American Fiction‘s Satire Takes on the Expectations and Realities of Black Creatives
Cord Jefferson’s American Fiction is a wry comedy that reflects the world we live in and the literature and film it produces.
Journalist-turned-filmmaker Jefferson recruits a shining cast led by Jeffrey Wright’s Monk, who is possibly outshone (but at least complemented) by Sterling K. Brown as his somewhat estranged brother, Cliff. Monk is a writer of literature, frustrated by the lack of success he is finding in the market for stories true to his artistic vision and worldview. His foil is Sintara Golden (Issa Rae), an author who has found success by crafting the sort of narrative perspective that disgusts and disappoints Monk: A vulgar caricature of the African American experience; a minimizing, reductive, tokenizing idea of Blackness that limits our existence in the minds of reading and watching audiences, in turn helping to squander our potential in the material world. Golden is profiting from the self-congratulatory/self-flagellating promise of commercial white guilt. Monk’s intention to satirize the practice, turning the screws on the people and systems that promote it, leads to a character he creates under a pseudonym being offered riches beyond his wildest dreams, causing him to reflect on his own complicated relationship with himself and the people he loves.
American Fiction is a satire about how far up our own asses writers can fit our heads, confronting and interrogating the concepts of genius, self-regard and good taste. It is about individual estrangement from family, about misanthropy and elitism. All of these are drawn through the interpersonal and professional struggles of the hot-tempered and lonely Monk. His sister Lisa (Tracee Ellis Ross), an ER physician, takes him to task for not helping out enough with their ailing mother. Cliff is a plastic surgeon whose marriage and finances fell apart after he came out as gay late in life, and he and Monk have longstanding conflicts based on their respective relationships with their parents. Monk’s midlife romance with booklover and beach house neighbor Coraline (Erika Alexander), from its incidental spark to its frustrating fizzle, is authentically adult.
Jefferson’s mise-en-scene—with occasional product placement and nods to relevant artists—and character blocking tell this story beyond dialogue. Effective visual symbolism (some more subtle than others) is intentionally humorous in its most blatant usages, such as the never-unfamiliar vision of white people dismissing the opinions of Black people with whom they disagree…all while stressing how important it is to listen to Black voices. The script intentionally avoids didactic moralism, rather reflecting the shortcomings of the logistical shortcuts through which we frame works of art and craft—the flaws of skimming and the failures of assumption. Unfortunately, American Fiction’s most affectionate and comforting scene requires some leaps of imagination about character growth, but not an incomprehensible level.
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