‘American Fiction’ satirically rewrites race into Hollywood | review

TIFF 2023 | American Fiction follows a fed-up Black author who facetiously writes a “Black novel” to poke fun at media's desire for tragic POC stories only to find himself with his most success to date

In adapting the 2001 novel Erasure, writer-director Cord Jefferson basically delivers three separate movies. On one end, American Fiction is a Nora Ephron-esque romantic comedy about a cranky writer and the love he finds with his newly divorced neighbor. On the other, it's a family drama about a Black family and their various personal struggles. Bridging the two is a witty comedy about the (very white) media machine and its hunger for stories about marginalized people — only if they're sad. If it sounds like a lot, you're right. However, through clever writing, a stellar ensemble and plot that keeps you guessing, the result is a hilarious crowd-pleasing satire that will have you nodding and laughing along in agreement, but also wondering, “Am I the problem?”

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Because while American Fiction chides the stereotypical “tragedy porn” that typically encompasses the most popular Black stories — think Oscar successes 12 Years a Slave or Precious — it also emulates them. It's like the book that first frustrates author Thelonious “Monk” Ellison (Jeffrey Wright) about the hypocrisy. After speaking on a sparsly attended panel at a book festival, Monk walks by a packed conference hall where Sintara Golden (Issa Rae) is addressing a largely white audience about her best-selling debut novel We's Lives in Da Ghetto. She reads a passage and it's every bit as bad as you'd imagine it'd be — the audience eats it up.

Things are excasserbated when Monk goes to a local bookstore looking for a copy of his book. Instead of finding it in historical fiction an unassuming teen employee guides him to the “African-American” stories section. When Monk questions him on why it's there, he responds, “I imagine this author is Black.” Monk retorts, “The blackest thing about this book is the ink!” After his book agent Arthur informs him another publisher has passed on his newest novel for “not being black enough,” Monk faceciously writes My Pafology. As he types, the two characters Willy the Wonker (Keith David) and Van Go Jenkins (Okieriete Onaodowan) enter the room and enact the story. There's a drug deal, shootout, missing father reveal. Everything that Monk hates about the state of Black media. He signs the manuscript Stagg R. Leigh and sends it off to Arthur to send to publishers as a “f— off.”

They love it.

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From there, Monk deals with the fallout from the book's success including a potential movie adaptation that a producer (Adam Brody) is circling, becoming a finalist for a literary prize that Monk is on the jury for, and a small hitch where people inadvertadly become convinced “Stagg” is a wanted fugitive on the run from the authorities (it adds to the mystique!). All the while, Monk is dealing with his kooky family — responsible doctor sister Lisa (Tracee Ellis Ross), immature gay plastic surgeon brother Clifford (Sterling K. Brown), aging mother Agnes (Leslie Uggams), and childhood nanny Lorraine (Myra Lucretia Taylor) — and potential romance with his newly single neighbor Coraline (Erika Alexander).

If that sounds like a lot of story to balance, you'd be right. But Jefferson never loses control of any of the plotlines. The romance is romantic. The family drama is compelling. The satire is incisive. Each thread delivers its own resonant commentary that eventually layer into the thoughtful themes of American Fiction.

While sitting on the jury for a literary prize that he's never won — they ask him to be on the judging panel after calls for diversity — Monk and Sintara sit amongst three white authors as they debate the authenticity and worthiness of My Pafology as a story. Monk and Sintara are understandably dubious about the novel while the other three white judges proclaim, “we need to listen to more Black voices!” — all as they ignore the two in the room. To add insult to injury, one gleefully says, “I'm thrilled to read about a BIPOC man harmed by our carceral state.” Monk and Sintara can just roll their eyes. What American Fiction understands is people will pay attention to Black stories and opinions when it feels comfortable for them.

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The beauty of the movie, though, is that while it in some ways emulates the kinds of stories its criticizing, it leaves room for joy on the screen. The balance between sincerity, parody, and satire is nothing short of miraculous.

American Fiction is packed to the brim with jokes, hijinks and gags. From Monk sting like a hardened criminal in a meeting with a film producer to sell the book's rights or when the family arrives at the beach house to be greeted by two speedo-clad gay men making breakfast with Clifford or a montage on a Hallmark-like channel celebrating Black stories all of which are about slavery, poverty, or gangs, there's nary a moment without something to laugh at. But within those absurd moments, there's poignancy. In particular, Clifford confides to Monk his regret about not coming out to their father before he died. “He never knew the entirety of me,” he laments. That line neatly packages what Jefferson is trying to communicate. Monk, in another scene, observes that the media people consume about the Black experience “flatten our lives.” American Fiction tries to add color back into those stories — and it's one of the year's best because of it.

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Hey! I'm Karl. You can find me on Twitter here. I'm also a Tomatometer-approved critic.

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