American Fiction

 

If alphabetical order hadn't put it at the top of the cheat sheets I consult for Oscar predictions, I might never have seen “American Fiction.”

It would have been my loss. A huge one.

Not painted on the large cinematic canvases of its likely Best Picture competitors like “Oppenheimer,” “Barbie,” “Killers of the Flower Moon” or “Poor Things,” director-co-writer Cord Jefferson's wise comedy scores its bull's-eyes on a life-size target, somewhere between the heart and the brain. The writing is brilliantly original, coming at well-worn black racial themes with eyes so fresh, you feel like you're seeing the subject for the first time.

Jeffrey Wright carries the film, showing a side of himself often missing from past powerhouse dramatic performances. He's lovable … despite the fact that his character doesn't know how to be. His Thelonius Ellison – you can call him “Monk” – is a prickly, Harvard-educated California university literature professor, author of several novels that no one, other than adoring academic critics, read.

Earning its audacious title, “American Fiction's” plot is as well crafted as its metaphors. Before it's finished, black stereotypes and tone-deaf white efforts to embrace them have fallen under its satirical scalpel. So have the worlds of academia, publishing and Hollywood moviemaking. Its humor is smart and sly. It's no coincidence that Monk shares his last name with author Ralph Ellison, whose “Invisible Man” helped usher in the black American literary renaissance of the '50s and '60s.

While its satire is spot on, at its heart the movie is really about family. Turns out Monk isn't the only “doctor” in his family. His sister Lisa (Tracee Ellis Ross) and brother Cliff (Sterling K. Brown) are physicians. The Ellisons are upscale enough to have a beach house as well as their big family home where matriarch Agnes (Leslie Uggams) is in the early stages of Alzheimer's

All that brain power doesn't make them any less dysfunctional than other families. They just have wittier things to say about it. 

After Monk is drawn back to his family roots in Boston, his writing career takes an unexpected turn. What starts as a prank protest of “authentic” portrayals of black people in mainstream culture – notably by overnight-sensation black novelist Sintara Golden (Issa Rae) – inadvertently transforms Monk into a caricature himself. Which, to his dismay, is the path to the literary glory he has spent his life chasing. 

“The dumber I behave, the richer I get,” he complains to his agent (John Ortiz). (This isn't a spoiler – it's in the trailer.)

Considering how intelligent the script is, it's ironic that a single word plays a crucial, and hilarious, role summing things up. You know the word – the one that begins with “F.” 

Watching “American Fiction” is richly rewarding, punctuated by laugh-out-loud moments steeped in real affection for its gently flawed characters. It has already picked up wins at early film festivals; expect plenty more nominations all around its cast and creators as awards season cranks into high gear.

Its rich vein of empathy and compassion struck an additional personal note for me. The handful of readers of my own effort to write a book will know why. There are parallels between the one on screen and the one with my picture on the cover. While Monk's book turned into a trap for him, mine was about being trapped in a world I could only wish were fiction.

In this case, magnificent fiction. “American Fiction” truly is a work of literature as much as genius filmmaking.

Watching it, I found myself uttering out loud, that word I mentioned above.

For me it wasn't a curse at all, but a spontaneous expression of admiration, awe and pure joy.

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