Coming off of the much-publicized resignation of Harvard President Claudine Gay, the first Black president of the university, public debate around race and ethnicity feels poised to hit a fever pitch in 2024. In particular, identity politics are at the center of the election year, in which candidates such as Nikki Haley and Vivek Ramaswamy are making their own race, gender, and opinions on matters like DEI and affirmative action key components of their campaigns. Media outlets in particular struggled to handle these topics, such as when they debate about whether issues affecting certain communities should be reported or written on by members of those communities.

American Fiction, released in the final days of 2023, is a fantastic, witty, and (most importantly) thoughtful entry into this discourse. It's the highly capable feature directorial debut from Cord Jefferson, who sharpened his writing abilities in newsrooms like Gawker and dark comedy shows on Netflix, NBC, and HBO; the combination of his politically-aware media half and personal-interest-satire half works beautifully into making the film a success. 

The movie stars a perfectly-cast Jeffrey Wright as Thelonious Ellison, or "Monk" to his family and friends (after the famous jazz pianist). Monk is beset on all sides by the myriad challenges of being a middle-aged academic writer and professor: conflict with his students and colleagues over his annoyance at leftist classroom politics; a diminishing audience for his novels (all highfalutin reimagined classics); limited income as a result; and, to top it all off, an unexpected family tragedy and an aging mother who desperately needs expensive round-the-clock care. 

Monk's problems feel particularly painful in comparison to the skyrocketing critical and financial success of other Black writers all around him who seem to be raking it in based on their exploitative stories of rappers, gangsters, and other Black lowlife figures. (Chief of these other writers is a character played well by Issa Rae.) Monk views these authors as grifters, appealing to white readers' stereotyped perspectives of Black people and neglecting to tell complex, diverse stories about the rich and complicated lives of real Black people across the country and socioeconomic spectrum.

Drinking one night, he decides to write a draft of one of these novels, filled with gun violence, gold chains, deadbeat dads, and Ebonics dialogue. First calling it My Pafology before updating it to a more obscene and headline-grabbing name, he shares it with his editor and friend Arthur (played by a great John Ortiz), who sends it under a pseudonym to some publishers as a joke. Before they know it, My Pafology has been picked up by a huge corporate publishing house (helmed by the terrifically white-guilt-ridden Miriam Shor and Myrical Cyril Creighton), optioned for a film by a cringeworthy Oscar-bait director (a cuttingly annoying Adam Brody), and running in contention for a leading book award (judged by a hilarious trio of Neal Lerner, Jenn Harris, and Bates Wilder).

While as Monk his normal life continues continues his normal life — flirting with a friendly neighbor (a measured Erika Alexander), butting heads with his newly-divorced, quasi-estranged brother (a talented and distractingly shredded Sterling K. Brown), and supporting his very sweet housekeeper (a kindly Myra Lucretia Taylor) — his My Pafology alter ego consumes more and more of his time, forcing Monk to a crossroads.

Jefferson's screenplay is fantastic; adapting the 2001 novel Erasure by Percival Everett (which I've since seen gracing "Best-Seller" tables in bookstores across New York) helps offer smart but grounded dialogue and solid pacing for a very challenging story to tell. It struggles a little bit at the beginning, to be fair — before Monk's satirical novel lightbulb goes off, there's a lot of family drama backstory (not one but two sibling divorces, not one but two instances of marital infidelity, complex relationships between siblings and parents and housekeepers). But with that groundwork laid, the script is free to soar, with zinging one-liners and clever rejoinders matched in quality by thoughtful discourses and contemplative reflections on family, responsibility, and, most prominently, race. 

That last component is a hard one for any script to handle well, and Jefferson toes the dramedy line perfectly. A back-and-forth between Monk and another writer fairly represents both sides of the debate around what "Black books" should be. Roundtable voting on the book award reflects real-life conversations about artistic merit and what topics are "brave" or "important" enough to celebrate. A spat between Monk and his girlfriend about the virtues of his book encapsulates his own two minds about the situation, and the double standard between the lines. 

The writer-director is helped by an excellent crew that also cleverly pushes the racial narrative forward while keeping the funny parts funny and the serious family drama serious. In one brilliant shot, cinematographer Cristina Dunlap frames Jeffrey Wright's Monk looking on at disgust to a book panel featuring a pandering "Black book", only to be replaced by a white woman clapping ferociously who rockets up in front of him. Hilda Rasula's editing helps accomplish the film's bold, successful ending. A score by Juilliard-trained jazz musician Laura Karpman matches the film's energy while celebrating historically Black musical styles.

Wright is at a career high, Jefferson is a writer-director double-threat newcomer to watch, and American Fiction contributes humorously yet thoughtfully to a conversation that'll be ever more relevant in 2024.