American Fiction (2023)

Score: 5 / 5

One of the most surprising releases of this awards season, American Fiction hit cinemas somewhat unceremoniously in wide release in January and I had no idea what it was. If you'll forgive some geeky waxing here, I was stunned to learn it is the film adaptation of Erasure, a 2001 novel by Percival Everett that was my favorite read in grad school. It's an extraordinarily complex and riotously funny examination of commercial and academic discourse around the publication, marketing, and consuming of Black literature in America. That it has taken this long to find new life is surprising; then again, public discussion of critical race theory and antiracist movements in the last decade surely helped "rediscover" this gem. And indeed it is timely, as the Academy finally honors Black filmmakers and large movements have been mobilized to subvert, counter, and ignore mass market demands for typical, expected, "safe" stories about Black people focused on slavery, reconstruction, and urban crime. This material, on the other hand, flips the script literally, relocating where Black life and Black art meet in our culture and critiquing the racist powers that keep both in check.

Jeffrey Wright leads one of the best movies of the year with an award-worthy performance as Thelonious "Monk" Ellison, a college professor and academic author whose published works aren't exactly lucrative. Increasingly frustrated by the designation of his works on "African-American literature" shelves in bookstores and in the minds of the masses, he is further incensed when a colleague Sintara Golden (Issa Rae playing a character based on Juanita Mae Jenkins in the source material) publishes a bestselling sensation based on crude stereotypes and what he perceives as poor writing: We's Lives in Da Ghetto. Deciding that if this is the kind of trash paying customers, pandering critics, and media personalities will buy and praise, he'll make his mark, Monk crafts a joke novel along the same lines -- mostly nonsensical, artificially melodramatic and criminal, knowingly stereotypical -- entitling it My Pafology. To his horror, it's also a smash hit, swiftly eliciting awards nominations and contracts for film rights.

Having published it under a pseudonym -- the tongue-in-cheek "Stagg R. Leigh," named for the mythic murderer -- that carries with it a criminal persona, Monk soon has to arrange anonymous interviews, hiding his face and altering his voice to sound more "hood" and dangerous while concealing his real identity. While his alter ego becomes the talk of the nation, Monk himself balances his new income with his simmering rage, at one point hilariously changing his title to simply Fuck in the hopes of having it finally blacklisted (so to speak), only to have it embraced by his white, elite publishers. Meanwhile, his private life takes some nasty turns when his sister (Tracee Ellis Ross) passes away, his brother (Sterling K. Brown) returns from his life of alcoholism, recreational drugs, and sexual abandon in the wake of his divorce, and their mother (Leslie Uggams) declines with Alzheimer's disease. These family woes exacerbate Monk's wrestle with identity, kinship, and belonging.

The weightier elements fortunately do not, in fact, weigh down the film. Screenwriter and director (in his debut!) Cord Jefferson deftly adapts the material into a fast-paced, intelligently hilarious roller coaster of emotions that provokes tears from laughter and sympathy. The family dynamics are the most real and raw, but not in a tragic way, despite their issues; the family's live-in housekeeper Lorraine (Myra Lucretia Taylor) shines the brightest light into Monk's life and into the film, followed closely by his new girlfriend Coraline (Erika Alexander). Monk's journey -- his dubious pilgrim's progress -- would not be possible without the often breathtaking insight of these characters he brushes up against, who often also help us like Monk more. Because, rude and snobbish and stubborn as he is, he's not particularly likable, even though he's our conduit for learning through increasingly complex issues.

The Fallout (2022)

Score: 4 / 5

HBO always pushes the limits when it comes to content -- just look at Euphoria, or don't -- and it seems that adolescent trauma is the name of the game when it comes to one of their latest original dramas. The Fallout drew me in because its star, Jenna Ortega, is suddenly a bona fide movie star doing surprising and prolific work (Scream 5, X, You season two, Jurassic World: Camp Cretaceous). And while Ortega completely nailed this complex and nuanced role, the film itself surprised me in wonderful and challenging ways. Writer and first-time feature director Megan Park centers on her versatile star to tell a difficult story that smacks of authenticity in almost every frame. She's not playing an easy game either, choosing to tell the story not of the climactic events that predicate her film but of young people coming to terms with those events.

I had no idea what this film was about when I clicked on it, but within a few minutes of its beginning -- which sets up an otherwise typical bildungsroman for a high school girl teasing her younger sister about her first period and staring at a local influencer in the bathroom with curiosity or jealousy (or lust?) -- the relative tranquility is shattered as gunshots ring out in the school halls. The two girls jump into the nearest stall together, lock the door, and climb atop the toilet. Vada (Ortega), a short and baggy-clothed malcontent, pulls out her phone but is shaking too much to use it as the rapid fire gets closer; Mia (Maddie Ziegler), a tall blond dancer, drops her bangles on the ground and slips out of her heels, which end up in the bowl. We're locked in the stall with them, and the sound mixing forces us to breathe frantically with them as the bathroom door opens and footsteps approach. It's Quinton (Niles Fitch), who hides in the next stall before announcing himself. The girls invite him to crawl into theirs; he does, leaving streaks of blood on the white tiles. He checks himself for bullet wounds before breaking into panicked tears and mourning his brother, who presumably died in front of him. The three wait in horrified sorrow until the police arrive.

