REVIEW: ‘American Fiction’ Is Lifeless

American Fiction is a frustrating film on all accounts. Directed by Cord Jefferson and based on the novel Erasure by Percival Everett, the film lacks any visual or narrative vigor despite the engaging story on paper. Pieced together with poor pacing and storylines that are introduced to add more to the conversation rather than depth — a mother’s deteriorating health, a sibling’s sexuality — the film flounders as it fails to find a distinctive visual language. Stumbling to the finish line, engagement wanes as we try to find any reason to care about these characters beyond the relatively interesting thematic core that the film is built on. The idea is solid, but the final product can’t live up to it. 

Jeffrey Wright stars as Monk, a novelist who, despite his talent, hasn’t seen the same level of commercial success as his peers. His frustration is compounded by existing in a field where the media profits from Black entertainment that pulls from dated, offensive ideas. As he grapples with a shocking death in his family, he’s grappling with moving his mother into long-term elder care and a new, burgeoning romance. If that wasn’t enough, he also uses a pen name to write a novel that builds on the tropes that white critics and consumers often celebrate in Black literacy. Seeing it as an act of defiance that will reveal the hypocrisy of the media landscape, his plan unravels as the novel reaches unprecedented success. With so much going on in the plot, nothing is ever able to truly stand out as each component fights with one another, which renders all flat. 

Part of this is because, beyond the opening sequence, Monk’s anger is undermined by the lack of heat in the direction or storytelling. With rote, uninteresting framing and drab cinematography, the picture looks more like a standard cable drama than anything cinematic. This is also found in the writing, with everything plainly to the audience.

This comes up in a scene between Monk and his sister where we glean all we need to know about them in a single conversation. There’s no emotional back and forth, just Monk’s sister telling him they’re not as close as adults because of their childhood. This type of character development is too direct, not trusting the audience to pick up on the tense dynamic between the characters without the writing holding our hands through it. There’s no friction or energy to the settings, just people standing and walking as they contemplate their work or Monk himself. 

It’s a shame since the cast is so uniformly good. Wright does his best to anchor the film, but we’ve recently seen in films such as Wes Anderson’s The French Dispatch or Asteroid City that he can be so tremendous with characters who embrace peculiarities. Monk begins as an intriguing character, and Wright brings the necessary gravitas even when scenes don’t deserve it, but he’s an actor who can and should be allowed to be more expressive. 

Tracee Ellis Ross, Sterling K. Brown, Issa Rae, and Erika Alexander also star, with the latter two given some of the better moments as their characters rightfully question how he expresses his anger. Both characters, Coraline, his girlfriend, and Sintara, another author, sympathize with his anger at an industry that profits off of offensive Black tropes but also understand that there’s an untapped depth of why Black authors might write to that tone for the sake of commercial success than he seems to fail to grasp. Alexander, in particular, brings a necessary warmth to her scenes even if she isn’t given enough screen time. 

Brown might as well be in another movie for how much screen time he gets as Monk’s brother. Most of his scenes discuss his character’s sexuality to the point where it becomes his main defining trait. Brown is such a dynamic performer, and the writing does nothing to challenge him with a character who is one-dimensional and only appears to challenge certain pre-conceived notions of Monk rather than ever being his own person with agency.

The performances keep us watching, but the overall effect is bland. Despite minor highlights and individual stand-out scenes, American Fiction fails to enliven this worthwhile story. There’s an interesting foundation, but American Fiction never transforms into a cinematic work; instead, it is happy enough to relay a story with no additional insight or notable growth. Ultimately, it’s fine but dull. 

American Fiction is in limited theaters on December 15