This review was written as part of IGN’s coverage of the Best Picture nominees at the 96th Academy Awards. American Fiction is playing in theaters and available for purchase on VOD.
There’s no wrong way to praise American Fiction. The feature debut from Watchmen writer Cord Jefferson is hilariously outlandish, exceedingly clever, and at times, truly heartwarming. But thanks to some amazing performances, led by the excellent Jeffrey Wright, there is a best way to praise this satirical drama, and it comes down to two words: utterly brilliant.
Wright is captivating as the resilient novelist and college professor Thelonious “Monk” Ellison – his line delivery is passionate, and his mannerisms are subtle. He makes Monk’s contempt for people who are bothered by the mere mention of race palpable; Wright’s unapologetic demeanor allows him to greet ignorant statements – from Monk’s students, peers, people at large – with delightfully brazen responses. The same can be said when he’s dealing with the out-of-touch publishers who declare the character’s books aren’t “Black enough.” Resentful of the uneven handling of African-American literature Wright’s explosive rants about Monk’s ailing career are as poignant as they are humorous, especially after he makes a pitch that epitomizes all of his objections to widely read, narrow-minded, stereotypical depictions of the Black experience – and it’s received as a potential bestseller.
American Fiction hilariously depicts the consequences of commodifying art. The lengths Monk is willing to go to sell his fake book are particularly amusing, with clever dialogue and overt satire turning mundane conversations into silly bouts of opposing perspectives. If that were the only thing the film accomplishes, it would still be great. What makes American Fiction brilliant (aside from the wonderful performances of its cast) is how it simultaneously examines the value in telling (and listening to) stories from an array of viewpoints – even those that are deemed lowbrow and/or possibly offensive.
This is primarily seen through Monk's private life. It can be hard to find fault with his actions – at least not entirely, because he’s portrayed as an underdog with an important message about the publishing industry. But his rigid personality, which is both cathartic and off-putting, highlights the counterpoint: The standard Monk sets for himself and seemingly all African-Americans – due to his family’s wealth, academic achievements, social standing, etc. – is incredibly high. Unfortunately, he fails to see how this line of thinking could harm those around him. Even when personal tragedy dredges up weighty themes – infidelity, homophobia, depression, and more – he still misses the mark. As Jefferson’s script wisely asserts, affluence doesn’t automatically lead to a better life.
Overly critical and often condescending, Monk isn’t the easiest person to get along with. It’s a negative trait that’s displayed whenever Wright is playing opposite Erika Alexander, whose outstanding depiction of Monk’s girlfriend Coraline brings about a more measured perspective. Alexander’s down-to-earth vibe creates a loving warmth that permeates every scene she’s in. And her ability to deliver sharp lines with an underlying kindness during tense situations is welcoming. Her portrayal of a mostly easygoing Coraline often acts as a foil to Wright’s judgmental Monk.
While Coraline calmly refutes Monk’s preconceived notions (at least at first), his brother Cliff (Sterling K. Brown) outright challenges him at every turn. He isn’t afraid to let his brother know where and how he screwed up; Brown has a knack of making wild declarations land in unexpected ways. Wright feeds off of this. So much so, it’s easy to believe that he and Brown are actually related. Joyful moments, petty bickering, and bouts of sadness – their relatable back and forth eventually makes way for some of the most heartwarming scenes in American Fiction. But it's Brown’s great comedic timing and ability to express a wide range of emotions in a short span of time that really cements his awesome performance.
American Fiction is hilariously outlandish, exceedingly clever, and at times, truly heartwarming.
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American Fiction’s cast as a whole is genuinely great. John Ortiz and Tracee Ellis Ross are memorable as Monk’s agent Arthur and sister Lisa. Leslie Uggams does a terrific job as Monk’s mother Agnes; so do Issa Rae and Keith David in their respective roles, even though they aren’t given nearly enough screen time. But none of their performances would matter if Cord Jefferson had faltered as a filmmaker. Not only does he use Monk’s publishing woes as a means of showcasing the obstacles marginalized artists face in entertainment as a whole, he also tempers his stance with nuanced messaging – a tremendous feat for a first-time writer-director.
