American Fiction (2023)

 

The central character in American Fiction is a writer and literature professor named Thelonius “Monk” Ellison, played by Jeffrey Wright. He’s placed on leave after offending students with discussions of race – well, the students seem to be offended by Ellison’s frankness and honesty regarding race, and that’s enough for the administrators to suggest that he take some time off from teaching and perhaps see his family back in Boston. The trip provides a series of revelations for Ellison. He learns that his latest book won’t get published because it’s apparently not “black” enough – whatever that means – but what is getting published by black authors is filled with stereotypes that seem to pander to the lowest expectations of white audiences. He starts having a rather powerful existential crisis.

In addition to his career woes, his beloved sister Lisa (played by the delightful Tracee Ellis Ross, who departs from the movie far too soon) dies from a sudden heart attack, and he must assume some of the caretaking duties for his aging mother (Leslie Uggams in a standout performance that should have gotten more awards attention). He’s likely to get little help from his brother Clifford (Sterling K. Brown), a plastic surgeon whose wife has just left him because she discovered that he’s gay. Ellison also begins a flirtation with Coraline (Erika Alexander), a woman who lives across the street from his mother’s home, but Coraline’s relationship status is, as they say, complicated.

That would be a lot for any one character (or real person) to handle, but American Fiction isn’t just interested in what happens to the people. It’s a very intriguing consideration of art versus commerce, of what you have to do in order to get your work published and into the hands of the public. After watching a packed seminar with the successful author Sintara Golden (Issa Rae), whose book is entitled We’s Lives in Da Ghetto, Ellison decides to write the worst possible book that he can imagine, a book filled with offensive stereotypes and language, and he uses the pen name of Stagg R. Leigh rather than his own name. If you know your musical history, you should be familiar with some of the implications of Ellison’s choice of pen name.

Of course, it sells. My Pafology (the book’s initial title, misspelling included) quickly becomes his most successful book, and he’s stunned that audiences are buying it in such huge numbers. The film seems to suggest that white audiences, in particular, seek out “black books” that represent the kinds of stereotypes that these readers feel are authentic. What is real, though, and what is authentic, in a world of fiction? Why do some books break through, and why do they sell when more artful books don’t? They’re all interesting questions that the film raises, but it doesn’t try to answer all of them, perhaps so that we as viewers can begin to examine our own predispositions when it comes to what we read.

One of the funniest sequences involves a film producer named Wiley (Adam Brody) trying to buy the rights to the book even before it’s been published. Ellison, thinking he can stop the craziness before it goes to far, changes the title of his book to Fuck. Even that isn’t enough to deter Wiley; he is willing to spend whatever it takes, it seems, to obtain the book, but he does want to meet the author, Stagg R. Leigh, in person first. Watching Wright, who has displayed such calm throughout all of his character’s setbacks, suddenly trying to pretend like he’s a gangster who’s on the lam provides some of the sharpest and funniest satire in the movie. He even becomes the subject of an FBI search as a result of some of the interviews he’s given as Leigh.

Another standout sequence involves both Ellison and Golden being asked to serve on the jury for the New England Book Association’s Literary Award, and if that organization’s name doesn’t suggest just how white such juries have tended to be, wait until you see the actual members of the jury. They themselves are some of the most hilarious stereotypes of the apparently well-meaning but still pandering white writers and readers. Fuck gets submitted for consideration, and now Ellison has to judge his own work. His conversations with Golden during the discussions over which book to award are very interesting because they reveal that both authors are figuring out ways to navigate what is expected of them as authors who are black and authors who want to be successful.

The film’s ending is a rather intriguing one. Wiley and Ellison are having a discussion over how the film version of the book should end, but the worlds of fiction and reality are quickly becoming blurred. In a sense, though, they’ve been somewhat blurred throughout the film. The film seems to be asking the same questions of its viewers as the plot has been asking about readers. How do you make a film that will reach a wide audience? Do you have to pander to stereotypes, or can you try to achieve something more artful? Looking at box office numbers each week might give you the answer if you’re interested in making money, but American Fiction asks what kind of cost is involved in just doing the work in order to make a lot of money.

What emerges from this film is an intriguing examination of the power that the liberal white elite still maintain over the world of publishing (and entertainment, more generally). The screenplay, which deservedly won the Oscar, was adapted from the novel Erasure by Percival Everett. It provides a showcase for some of the most talented actors working in film these days, and it makes (or should make) us think about our expectations regarding art and who makes it and how they are allowed to use their talents. It’s a fascinating film.

Oscar Win: Best Adapted Screenplay

Other Oscar Nominations: Best Motion Picture of the Year, Best Performance by an Actor in a Leading Role (Jeffrey Wright), Best Performance by an Actor in a Supporting Role (Sterling K. Brown), and Best Achievement in Music Written for Motion Pictures/Original Score