Thelonious “Monk” Ellison is a serious writer. He’s an academic, disdains “airport books” and best-selling colleagues, confronts his students, and is advised by his agent not to “insult anyone important.” In just a few scenes at the beginning of American Fiction, writer-director Cord Jefferson and actor Jeffrey Wright give the audience a complete understanding of their film’s protagonist. Cord with economical, pointed writing, and Wright with a deadpan face that is both hilarious and solemn.
Based on the novel Erasure by Percival Everett, American Fiction follows Monk at a low point in his life and career. His latest book was rejected by every publisher it was sent to, he’s on forced leave from his teaching job, he’s single, and his family relationships aren’t great, either. Neither of his siblings like him and his mother takes one look at him and immediately calls him “fat.” Times are hard for Monk. Feeling depressed by the type of “Black” books that get acclaim, Monk decides to write one just like them. A book full of stereotypes about “Black” life and stock characters. Of course, it becomes his first book to be published in many years. He hides his identity behind a pseudonym, and comes up with a stereotypical Black man that the publishing industry and the public in general want; a hardened escaped convict. Publishers, editors, the media and Hollywood lap it all up and come begging for more.
Jefferson, previously a writer for shows like Watchmen and The Good Place, pens dialogue that crackles and flows out easily in inherently funny ways. The characters he lampoons—publishing editors, Hollywood producers, writers, and media types—are both the butt of the joke and its instigators. When American Fiction functions as a satire of the commercialization of art and the public’s stereotypical perception of Black people, it’s firing on all cylinders. It’s sharp, it’s smart, and it hits most of its targets. Best of all, it reveals the inherent biases and cruel assumptions about “others” that most people carry with them at all times.
However, that’s not all American Fiction wants to be. It’s also a family drama that finds space in its narrative for Monk’s relationships with his ailing mother (Leslie Uggams), sister (Tracee Ellis Ross), and brother (Sterling K. Brown). There’s also a budding romance with a neighbor (Erika Alexander). Instead of allowing its sharp satire to build as a crescendo, the film keeps undermining its rhythm by cutting back and forth into this family drama. Death, dementia, and homophobia are all serious issues, but handling them in this fashion feels more like a writer’s exercise about making pointed messages than a seamless integration into this story.
The actors keep the film humming along. Wright is commanding in the lead role, and he has fantastic chemistry with all of the cast. With Ross they are believable as middle-aged siblings with a long, shared history of love and resentment. With Alexander there’s warmth and easy rapport as their characters begin to fall in love. With John Ortiz, who plays his literary agent, there’s a hilarious shorthand that belies a lifetime of friendship. And with Uggams you can see how this woman can be domineering yet also understand her son more than anyone else in his life. The sibling rivalry with Brown feels more forced than natural, perhaps because Brown has to shoulder a theme—prejudice—more than a character.
As American Fiction nears its conclusion it undermines its most interesting character after Monk. Issa Rae plays Sintara Golden, a best-selling Black author, who’s first introduced as the antithesis of Monk. She is popular and not afraid to write about the Black experience. But Monk sees her as a sellout, someone who pimps out her people for commercial success. Their relationship starts with disrespect, disdain and a whole lot of judgment. However, as they are forced to work together, Monk begins to realize they share many similar opinions and he starts to feel grudging respect towards her. The audience is waiting for a grand confrontation, but gets only a diluted version that sells Golden short, absolving both characters of the sharpest criticisms thrown at them without offering anything insightful. As one character says about the film within the film’s ending, “It’s pat.”
American Fiction is an intriguing conundrum. It starts as a sizzling, hilarious satire that manages to sling pointed arrows at most of its targets. However, by trying to become too many things, it ends up sanding the edges off its sharpness. Still, the journey to its denouement remains mostly entertaining.