About an hour before I watched American Fiction, my fellow rioter Julian messaged me and said, “Sherin, this American Fiction [movie] is relatable from the jump.” It wasn’t the first recommendation I received for the story. My brother-friend, Courttia Newland, recommended the source material—Erasure by Percival Everett—when it dropped. As writers, artists, and as Black satellites circling higher education, we got what Everett was saying from the start.
In the movie written and directed by Cord Jefferson, Thelonious “Monk” Ellison is an author and a professor. The problem is he can’t sell his latest novel or get his students to buy into what he’s teaching. There is an easier sell. A genre called “urban fiction,” but Monk (Jeffrey Wright) can’t stand it. For him, those books and one bestseller in particular—”We’s Lives in Da Ghetto” by Sintara Golden (Issa Rae)—are gross entertainment for a white audience that gains validation in seeing Black people reduced. Monk isn’t happy. After a tragedy leaves him responsible for his mother’s care, his unhappiness turns into rage. As a form of protest, Monk pens a satirical clapback called My Pafology, a novel filled with all the tropes he hates. That’s when Murphy’s Law kicks him in the throat (by turning his revulsion into success).
Is it funny? For sure. Is it true? Yes, and it burns. Julian is right. American Fiction is so relatable I laughed with my heart in my throat. It’s funny because it’s true, but it hurts for the same reasons; because it feels like Cord Jefferson is telling secrets. These are experiences that Black people recognize but the publishing industry can see itself reflected in this film too.
The ensemble in American Fiction enhances that truth. Shepherding this satire from book to script to screen, sharpening its edge. Wright embodies his role with a cynicism and causticity that indicts Monk as much as the ridiculousness of his world. Tracee Ellis Ross, Leslie Uggams, and Myra Lucretia Taylor sparkle, giving off light and shadow in their performances. Sterling K. Brown and John Ortiz are barometers of reality in Monk’s life, each serving up honesty from opposite vantage points. One is belligerent and wounded. The other is frank but opportunistic. As a film producer and self-proclaimed purveyor of realness, Adam Brody does the job well. And there is Erika Alexander: perceptive, tough, and vulnerable without weakness. There’s a reason we love Alexander every time she steps in front of a camera.
Between American Fiction and Origin, we’re witnessing top-tier adaptations—cultural and sociopolitical viewpoints that their respective writer/directors cause to bloom on screen. This is a slow handclap moment.
See It.
American Fiction is an IYKYK experience. If You Know You Know. Not everyone will get it. For those of us who do: Prepare to laugh with your heart in your throat.
