American Fiction (2024)

With my viewing of Cord Jefferson's debut feature film this weekend, it meant all boxes were ticked as far as Best Picture nominations for the Oscars were concerned. Which doesn't really mean anything except for giving me a bit of extra entitlement in terms of having a go at the academy when they make their yearly foul ups at this year's ceremony.

Jefferson is an astute writer, his credits include the terrific television series Master of None (2017) as well as the exceptional television adaptation of Watchmen (2019); but it's a completely different form once you step into film, and he chooses to do so with an adaptation of Percival Everett's 2001 novel Erasure. Thankfully Jefferson's strengths are very much on display in American Fiction. Jeffrey Wright (in a potentially a career best performance) is Monk, a frustrated novelist who despises the literary industry's constant hypocrisies in their approach to inclusivity and representation of Black people. Early on during a debate for a prestigious literary prize, a White jury member pathetically pleads "I just think we should be listening to Black voices right now", ignoring the fact that there's two Black writers amongst the jury. It's painful to listen to the self-righteous pandering of these individuals, at pains to get 'Black stories' out there, provided they tap into Black lives. According to them, those stories are the sweeping generalisation of a Black Truth-that is, essentially trauma and misery; and this leads Monk to coin his own offering into this literary black hole, a novel that begins life as 'My Pafology' (and ends up being something far more blunt) with Monk writing as a blues referencing pseudonym.

Monk initially begins drafting My Pafology as a satire on the state of the industry; a stereotypical blaxploitational "ghetto" novel that's also potentially an affirmation of the troubling impact this sort of nonsense has on his own job outside of writing-lecturing. Monk's shoulders slump inside ten seconds of American Fiction's opening; he's written out the N-word on a blackboard in relation to a famous Flannery O'Connor short story, and a white student immediately objects, stating that she finds it offensive. "I got over it", he wearily responds, "I'm sure you can too". The student in question (who has blue hair which in itself feels like a deliberately tired stereotype) is seen leaving the room seconds later, the exchange feeling eerily reminiscent of a similar scene in Todd Phillips' Tár last year. This, depressingly and predictably, results in Monk being ordered to take some time away from the university he works at, and he returns to his family home in Boston. As Monk's novel almost inevitably becomes a runaway success to his initial chagrin (a $750,000 advance offer from the publishers is arguably not to be trifled with) and with his invented ex-con alter ego becoming a national sensation, Monk's real life takes center stage as he tackles childhood demons and family illnesses, as well as entering into a relationship with his Mother's neighbour (an excellent Erika Alexander). As American Fiction moves from exasperated comedy into genuinely heartfelt drama, the script is more than capable of keeping up with the marginal genre shifts. Jefferson's debut feature is laugh out loud funny for the majority of its run time, and it's fascinating to speculate on whether the people it's satirising are squirming in their seats or obliviously laughing along. Jeffrey Wright is up for Best Actor at the Oscars and although it's a stretch to truly consider him taking the prize home on the night, this nomination is thoroughly deserved. Wright is the best Felix Leiter the Bond series has ever had (although I have a particular fondness for David Hedison's iteration of the character) and is an under appreciated Jim Gordon in The Batman (2022). He's certainly not on his own here though, Sterling K. Brown is wonderful as his brother Cliff, and the short time we're given with Tracee Ellis Ross as his sister Lisa isn't long enough. American Fiction has its pitfalls, there are strands of structural ideas that are begun and then swept aside; when Monk initially starts drafting his novel his characters appear before him, dramatising his output and you wonder how this twine will continue, but it's instantly dropped, curiously not making a reappearance throughout the film. There's also much debate about the culmination of Monk's alter ego and the closing stages of the film. Whilst some have condemned its ending for being somewhat patchy, I found it hard to argue with it; without giving to much away it aptly mirrors the film's beginning and although it might fail to be roundly satisfactory there's without doubt an element of inevitability about it. What you make of it will of course, be utterly subjective. Cord Jefferson's debut feature is at times hilarious, consistently heartfelt and although flawed sits handsomely and deservedly alongside its fellow nominees for Best Picture this year. 7.9/10