Alan in Belfast: American Fiction – a misrepresented author fights back against the system and realises that he’s also misrepresenting himself (QFT and other cinemas)

American Fiction is a well-painted takedown of the tendency to pigeonhole culture and the creatives behind it into simplistic categories without examining the actual art. In this case, middle class, middle of the road academic Dr Thelonious ‘Monk’ Ellison’s worthy literature is filed under African American Studies rather than its true subject.

Acting out of frustration and spite, he writes a book under a pseudonym that professes to be based on his experience of life as a gangsta who’s on the run from the police and has witnessed serious trouble in his life in the ghetto. It’s made-up poverty-porn with an unhealthy sprinkling of violence, but it excites publishers, publicists, award judges and mass market readers in a way he could only dream of for his true work.

But success brings its own stress. As the deception grows in scale, Monk is faced with a continuing dilemma of whether to fess up or whether he should run with his unwanted but lucrative success. All the while, drama within his own family adds to the pressure.

Jeffrey Wright shows versatility as Monk’s mood and body swings between depression, futility, hope and occasionally happiness. Screenwriter and debut director Cord Jefferson wisely makes Monk a failed hero. While Monk is angry about the literary world’s injustice, the author is also faced with the reality that he is a flawed son, partner and colleague. Playing his sister Lisa, Tracee Ellis Ross makes a very positive but all too brief contribution to the film’s setup of the Ellison family dynamic with blunt conversations that wake Monk up to his responsibilities.

The film’s finale acknowledges that film producers and audiences expect a neat ending that will resolve any remaining threads of uncertainty. In a neat albeit meta device, several conclusions are offered, but – bravely and deliberately – none that quite scratch the itch that the 117 minutes of cinema has created as we watch Monk’s act of absurd revolt.

The satire at the heart of American Fiction is the cause of great hilarity. It’s also unsettling as you start to wonder whether you’re being played as you sit watching the film. Are you participating in a piece of reductionist art misrepresenting the source work? (I’m off to read Percival Everett’s novel Erasure to understand the translation between the page and the screen.) Who’s making money out of this story of misrepresentation and ill-treatment? All questions that I think the director and original author will be glad to crowd your thoughts with as you watch the film.

American Fiction is playing in Queen’s Film Theatre until 12 March as well as a limited number of other local cinemas.