American Fiction is the first film adaptation of any of Percival Everett’s thirty novels, although its resounding success means it won’t be the last – an adaptation of James is already in the works (good!) with Taika Waititi possibly directing (so very, very bad). Directed by Cord Jefferson, who won the Oscar for his screenplay, the film adheres quite closely to the novel, which was called Erasure, until the very end, when Jefferson takes some creative license that pokes a little fun at Everett’s own ending but doesn’t entirely stick its metafictional landing. (It’s streaming free on Amazon Prime or you can rent it on iTunes.)

Once again, we meet Thelonious “Monk” Ellison (Jeffrey Wright), a professor and author of arcane novels that don’t sell, here in a new scene where he lashes out at a performatively offended white student in one of his classes, leading his employers to put him on leave. He travels to New York to meet with his agent, and to visit his aging mother (Lesley Uggams) and his sister Lisa (Tracee Ellis Ross), a doctor who provides reproductive health services. His mother is showing early signs of dementia, while we learn that his relationship with Lisa and their brother Bill (Sterling K. Brown) has always been distant. While traveling, he comes across a bestselling novel, We’s Lives in Da Ghetto, by Black author Sintara Golden (Issa Rae), an Oberlin graduate who has written a book that Monk thinks panders to white guilt, engaging in gross and dated stereotypes about Black Americans. Lisa dies very early in the film, in one of the most significant alterations from Erasure, and when their mother clearly needs to enter assisted living, Monk suddenly has some significant financial issues. He sits down and writes a novel, My Pafology, that parodies Golden’s book and the benevolent racism of the publishing industry, intending (he says) to offend the editors who receive it. Instead, he gets a seven-figure bonus (25% higher than the figure in the book, which was written 25 years ago) and everyone wants to meet the fictitious author Stagg R. Leigh, whom Monk invents as he goes along. As his personal life becomes more difficult, the book becomes more successful, until he finds himself on the judging panel for the Literary Award … and his book is one of the leading candidates.

Jefferson does a fantastic job weaving the twin narratives of the book – the family subplot and the Pafology subplot – together in a way that feels fluid, since he lacks the natural transitions that come with chapter breaks, and the two only truly intersect a few times in the novel. He’s kept the bones of the plot and most of the details are the same, although he changes a few character names (including Adam Brody’s movie producer) and creates some overly dramatic scenes involving Monk’s mother. There are also more outright laughs here than in the source, and the relationships between Monk and his two siblings are softened, which allows some fantastic scenes between Wright and Brown later in the film.

Wright is spectacular here – this is a well-written, three-dimensional character, and Wright just is Monk. He inhabits this character in every way, and when Monk has to act as Stagg, Wright telegraphs not just his discomfort at playing “Black,” but that this character was raised to not speak or act a certain way, leaving him flummoxed when he has to become Stagg R. Leigh on the phone and once in person. He’s just as strong in the family scenes, showing how Monk struggles with his interpersonal relationships even with people he clearly cares about; he doesn’t lack empathy or feelings, but – forgive the hackneyed phrase – sometimes he can’t get out of his own way. Brown and Uggams are also excellent in their respective roles, with Brown, like Wright, earning an Oscar nomination for this performance; Uggams probably just doesn’t get enough screen time to say she was robbed of a Best Supporting Actress nod – I don’t think she passes the Judi Dench Barrier here – but she’s superb in the limited time she gets, as is Erika Alexander as Monk’s love interest, Coraline.

I wasn’t bothered by Jefferson sharpening some of the edges and inserting some extra drama; Brody’s movie producer character even says in the film at one point that a movie made from a novel can’t be the novel, because you just don’t have enough time, and I think that can also apply to character development. Even changing the manner of Lisa’s death makes sense, because what happens in the book is tied to something larger that the movie would simply not have time to address, at least not in a satisfying fashion.

The ending, however … I will concede the argument that the book ends in a way that would probably not work on film. The movie might not even get made. I liked the ending of Erasure, but it’s unconventional, and would have been even more so in a movie. Jefferson’s solution is creative, certainly, but I’m not sure it works. Metafictional twists like that one are hard to pull off, and if you start thinking about this one, you’ll probably end up with a headache. The final, final shot, though, is excellent, so maybe it’s best to just not ponder the climax too thoroughly. Adapting a book as rich and sardonic as Erasure could not have been easy, and Jefferson managed to get the tone right without having to make any significant changes to the meat of the novel.

I’ve seen nine of the ten movies that were nominated for Best Picture in this year, and I’d put American Fiction pretty comfortably in the middle of the group. The Zone of Interest, which I didn’t see until November of last year and never wrote up, would be my top choice, and I wouldn’t put this over Past Lives or Oppenheimer, but it’s in the next tier with Barbie and The Holdovers for me. Wright never had a chance to beat Cillian Murphy for Best Actor, but if this movie were going to win any award for anything, he would have been my pick.