Tina Kakadelis
The award buzz around American Fiction certainly became palpable after it won the People’s Choice Award at the 2023 Toronto International Film Festival. This accolade is often a precursor to Academy Award nominations and wins. The Fabelmans took home the top prize last year, while Women Talking was in the runner-up spot. Both were nominated for Best Picture, and Sarah Polley won the Oscar for Best Adapted Screenplay. With American Fiction beating out a powerhouse farewell by Hayao Miyazaki and a much-raved-about return to form by Alexander Payne, writer/director Cord Jefferson may need to clear some space on the shelf for an Oscar.
Based on the 2001 novel Erasure by Percival Everett, American Fiction focuses on Thelonious “Monk” Ellison (the inimitable Jeffrey Wright), a novelist-turned-professor who’s had trouble finding inspiration as of late. His publisher doesn’t want to buy his latest book and his agent (John Ortiz) is considering dropping him. No one wants to read his writing because it’s not “Black enough.” What they mean is that his writing doesn’t fit their ideas of what a Black writer should be. At the same time Monk is struggling, Sintara Golden’s (Issa Rae) new book, We’s Lives in Da Ghetto, is a critical darling. Spurred on by his anger at the state of the publishing industry, Monk writes a satirical version of the type of book publishers want and decides that if they don’t realize it’s a satire, then that’s on them.
It’s unfortunate that a novel written twenty years ago remains so timely, as though it was written this year. We’ve seen many examples of books or movies that are focused on stereotypes of minority figures rather than honest reflections of lived experiences. Those tend to be the ones that are widely acclaimed, but not by members of the minority group in question. American Fiction takes that premise and runs wild with it. If someone is going to profit off stereotypes of a community, shouldn’t it be a member of that community? What does Monk owe to his own community as a writer? These are questions that go through the minds of any creative who identifies as part of a minority group. White, straight, able-bodied people aren’t expected to speak on behalf of all those groups, but that unfair burden is often placed on individuals who are Black, Brown, Queer, Disabled, etc.
American Fiction doesn’t endorse or condone Monk’s actions, and in a post-screening Q&A, neither does Jefferson. He didn’t seek out the opportunity to make a film that’s a rulebook of any kind. He merely presents Monk’s life and decisions as they are. One of Monk’s motivations to the satirical book is pure anger at the publishing industry. He’s mad because in order to be successful, he has to fit a stereotype that he doesn’t relate to and finds insulting. At the same time, Monk goes along with this ruse because his family is in desperate need of money. His mom (Leslie Uggams) is beginning to develop Alzheimer’s, and a tragedy shakes the family to their core. American Fiction demonstrates that choices are not made in a vacuum. While it’s easy to look at Monk’s decision to write this satirical novel and form an opinion about him, so much more must be taken into account: the state of society, economics, emotions, and more.
This film is Jeffrey Wright’s victory lap. Few actors have had such a sprawling career, filled with a multitude of performances that should have garnered acclaim. Many of my generation were first introduced to him through the Hunger Games series, but that was already twenty years into his career. It’s not often that Wright gets the lead role like he does in American Fiction. He’s surrounded by an all-star ensemble, but this is Wright’s film. American Fiction gives him the well-earned space to be comedic, dramatic, angry, and charming. Jefferson has made a script and a movie that can keep up with Wright’s magic and talents. As much as the story is about the madness Monk creates with his novel, it’s the quiet, introspective moments led by Wright’s tenderness that make the film shine.
There is no American Fiction without Wright, but he certainly didn’t do it alone. Rae’s screen time is limited, but it’s a third-act conversation between Rae and Wright that stops the movie in its tracks in the best way. The entire film, its thesis and its heart, is summed up in that simple scene. Tracee Ellis Ross and Sterling K. Brown round out the Ellison family’s trio of siblings. Ross is as funny as ever, while Brown has the rare opportunity to play an absolute trainwreck, a task he takes in stride and clearly enjoys.
In a sense, the fact that American Fiction won the People’s Choice Award is an example of the irony the film spends most of its runtime poking fun at. Satires have been a mixed bag in recent years, with entries like White Noise, Triangle of Sadness, and The Menu. A main critique of those films is that there wasn’t enough bite behind their bark, that they didn’t push the needle any further than it was before the film was made. American Fiction cuts to the core of the state of society and directs a much-needed microscope on the way we tell stories and whose voices get to be heard.
