• American Fiction

3/18/24 (Mon)

A satiric look at the black experience in the US via the world of fiction. Black professor/author Thelonious “Monk” Ellison, suffering from poor sales of his novelistic updates of Aeschylus (really), is depressed to see other blacks thrive critically and financially by pandering to white stereotypes of black life. He is furious when he finds his esoteric works categorized mechanically at bookstores under Black Writers, while a ghetto novel like “We’s Lives in Da Ghetto”, by an educated upper-middle-class female at that, is a best seller. In frustration, he writes an over-the-top story using every white fantasy of black life that he can think of, intending to show the white publishing world how ridiculous they are. He is shocked when the publishers not only take him seriously but offer a six-figure sum for the rights. Embarrassed to put his name on it, he tells his publisher to market the book as the work of a murderer on the run, then tries to upend the deal entirely by insisting that the book’s name be changed from My Pafology to a more incendiary F**k. That succeeds only in exciting the buyers further. Pushed by his long-suffering agent, the author is torn between the much-needed financial windfall and his integrity as an artist. He ultimately gives in, but when the book becomes a best seller and adapted for a movie, his lies begin to catch up with him.

All this takes place against a scrambled family life: his mother has dementia, his sister dies suddenly, his drugged-out brother has been abandoned by his wife after she catches him in bed with a man, his budding relationship with a woman is being derailed by his gnawing shame over his literary deception. His relationship with his siblings has never been close due to his own foolish pride, a legacy from their father, but the mother’s medical issues – and related heavy costs – have forced them together.

These are essentially two films that occasionally weave together until the ambiguous ending, which offers three potential endings. The idea of the black artist lowering himself to white ideals, based on a 2001 novel, is vaguely familiar to me from Hollywood Shuffle (though most critics cite a Spike Lee film instead), and it does stretch on a bit. But the dialogue is sharp and the characterizations very well drawn, especially the frazzled author. My favorite among plenty of laugh-aloud scenes was when the well spoken black woman suddenly shifts to a down-and-dirty ghetto accent as she reads her trashy novel. (She gets her moment, by the way, when she notes that she’s just giving the market what it wants. True enough.) Subtle touches like the Warhol portraits of Ruth Bader Ginsburg hanging in the book agent’s office and the gay agent’s behavior added to the hilarity.

The film was helped by strong acting all around. Jeffrey Wright is perfect as the grumpy professor (the character’s name is an interesting mash of musician and novelist) trying simultaneously to preserve his dignity, his personal relationships, and his bank account. His Oscar nomination is well deserved. The female performers were the best of the rest: Tracee Ellis Ross as the sister, Issa Rae as the sellout novelist, Myra Lucretia Taylor as the housekeeper who finds love late in life, and Miriam Shor as a book agent. Raymond Anthony Thomas was well cast as the man who marries the housekeeper, and veteran Leslie Uggams makes a welcome appearance as the mother. Sterling K. Brown as the brother seemed like little more than a gay version of his Randall from This Is Us (though he’s nominated for an Oscar, so what do I know?).

While not an innovative piece on the level of Get Out, the movie is an adept version of an old theme. I’m not sure how the Japanese will receive it. Aside from general cluelessness here over racial issues in the US, the subtitles were not always helpful: when the demented mother tells her gay son that she knew he “wasn’t queer”, causing him to walk away (unfairly) in disgust, the Japanese uses the common word “gay”, which softens the impact considerably. This is definitely a show for those already in the know. Still, within those parameters, it’s funny and enjoyable. Trivia: I was surprised they used a Cannonball Adderley piece at the end (and why his superb “Autumn Leaves”?) rather than something by Thelonious Monk. Seems an opportunity wasted.