It's a hard introduction to the film, but Park's sensitivity lies in its focus on these students and their experience. The rest of the film deals with their ability -- or inability -- to cope with the tragedy and continue to live despite the trauma. The honesty with which she portrays each subsequent scene is profound: while Vada's family sits in stony, shocked silence at the dinner table, the camera lingers on Vada's catatonic face. When the news reports updates on the incident, which we hear mostly off-camera in bits and pieces, we center on Vada's face as she texts Mia and Quinton, students who were probably not her friends before their shared survival story. The "outside world" is a nebulous force, one that only occasionally reminds us (or Vada, or Mia) that it's there. Our experience is bounded by a fuzzy screen, one that limits the sound and sight of much beyond awkward, mostly silent interactions. Vada and Mia start spending time together, acting like best friends always on the verge of courting each other; they drink wine and talk, smoke a joint and float in the pool, and sneak out of their houses to connect when they start to feel panicked.

Even the experiences of other students begin to feel "other" to her, such as her gay friend Nick (Will Ropp) who becomes the media face of the incident and speaks at rallies to condemn the NRA and governmental inaction over these tragedies. Park is determined to avoid telling the, sadly, familiar story of traumatized teenagers who become famous activists; she's interested in the silent majority of teenagers who live through the same experiences and don't become famous as a result. Vada has to go to therapy (with Shailene Woodley, in a bizarre casting choice), where she feels nothing; she has to return to school eventually, and when she does she gets high on ecstasy just to make it through the day. 

Park's sensitivity in direction only increases from the inciting incident, and as Vada navigates her own psyche and the halls of her school, we're treated to a smorgasbord of bittersweet scenes that seamlessly combine dark, uncomfortable drama with raw humor. Several scenes aren't arguably "necessary" for the furtherment of any negligible plot, but the general aesthetic of this film seems to toe the line with a "slice of life" approach. It's a fascinating way to handle the traumatic issues raised, and it does so -- I think -- in an extraordinarily dangerous and effective way. The film works to normalize the shooting and its aftereffects even as it criticizes that same phenomenon as it happens in real life. We're normalizing mass shootings, especially in schools, as a culture, and doing so -- Park rightly sermonizes in this film -- only increases and exacerbates the trauma experienced by the (often young) people most immediately affected.

The Cloverfield Paradox (2018)

Score: 3.5 / 5

The newest (and, again, totally surprising) addition to the Cloverfield franchise is a radical game-changer, one that works in incredible ways but also doesn't in some. It's, fittingly, a paradox of a movie.

Think Alien (or, really, its updated version in Life) meets Solaris with a hint of Interstellar thrown in. In 2028, a team of international space scientists on a massive space station test a particle accelerator in the hopes of providing limitless energy for Earth. As we fully expect, something goes awry -- or, possibly, it worked a little too well -- and the beam creates a power surge. When all is seemingly restored, the team realizes that the Earth isn't outside their viewport anymore. Trying to curb the panic, the crew works to repair damages and scan the area for recognizable space. Strange things begin to happen (horrifying things, really) on board, mostly involving body horror, before the crew realize they've been --

Nope. I can't say anymore.

Does it sound like a standalone sci-fi thriller? It probably should. Apparently this film started as The God Particle and had nothing to do with an existing franchise. Once the movie changed hands though, a few additional scenes were added that connect this film to Cloverfield, and not just because the space station shares that name! A subplot involves a scientist's husband, still planetside, as the earth crumbles into chaos from the sudden appearance of monsters. The titular "Paradox", a conspiracy theory warning against testing the particle accelerator, articulates a fear that the experimental tool will open portals to other dimensions and create anomalies (such as the ones experienced on the station) that could threaten Earth. Apparently this is the origin story for the Cloverfield movies, even though it takes place in the future. Perhaps the time jump is another effect of the particle accelerator?

I really want to discuss finer points of this movie with you, but I'll try to leave it at that.

It's gotten some negative attention, and I'm really not sure why. It's not the sharpest script in the world and it's got some production flaws. But it's a really fun way to spend 100 minutes.

The film seems to be doing some great meta-things with the franchise, which I think deserves a lot of attention. This installment particularly flirts with a lot of genre boundaries, pushing its central character study of one scientist (played excellently by Gugu Mbatha-Raw). It's got a fabulous ensemble cast doing some solid work. It's got the science fiction experiment-gone-wrong stuff. It's got the ghostly presence of alien doubles and an imposter. It's got body horror and giant alien monsters. It's got trippy special effects and some chilly space thrills.

The movie -- and I can't believe I'm saying this -- works best because of all these disparate elements. Does it answer all the questions it raises? Hell no. But it doesn't have to. What the movie is doing is challenging our expectations of movies made for streaming, of sequels and franchise-building, and of this franchise in particular. This film is just short of being a thematic anthology in itself, and it simultaneously solidifies Cloverfield as being a sort of anthology series. We've had the found-footage flick, disaster movie, and post-apocalyptic thriller; now we get full-blown science fiction horror, surrealism and inter-dimension-ality, and the added bonus of chronology-bending.

This is one of the most surprising films in recent memory, not just because its existence and marketing was so unexpected, but because it's a total thrill ride that keeps turning dramatic corners. I never really knew what was going to happen next. And now I can't wait to see where the franchise goes.

IMDb: The Cloverfield Paradox