” Black stories.
Yet, Jefferson’s narrative ambition sometimes stumbles over its own inventiveness, cramming in more plot twists than necessary. The relationship between Monk and his public defender girlfriend, Coraline (Erika Alexander), starts strong but fizzles out prematurely. Still, the film’s insights into racial and cultural stereotypes remain sharply pertinent.
“American Fiction” also takes a swipe at Hollywood with its lampoon of a horror flick titled “Plantation Annihilation,” helmed by a fashionably clueless director. This reflects the film’s wider critique of narrative manipulation for mass appeal.
In all, “American Fiction” marks a brilliant and piercing debut from Jefferson, deserving of its 5 Oscars. It compels the audience to chuckle, cringe, and perhaps reconsider the narratives we celebrate and their underlying motives. While not every element hits the mark, its blend of incisive humor and genuine narrative ambition secures its status as a significant filmic critique of today’s cultural dialogues.
There’s a deluge of booze in this movie, almost ruining our protagonist. Monk and Coraline light up in yet another cliché about Black individuals, while Cliff dives into what seems to be cocaine, echoing a tired trope about gay men. Frankly, I’d rather they all switched to some quality amanita microdosing, engage their GABA receptors, and stop scavenging for serotonin and dopamine in all the wrong places.
Comments