Baby's First Movie Premiere: American Fiction
Last night I accepted a friend’s invitation to attend the premiere of American Fiction, the adapted-screenplay and directorial debut for Cord Jefferson, based on the book “Erasure,” by Percival Everett; which is now on my must-read list, post-screening, because WOW!
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
*sips lychee martini*
I didn’t want to go. Perhaps it was my mood at the moment, but when I saw the trailer a couple weeks ago, I had a visceral reaction to the ebonic-laden dialogue out of the mouths of Jeffrey Wright and Issa Rae and just said “no.” Life these days has me generally exhausted, and the idea of getting dressed-up to sit eye-rolling in a theater for two hours was not appealing. Plus, I am a man of a certain age, who often-times needs to get up during a movie to pee. The idea of stepping on some important person’s toes, interrupting their experience because my bladder is a bitch, made me cringe. Then Friend, whom I hadn’t seen in a month of Sundays, beckoned me outside to attend the film’s premiere, my first Hollywood movie premiere. I couldn’t say no.
Boy, did we have a time last night!
First of all, I was wrong, entirely, about American Fiction. The film (I call them “films” now) is smart, hilarious, delightfully adorable, and hit much closer to home than I anticipated. Jeffrey Wright plays Thelonious “Munk,” a Black novelist pushing his latest tome against a publisher and public looking for Black stories that come in more of a, let’s say, Sheneneh Jenkins variety.
Frustrated, as most writers would be, Munk gets drunk and hits the keyboard, writing, in jest, an outrageous fiction that yt people eat right on up, Munk’s Arthur-fists be-damned. The film paints an accurate picture of the frustration I suspect many of us feel about the powers-that-be opting to purchase and distribute Black stories that reinforce stereotypes, over trying to expand their perspective about who we are as individuals.
This is what fucked me up, though:
Munk’s sister dies unexpectedly, and he suddenly finds himself caretaker to his mom recently diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.
Are my journals missing? Have I been talking too much? Is my mom a Hollywood spy? It’s all this Apple shit listening in my house, isn’t it? Jesus; talk about “close to home.”
Second of all, I clearly forgot who the fuck Jeffrey Wright, Tracee Ellis Ross, Erika Alexander, Sterling K. Brown, Issa Rae, and Leslie Uggams are. I’m sorry, y’all. Don’t call the ancestors; I promise I’ll learn something from this and do better. The performances were outstanding! The scenes between Munk and his mother felt so real I had to remind myself to breathe. And Clifford, Munk’s recently out-of-the-closet brother, too engulfed in the universal “pink cloud” of freedom to be of any use to anyone else—played magnificently by Sterling K. Brown—filled me with pride. And don’t even get me started on the soundtrack: a tapestry of Jazz, piano, and R&B/Hip-Hop that seem to make the scenes glide and dance into each other. Kudos to those people.
Well done to everyone! This story will sit with me for a while.
Post-film, Friend and I grabbed some delicious catering and cocktail delights and did a little hobnobbing. Green to pretty much everything “Hollywood,” I walked through the crowd of whose-its and what’s-its practically tip-toeing on eggshells, terrified and stuck-in-my-head about doing or saying the wrong thing. I’ll work on that. We didn’t talk to many people, but Friend was gracious enough to snag a few primo photos of me with Erika Alexander and Sterling K. Brown.
I gushed over Erika as subtly as possible, and thanked Sterling for playing such a flawed yet loveable black gay man so powerfully. Much love!
It was a wonderful evening!
Not to mention I almost bowled over phyne-as-phuck Michael Ealy in the bathroom. Thank God I left the urinal when I did. Fifteen seconds later I would have been standing there—already laser-focused on getting my enlarged, 44-year-old prostate to cooperate—furtively focusing all other energies to reducing phallic-blood-flow to the organ I most needed on my side. Could you imagine?!? My God is an on-time God!
What a blessing the entire evening was! I left feeling inspired to write and begin taking baby steps for my future. The idea of writing and networking my way into a career here feels overwhelmingly daunting—and we shall not dwell on such things now—but it felt great to be in the space; to “be in the room,” as they say.
Tonight was certainly an experience worthy of the Gratitude Jar!
Thanks, Friend! I owe you a meal!
Everyone else…GO SEE AMERICAN FICTION! :)
