"American Fiction"

    ☆☆☆ 

American Fiction is nothing if not ambitious. In less than two hours, it's a satire of the publishing industry, a satire of liberal racial guilt, a satire of Hollywood, a character study, a family drama, and a dysfunctional family comedy. Some of these things it does well. Most of these things it does less well. But because it even dares to try, it's worth seeing.

Thelonious "Monk" Ellison is a literature professor who doesn't suffer fools (especially student fools) gladly, and an author who doesn't know how to write a commercial hit. The movie begins from the assumption that the only kind of book worth writing is a successful one, which means, in its world view, Monk is eminently unsuccessful.

Whether this is, in point of fact, true is not something American Fiction wants to consider. Monk's books are sold at retail chain stores (in the "African-American Studies" section because, well, he's African-American), but because they are serious, literary books, the movie takes it as a truth that Monk is a failure. He's also deeply introverted, and stand-offish with his family. So, the story packs him up and sends him off to Boston to be with his family—his aging, declining mother (a delightful Leslie Uggams), his sister Lisa (Tracee Ellis Ross), and their live-in housekeeper Lorraine. For surprising reasons, they're soon joined by his newly uncloseted brother Cliff (Sterling K. Brown).

Frustrated by the crass success of another Black author, Sintara Golden (Issa Rae), Monk impulsively writes a ridiculous, grotesque parody of a "Black novel," which becomes a massive success. In one of the movie's weirder conceits, Monk decides not to tell anyone at all about his—not his family, and not Coraline (Erika Alexander), the beautiful woman across the street. Monk finds himself pretending to be the made-up ex-con author, and wackiness ensues.

Or should. But American Fiction isn't a door-slamming farce, or a parody of mistaken identity, or an incensed and ironic view of a broken publishing industry. It plays a surprising amount of the comedy straight, and is at its best when it focuses on the convoluted home life Monk finds in his family's beach house. The family is filled with memorable, well-drawn characters. They are the best parts of American Fiction.

But the film thinks the best parts are the satirical ones. Alas, they're neither quite funny nor scabrous enough to be incisive. Mostly, they're pretty toothless and obvious, which doesn't mean they're not entertaining—just surprisingly mild and inoffensive. The targets are the obvious ones.

As Monk, Jeffrey Wright always strikes the best hangdog balance between comedy and pathos, but as the film nears a tenuous, contrived ending, he is not enough. The film falters under the weight of its setup, which is so very good. Too good. American Fiction is all beginning and middle, with no satisfactory end. It's never quite sure what it's trying to say, so in the end doesn't say too much we don't already know. But with characters and performers as charming as these, it's almost possible to forgive American Fiction its faults. Almost.

Viewed January 18, 2024 — Laemmle NoHo 7

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