Written and directed by Cord Jefferson
Thelonious “Monk” Ellison’s upset with the state of things. He’s Black, an author, and it irks him to no end that the first fact combined with the second means everything he writes automatically is defined as Black literature, destined for a bookshelf labeled African-American Studies. “The blackest thing about this book,” he tells a hapless bookstore salesperson, “is the ink.”
Monk’s tired that his life and his work only fit in the small space afforded to him to the powers that be, who are still predominantly White. But another trend’s stuck in his craw. Best-selling literature by Black authors that perform “blackness” for this same White audience, perpetuating stereotypes about broken families, drugs, violence, and vocabulary. “It flattens us,” he says with exasperation.
Out of frustration, he pens an even more exaggerated version of this kind of literature under a pseudonym, wanting to rub it in the faces of these publishing houses and maybe get them to see how it’s all gone a bit too far. He underestimates the publishing industry.
Cord Jefferson’s American Fiction is an entertaining satire that doesn’t run short on jokes for its runtime, from lampooning the cultural landscape to excoriating NIMBY neighbors. Monk and his family have something to say to everyone. As a comedy, it’s also fairly predictable, with both the inception and conclusion of Monk’s ploy fairly obvious, and it even trades in some of the reductive humor it satirizes.
Alongside its finger-pointing, however, is a sweet family drama that provides greater joy than the comedic arm-waving. Before his literary flipping of the apple cart, Monk reunites with his family in Boston, estranged as he was living in Los Angeles. An ailing mother, a brother getting to grips with his newfound sexuality and gay bachelorhood post marriage, and a sister justifiably angry she was saddled with holding the family together. I’d be willing to believe Jeffrey Wright (Monk), Sterling K. Brown (Clifford) and Tracee Ellis Ross (Lisa) are actually siblings working under different names. Their chemistry is that good.
On the periphery of the family reunion is an unexpected romance between the family’s housekeeper and a beach community security guard. It’ll make you smile before it makes you melt, and it’s as pure as the driven snow, especially playing out against the general cynicism and bitterness that fuels a lot of American Fiction.
Jefferson’s film is not without purpose, and it’s one of those rare comedies with a distinctive swagger to it as it clowns as well as comments on society. Sharp, witty, to the point. The adhesive that binds American Fiction together is not the laughs, though, that compliment belongs to the family hearth, where Monk learns for better or worse, you’ll never be reduced to your profession or the color of your skin. It’s a tough audience and much more is expected of you, but blood does run deeper than ink.
Mikkel Frederiksen 